This is a short story I wrote for my Advanced Fiction Writing class. I hope you enjoy!
July 22, 1883
My dearest Alice,
I want to tell you that I’m doing all right. That I’m content living out of this cramped little train car I bought from the conductor, sleeping on a bedroll on the hard floor. But the truth is, I miss you terribly, and that has cast every aspect of this situation in a cloud of darkness that I can’t seem to dispel, no matter how hard I try.
I think you’d chide me for being melodramatic. Claire certainly has. And I suppose of everyone, she’s one of the most qualified to criticize me, considering she knows everything I’ve put into this endeavor. Still, her words hurt. She thinks she holds some moral high ground over me, that I’m doing the wrong thing here. And I know that my actions haven’t been… fantastic. I hate to tell you that we’re essentially broke now. It’s difficult for me to even pen those words. But I have to believe this money is going toward something good. Otherwise…
This will be worth it, I promise you. I will see you again soon, my love.
Edward
#
There was a knock on the door connecting Edward’s car to the rest of the train a few moments after he set down his pen. He quickly set the letter to the side and shoved the book into the drawer of his writing desk, then called, “Come in.”
The door slid open and Nick stepped in, holding a small wooden box. The boy set it down in front of Edward, grinning. “I solved it.”
“Good for you.” Edward examined the puzzle box—sure enough, Nick had managed to open it. The peppermint candy that had been inside was already gone. He’d probably devoured it immediately. “Took you two days, though.”
Nick’s lips pursed, and he crossed his arms. “I still solved it eventually,” he said. “Do you have another?”
Edward sighed and rubbed his eyes, then reset the box with a practiced hand. “Don’t you have other things to be doing? Puzzle boxes can’t be your only source of entertainment.”
“I’ve been on this damn train for two months. I can only challenge other passengers to card games so many times before they start getting mad at me for taking all their money.”
Edward let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. He admired the boy’s brash spirit—it reminded him of himself at that age. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing, though. Seventeen-year-old Edward had been deeply reckless…
“Come back tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll have a new one ready.”
Nick smiled, crooked teeth showing through his lips, and bobbed his head a few times. “Thanks, Eddie.”
“It’s Edward. We’ve been over this.”
Nick rolled his eyes, but tipped his cap and disappeared back through the door.
Edward tucked the puzzle box away next to a few others that he’d assembled over the past month since boarding the train and meeting Nick. It was a calming activity for him, something he’d learned to do when his daughter was young. He would fill them with sweets or tiny toys or jewelry, and would watch as Rosamund played with the slides and catches of the wooden box until it finally popped open. He always loved the way her eyes lit up when she solved them.
He missed his daughter. He’d taken the last bit of their money and enrolled her in a boarding school before leaving on this trip; he knew it would be difficult for her to write to him, considering his constant state of motion, but he wished he could know that she was doing all right.
Edward had to keep reminding himself that he would be home soon. A few more months at most. Then he could see his family again.
He picked up the letter to his wife and carefully folded it, then placed it in the desk drawer and took the book out again. He opened it to the page he’d bookmarked, taking extreme care not to damage the brittle, yellow pages and faded ink. The words were more than familiar at this point—he’d memorized it weeks ago—but reading over them helped keep him centered. It helped him remember that he had a purpose here, that this wasn’t all in vain.
He would be home soon.
#
August 1, 1883
My dearest Alice,
Nick solved another puzzle box today. I’m running out of materials to make more… I’ll have to find something else to give him, considering I don’t think he’ll stop pestering me until I do.
He’s a good kid. He’s had a hard life—a lot like the one I lived with Claire, honestly. At least he has kept some of that youthful spirit still. He hasn’t let the harsh realities of the world break him.
Claire sent me a photograph of little Oliver; I received it when the train stopped for supplies in Glenwood Springs. I’m glad I had the foresight to give her my itinerary ahead of time, despite the majority of her letter being yet more criticism. I chose to focus on Oliver instead. Our nephew is growing so big, I’m not sure you’d even recognize him now. He’s the spitting image of Claire when she was a toddler.
We’ll be heading south to Leadville soon. I’ll find the silver I need there, theoretically by mining. I’ve never had to do such labor before, but I’m sure it can’t be that difficult.
