∞

"The Sisters would like to see you in their chambers, Miss Gray."

Elizabeth and Tessa exchanged a look behind their books. They set the books they had been reading down on the bedside table and turned to see Miranda standing in the doorway of her small room—just as she did at this time every day, delivering the same message she delivered every day. In a moment Tessa would ask her to wait in the corridor, and Miranda would leave the room. Ten minutes later she'd return and say the same thing again. If the girls didn't come obediently after a few of these attempts, Miranda would seize them, one at a time, and drag them, kicking and screaming, down the stairs to the hot, stinking room where the Dark Sisters waited.

It had happened every day of the first week that Elizabeth and Tessa had been in the Dark House, as Elizabeth had come to call the place they kept them, prisoner, until eventually, Elizabeth had realized that the screaming and kicking didn't do much good and simply wasted her energy. The energy was probably better saved for other things.

"One moment, Miranda," Tessa said. The maid bobbed an awkward curtsy and went out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Elizabeth rose to her feet dusting off her dress and holding out a hand for her sister. Tessa rose and glanced around before staring grimly at the door.

The room that had been held prisoner was small, with flowered wallpaper, and sparsely furnished—a plain deal table with a white lace cloth over it where the girls ate their meals; the two narrow brass beds where they slept; the cracked washstand and porcelain jug for their ablutions; the windowsill where Tessa and Elizabeth stacked their books, and the small chair where Tessa sat each night and wrote letters to their brother—letters Elizabeth knew she could never send, letters Tessa kept hidden under her mattress where the Dark Sisters would not find them. Elizabeth knew it was Tessa's way of keeping a diary and of assuring herself, somehow, that she would see Nate again someday and be able to give them to him.

Elizabeth crossed the room to the mirror that hung against the far wall and smoothed down her hair. The Dark Sisters, as they seemed to wish to be called, preferred them not to look messy, although they didn't appear to mind her appearance one way or the other past that—which was fortunate because her reflection made her wince. There was the pale oval of her face dominated by hollow light blue, almost grey, eyes—a shadowed face without colour in its cheeks or hope in its expression. She wore the unflattering black schoolmarmish dress that the Sisters had given her and her sister once they'd arrived; their trunks had never followed them, despite the Dark Sister's promises, and this was now the only piece of clothing she owned. At least she still had her lip rouge. If they took that away, Elizabeth would chop their fingers off one by one and burn them.

Nate, with his fair good looks, was the one in the family generally agreed to have inherited her mother's beauty, Elizabeth was perfectly content with her steady brown hair, like her sister's,  and light blue, nearly grey, eyes. Too bad she was also tall like her sister—taller than most of the boys her age, it was true, but Aunt Harriet had always said that as long as a tall woman carried herself well, she would forever look regal.

She didn't look regal now, though. She looked pinched and bedraggled and altogether like a tired squirrel. She hated it.

Elizabeth Gray had seldom shown her face outside unless she looked at least decent. Looking like a dehydrated mouse wasn't decent.

The click of the lock cut her thoughts off abruptly. The door opened; Miranda stood on the threshold. "It is time to come with me now," she said. "Mrs Black and Mrs Dark are waiting."

Elizabeth looked at her in distaste. She couldn't guess how old Miranda was. Nineteen? Twenty-five? There was something ageless about her smooth round face. Her hair was the colour of ditch water, pulled back harshly behind her ears. Exactly like the Dark Sisters' coachman, she had eyes that protruded like a frog's and made her look like she was permanently surprised.

Tessa grasped at Elizabeth's hand tightly. "Never, even at the last moment, bow your head to them. Or you will be showing those large-eyed frogs that they have power over you. " Elizabeth whispered to Tessa. Her sister looked at her with a mixture of brooding and determination. "For you, yes," Tessa whispered back.

As they went downstairs together, Miranda marching along with her graceless, clipped gait, Tessa raised her hand to touch the chain around her throat where the clockwork angel hung and Elizabeth walked behind Tessa protectively as if Miranda were to make any sudden moves, Elizabeth would chop her head off.

