When he laughed, she joined him, but hers sounded more like a cackle.
Jack woke to the sound of someone calling his name. “Jack? Jack! Where are you?”
Groggy, he shifted to a sitting position and ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. “What is it?” he asked, his eyes still closed.
“What are you doing up there? Were you sleeping on top of the bridge? It’s late afternoon. I’d think you’d be up and about by now. I barely slept at all last night, thanks to you.”
“Miss Ember?” Jack said, rubbing his eyes.
“Of course. Who else would it be? The boogeyman?”
Immediately, Jack leapt from his perch, landing softly in front of Ember. “Shhh,” he said, pressing the tips of his fingers against her mouth. He looked left and right as if waiting for something. Her breath was warm and moist against his fingers and her lips were as soft as rose petals. “Don’t invoke his name,” Jack warned.
“Who? The b—”
Jack made a noise and covered her mouth entirely with his palm. “I’m serious,” he said.
“Bit is jess a tory,” Ember said against his hand.
“What?” he asked, moving his palm away.
“It’s just a story,” she repeated quietly.
“There’s a reason for most stories,” he replied. “Even lanterns are scared of the…you know who.”
“So he’s real?”
“As real as I am.”
“Humph,” Ember grunted.
“Look, a long time ago the Lord of the Otherworld banished the…the one we’re talking about. It’s part of the reason Otherworlders have kept the Lord in power for so long.”
“How was he defeated?”
“No one really knows, but it’s said one of his weaknesses is onyx. It’s probably just an old wives’ tale but even when I was a boy—a long, long time ago—there were stories. Once he was gone the Otherworld changed, for the better, most people think. Now, enough about that. What brings you here?” Jack said.
“I’ve decided I want to see this Otherworld,” Ember declared with a deadpan expression.
Jack couldn’t trust himself to speak for a moment. Only a squeak came out. Then he took hold of Ember’s shoulders and pushed her away from the crossroad until her back hit a tree. “No,” he said, looming over her, in a voice that brooked no argument. “In fact, I don’t want you to come here ever again.”
“But why not?” she asked.
“You don’t need to know why. You only need to obey.”
“Obey?” she echoed, aghast. Ember placed her hands on her hips. “I’m not your dog or your horse. Nor are you my master.”
Jack flinched. The words he’d just said had been an echo of the way his father had spoken to his mother many hundreds of years before. The memory still fixed in his mind, he deliberately removed his hands from her shoulders, and said, “I’m not trying to subjugate you, I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
“Do you want a list?”
“It’s a good place to start.”
“Fine.” He held up a hand. “Trolls, goblins, werewolves, vampires, gremlins.” Raising his other, he continued. “Reanimated corpses, banshees, golems, succubae, incubi.” When he ticked off all those fingers, he dropped his hands and, seeing her chin was still lifted defiantly, he pressed on. He had to make her understand. Panic filled him and his voice increased in volume as if he were trying to communicate with her practically-deaf aunt. “Dark witches, phantoms, specters, spooks, devils, a host of familiars and creatures enslaved to serve their masters, the one you mentioned that we don’t name, and, oh, yes, especially lanterns such as myself!”
When he finished, he was panting, but, for all his agitation, Ember remained unaffected. “Is that all?” she asked quietly, attempting to fold her arms across her expansive chest, and failing.
“Isn’t that enough?” Jack shouted despite his determination to remain calm. “Any one of those creatures would eat up a child like you for breakfast and still need a midmorning snack!”
Anger flared in Ember’s eyes. “I am not a child,” she said, enunciating each word.
Jack took in her flushed face. A becoming pink stained her cheeks and neck, but he grunted, threw up a hand, and turned away. “It doesn’t matter,” he said flatly. “You’re not going.”
“I’ll find a way.”
“I’ll stop you.”
“I’m not giving up.”
“Ember, please.” Jack took her hands and pressed them between his own. “You don’t know what they’d do to you over there. They don’t trust witches. In fact, once a witch is discovered, she’s carted off to the capital, never to be heard from again, and I suspect that some…some have been destroyed.
“When you came to town, a witch wind blew. That means you are markedly interesting to the Otherworld. If they knew you were here, they’d take you away and I…I’d never see you again. Not even I know exactly what happens with these special witches. You must understand how dangerous this is. I haven’t told them about you for just this reason. Not anyone. Even my superior doesn’t know you exist. I’ve been very careful to keep him far away from the village and you in particular.”
“But why?” she asked. “Why do they hate witches so much?”
“They don’t hate them. It’s more like they fear them. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. Who knows how much of it is true.” Sighing, Jack sat down on the stone wall, crossing one long booted leg over the other at the ankles.
“Please, Jack?” Ember said, putting her hand on his arm.
He almost couldn’t help himself. He began talking. “Long ago,” he said, “witches ran the Otherworld. Then the high witch married a man and gave him the power to rule. He called himself the Lord of the Otherworld. Other witches protested his right to reign but stayed, even as they worried he was pushing for automation too quickly. Now the entire realm operates by witch power.”
“Witch power?”