Nick is filled with unreasonable dreams of striking it rich there. I should tell him that there are more dangers than he’s anticipating, that it’s incredibly unlikely he’ll find even enough to cover his travel there. But I would hate to destroy his hopes like that, and I doubt it would make a difference regardless. He’s a headstrong child. Stubborn.
Yes, I’m aware of the hypocritical nature of that statement.
I will keep you in my mind and heart as we near Leadville. With love,
Edward
#
Edward stared blankly out at the rapidly passing landscape through the dirt encrusted window, his hand resting on the folded letter. The window had been sealed shut by paint or rust or the elements, so he couldn’t even enjoy the summer breeze. How much longer would he be stuck here? If he couldn’t find the supplies he needed in Leadville…
The weight of that thought settled over him like a lead blanket. He shivered despite the heat, then reached for the bottle of whiskey he’d stolen from a shop in Glenwood Springs. He had been terrified of getting caught the entire time, but he didn’t have the money for it at this point. And it had been surprisingly easy, despite the decades since he’d last done something like that. The old instincts had taken over.
He took a drink, the alcohol burning his throat and settling in his stomach as a ball of heat. The last time he’d stolen anything had been with Claire, after they found the book and were using it to accrue their respective fortunes. It would be far too risky for him to try those old strategies again now, though.
Edward lowered himself to the floor, bottle still in hand, and pushed his bedroll aside to reveal the compartment he’d built into the floor during the journey. He had needed to be surreptitious about it—he was sure the actual owner of the train, with this car included, wouldn’t be particularly happy if they found out about this little carpentry project. He’d added a simple but effective locking mechanism, not too dissimilar from those built into the puzzle boxes. He moved a few sliding pieces in careful order, revealing a small keyhole. He inserted the key, then opened the trapdoor.
He ran his fingers over the gems inside the compartment. A large ruby, sapphire, emerald, topaz, and diamond—gems he had spent hundreds of dollars to acquire over the last few months. Rosamund didn’t know that they were bought using almost all of their wealth. He would have to tell her eventually…
The uncut gems sparkled mesmerizingly in the lamplight of the car, and he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. He took another deep drink. All of this would be worth it…
Edward almost choked on a mouthful of whiskey when he heard a knock on his door. He coughed a few times, the alcohol dribbling down his shirt to create an embarrassing stain on the white cloth, and quickly closed up the compartment. He stood and used his foot to drag the bedroll over it again, then set the bottle on the desk and opened the door.
“You all right, Eddie?” Nick asked, head cocked. Standing like that, with his straw-colored hair and big eyes, he somehow gave the impression of a curious golden retriever.
Edward nodded. “I’m fine. Do you need something?”
He shrugged. “I was bored,” he said. “Can I come in?”
Edward stepped aside to allow him in. He saw Nick’s eyes immediately lock onto the whiskey bottle, and the boy moved a bit closer to it.
“May I—”
“No.” Edward snatched the bottle away from him. “You’re too young.”
Nick pouted, that golden retriever look growing more pronounced. “I’m almost twenty-one…”
“No you aren’t. Don’t lie.”
“C’mon, Eddie, I never get to drink…”
Edward shook his head. “And you’re not going to now.”
Nick sighed dramatically and flopped down on the bedroll. Edward tensed, clenching his hands behind his back. The trapdoor was seamless, though—there was no way Nick would be able to know it was there, even if he did move the bedroll.
“Do you have any new puzzles?” Nick asked, leaning back against the wall.
“You know those aren’t easy to make, right? They take time and materials.”
“I know…” He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “The other passengers are getting annoyed with me.”
Understandably… Edward thought. Nick was a nice kid, but he did know how to push people’s buttons. He grabbed the bottle and sat beside the boy. “You’re not annoying, Nick.”
“I appreciate it, but you don’t have to pretend. It’s simply a fact that I’m living with.” He gave a half-smile. “Thanks for putting up with me. And making stuff for me.”
“I don’t mind. My daughter solved all the designs I know a few years ago—I’ve had to get more creative with my inventions to challenge her. It’s nice to go back to something more simplistic.”