They passed landing after landing. There were several levels of corridors to the Dark House, though Elizabeth had seen nothing of it but the Dark Sisters' chambers, the halls and stairs, and her room. Finally, they reached the shadowed cellar. It was dank down here, the walls clammy with unpleasant moisture, though apparently, the Sisters didn't mind. Their office was ahead, through a set of wide double doors. A narrow corridor led away in the other direction, vanishing into darkness; Elizabeth had no idea what lay down that hallway, but something about the thickness of the shadows made her glad she had never found out.

The doors to the Sisters' office were open. Miranda didn't hesitate but clomped inside, Tessa following after her with great reluctance and Elizabeth following close behind. She hated this room more than any other place on earth.

To begin with, it was always hot and wet inside, like a swamp, even when the skies outside were grey and rainy. The walls seemed to seep moisture, and the upholstery on the seats and sofas was always blooming with mould. It smelled strange as well, like the banks of the Hudson on a hot day: water and garbage and silt.

The Sisters were already there, as they always were, seated behind their enormous raised desk. They were their usual colourful selves, Mrs Black in a dress of vibrant salmon pink and Mrs Dark in a gown of peacock blue. Above the brilliantly coloured satins, their faces were like deflated grey balloons. They both wore gloves despite how hot the room was.

"Leave us now, Miranda," said Mrs Black, who was spinning the heavy brass globe they kept on the desk with one plump, white-gloved finger. Elizabeth had many times tried to get a better look at the globe—something about the way the continents were laid out had never looked quite right to her, especially the space in the centre of Europe—but the sisters always kept her away from it. "And shut the door behind you."

Expressionless, Miranda did as asked. Tessa's hand tightened on Elizabeth's as the door shut behind them, closing off what little breeze there was in this airless place.

Mrs Dark tilted her head to the side. "Come here, Theresa." Of the two women, she was the more kind—more likely to wheedle and persuade than her sister, who liked to convince with slaps and hissed threats. "And take this."

She held something out: a dilapidated bit of pink fabric tied in a bow, the sort that might be used as a girl's hair ribbon

"Take this," said Mrs Dark again, a hint of impatience in her voice. "And Change."

Tessa could take the form of someone if she had an object of theirs, Elizabeth on the other hand could only change if she knew what that someone looked like.

Tessa bent over with the bow, when she looked up she was different. Her new body was slight, almost frail, and the fabric of her dress hung loose, pooling on the floor at her feet. Her hands, clasped in front of her, were pale and thin, with chapped tips and bitten nails.

"What is your name?" Mrs Black demanded. She had risen to her feet and was looking down at Tessa with her pale eyes burning. She looked almost hungry

The girl whose skin she wore answered for her, speaking through her the way spirits were said to speak through their mediums—but Elizabeth knew Tessa hated to think about it that way; the change was so much more intimate, so much more frightening, than that. "Emma," the voice that came from Tessa said. "Miss Emma Bayliss, ma'am."

"And who are you, Emma Bayliss?"

The voice replied, words tumbling out of Tessa's mouth, bringing strong images with them. Born in Cheapside, Emma had been one of six children. Her father was dead, and her mother sold

peppermint water from a cart in the East End. Emma had learned to sew to bring in money when she was still a small child. Nights, she spent sitting at the little table in her kitchen, sewing seams by the light of a tallow candle. Sometimes, when the candle burned down and there was no money for another, she would go out into the streets and sit below one of the municipal gas lamps, using its light to sew by...

"Is that what you were doing out on the street the night you died, Emma Bayliss?" asked Mrs Dark. She was smiling thinly now, running her tongue over her lower lip, as if she could sense what the answer would be.

For a moment Tessa froze, then the Change shattered like glass. With a cry Tessa fell to her knees, the torn little bow falling from her hand.

Mrs Black's voice came. "Theresa? Where is Emma?"

"She's dead," Tessa whispered. "She died in an alley—bled to death."

"Now Elizabeth, now that you have seen Emma, you will Turn into her and explain in great detail how she died," said Mrs Dark. Tessa looked to her sister with great horror. Elizabeth winced slightly. "Yes, Mrs Dark," she muttered.

She tried to recall Emma's frail body, light blonde hair and blue eyes. She closed her eyes.

