Month 12, Day 6, 11:00 AM

Marie

Before Marie finally looked up from her work several hours after Poe left the parlor, she had looked over the bookings and log books, and compared it to money they’d received.

“The numbers are close. But you have Morrows who didn’t pay. It would have to go on their tab.”

“Where?” Mama asked. Marie pointed to the entries.

“I’ll check them again.” Mama said. “Its not just the discount or a voucher?”

“No. You can check with the masseurs, of course. They could have skimmed it, but I don’t think they’d have done that.”

“Thank you for reviewing. I’ll check it.”

“Mama. I love you.”

“I love you too, my little Marie.”

“I … you could come live with Poe and me.”

“Why are you suggesting that now?”

“Because, you don’t have to live here. They beat Madame and I worry that they’ll come after you too.”

“They won’t. It will be fine. This isn’t the best place, but there are worse . You are getting an learnin’, you got money. You have a good future. Don’t waste it.” Mama replied.

“I’m not.” Marie whined. “It’s just that … why don’t you take Poe up on his offer to live with us at the Agency? It’s safer.”

“No, it isn’t. There’s nothing safe goin’ against Lord Morrow. Or thems thinkin’ that you’re defyin’ Lord Morrow.”

“But, Mama …”

“No more fussin’; I’ve got books to balance. If you want to visit Madame, you should do that afore she goes to sleep.”

On the way from the office to Madame’s suite, Marie schemed to get Mama to live with her. If the Morrows could be appeased? Or, if Marie bought them off somehow? Marie entered the suite and found Madame propped on pillows in the bed, reading a few pages of paper.

“Madame, how are you doing?”

“Fine my girl. You know I have no memory meeting with Poe? Not one?”

“I know.”

“Yet, I hold here in my hand a contract—written in my own handwriting—that is proof that he and I entered into a contract.”

‘Yes.’ Marie thought. ‘That’s the way the curse works.’ Then aloud, “That’s why I have to help him at the August Agency.”

“Do you know why you are immune?”

“I don’t know.”

“It might have something to do with that tattoo on your chest.”

“Maybe.”

“Have you ever told him about it?”

“No.”

Madame nodded. “He’s agreed to have the August Agency find a glamourist for us.”

“Good.”

“You could do that though. Perhaps you could convince Millie?”

Marie felt this was doubtful. But, Millie was more than a prostitute. If she could just focus on her magic, maybe she could find enough work that she could get further treatment. It was really in her best interest, right? And, Madame helped her, so she should help Madame in return.

“I’ll ask her. I was going to visit her today anyway.”

“Good. While you’re there, check on Dinky. I sent him to talk to her after his shift. Maybe he’s already talked her around. He always cares more than he should, but he’s been gone for hours.”

Marie didn’t normally think of Dinky as very persuasive, but he wouldn’t have threatened Millie. If Madame thought he could convince Millie, maybe this whole situation would be entirely cleared up.

…

Warming sunlight lit the streets to Millie’s townhouse.

On the way, she practiced the esoteric magic she’d learned from Poe. As she walked past shops and homes, she heard the faint chimes of the magic people used. It made a faint and beautiful and dissonant music in her ears as the different magics pitched with tines from dozens of different effects.

Marie heard plenty of this music as a child. Musicians performed up and down the pleasure districts; bars and pubs often had a singer or fiddler to keep the patrons dancing and entertained while they drank. That music had the rhythmic quality that encouraged movement.

That music did not compare. The magic from the earring was a thrumming music one imagined from the slow wheeling of the sky.

Of course, Marie did try to keep the people on the street from noticing her bubble of silence. As she drew further from the shops and avenues, closer to Millie’s neighborhood, few people seemingly carried detectable active enchantment or magic with them. And, even though people would have more reason to carry battle wands, Marie didn’t encounter them.

Millie’s lived in a home on a quiet street; not entirely run down, but with a faded elegance. People lived several families to a house here. On her street, Millie was one of the few that lived by herself.

Outside, children played unsupervised in the street. Chasing and shouting. Millie couldn’t hear their squeals quite as loudly while under the effect of the spell.

But, as she approached Millie’s home, she heard perhaps the most beautiful music she’d heard so far. It drew her even from down the street. Marie felt a sort of awe. She cut the spell off, as it was beginning to strain her. But, in its absence, Marie felt a desire to hear it again.

‘What was that?’ Marie thought. She stopped mid stride. The children didn’t seem affected. ‘Is that Millie’s glamour magic?’