Nick cocked his head. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
He nodded. “Rosamund. She’s a few years younger than you. As brilliant as her mother, and as kind as her, too. And she luckily never inherited any of my bad traits.” He chuckled dryly.
Nick was quiet for a moment. “Why didn’t you bring them with you? I’d kill to have family to travel with.”
Edward’s stomach twisted, and he could taste the slightest bit of whiskey try to force its way back up his throat. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment.
The truth was, he couldn’t face Rosamund right now. The last time they’d spoken, she had fought with him over being sent away to school, and he hadn’t been able to satisfactorily explain why he’d needed to make that decision. The image of her tearstained face was indelibly marked in his mind now.
Edward took a drink, then glanced over at Nick again, deciding to dodge the question. “You hustle people at cards, yes?”
The boy flushed slightly. “I don’t hustle… I’m just good.”
Edward pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly with the movement of the train, and grabbed a deck of cards from a desk drawer. He sat back down and shuffled the deck, slapping Nick’s hand away from the whiskey bottle as he tried to surreptitiously take it. Nick smiled guiltily.
“What’s your game of choice?” Edward asked.
“Hearts,” he said. “Though you usually need at least three people.”
“We’ll make it work.” He dealt the hands and started the game.
Nick was good. Edward was better.
When he lost the round, Nick looked dumbstruck. He folded his arms, staring down at the pile of cards. “I can’t remember the last time I lost. And you’re drunk.”
Edward chuckled and started gathering the cards up. “What, you think you’re the only one who can hustle cards?”
“Who are you?”
Edward fell silent. He knew the question was meant more as a joke than anything, but… it was still a valid one. “Complicated,” he settled on saying.
Nick shook his head. “Good game, Eddie.”
“Edward.” He shuffled the deck. “Best two out of three?”
The corner of Nick’s lips twitched upward. “Sure.”
#
August 7, 1883
My dearest Alice,
Silver mining in Leadville is booming, as they say; though I fear the conditions here would be too harsh for my love. I would not wish to subject you to the patrons of this town. Everyone is rough and unclean—literally and metaphorically speaking. I couldn’t picture you here even if I wanted to.
You belong to a world of luxury. Beautiful dresses and the finest wines, friends to share amiable gossip with, a soft bed each night. More than that, you belong to a world that would treat you with the same kindness you always gave to others. There is none of that here.
It does make me smile to think of you going into some saloon with a basket of cookies, attempting to bring light to these sorry folks. I could never quite figure out how to hold that same optimism, that same faith in humanity.
I was going to rob your house when we met. You never knew that. You never knew that one smile from you changed the trajectory of my entire life.
But I digress.
I’m still to acquire the necessary amount of silver. The mining here is difficult labor, and most of the quarries are beginning to run low. This is to be expected, given the number of people draining them, but it’s making it difficult not to feel… discouraged. I know I’ll find some way of obtaining the silver, though. It just needs to be quick—the train departs again in two days.
I’ve attempted to stay close to Nick, as I fear for that poor boy. He’s still so insistent on mining for himself, but this work is so treacherous, and I’m afraid he’s going to get hurt. I know he has no family to return to, but he’s still barely more than a child. He has his whole life ahead of him. I don’t want to see him waste it.
I don’t know why I care so much. I barely know him. But I feel such strong obligation toward keeping him safe. I can’t let him die here. I can’t. If anything happens, I just know it would feel like my fault.
I’m beginning to run low on ink—I’ll need to buy more tomorrow. I will write again soon.
With love,
Edward
#
The slowly setting sun blazed down on Edward as he trudged from the mine to the train car. It was so intense that he could feel every inch of his exposed skin burning; he wasn’t used to being out in the elements like this. His throat was scratchy from the dust and smoke he’d been breathing in all day, and his hands and feet stung with blisters. He had known it would be difficult work, but he hadn’t expected his whole body to hurt so much.
He missed the life of comfort he’d settled into over the last decades. He missed his soft bed, and the feeling of waking up beside his wife every morning. He missed having breakfast with his daughter. He missed his life. He missed living.
