Lazarus witches, so that all our most important events are timed to start to coincide with the mesonoxian hour. The coven will be assembled in the secret chamber beneath Number One Fitzroy Square. There will be hushed voices, tension growing as they wait for their new Head Witch to arrive. Not until the first hour of the full night is past its first half can I appear. Then, and only then, will the time be right for the successor to the Head of the Coven who now dwells in the Land of Night, to put herself forward.
The minutes crawl by. I close my eyes and steady myself with an incantation asking for strength. The ancient words are so familiar to me, learned over many years of diligent study, and I find their exotic sounds reassuring. I have been preparing for this moment for so long. My father prepared me. I will not fail him.
Do you truly believe yourself to be worthy of the title your father held?
Who is this? Who speaks to me uncalled?
The shock of hearing the unwelcome spirit again, tonight of all nights, sends chills through me. I still my mind and quiet my thoughts. If I give any outward sign of my distress, Violet does not notice it.
You are wrong to put your faith in a few prayers, a handful of dusty words, and scribblings, Daughter of the Night. You dabble with forces beyond your imagining.
Leave me! I will not converse with one who violates my thoughts in such a way. One who is too cowardly to identify himself.
At this the spirit laughs. It is a mirthless, guttural sound. I shake my head and open my eyes. Iago jumps from the chair and winds himself around my ankles, his fur tickling my bare skin. He meows loudly, sensing some unseen disturbance. Mercifully, the spirit falls silent. I try to put from me the notion that he is with me still. That he will be with me throughout the inauguration. How frequently does he listen to my thoughts? I wonder. Is he, in fact, with me always?
Looking up I am startled to see Violet has put on her mask and her cape. Of course I knew that everyone present would be masked. Everyone other than me. Even so, it is a shock to see my trusted friend and maid hidden and disguised, here in my own bedroom. The wearing of masks is deemed necessary to reinforce the coven’s creed of secrecy. For we guard a secret so powerful, so wonderful, and so terrible, that no person is greater than its keeping. I force myself to concentrate on what I must do now, and not to be distracted by listening for the return of the spirit who appears to dog my steps.
“My lady.” Violet’s speech is distorted by her mask, which has been specifically designed to prevent individual voices being recognizable. “It is time to go.”
“Has Withers seen to it that no one will see us leave the house?” It would not do to have a servant catch sight of the two of us so outlandishly attired crossing the lawns and disappearing into the summer house.
“He treated everyone downstairs to wine with their supper, my lady. Strong wine. They will all be fast asleep by now.”
As will Mama and Freddie, for much the same reason, though I strengthened their wine with a Sleeping Spell.
Taking no lamp, but being guided by the moonlight, we leave the house and follow the path to the rear of the garden, Iago trotting on silent paws beside us. When we reach the stone staircase that descends and twists so steeply, I speak the words that make the torches burst into life. A low murmur of voices can be heard drifting up toward us and the cool air that would fill the subterranean space on any other day has been replaced by an unpleasant warmth generated by the presence of so many heavily robed people. Or rather, not people at all, but witches. Every last one of them. So much spellcraft, so much skill, so much magic, all gathered in one place this night. All gathered for me.
When we reach the antechamber I pause, taking three long steadying breaths. I must not let my nervousness show. Not now, not here. The great double doors,
The minutes crawl by. I close my eyes and steady myself with an incantation asking for strength. The ancient words are so familiar to me, learned over many years of diligent study, and I find their exotic sounds reassuring. I have been preparing for this moment for so long. My father prepared me. I will not fail him.
Do you truly believe yourself to be worthy of the title your father held?
Who is this? Who speaks to me uncalled?
The shock of hearing the unwelcome spirit again, tonight of all nights, sends chills through me. I still my mind and quiet my thoughts. If I give any outward sign of my distress, Violet does not notice it.
You are wrong to put your faith in a few prayers, a handful of dusty words, and scribblings, Daughter of the Night. You dabble with forces beyond your imagining.
Leave me! I will not converse with one who violates my thoughts in such a way. One who is too cowardly to identify himself.
At this the spirit laughs. It is a mirthless, guttural sound. I shake my head and open my eyes. Iago jumps from the chair and winds himself around my ankles, his fur tickling my bare skin. He meows loudly, sensing some unseen disturbance. Mercifully, the spirit falls silent. I try to put from me the notion that he is with me still. That he will be with me throughout the inauguration. How frequently does he listen to my thoughts? I wonder. Is he, in fact, with me always?
Looking up I am startled to see Violet has put on her mask and her cape. Of course I knew that everyone present would be masked. Everyone other than me. Even so, it is a shock to see my trusted friend and maid hidden and disguised, here in my own bedroom. The wearing of masks is deemed necessary to reinforce the coven’s creed of secrecy. For we guard a secret so powerful, so wonderful, and so terrible, that no person is greater than its keeping. I force myself to concentrate on what I must do now, and not to be distracted by listening for the return of the spirit who appears to dog my steps.
“My lady.” Violet’s speech is distorted by her mask, which has been specifically designed to prevent individual voices being recognizable. “It is time to go.”
“Has Withers seen to it that no one will see us leave the house?” It would not do to have a servant catch sight of the two of us so outlandishly attired crossing the lawns and disappearing into the summer house.
“He treated everyone downstairs to wine with their supper, my lady. Strong wine. They will all be fast asleep by now.”
As will Mama and Freddie, for much the same reason, though I strengthened their wine with a Sleeping Spell.
Taking no lamp, but being guided by the moonlight, we leave the house and follow the path to the rear of the garden, Iago trotting on silent paws beside us. When we reach the stone staircase that descends and twists so steeply, I speak the words that make the torches burst into life. A low murmur of voices can be heard drifting up toward us and the cool air that would fill the subterranean space on any other day has been replaced by an unpleasant warmth generated by the presence of so many heavily robed people. Or rather, not people at all, but witches. Every last one of them. So much spellcraft, so much skill, so much magic, all gathered in one place this night. All gathered for me.
When we reach the antechamber I pause, taking three long steadying breaths. I must not let my nervousness show. Not now, not here. The great double doors,
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