Marie had never felt anything like it. Certainly, Millie never seemed to use a spell with an attraction that strong. But, with the detection magic released, Marie’s heart began to settle. She didn’t even realize that she’d felt so strongly hearing it.

Still. This wasn’t the brittle sound of a battle wand; so, visiting Mille should still be safe.

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Cautiously, Marie continued toward Millie’s townhouse.

The house was squeezed, much like the August Agency, between the other homes on the street. A short flight of stairs lead to a small covered porch and the entrance to the first floor. Millie’s house had glass windows with wooden storm shutters.

Someone had closed them all. Marie couldn’t recall ever seeing them closed before, and it certainly wasn’t storming. The bright daylight streamed down and puffy white clouds slid through the afternoon sky.

Marie climbed the steps carefully. She felt watched, but—as she looked for danger—nothing evidently dangerous was nearby, just loudly playing children. She knocked on the door, and it swung open. Someone had left it unlocked, unbarred, and unlatched.

The dim interior seemed quiet; but just like you could tell if a house had the ineffable quality of being truly empty, this house was not. Marie heard the sound of people moving on the second floor.

“Millie?” Marie called. “Dinky?”

Silence.

Slightly worried, Marie reviewed what she knew of the house. She’d visited more than once before. The ground floor had a sitting room, kitchen, and dining room. In front of her was a staircase leading upward. The second floor had two rooms, and water closet. Millie slept and did her magic on that floor. Marie reasoned that she also would entertain her “clients” there as well.

Marie walked cautiously forward, straining to hear any sounds. She glanced in the sitting room, and saw that it was empty. Furnished well, it had glasses, bottles of spirits and thickly upholstered furniture. Although, she could see a broken chair, and possibly the place Millie had been attacked. Some effort had gone into cleaning it, but even in the gloom, Marie could still spot the stains on the rug where someone had bled.

Marie shuddered.

“Millie?” Marie called again.

She heard a thump upstairs.

“Little Marie?” Dinky called from upstairs.

“Dinky?” Marie called back.

“Come see. She’s beautiful.”

“What?” Marie said reflexively. ‘Who is beautiful?’ she thought. ‘Surely not Millie; she should still be recovering.’

“Come see.” Dinky repeated, his voice distant and soft.

Marie looked to the top of the stairs; Dinky seemed to be calling from the bedroom, but Marie couldn’t see the doorway from the bottom of the stairs. There were too many footsteps to be just the two of them. Did Millie have other guests too?

Marie decided she was being silly. Maybe Millie had merely refined a new glamour. Millie was a kind person; she wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone. Marie had come to visit her friend, and so she would.

Marie climbed the stairs a bit quicker than she intended, and found herself at the bedroom doorway.

Inside the bedroom the darkness shrouded the half-dozen figures crowded into the room; all of them stared at the figure seated on the bed. It was too dark to see much detail. Marie reflexively reached for the thaumaturgic-enchanted glass lamp that Millie usually kept on the table by the door. It was missing.

As Marie stepped into the room, she felt the crunch of glass under her boots.

‘Millie is there, isn’t she?’ The people around the bed blocked Marie’s view, and it was so dark. Was Millie glowing; there was the source of light somewhere near the bed, but Marie’s eyes had not adjusted to it. ‘You can hardly imagine that it would be this dark in the middle of the day.’ Marie thought. ‘What would it be like to control darkness in darkness?’

To Marie, who had grown up with her waking hours spent in the night at Hands Hearts and Palms, mere darkness wasn’t particularly frightening. But, she couldn’t see her friend in a dark room, and there wasn’t even a lit lamp.

Aside from the glow at the edge of the bed, the shutters failed to fit tightly enough to keep a thin beam of radiance from making a line across the floor.

“Millie? Let’s get some light in here.” Marie said.

Marie strode to the window, past Dinky and the others, then opened it, then popped the storm shutter’s latch, and spread the shutters open to let in the sunlight. Behind her, Millie screeched.

Marie whirled around, and saw the nude wreck of Millie’s form crumpled on the bed.

“Close it!” Millie. A dozen eyes and half a dozen faces turned to light.

Marie could see the room more clearly now, and the faces of Millie’s visitors. The room was a wreck; the thaumaturgic glass lamps smashed. The curtains on the bed torn. The formerly blank faces of the admirers twisted and snarled.

A woman roughly pushed Millie out of the way, and slammed the storm shutters closed. She aslo drew the heavy curtains.