Edward lowered himself onto his bedroll with a groan, picking up the almost empty whiskey bottle that he’d left on the floor. He opened the trapdoor in the floor and pulled out the bits of silver he had mined that day from his pockets, tucking the tiny chunks in between the gems. Then he tipped his head back and blinked away the beginnings of tears that were forming in his eyes.
This would work. They would find a way to live despite their new poverty. Rosamund might not understand at first, but she would come to. She would realize this was worth it.
But what would Alice say about it?
He shook his head quickly, pushing that thought away. It didn’t matter. This would be worth it in the end.
The sun was beginning to set outside, but that only served to remind him how early it still was. Was it too soon for him to sleep? Because that was all he really wanted right now. The sweet embrace of unconsciousness. No thoughts to crowd his mind, no pain in his body. No tears to come.
He made himself wait until it was dark enough that he needed a lantern to see—it was long enough that his whiskey finally ran out. He kicked off his boots but didn’t bother changing his clothes, seeing as he would just have to dress in them again tomorrow. Then, with his head foggy from drink and his limbs aching, he lay down and let sleep claim him.
#
Edward woke with a start in the middle of the night to a loud, frantic knocking at his door. He winced, his head pounding with each knock, and shakily pushed himself to his feet. “This had better be important, Nick,” he grumbled, lighting a lantern on the wall before sliding the door open.
The boy practically collided with him as he pushed his way into the room. His hands and face were covered in dirt, and his blond hair was plastered to his neck and forehead by sweat. He was beaming as he paced the room.
“I did it. I did it,” he said.
“Did what? And will you please just… sit down? Or stop moving? You’re making me dizzy.”
“Sorry.” Nick dropped to the floor, sitting cross-legged with his leg still bouncing beneath him. Then he reached into his leather satchel and pulled out a rock twice the size of his fist.
“Is that…?” Edward blinked a few times, hardly believing what he was seeing.
Nick nodded a few times rapidly, his grin growing wider. “The largest goddamn piece of silver you’ve ever seen. I worked all night because I thought I might have been onto a vein, and it paid off. I ran right here because I was terrified someone might have seen me with it…”
Edward couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He wanted to wrench his attention away, to stop feeling that deep, horrible hunger inside him, to just congratulate Nick and feel happy for the boy.
You could take it, a voice in his head whispered. He tried to shake it away, to silence it, but his fingers twitched toward the silver just slightly, and he knew his wide eyes had to be betraying him.
Nick didn’t seem to notice, though. He was rambling on about something, talking about where he’d found the silver and how he’d mined it, but Edward couldn’t listen. Nick’s words passed through his ears without him fully registering them—every sound seemed muted, in fact, like his ears were stuffed with cotton.
This was it. This, right here, in Nick’s hand. He had no idea what he was holding, no way of knowing the value of that rock. Nick held a life in his hands. Surely if he knew that, he would understand…
“Eddie?”
He snapped his attention up to Nick’s face. The boy was looking at him questioningly, a touch of concern in his eyes.
“Yes?” Edward said, clenching his hands behind his back.
“I asked if I could stay with you tonight. I… I don’t really feel safe anywhere else…”
“Oh— yes, of course. I’m sure I have some extra blankets…” He started looking through his suitcases to find one, using it as a distraction from the voice in his head that seemed to be ever loudening.
It would be the perfect opportunity. No one would ever know…
But how could I even take it without him noticing? He argued back. If he wakes up the next morning and it’s gone, he’ll know exactly what happened—
So make sure he doesn’t wake up.
He froze, hands clutching a crimson pocket square that he’d been moving aside when the thought struck. He couldn’t entertain that idea. He was desperate, but not desperate enough to resort to murder… right?
“You could put it in a puzzle box,” Edward said, carefully folding the pocket square and placing it back in his suitcase. “If you wanted an added precaution.”
“That’s— That’s a great idea, actually. I’m sure one of those old ones is big enough.”
Edward opened the cabinet that he kept the finished boxes and supplies in. “Take your pick.”
Nick knelt down and started parsing through them. Edward tried to focus on anything but how easy it would be to strike the boy down. He could not kill this child. He was innocent. He trusted Edward.
It would make him just as bad—worse, even—than those muggers on the street who had—
He shook his head, banishing that line of thinking.