She could feel the change in her body, she was no longer Elizabeth Gray, she was Emma Bayliss. She was in someone else's body, she had her mind but she could also peer into Emma's.

Elizabeth saw narrow, shadowy streets, wrapped in thick fog, a silver needle working by faint yellow gaslight.

She opened her mouth to speak. "Hands reached out of the shadows and took hold of her shoulders, hands that dragged her, screaming, into the darkness. The needle and thread fell from her hands, the bows ripped from her hair as she struggled. A harsh voice shouting something angry. And then the silver blade of a knife flashed down through the dark, slicing into her skin, drawing out the blood. Pain that was like fire, and terror like nothing else she'd ever known. She kicked out at the man holding her, succeeding in knocking the dagger from his hand; she caught the blade and ran, stumbling as she weakened, the blood draining out of her fast, so fast. She crumpled in an alley, hearing the hissing scream of something behind her. She knew it was following her, and she was hoping to die before it reached her—" Elizabeth gasped unable to go on. She fell, the Turning slowly fading away and melting back into her features.

Features she shared with Tessa.

"Good." Mrs Dark exhaled, a sound of satisfaction. "Well done, Elizabeth. That was very good."

Elizabeth said nothing. The front of her dress was splotched with blood, but there was no pain. She knew it was not her blood; it wasn't the first time this had happened. The Turn left her a bit dizzy at first and drained her, she had gotten more used to it but the dizziness remained.

"We should have had them do this before," said Mrs Black. "The matter of the Bayliss girl has been bothering me."

Mrs Dark's reply was curt. "I wasn't sure they were up to it. You remember what happened with the Adams woman."

Elizabeth knew immediately what they were talking about. Weeks ago Tessa had Changed into a woman who had died of a gunshot wound to the heart; blood had poured down her dress and she had Changed back immediately, screaming in hysterical terror until Elizabeth had made her see that she was unharmed.

"They've advanced wonderfully since then, don't you think, Sister?" Mrs Black said. "Given what we had to work within the beginning—they didn't even know what they were."

"Indeed, they were unformed clay," Mrs Dark agreed. "We have truly worked a miracle here. I can't see how the Magister could fail to be pleased."

Mrs Black gave a little gasp. "Does that mean—Do you think it's time?"

"Oh, absolutely, my dear sister. She's as ready as she'll ever be. It's time for our Theresa to meet her master." There was a gloating note in Mrs Dark's voice, a sound so unpleasant that it cut through Elizabeth'sblinding dizziness. What were they talking about? Who was the Magister? She watched through lowered eyelashes as Mrs Dark jerked the silk bellpull that would summon Miranda to come and take Tessa and Elizabeth back to their room. It appeared that the lesson was over for today.

"Perhaps tomorrow," Mrs Black said, "or even tonight. If we told the Magister she was ready, I can not imagine he would not hurry here without delay."

Mrs Dark, stepping out from behind the desk, chuckled. "I understand that you're eager to be paid for all our work, dear sister. But Theresa must not be simply ready. She must be ... presentable as well as able. Don't you agree?"

Mrs Black, following her sister, muttered a response that was cut short as the door opened and Miranda came in. She wore the same dull look as ever. The sight of Tessa and Elizabeth crouched and bloody on the floor seemed to occasion no surprise in her. Then again, Elizabeth thought, she had probably seen far worse in this room.

"Take the girls back up to their room, Miranda." The eagerness was gone from Mrs Black's voice, and she was all brusqueness again. "Get the things—you know, the ones we showed you—and get Theresa dressed and ready, as for Elizabeth make her presentable as well I doubt Theresa would leave without her sister. "

"The things ... you showed me?" Miranda sounded blank.

Mrs Dark and Mrs Black exchanged a disgusted look, and approached Miranda, blocking Elizabeth's view of the girl. Elizabeth heard them whispering to her, and caught a few words—"dresses" and "wardrobe room" and "do what you can to make them look pretty," and then finally, Elizabeth heard the rather cruel, "I'm not sure Miranda is clever enough to obey vague instructions of that sort, sister."

