Fine tremors racked Rosmerta’s body and her eyes rolled back in her head. Her familiar was a garden snake and it slithered out from under her hem. The magic of the bottle pulled it faster and faster, until it was sucked into the bottle. Rosmerta glowed brightly then fell apart into dozens of phosphorescent snakes, slinking into the shadows of the garden.
The white horses pressed closer and closer.
The next hair went in, long and auburn and tipped with blood. Lark faded away, her osprey-familiar sliding into the bottle without a struggle.
Magdalena smiled when the last hair joined the others.
Seeing the smile, Emma felt a premonition of cold dread, but it was too late.
Unsurprisingly, Magdalena’s familiar was a moth. It landed on the lip of the bottle, folding up its wings and then dropping down the long clay neck. Magdalena turned to mist and drifted away. Sophie screamed. “No! Don’t leave me! No, you promised!”
Emma hurried to cork the bottle but now that the spell had been activated, the clay jug froze, burning her hands. She struggled to hold onto it, skin sticking painfully. She felt a strange pull inside her, an uncomfortable severing that had her teeth chattering. The darkness paled to a pearly gray. It took her a splintered excruciating moment to realize she was looking at the witch bottle through her familiar. The luminous deer shape was being sucked into the bottle trap, along with the Sisters’ familiars.
She made a strangled sound, unable to form actual words. Her hands blistered with cold, but a worse numbing chill had seized her insides. She knew she would never be warm again. She was being pulled apart and no one would be able to put her back together again. Cormac shouted something but it sounded as though he was speaking through water. She was shivering so violently she couldn’t understand how she hadn’t let go of the bottle. Her fingers were cramped around it. Her deer-familiar kicked its hooves, fighting the pull.
Cormac’s hands closed around hers. His warmth sent needles of pain through her but it was anchoring. It reminded her of her body, dragged the deer back ever so slightly toward her.
“Let go,” Cormac said while the Keepers watched, horrified. He peeled her fingers away. Her knuckles cracked, sounding like dry twigs. Her teeth were still chattering and she bit through the side of her tongue. The bottle shook in her grasp.
Cormac gave a hard yank, wrenching it from her.
Pain exploded through her. It scraped inside her skull and closed a jagged fist around her heart. She was scoured clean with it, like sand rubbing rust off an old kettle. She whimpered once before she could stop herself. Her familiar slammed back into her body so violently she was knocked off her feet. She landed on her tailbone in the grass. Gretchen and Penelope were at her side before she could finish catching her first breath.
“How did you do that?” Penelope asked Cormac.
“I have no magic,” he replied. “Remember? So I was able to break the connection.” He handed the jug to Lord Mabon. “Shall I restrain her, sir?”
“Which one?” He sighed, knocking the candle out of his iron lantern and slipping the bottle safely inside. A jet-inlaid wheel necklace was wrapped around it.
“Sophie was the culprit,” Cormac replied without inflection. “But I can secure Lady Emma as well, should you wish it.”
“I’d like to see you try.” Gretchen bared her teeth. “Ungrateful, useless lot of you.”
Before Lord Mabon could answer, the house flared once, shooting arrows of light between the shutters and under the mended door. The power behind it slapped into the garden, pushing everyone out so violently they left grooves in the dirt.
The Keepers flung up a line of shields and the others dropped to the ground, covering their heads.
The house’s gates slammed together.
The magpie burned with such intense heat it fused, before fading to black scrollwork again.
The Greymalkin House was closed once more.
Epilogue
Emma stepped out of the carriage in front of the Rowanstone Academy for Young Ladies. She’d spent the last week at Penelope’s house recuperating, answering questions from various Keepers and magisters, and eating as much cake as she could. Apparently, defeating warlocks made one hungry. Lord Mabon was commended for setting up the protocol to immediately bring a Lacrimarium to the Greymalkin House if flares were ever sent up in the vicinity. Cormac snuck up the servant staircase one night, disguised by a One-Eyed Joe cameo.
And none of it seemed nearly as daunting as returning to school.
Especially a school filled with several dozen witch debutantes. She could swear her evil-eye ring was warming up even now.
She’d been exonerated of the murders.
But she’d also been tricked into opening the Greymalkin House for the Sisters and their dark secrets.
The school loomed. The gargoyles peered over the corners, their shadows touching the foxgloves and tulips below. The sun gilded the walkway and the brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. It was pretty and tidy and elegant.