Nick popped up with a box in his hand and that awful smile still on his lips. “Thank you, Eddie. Really.”
“Of course,” he whispered, turning away slightly.
And his eyes landed on his desk. On the locked drawer. The one that held the book.
That would work, too, the voice said.
It would. God, it would. Because it had worked before so many times when he and Claire were children, when they were making their fortunes with the book as a guide. Now, it would buy him time, give him a chance to leave Nick somewhere far away from this train car, a chance to hide the car and finally…
“You should rest,” Edward said, handing Nick a blanket. “You look exhausted.”
Nick laughed quietly. “Yeah, I think the only thing keeping me standing is the remaining rush…”
“Get some sleep, kid. You’ll get the rush right back tomorrow.”
Nick smiled and spread the blanket on the floor, tucking the puzzle box into his inside coat pocket and using his satchel as a pillow. “Thanks, Eddie.”
Edward couldn’t make his mouth reply, so he just blew out the lantern, plunging the room into darkness, and sat down on the stool by his desk. He waited until he heard Nick’s breathing slow and he started to snore softly, then lit a candle on the desk and unlocked the drawer, pulling out the book. The gold embossed sigil on the title-less cover glinted in the candlelight.
It took him a while to find the right page—he used to know this one almost by heart, but that was decades ago. He paused, his fingers resting on the pages. Come to think of it, he really hadn’t done anything like this in… fifteen years, now? Since before he met Alice. He’d been so young…
He’d stopped for her. He didn’t want her to see this side of him, despite how much a part of him it was. And then Rosamund had come, and that made his path even clearer. His child could never find out about this.
When Rosamund was born, he gave the book to his sister, with the promise that he would never touch it again. A few months ago, he’d asked for it back. Just for this one thing. And Claire had almost refused, claiming suddenly that this was bad and that they’d been corrupting their souls when they’d practiced as children. She caved eventually, but her words still stuck with him. Maybe it was wrong…
But he had to. It was the only way.
Edward found the page, then went to his trunk and pulled out the required materials from the myriad of items tucked inside: gold dust, a hemlock leaf, and a rat skull. He slowly, quietly, ground them up with a mortar and pestle, and brought the resulting powder over to Nick. He held the book open on his lap while he carefully sprinkled the powder over Nick’s form, and then he began to chant.
Nick wouldn’t die. He was certain of that. He would just be temporarily… absent. From his body.
As Edward whispered the words of the spell, the dust began to glow with soft blue light, and it slowly rose into the air, hovering just a few inches above Nick’s body. It swirled together, almost imperceptibly at first, then faster and faster until it was just a ball of light that rotated in the air. Nick’s soul, bright and pure.
The boy wouldn’t wake as long as it was removed, and he would have no memory of what had happened. It was more reliable than other ways of causing unconsciousness, and it lasted long enough to rob someone completely blind. That may not have been the intended purpose of the necromantic magic, but it was the one he and Claire had most often used it for.
He felt fatigue wash over him as he completed the spell, and his shoulders slumped slightly when he put the book down. He didn’t remember it being this exhausting…
Edward allowed himself a moment to catch his breath, then reached into Nick’s coat and pulled out the puzzle box, replacing it with an empty one. He opened up the trapdoor and placed the box with the silver inside, then relocked it as the ball of light began dimming. He would have to be quick about this.
He lifted the boy into his arms—Nick was short and scrawny enough that it didn’t take too much effort—and carried him out of the train car. The passenger car would be empty at this point, since most people who came here would be staying in camps near the mines or at a cheap hotel. It would be better to leave Nick in there, where he wouldn’t be accosted in his sleep, than outside somewhere.
Edward gently set Nick down on a seat, and the ball of light settled itself back inside his body. Nick would wake up with a splitting headache and a bit of nausea, but wouldn’t remember a thing of the experience. All he would know is that his silver was gone, and there was really only one person who could have taken it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, trying to shove down his guilt. “But I have a good reason, I swear.”
Nick stirred slightly in his sleep, but didn’t wake. Edward sighed, then turned away before he was forced to think harder on his actions. He couldn’t grow too much of a conscience at this point, or he would never go through with this.