Make them look pretty. But what did they care whether they looked pretty or not when they could force them to look any way they wanted? What did it matter what their true appearance was? And why would the Magister care? Though, it was very clear from the Sisters' behaviour that they believed he would

Mrs Black swept from the room, her sister following behind her, as she always did. At the door, Mrs Dark paused, and looked back at Tessa. "Do remember, Theresa," she said, "that this day—this very night—is what all of our preparation has been for." She took hold of her skirts in both bony hands and turned to Elizabeth. "Do not fail us."

She let the door bang shut behind her. Tessa flinched at the noise, but Miranda, as always, seemed utterly unaffected. In all the time that she had passed in the Dark House, Elizabeth had never been able to startle the other girl or surprise an unguarded expression out of her.

"Come," Miranda said. "We must go upstairs now."

Tessa rose to her feet, slowly. Elizabeth put her hand in her sister's and they exchanged a glance. Her life in the Dark House had been horrible, but she had—she realized now—grown almost used to it. She had known what to expect each day. She had known the Dark Sisters were preparing her for something, but she had not known what that something was. She had believed—naively, perhaps—that they wouldn't kill her. Why waste all this training on her if she was only going to die?

But something in Mrs Dark's gloating tone gave her pause. Something had changed. They had achieved what they wanted with her. They were going to be "paid." But who was going to do the paying?

"Come," Miranda said again. "We must get you ready for the Magister."

"Miranda," Tessa said. She spoke softly, the way she might have spoken to a nervous cat. Elizabeth nudged her sister. Miranda had never answered a question of the sisters' before, but that didn't mean it wasn't worth trying. "Who is the Magister?"

There was a long silence. Miranda stared straight ahead, her doughy face impassive. Then, to Elizabeth'ssurprise, she spoke. "The Magister is a very great man," she said. "It will be an honour for you when you are married to him."

"Married?" Tessa echoed. She turned to Elizabeth in horror and shock. "Me? But—who is he?"

"He is a very great man," Miranda said again. "It will be an honour." She moved toward Tessa. "You must come with me now."

"No." Tessa backed away from the other girl, retreating until the small of her back struck painfully against the desk.

Elizabeth looked around desperately. They could run, but they'd never get past Miranda to the door; there were no windows, no doors to other rooms. If they hid behind the desk, Miranda would simply drag them out and haul them to their room. "Miranda, please."

"You must come with me now," Miranda repeated; she had almost reached Tessa. Tessa could see herself reflected in the black pupils of the other girl's eyes, could smell the faint, bitter, almost charred smell that clung to Miranda's clothes and skin. "You must —"

With a strength she didn't know she possessed, Elizabeth seized the base of the brass globe on the desk, lifted it, and swung it with all her might at Miranda's head.

It connected with a sickening sound. Miranda reeled back—and then straightened. Elizabeth shrieked and dropped the globe, staring—the whole left side of Miranda's face was crushed in like a paper mask that had been smashed flat on one side. Her cheekbone was flattened, her lip mashed against her teeth. But there was no blood, no blood at all

"You must come with me now," Miranda said, in the same flat tone she always used.

Tessa looked ready to scream, she glanced at Elizabeth with panicked grey eyes.

"You must come—you m-must—you—you—you—yyyyyyyyyyyyy—" Miranda's voice shuddered and broke, degenerating into a stream of gibberish. She moved toward Tessa, then jerked to the side, twitching and stumbling. Tessa turned from the desk and began to back away as the injured girl spun, faster and faster. She reeled across the room like a staggering drunk, still shrieking, and crashed into the far wall—which seemed to stun her. She collapsed to the ground and lay still.

Tessa and Elizabeth raced to the door, hand in hand, and out into the corridor beyond, pausing only once, just outside the room, to look back. It seemed, in that brief moment, as if a thread of black smoke were rising from Miranda'sprone body, but there was no time to stare. They darted down the hall, leaving the door hanging open behind them.

They dashed for the stairs and hurtled up them, Tessa nearly tripping over her skirts and banging her knee painfully on one of the steps. She cried out and scrambled on, up to the first landing, where they dashed into the corridor. It stretched out ahead of them, long and curving, disappearing into shadows. As they raced down it, Elizabeth saw that it was lined with doors. She paused and tried one, but it was locked, and so was the next one, and the next after that.