And she couldn’t help feeling like it was a trap.
She recited her new favorite constellation: Leo, Virgo, Hydra.
She was being ridiculous. She lifted her chin and forced herself to walk calmly into the school. Straight into Daphne.
Who was clinging to Cormac.
Blast.
“Welcome back, Lady Emma,” Mrs. Sparrow spoke from the doorway to the parlor before Emma could decide how to react. “I trust you’re recovered and ready for lessons?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sparrow.”
“And you, Lord Blackburn. Shouldn’t you be on Keeper business?”
“Of course. Ladies.” Cormac bowed. He sauntered away without a backward glance. It took all of Emma’s inner strength not to watch him go.
“Emma, if you could go into the back garden and clear up that thundercloud threatening our outdoor tea for the parents, I’d be most grateful.”
“Yes, Mrs. Sparrow.” It was a simple task and one she was glad to be given. It felt normal. The headmistress disappeared back into the parlor. Emma turned narrowed eyes on Daphne.
“What?” she whispered innocently. “You know as well as I do that he can’t afford to be seen with you.” She smiled, flipping her hair off her shoulder. “But he can be seen with the daughter of the First Legate. In fact, it may just save his reputation, don’t you think?”
Emma wished Daphne was wrong about that.
Behind them the staircase was filling up with curious girls. She thought of Ewan Greenwood sacrificing everything to protect her, and of her mother now wandering the forest as a deer. She released the glamour from her antlers and they instantly felt brighter, as if they’d been scrubbed clean of spiderwebs. One of the girls gasped. Several started to whisper loudly. Emma kept walking, heading to the garden.
“Oh go on,” Daphne snapped at them. They jumped. “Don’t gape at her. It’s so common.”
Emma couldn’t help a smile as they scattered, terrified of Daphne. She wondered if they were the same girls Gretchen had convinced to bleat like sheep. All of a sudden she felt quite cheerful to be back at school.
And she felt even more cheerful when Cormac tugged her suddenly into the lilac bush.
“Why is one of us always lurking about in shrubbery?” She grinned. Tables were set up under striped tents, set with silver cake stands covered in delicacies made mostly of buttercream frosting. Silver urns of tea waited next to delicate china cups. The sun was making a valiant effort to shine through the clouds, but they were pewter-gray and plum-purple, and hung like overripe fruit, ready to burst.
“I’ve been hanging about for ages, waiting for you,” Cormac murmured against her throat. His lips were warm and wicked, trailing down to her collarbone. Her head tilted back of its own accord. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
“Me too,” she said, sliding her hands under his coat. He was warm and lean and smiling against her mouth.
“Does the Order suspect?”
/> “That I’d rather be kissing you than talking about them? No.” He nipped at her lower lip.
“It’s not over,” she said, playing with the ends of his hair. She couldn’t quite meet his gaze.
“I know.” He lifted her chin. His eyes flared, piercing her. “But their hold over me is. I belong to you, Emma. Not the Order.”
He kissed her with such promise, warm shivers chased down her spine. She pressed against him, kissing him back.
The storm clouds cleared.
Author’s Note
The witchcraft in this book is purely literary. It is not intended to represent modern or ancient belief systems.
Also by Alyxandra Harvey
The Drake Chronicles
Hearts at Stake
Blood Feud
Out for Blood
Ruling Passion
(Bind-up of Hearts at Stake, Blood Feud, and Out for Blood)
Bleeding Hearts
Blood Moon
Blood Prophecy
Haunting Violet
Stolen Away
Copyright © 2014 by Alexandra Harvey
All rights reserved.
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
First published in the United States of America in January 2014
by Walker Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
E-book edition published in January 2014
www.bloomsbury.com
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Walker BFYR, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Harvey, Alyxandra.
A breath of frost / Alyxandra Harvey.
pages cm. (The Lovegrove legacy; [1])
Summary: When three cousins in 1814 London discover their magical powers and family lineage of witchcraft, they accidentally open the gates to the underworld, allowing the spirits of dark witches known as the Greymalkin Sisters to hunt and kill young debutante witches for their powers.
[1. Witches—Fiction. 2. Magic—Fiction. 3. Cousins—Fiction.
4. London (England)—History—19th century—Fiction.
5. Great Britain—History—George III, 1760–1820—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H267448Br 2014 [Fic]—dc23 2013028809
ISBN: 978-0-8027-3445-7 (e-book)
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Alyxandra Harvey, A Breath of Frost
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