Without looking back, Edward left his friend behind.
#
August 9, 1883
My dearest Alice,
I am a bad person.
I have hurt so many people without considering consequences. Stolen out of greed. Controlled others’ minds for the fun of it. Corrupted my soul by performing magic that I never should have had access to. Betrayed a friend who trusted me.
I never told you about what I did in my youth because I was afraid you would think me monstrous for it. Because why wouldn’t you? Why wouldn’t you think me to be some soulless, sacrilegious warlock, someone unfit to be by your side, a danger to our daughter? Those thoughts stayed with me the entire time we were together, and I was scared. I was a coward. I wanted to be redeemed by your kindness and your love, and forget my past. I can’t do that now. I have to destroy myself further in order to bring you home, and you’re going to find out about this secret of mine, and you very well might hate me for it. You should hate me for it.
But at least you’ll be home. You can see Rosamund again. She’ll have her mother back. That’s all that matters now.
I don’t know what I’m going to say to you. I don’t know how I’ll explain all of this. Maybe I’ll just actually give you this letter—though I’m not sure you’d care to read my paranoid ramblings. Regardless, I suppose I’ll find some way of telling you… and Rosamund… Somehow I feel she might be the more difficult one to explain to.
I’m delaying, now. As much as I want to see you again, now that it’s finally time, I seem to have difficulty actually starting. Fear is a horrible emotion. It’s a good thing my love for you is stronger.
I will see you soon, and everything will be well, I swear.
Edward
#
Edward had derailed his train car. It took quite a lot of effort, and he was probably now blacklisted from any of the company’s other locomotives, but it meant that he was actually alone in the woods now, and finally prepared.
In all their years with the book, they had never tried to bring back the dead. The materials were too rare and expensive, the process too complicated for two children only barely bordering on maturity. And there was never anyone they wished to return.
Things were different now.
Edward had cleared the floor, setting the gems, the silver, and a few other materials on the desk beside the book. He took a piece of chalk and began to very carefully draw the sigils on the floor—perfect circles he’d spent hours practicing, straight lines crisscrossing precise swoops and curls. When it was drawn, he placed the gems and the silver at equidistant points around the main circle, outlined each with a smaller circle of rock salt, and lit three blood red candles in the center. And then he began to chant.
The ritual was long and needed to be uninterrupted. After an hour of reciting words in a language he’d never understood that had taken years to learn to pronounce correctly, the stones in the circle began to glow. It was a dim light at first, starting deep within each and slowly growing bright as he continued to chant.
It was working. It was working.
He kept speaking, channeling energy into the ritual. His throat hurt, and his brow beaded with sweat, and his hands shook as he held the book aloft, but he couldn’t stop now. He was so close…
And then the door burst open.
Edward almost fumbled his words, but managed to keep going even as he registered who had intruded: Nick. How did he even find this place? He thought he’d been so careful…
“What the hell—” Nick took a step toward him—toward the circle. Oh god, if he crossed the circle, Edward didn’t know what would happen. It would disrupt the ritual for sure, but it could also do something to Nick, the book didn’t specify, and something like this that dealt with crossing the lines of life and death—
The book fell from his hands as Nick took another step closer. “Nick, stop—”
Too late. His foot passed over the bounds of the circle, and with a blinding flash of light, the stones stopped glowing and Nick dropped to the floor with a loud thud, his head bashing against the ground.
No, no no no no NO…
Edward rushed over, falling to his knees beside the boy. “Idiot, why would you even come here…” He pressed his fingers to Nick’s neck, desperately checking for a pulse, trying to hear even the faintest sound of breath. “Why would you be so stupid…”
But Nick didn’t move. His eyes were glassed over, his skin ice cold and somehow almost drained of color. Edward didn’t know what breaking the ritual had done exactly, but… Nick was gone.
“Don’t do this to me, kid, please… not after everything…” He didn’t know how to do any sort of medical treatment, he didn’t have supplies—and what would he even do if he did? This wasn’t some normal injury, this was magic, and magic he barely understood. He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t…
He could.
Edward looked at the ritual circle, already laid out. It hadn’t been finished, so none of the materials were consumed. He could start again.
