“Well...” Dora said slowly. “If you cannot steal back my soul directly, then I am not entirely certain of the possibilities that remain.”
“Oh, plenty,” Elias said distractedly. “We might try stealing it back from afar. We might even try regrowing it—this has never happened before, so who knows what might be possible? I will have to continue researching and thinking on it, but I will let you know when I have something new to try.”
Dora glanced past Elias at the book on his writing desk. “You have other things to worry about, of course,” she said. “Are you truly investigating a plague?”
The darkness she had seen in him before returned abruptly, settling upon him like a heavy cloak, and Dora found that she regretted the words. “I am,” Elias said. “But it’s none of your concern.” Dora felt the finality in his voice, and she knew that he had finished with their conversation. “You should go to bed, Miss... Dora.”
“I would, Elias,” Dora told him evenly. “But I have no idea just yet how to stop scrying.”
That earned a slight twitch of his mouth, at least. “You’ll want to focus on yourself, and not on me,” Elias said. “Think on your actual surroundings, and the real sensations that you feel.”
Dora tried to do as he asked. She turned her attention inward; she tried to imagine the hardness of the mirror in her hand and the feel of the soft bed beneath her. But her mind wandered inattentively away, and she found herself soon wondering instead what a faerie like Lord Hollowvale might see when they looked at her, if she was indeed missing half her soul. Would the strands of her soul be ragged and torn? Perhaps it would simply be dull and colourless, like her other eye—
“Dora,” Elias said dryly. “You are still here.”
Dora blinked. “Oh,” she said. “I’m very sorry. I’m afraid that focusing on myself is actually quite difficult.”
Elias shook his head. “I see. Well... for the meantime, at least, I suppose I can offer you a push.” He raised one hand, and Dora felt a kind of tug at her chest. He shooed at her with his fingers...
...and she found herself sitting back on her bed at the townhouse, staring down into a silver-backed mirror.
Chapter 7
Dora was roused from bed the next day bright and early. One of the maids began getting her ready as though she were supposed to go out somewhere, but the servant either could not or would not tell her where it was she was going. At least, Dora thought, she was wearing one of her more practical dresses, and she was allowed to don the sturdier set of half-boots she had brought with her from the country, rather than those awkward pattens.
For just a moment, Dora found herself wondering whether Elias had shown up and bullied his way past the countess again. The idea of spending the morning with him sparked a vague interest in her that she could not quite pin down.
That spark withered disappointingly, however, when Dora came downstairs to find Albert in the morning room with Auntie Frances and the countess, and another woman that she did not immediately recognize. Albert was himself dressed in very practical clothing, and he had his physician’s bag with him. He was chatting very amiably with the two hens and the third woman, but Dora could not help hearing the note of impatience in his voice as she entered the room.
“...absolutely not fit for a lady,” Albert was saying. “I have argued the matter with my mother at length now, but she refuses to understand how different this is from her own charity work.”
“Your concern is most touching,” Auntie Frances replied with a polite smile. “But you will find that our dear Dora is unusually resilient. Her affection for those in need is so strong that it allows her to persevere where other ladies might wither.”
This lie was so outrageous that Dora nearly laughed. But she cleared her throat delicately instead, clasping her hands in front of her. “How lovely to see you, Mr Lowe,” she said. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Albert shot her a rueful look. “Miss Ettings,” he greeted her. “My mother informs me that you are most eager to help me in my charity work today.” Dora could tell from Albert’s tone that he knew very well just who had been so eager to arrange this whole thing, and that it had not, in fact, been her. “I thought I might try one last time to argue against such an idea. I am slated to go somewhere very unpleasant today.”
Dora smiled apologetically. “I am not bothered by unpleasantness,” she said, since Auntie Frances and the countess were watching her like a hawk. “I will do my best not to be a nuisance to your work.”
Albert sighed heavily. “I will not further impede this arrangement, then,” he said. “Lest my mother cook up something even more far-fetched.” He got to his feet and offered out an arm to Dora, who took it obligingly.
“Miss Henrietta Jennings will be accompanying you as a chaperone,” the countess said, and Dora looked over at the third woman, who had been keeping very silent until now. “I am afraid that Lady Lockheed and I are otherwise engaged today, but Miss Jennings was my daughter’s governess at one time, and she will be a fine substitute in our absence.”
Miss Jennings—a neatly-kept brunette in her thirties—did not look terribly pleased by this arrangement. But she rose to her feet as well and inclined her head towards Albert and Dora. “I am sure that there is nothing to worry about while Miss Ettings is engaged in charity work,” Miss Jennings said. “But I shall be about for the sake of
