The Mesmerist by Ronald L. Smith

Author:Ronald L. Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A Cry in the Night

We are in the parlor. Weak morning sunlight bleeds through the windows. Emily is asleep in a wingback chair across from me, her breath coming in quiet, easy puffs. She didn’t even make it up the steps. I can still see her fingers glowing white-hot as she clawed at the devilish creature. Gabriel sits and scribbles in his little book. He used his voice as a weapon. How?

I have barely slept. Before I got into bed, I took one last look at my weapons. The braided ends of the lash were still wet with the ghoul’s blood. The battle remains a blur. All I can recall is the whip lashing out and then curling around the beast’s neck. To most people these are just simple objects, but to those with supernatural abilities, they are deadly weapons.

Sleep was troublesome, and although I was exhausted after our ordeal, I tossed and turned before finally falling into a tense slumber. It is not only my body that is drained but my mind and spirit as well. I stare at my hands.

I have killed a ghoul.

A ghoul.

Balthazar strides into the room, bringing me back to the moment. He is wearing cream-colored jodhpurs, a houndstooth jacket, and a white ascot. Black boots rise to his knees. I almost laugh aloud, as if some sort of hysteria has overtaken me. Amidst the madness we have just experienced, I imagine he must be a faerie who likes riding. He takes a seat next to Emily and looks into her sleeping face.

I swallow hard and ask the question that is plaguing me. “‘Darkling.’ What does that mean? Why did they call me that?”

Balthazar shakes his head slowly, as if he is also perplexed. “I truly do not know, my child. I have never heard such a name before. But it seems as if you are the prey they seek.”

Come to us, Jessamine. Come, darkling.

“These creatures have some intelligence guiding them,” he continues. “Their reference to a master is troubling, and never before have I heard a ghoul use human speech.”

“What were they like before?” I ask.

“Thralls,” Balthazar says. “Undead servants with no intelligence, controlled only by the necromancers who raised them.”

I try to imagine what kind of person could revel in such unholy evil, but I am confounded. I have so many thoughts, I don’t know where to begin. “How did you—​what was it? Our escape. The lightning and the breaking stone?”

He sweeps a curl of white hair from Emily’s eyes. “My kind are blessed with gifts of spirit and air, which gives us power over the elements, but only for a short while, and only at great cost.”

For the first time, I notice how drawn his face is. The spark in his silver eyes is somewhat dimmed.

“There were too many for us to face,” he says, almost apologetically. “I had no choice but to destroy the cave. And now we do not know what else lurks within, nor do we have any further information on this ‘rosy’ business.

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