“Yes. Instead of candles, Otherworlders use witch lamps that turn on with the push of a button. There are tall buildings, some five levels high, with steam-powered boxes that lift people to the top. And there are machines that do everything from bringing in the harvest to controlling the weather to producing fabric. Witchlight heats homes and cauldron steam fuels air transports, boats, and steel wagons large enough to move a dozen people or more over tracks that connect cities.”
Ember slowly sank down beside him. “We can do that?” she asked in wonder.
“Your power can. Your innate witchlight in particular is very powerful, especially for one so young and virtually untrained.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “But for the Otherworld to advance so far beyond humans unbalanced the realms. The mortal realm and the Otherworld sit on a precarious scale, only separated by crossroads in fixed positions like mine. They teeter back and forth a bit naturally, but the witches believed that if one shifts the balance too much, the realms would bleed together and entire cities disappear on both sides, vanishing into the ether. So the witches were not pleased, and they protested, loudly, wanting to evict the Lord of the Otherworld from his lofty perch. They even did something unthinkable. They called upon the one we never summon, the…”
“The boogeyman?”
“Shhh! Yes, him, for help.” He sighed. “It didn’t work. And so, the witches saw no other choice but to leave. They left the Otherworld, taking their power with them, sneaking into the mortal realm and settling there in quiet places.”
A cat wound itself between Jack’s legs. He nudged it away with his boot and then pressed on with increased resolve. “Without witchlight to fuel the Otherworld, power was rationed. Only the high witch, the wife of the Lord of the Otherworld, remained. Many of the machines stopped running. Everyday living became…difficult. Some Otherworlders snuck through the divide, looking for a better life.”
“Good for them.” Ember nodded.
“Not so fast. Too many were leaving, and the Otherworld couldn’t function without workers. A new law was passed to criminalize those who fled. So now lanterns send Otherworlders back when we find them, and if they refuse to go, they are destroyed.”
“You mean…you…” Ember’s words trailed off and she swallowed, her pulse pounding when Jack nodded.
“Yes. Me. Witches are the exception,” he added reluctantly. “We are to report any witches, never destroy them ourselves.”
“I see,” Ember said quietly. “But…you haven’t reported me?”
“No.”
“Why not? I mean, that’s your job, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Jack admitted. “But, you’re just coming into your power anyway. You were only a child when the witch wind blew and, after I got to know you, I just couldn’t put your fate in their hands. I work for them, but I don’t trust them.”
“Oh.”
Ember knotted her fingers in her lap and Jack had a strong desire to reach across, take her hands in his and loosen them, weaving them with his own. Instead, he asked, “Do you understand now why it’s dangerous for you to be here, so near the crossroad? To even consider going into the Otherworld is reckless.”
“Yes,” Ember replied. “I see your point.”
“Good.” He hopped down, clasped his hands behind him, and stretched out the kinks in his back, then cracked his neck loudly.
“I’m still going though.”
Jack spun around. “Did you not hear a single thing I said?” he asked incredulously.
“I did. It’s just that I feel…I feel drawn to it. I can’t explain it fully. Not exactly. It’s like I’m being called to it.” Ember reached down automatically when she felt the brush of a tail against her leg and patted the head of the meowing cat. She wasn’t sure how they always found her, but cats had followed her for most of her life.
“You have to understand that I’m wasting my life away here, Jack. I need to explore, to see the world. The people in my village are sweet, but they just want me to pick a husband and have babies. I know I’m not ready for that. I’m not even sure if that’s what I want for myself. There’s so much I want to see and do, I’m practically bursting with the tension of it.”
“Then…” Jack worked the muscles in his jaw. “Then take a trip. Migrate south with the birds. Go visit a big town with your aunt. Even visit the next town over, but don’t set your sights on the Otherworld. It’s too dangerous.”
“Maybe…maybe if you went with me, it wouldn’t be.” Her eyes begged him to consider it. “Please? I’m sure the pull will go away if I just see it once. You’ll keep me safe. I know you will.”
Strangely, he found he wanted to go with her. Not to the Otherworld necessarily, but somewhere, anywhere. He’d be proud to escort a young lady like Ember on his arm. After a beat, he answered, “I can’t. I’m not allowed to leave my post.”
“Fine.” She lifted her chin stubbornly. “I’ll bring Finney, then.”
“No, you won’t bring Finney.” Jack chafed at the thought that she might take her red-headed, coltish friend over him. “You can’t cross over, Ember. I won’t allow it,” he finished, slashing his hand down in a there-will-be-no-further-discussion-on-the-matter way.
“There’s something you need to learn about me,” Ember said, sauntering closer and poking him in the chest. “No one, not even a devilishly handsome, pumpkin-carrying lantern, tells me what to do.”
Ember stood on tiptoe but she still only came up to Jack’s nose. She was close enough, though, for him to catch a whiff of her hair. Ember smelled like fresh baked spiced apples. Taking hold of her shoulders again, Jack leaned down, ignoring the warning hiss of the cat. He heard Ember catch her breath. When his mouth was a few inches from hers, he lingered there for a heartbeat and then moved his lips to her ear.
“You’ll never get past me,” he promised.
Stiffening, Ember stepped back, eyes flashing. “We’ll see about that,” she said.
