A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow by Liesel Schwarz Page A

the half-light of the lamp. Grateful for the release from her stays, she took a few liberating breaths before throwing her cotton nightdress over her head. She padded over to the window and pushed it open. Cold air flooded around her and she shivered. In the moonlit garden, the plants and trees stood serene in the dark, their limbs stretched out in a silent invitation to her to run into the foliage where she could conceal herself, a place where no one would find her.
    He’s coming for you. You had better run. Before it’s too late, something whispered inside her. It made her shiver. She lifted the bracelet, still tethered around her wrist. “Is that you, little fairy?” she whispered back. No answer. She looked about, feeling decidedly foolish. Now she was talking to fairies too.
    Annoyed, Elle closed the window with a thump. Lack of sleep was starting to unhinge her mind. She smothered her bedside lamp and bundled herself up under the covers. The greasy-metallic smell of lamp oil hung in the dark. Downstairs had spark lighting, but upstairs they made do with more traditional lamps and candles. Her father said that there was no need for expensive lighting in bedrooms, because they had their eyes closed for most of the time spent there anyway. Elle sighed and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. She would be of no use in the search tomorrow unless she got some rest.
    … Darkness. Nothingness stretched above and below … A shiver ran through her. She was not alone. Cloaked shadows soared through the darkness. Rows of runelike symbols glowed against the black.
    The image shifted. Marsh stood in the sunshine in a garden. She raised her hand to wave at him. He smiled at her and disappeared.
    Then the shadows were back. Their awful eyes probed and searched for her. Their faces covered in symbols that scarred their skin. They swirled around her; faster and faster they moved until they were nothing but a gray blur. Above the swirling shadow she saw Marsh. He was looking for something, peering down into the darkness. The maelstrom of the gray shadows gained momentum. They threatened to draw her into their midst. She screamed, but no sound came …
    Elle sat up in bed. It was very dark and quiet. Too quiet. A floorboard creaked. Something in the dark made her skin prickle. She strained her eyes and blinked, but it was so dark it felt as if her eyes weren’t working. Her fingers found the box of matches kept on the table beside her bed. A little flame sprang to life in a sulfurous burst as she struck a match and lit the lamp. The small pool of light that formed on the wick made the farther reaches of the room seem much darker.
    Without warning, someone grabbed her by the throat. She felt her attacker’s fingers dig into her flesh. She tried to scream, but his palm slipped over her mouth to silence her.
    “’ello, my lovely. You might remember me from Paris.” It was the poet from the Café du Aleix. “I can see you do.” He sneered at her. “Now, where were we, before we were so rudely interrupted?”
    Elle felt a horrible choking sound escape from her mouth. She writhed and struggled against the man. They dipped to the side and she hit her head against the side of the little table beside the bed. Dazed, her fingers closed around the lamp she had just lit. She lifted it and smashed it against her attacker’s head. Time slowed down as glass shattered and she watched with fascination as flames leapt up where oil and flame and bedcovers met. And in the burst of light, she saw his face.
    She opened her mouth and took a strangled breath to scream, but smoke filled her lungs and all she could do was gasp and cough. Flames sprung up everywhere around her. The poet’s face contorted with fear and horror as his coat burst into flame. He let go of her and staggered across the room, flames licking over his back and dripping onto the floor behind him. He flailed his arms, but the movement only made the flames roar even