“Don’t you understand!? Her beauty can only be lit by the darkness!” The woman cried. Marie could not reckon with that irrational conclusion.

‘How could anything be lit by darkness?’ Marie thought incredulously, while still reeling from the images of the wrecked room.

But, then, in the darkness, then Marie saw it: a transformed female creature of unrelenting fascination. She straightened from her curled and bowed posture and sat with preternatural grace. She glowed with eldritch fire. Just sitting made her the most beautiful thing Marie had ever seen. More beautiful than the moon on a clear night. Magical.

Even in the near darkness, Marie could trace the perfect scars across her face and body. Whatever had given her those scars nearly killed her, but even with perfect unblemished skin between each scar, it was the scars that were almost the most beautiful part.

In the stillness, the sycophants returned to their admiration.

“There, that’s better!” The woman said, and returned to the bedside. She shoved her way close, pushing another out of the way. The man barely registered. “You need anything dear?” The woman asked the creature.

She said nothing.

Marie felt the magic all around her. The compulsion. If only the magic had been as simple as a curse. Marie’s heart wanted to worship the fey creature. It was right there, a desire to be close to her. A compulsion to forget everything but the wonder of the nude figure seated there, beckoning all to behold her.

Marie’s mind would not.

Marie found herself silently crying for her friend. Millie Parker was gone.

Throwing off the compulsion to gaze on the beautiful creature, Marie looked for Dinky; she’d seen him on the way in, and he still stood at the foot of the bed.

Even outside Marie’s full attention, the magical compulsion still beat at Marie’s resolve. It repeated in waves of pure emotion: Worship. Marie’s mind would not be fooled, but the longer she spent in the creature’s presence, the harder thoughts were.

“Dinky.” Marie called. “Dinky!”

He turned briefly to her. But, returned to looking at the beautiful female form.

“You should be quiet.” He replied. “Don’t upset her.”

“Dinky! We have to go. We have to go now!”

“Don’t upset Millie. She doesn’t like it.”

The figure on the bed barely moved to notice them. She tilted her head and swayed to unheard music.

Desperate, Marie reached for Dinky, and tried to grab his hand to drag him to the door. She took a fistful of his shirt and tugged at him.

“No Marie.” Dinky said.

“Dinky. We have to go. We have to let the Red Guard know. She’s an Aberrant Dinky! An Aberrant!”

Dinky turned on Marie, and now she remembered how big he really was. He towered over her like a building. She stopped pulling at his hand, but he grabbed her by the arm.

“You can’t.” Dinky said. “Dey’ll take ‘er from us. Let’s just put you out of t’ way; you’ll change your mind.”

To Marie’s horror, Dinky pulled her from the room, and forced her downstairs. His arm gripped her painfully, and even kicking Dinky’s shin did nothing. Dinky merely picked her up bodily and hauled her with main force. With her dominant arm bound, she couldn’t reach her knife, and was helpless to stop him. She pounded him with her offhand, and twisted trying to reach her knife. She shouted in frustration and anger; maybe the children outside would hear?

Dinky rounded the stairs with Marie and brought her to a cellar door. He put her down, and Marie nearly escaped then, but Dinky grabbed her hair. She screamed again at the sharp pain, and grabbed his hands to keep from falling down.

“Dinky, no! Please Dinky.” She shouted, but when she finally turned to face him, his expression remained glazed and impassive. He wasn’t even angry.

Dinky unlocked the cellar door with the key in the lock and pushed her down onto the stone steps.

Maire rolled painfully on her arms protecting her head. She managed to stop halfway down. She was lucky she hadn’t been thrown over the stairs’ edge, which had no bannister. As Dinky closed the door, she threw herself at it, trying to push it open.

Her effort made no more difference than a butterfly beating its wings inside a glass jar.

Dinky merely pressed the door closed and locked it, then taking the key with him.

“I got to go back to ‘er little Marie. You’ll be safe down there.” Dinky’s voice sounded muffled through the door.

Marie scrambled with the knob and hammered door with her closed fists as Dinky’s boots thumped away and back up the stairs to the bedroom. Her efforts made no difference. She wasn’t strong enough to break through the heavy wooden door.

Looking around the small earthen and stone cellar—lit with sunlight from a tiny barred window and filled with shelves full of dusty jars and bottles—Marie realized she was trapped. There was no way out. Worse, there was no way to warn everyone of the aberrant that Millie Parker had become.