Another set of stairs led down at the end of the hallway. Tessa and Elizabeth raced down them and found herself in an entryway. It looked as if it had once been grand—the floor was cracked and stained marble, and high windows on either side were shielded with curtains. A little bit of light spilt through the lace, illuminating an enormous front door. Tessa dived for the knob, seized it, and flung the door open.

There was a narrow cobblestoned street beyond, with rows of terraced houses lining either side. The smell of the city hit Tessa like a blow—it had been so long since she'd breathed outside air. It was close to dark, the sky the dimming blue of twilight, obscured by smudges of fog. In the distance, she could hear voices, the cries of children playing, the clop of horses' hooves. But here the street was nearly deserted, save for a man leaning against a nearby gas lamp, reading a newspaper by its light

Elizabeth turned to her sister. "Are you hurt?" she asked, looking at Tessa's knee. "I'll live." Tessa breathed out.

"Wait here," Elizabeth muttered and dashed down the steps and toward the stranger, catching him by the sleeve. "Please, sir—if you could help me—"

He turned and looked down at her.

Elizabeth stifled a scream. His face was as white and waxy as it had been the first time she'd seen him, at the dock in Southampton; his bulging eyes still reminded her of Miranda's, and his teeth gleamed like metal when he grinned.

It was the Dark Sisters' coachman.

Elizabeth turned to run, but it was already too late.

∞

"You stupid girls," Mrs Black spat as she jerked tight the knots holding Elizabeth's wrists to her bedframe. "What did you think you were going to accomplish, running away like that? Where did you think you could go?"

Elizabeth said nothing, simply set her chin and looked toward the wall. She refused to let Mrs Black, another horrible sister, see how close she was to tears, or how much the ropes binding her ankles and wrists to the bed hurt.

Tessa was tied to her bed in the same manner, her sister stared at Elizabeth with concern.

"She is entirely insensible of the honour being done to her," said Mrs Dark, who was standing by Tessa's bed as if to make sure Tessa didn't rip free of her bonds and rush out through it. "It is disgusting to behold."

"We have done what we can for her to make her ready for the Magister," Mrs Black said, and sighed. "It a pity we had such dull clay to work with, despite her talent. She is a deceitful little fool. They both are."

"Indeed," agreed her sister. "They not realize, do they, what will happen to her brother if they tried to disobey us again? We might be willing to be lenient this time, but the next ..." She hissed through her teeth, a sound that made the hairs rise on the back of Elizabeth's neck. "Nathaniel will not be so fortunate."

"If you told me who the Magister was, or what he wants with me—" Tessa started.

"He wants to marry you, you little fool." Mrs Black finished with the knots, stepped back to admire her handiwork. "He wants to give you everything."

"But why?" Tessa whispered. "Why me? Why not someone else?"

"Because of your talent," Mrs Dark said. "Because of what you are and what you can do. What we trained you to do. He does not want Elizabeth, but we trained both of you in favour of you. You should be grateful to us."

"Ouch," Elizabeth muttered. She didn't know if it was for what Mrs Dark said, or because of the rope.

"But my brother," Tessa said, her voice broke a little. "You told me that if I did everything you said, you'd let him go—"

"Once you marry the Magister, he'll give you whatever you want. If that's your brother, he'll give it to you." There was no remorse or emotion in Mrs Black's voice.

Mrs Dark chuckled. "I know what she's thinking. She's thinking that if she could have whatever she wanted, she'd have us killed."

"Don't waste your energy even imagining the possibility." Mrs Black chucked Tessa under the chin."We have an ironclad contract with the Magister. He can never harm us, nor would he want to. He owes us everything, for giving him you." She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. "He wants you healthy and intact. If he didn't, I'd have you beaten bloody. If you dare disobey us again, I'll defy his wishes and have you whipped until your skin peels off. Do you understand?"

And to Elizabeth's great pride, her sister turned to look at the wall leaving the bitches with no answer.

A small smile tugged at her lips.

∞