“You can’t expect me to save you, Nick,” he whispered. “This— This is your fault. You came here and did this… and I had a plan. I was going to bring her home, you have to understand that. I have to do this, I can’t deviate, not now, not after everything I’ve been through…”
What would Alice want? He could practically hear Claire’s voice in his head. Think about it. What would she want?
He didn’t want to think about that. It didn’t matter, because this was about more than just Alice, this was about their family. This was about Rosamund. And Alice would know that, she would understand…
But would she want it? Really?
Edward closed his eyes, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.
She… She would want me to be a father to my daughter. To stop running. To make things right.
To save this innocent boy.
Edward picked up the book with shaking hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking and almost inaudible. He rubbed his eyes furiously to clear them despite not truly needing to read the memorized words off the page, and started chanting once again.
The stones began to glow as before; by now he didn’t even feel tired, just numb. The words were nothing more than meaningless repetitions from his lips. The sun had long since set outside, and the whole room was lit only with the light from the stones.
The light grew brighter and brighter, and then, with a flash of light so strong it made spots in his eyes appear, the stones began to rise, hovering a foot in the air over the circle. They started rotating, spinning faster and faster until they became just a blur of colored light. As they spun, the air inside the circle appeared to almost flicker, as if something was forming inside.
Edward finished the last words of the ritual with finality, and the stones all froze in midair. The flickering intensified as the light faded from the stones, almost like it was drawing the light from them. Edward held his breath, his entire body quivering. This was the moment of truth. Either it worked now, or it never would.
The stones all fell to the ground, each one drained of color, as the lights gathered together into a small ball—a soul, resummoned. It bobbed in the air lazily, its silver-blue glow casting shadows around the room, and then it slowly sank down toward Nick’s body. It settled inside and his skin pulsed with light for a few moments before dimming. Edward let himself fall to the ground, staring. This couldn’t fail now…
Then Nick’s chest heaved, and he coughed violently before rolling onto his side and vomiting on the floor. Edward let out his breath and closed his eyes, bowing his head.
The choice was made.
Forgive me, Alice…
#
Edward sat opposite Nick on the floor as the sun rose, casting faint pink and golden light through the windows. The boy was quiet—still in shock, Edward guessed.
He had explained everything to Nick. The fact that he was a necromancer, the senseless death of his wife at the hands of violent muggers, his obsessive search to find the necessary materials to bring her back, Nick’s interruption of the ritual and his death, how Edward had chosen to return him to life instead. Nick hadn’t said a word throughout.
Edward wished he hadn’t finished the whiskey. They both could have used a drink.
“What do I do now?” Nick whispered eventually.
“You live,” Edward said, unable to look at the boy’s face. “You move forward. Forget this—forget me.”
Nick picked up one of the gems; it was completely colorless now, and as worthless as a chunk of glass. He stared down at it for a long moment. “What if I’m damned now for this? Because of what you did to me?”
“Then God is a bastard, if He’s punishing you for the things I’ve done.” Edward sighed heavily. “Nick… I’m sorry. For all of this. I never wanted to involve you.”
“And this is why you stole from me?”
“I had to.”
“You didn’t have to do any of this.” Nick shook his head and let the gem fall to the floor. “You should go back home, Edward. Go see your daughter. If you’re truly regretful, go try to fix your own life. Maybe figure out why you feel the need to meddle with the natural laws of the universe. Try to put something good into the world.”
Edward bowed his head. “I… am going to try.”
Nick stood, wobbling a bit on his feet, and pressed a hand to the wall to steady himself as he walked toward the door. “And burn that goddamn book.”
#
August 10, 1883
My dearest Rosamund,
I have missed you greatly on my travels, more than I can express. I’m sorry I’ve had to be away for so long—I regret to tell you that my train car has been derailed, and I’ve needed to find other transportation home. But I will be home soon, I promise you.
There is much I need to tell you when I see you again. There are things you need to know about me, secrets I don’t wish to keep you in the dark about any longer.
And… we should also talk about your mother.
I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you during this time. I know you’ve been grieving just as much as I have, and it was unfair of me to abandon you as I did on top of that.
But I will never, ever, abandon you again.
With all my love,
Father