“Oh,” said Arabella, startled but pleased. “You’re the boy from yesterday. Jem, wasn’t it?”
All of Jem appeared around the door, laden basket in arms. He carried it to the table and dropped it with a grunt.
“Did Trey—um, Lord St. Ash send you?” Arabella asked as Jem shut the door.
The boy held up his right thumb, with a flickering blue rune wrapped around it. “Aye, if that’s the gent’s name. Everyone else at the spook ’ouse just calls ’im Shield.” Jem surveyed Arabella critically. “Ye’ve faded,” he announced.
“I suppose I have,” said Arabella calmly, examining the child with equal interest. Scrubbed and cleaned, Jem turned out to have straw-colored hair that flopped down over bright blue eyes. The bones of his face were rather fine, and a sudden awareness flashed through Arabella.
“They’re treating you well at the Phantasm Bureau?” she queried. The child wore a too-big rough coat, but it was clean and warm. She noted with approval his shoes and the red mittens peeking out from the coat pockets.
Jem shrugged a shoulder. “Me belly’s full and me body’s warm. Can’t ask for more.”
“You don’t have to stay there forever,” said Arabella. “Have you thought about school?”
“Book learnin’.” Jem made a face and flapped a dismissive hand.
“Is good for you,” Arabella completed. “If you wanted to, I’m sure Tr—they would let you. I know a charity school you could go to.”
“Don’t need yer ’elp, miss,” said Jem gruffly, unpacking the basket and laying out meat pies, apples, butter, and eggs.
“Not at the moment,” Arabella agreed. “But you can’t stay in that disguise forever, you know.”
Jem shot Arabella a hard glare. Arabella matched it with a direct one of her own.
Jem heaved a sigh. “What gave it away?” she said, resigned. “Was it wimmin’s wit? Me ma could see right through a body, she could.”
Arabella hid a smile. “I think it was because you reminded me of myself.”
Jem looked disbelieving. “I s’ppose ye’ll tell the coves at the spook ’ouse, eh?”
Arabella shook her head. “No. I hope you will yourself someday. I won’t pry into why you’re dressed up as a boy, but I want you to know I’m ready to help you—if you should need it someday.”
“Like when I get a bosom and such,” said the forthright Jem.
“Among other things.”
“Huh. Ye really mean it.” Arabella tried to radiate sympathy as Jem eyed her. “I thought ye were just a mawkish sort.”
“I’ve been cold and hungry and scared before,” said Arabella, low-voiced. We’re more alike than you know.
“Well, I’ll think ‘bout it,” said Jem magnanimously. “Though why ye’re worrit about me is beyond me ken. Seems like ye got yer own troubles.”
Arabella’s spirits sank a little at this brutal assessment. “Lord St. Ash has the situation well in hand,” she said, as much to reassure herself as Jem.
“No, he ain’t,” continued the relentless realist. “I ’eard him tell the cove who used to be head o’ the spook ’ouse that the cove who’s head now told him to exorcise you Sat’rday mornin’. Was right worrit about it, he was.”
Arabella untangled this confidence. “August Winter wants to banish me to the Shadow Lands?”
“Aye,” confirmed Jem. “Only he don’t know Mister Shield’s got you locked up here, jest that yer people have yer body. If he did—” Jem made a macabre, throat-cutting gesture.
A nervous hollow feeling gnawed at Arabella. She had till tomorrow morning? And Trey was the one who’d have to exorcise her?
He wouldn’t—would he?
“Huh,” said Jem again. “Yer as white as a sheet. Didn’t think bogeys could get that pale. Mebbe I shouldn’t have told ye that, but I figure a girl’s gotta know.” Her young-old eyes challenged Arabella. “Whatcha gonna do, miss?”
Going to do? Arabella could think of several grisly methods of prolonging her own existence in Vaeland. No doubt Trey’s books upstairs could give her many more. A place like Lumen had to have its share of necromancers and witches alike. She could walk out right now and take matters into her own hands.
But how far was she willing to go?
And how much faith was she going to put in Trevelyan Shield?
“Going to do?” Arabella said aloud brightly. She smiled at Jem. “Do you know how to bake a cake?”
Jem had been gone for hours by the time Arabella heard the snick of a key turning in a lock, the rasp of the door, and Trey’s firm step in the hallway. She sat with her elbows on the table, her chin propped up in her hands. The pose was harder than it looked—with her lack of substance, it was too easy to sink into a bench.
The fire that Jem had built in the oven had died to a few glowing embers.
Trey stood in the kitchen doorway, still in his top coat and hat, and stared at the row of cakes in front of Arabella. “You’ve been busy.”
“I gave Jem half,” said Arabella, “but you may have the rest.”
Trey approached the table, stripping off his gloves. He lifted one of the golden-brown cakes. “Did Jem make these?” Wariness tinged his tone.
“We both did,” said Arabella. She spread out her translucent hands in front of her. “These will interact with the corporeal world, but it’s hard.”
“From ghost to pokey in one day? Impressive.” Trey took a bite of cake. His expression changed. “This is good!”
“Of course it is,” said Arabella tartly. “I supervised, after all. It would taste even better if you kept honey in the house.”
Trey brushed off the criticism. “Stocking the larder is Nat’s job. Hmm, I see Jem brought those meat pies, though one is missing.”
“Jem’s payment for running your errands.” Arabella gave a benevolent smile. “I said he could take one.”
“Please, do not scruple to make yourself at ease in my home,” said Trey dryly.
“Thank you, but I’d rather not.” Arabella tilted her head and regarded him gravely. “Did you find Lord Atwater?”
“Led me on a merry chase all day.” Trey took another cake. “Chin up,