Jack had to give it to her. Ember was determined. Never in his long life had he had to guard a crossroad so carefully. She tried every trick she could think of to get past him. Some of her ideas bordered on the ridiculous, such as when she tried to trap him with a knife planted upside down in the ground. Such a thing might work on a wandering spirit who would become fascinated with their own reflection, but Jack was no simple wandering spirit.
Then she tried sneaking up on him wearing all her clothes inside out. He laughed so hard that she yelled at him for a good half hour before stomping home. Many a human had lost their life trying to fool the undead or werewolves by doing so. Those creatures relied on scent to guide them anyway. They couldn’t care less about what the humans wore.
She tried a handful of spells and potions, but they were just irritating. One covered his bridge in fog for an entire week, but he was a lantern and could see her familiar soul coming the moment she stepped onto his path. He stopped her easily and turned her back home with a firm kick. If he wasn’t so worried about Ember being discovered, he wouldn’t have minded her attempts to best him.
When winter came, and the nip in the air bit sharper than a newborn vampire’s teeth, Ember’s efforts to get past him dwindled. When he found he missed her and, more important, suspected she was up to something she shouldn’t be, he drifted to her house in the shape of fog and knocked softly on her window.
It was a cold, moonlit night and she pulled back the curtains, regarding him with glacial silence before finally letting him in. Jack streamed inside her home in a blanket of freezing mist and allowed his body to coalesce slowly. By the light of his lambent pumpkin that drifted in next to him, he could see her desk was littered with bottles and potions, and there was a heavy tome open to a spell.
With a twist of his hand, the pumpkin floated about the room, revealing all the dark, hidden corners. There was a small black cauldron propped over her hearth, steam billowing in her room and filling the air with a noxious odor. Damp tendrils of curled hair stuck to Ember’s forehead and cheeks, and when she turned away, he had the strong impulse to touch his lips to the back of her warm neck and the curved arch of her shoulder. He didn’t, of course, and berated himself strongly for even thinking such a thing about a girl he was supposed to be watching over. He corrected himself: watching for.
Peering at the book, he asked, “Where did you get that?”
“It was among my mother’s things. At least, that’s what my aunt tells me. I’ve been playing with her recipes a bit.” Ember reached down and stroked the back of the cat twining about her legs. Its green eyes looked upon her steadily, and she swore she could almost feel a ghostly pair of arms wrap around her. Whatever or whoever her mother was, Ember liked to think she’d been loved by a parent once.
Jack frowned, ran his finger across the warm rim of the cauldron, and wrinkled his nose. “I’ll say,” he muttered. “What’s this one?” Jack grimaced at the smell as he stirred the concoction. “If your intention is to run me out of town with stink, you might just have something here.”
“Hush,” Ember warned. “Flossie just went to bed.”
“Flossie? Is that the name of your new kitten?”
“No. I just found out that my late uncle used to call my aunt Flossie instead of her given name, Florence. It was a pet name, and I like the way she smiles when I use it.”
“Flossie,” Jack echoed, and wondered if he should call Ember something other than her given name. As hard as he tried to come up with something different, Ember suited her. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he said more quietly. “What are you so busy making?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Jack leaned closer to her, close enough to hear her catch her breath, which he hoped was a good reaction to his nearness, and picked up the leather belt on the table behind her. It was far t
oo long to fit around Ember’s small waist. If he had to guess, with the number of large loops on the belt, he’d say it looked more like a bandolier, though what kind of projectiles might fit into the thick loops, he didn’t know.
Then he glanced over at the cauldron again and saw a row of tiny glass bottles, each one the size of his thumb, all stoppered. Some were filled with different-colored liquids, extracts, and tinctures, some held only a gaseous substance, while others appeared empty. Though, with his lantern eyes, he saw a glow or a slight tinge of color in each one. Taking the belt over to the hearth, he knelt, picked up a vial, and tucked it snugly into a loop. It settled in place like a bullet.
Picking up a second, he let the light of his pumpkin fall upon it. “A sleeping spell?” he said. “Ember, I hate to tell you this, but a vampire or a werewolf would take you down long before you got close enough to throw it accurately. I commend your ingenuity but—”
“I don’t have to get close,” Ember said.
Jack set down the glass vial carefully. “What do you mean?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, but shifted slightly to cover a drawer with her skirt, he nudged her out of the way and opened it. Nestled inside, wrapped in red velvet cloth, was a pair of blunderbuss pistols with wide muzzles. They were heavy, the barrels and grips made of polished brass. He’d never seen their like before. “Where did you get these?”
“Finney made them for me.”
“Finney,” Jack said.
“Yes.”
“And does Finney know what you are, then? What you intend to do?”
“He knows I’m a witch,” she said proudly. “Other than that, he’s in the dark.”
“Right. So what happens when you load this weapon with one of your glass vials and the spell explodes all over you instead of your enemy?”
“The vials don’t get stuffed down the barrel. They’re inserted here and here,” she said, taking the weapons and clicking not one but two different vials into each wide-mouthed, sawed-off muzzle. The glass protruded from the bottom next to the trigger. “You can pick which spell you want to use by flipping this switch to the right or the left.”