The Alchemical Child

Chapter Sixteen

A chime clattered overhead as Sage stepped into a plush room smelling strongly of lavender and vanilla. Her boots were sucked down into a thick carpet, holding her in place along with the narrowed eyes of the woman behind the counter. She was tying taffeta flowers around cloches to match the floral wallpaper, her hair a neat chignon on her neck. Definitely not Valerie.

"Hello," she said tightly. "Are you here for an appointment? Madam Beatrice is out for the day."

"Oh, no."

"Then you're here to browse? We don't have discounts for Students from the University." The woman glared at Sage's coat as if it offended her. "And we don't do patch jobs."

Sage immediately wanted nothing to do with the woman or the hat shop, but the door had already closed behind her and she didn't want to be seen fumbling for a way out either. "I'm looking for somebody, actually. Does Valerie work here?"

She held her breath, heart thumping at the thought of her sister strolling into the room, smelling sweetly of vanilla rather than a palette of oil paints. Was Sage really ready to confront her here and now? Would she shout or sob? She doubted that either would be welcome near the pristine hat display.

"I don't know anyone with that name, and I'm Madam Beatrice's only hire." The woman clenched a smile as a gaggle of girls with fur mittens and delicate scarves peered through the window. "Maybe you have the wrong address."

"I don't think so," Sage replied quickly, unfolding her paper on the counter. "This is Number 86, isn't it?"

"It is." At the front of the shop, the chimes jangled as the girls bustled through the door. The woman's eyes darted away from Sage, clearly just as eager for their conversation to be over. "But Madam Beatrice tried to rent out the room above the shop last year. I didn't think she ever found a tenant though; it's little more than a wardrobe and a sink."

That sounded much more promising, and Sage glanced past the counter at a corridor to the storeroom. It was draped with lace and pleated tulle, although Sage could see a short staircase leading to an upstairs landing. But before she could take a step further, the woman flitted around the counter and placed a hand on Sage's back, guiding her firmly to the front door. She smiled graciously at the girls, then muttered to Sage as she hustled her onto the street, "There's an entrance around the back."

The door rattled shut with a puff of perfumed warmth and, alone on the pavement, Sage slipped around on ice-puddles until she reached the corner of the shop. A passage led to the back of the millinery, and Sage clung to a wall of overgrown ivy until she came to a rusted rise of stairs. At the top was an unobtrusive door, plain and bare with no windows and a couple of empty plant pots on either side. Sage knocked before she could convince herself otherwise, but no sound came after several seconds. She knocked again, thinking that she should've brought a note. Although, if Valerie had been living in the city for so long without a word, Sage doubted a letter would do much to change her mind.

The thought made an angry flush rise again up her throat, and then her hand was on the door knob, turning it to the side. While the door looked old, the locks certainly were not. Sage groaned, knocking again but knowing it was useless. There was no other way inside and the weather was too cold for her to linger. But as she stepped back towards the stairs and her boot brushed a plant pot, an idea began to grow. Her family's home had a hill of pots around their front door, though theirs were always bursting with seasonal herbs and flowers. If this was truly Valerie's room, then it was curious that she should leave two pots empty by the door.

Sage bent down and lifted the smaller of the pots, disturbing a snail but catching a brassy glimmer. She extracted the key, turned it in the lock with a flicker of wicked satisfaction, and entered a room only several metres across. It had a window that Sage had missed beneath its veil of ivy, and light seeped between the leaves onto a thin futon and a pile of neatly-folded blankets. A sink with one glass cup took up the far side of the room, though both were bone-dry, and wax warped the floorboards beside the futon, but there were no candles or lamps. Once the sun set, Sage suspected the room would be pitch black and painfully cold. 

"Valerie?" she whispered, all anger smouldering out as her eyes swept from one end of the room to the other. If she reached out her arm, she would be able to touch the opposite wall, where a painting of dandelions had been pinned. "Where are you?"

The floorboards didn't squeak and the blankets stayed settled. When Sage heard the echoes of laughter, it was not in the voice of her sister, but from the girls in the shop below. She listened to their chatter, unable to pick out the words and sinking to her knees when the cold became too painful. Her eyes remained on the door until they felt heavy and, when she opened them again, ripples of twilight had crept across the room.

Down in the street, the millinery was closed but the street lamps had been lit. They were so blinding that Sage was surprised when she staggered into her kitchen, dark and empty. Always empty. Her whole body felt numb, which Sage blamed on the cold, but she was still numb when she made dinner. Numb when she copied paragraphs from the grimoire. Numb when she curled into bed. Hermes landed on her untouched book stack and she considered telling him about her day, but now it seemed like a dream conjured from the fog of her tired mind. As she gazed into the darkness, Valerie's voice finally replied to her with five, ink-choked words—I hope you'll forgive me.

It was only when Sage woke to Hermes nibbling her ear the next morning that she realised there had been no letter waiting for her in the kitchen. She checked again, sifting through the dust under the stove just in case her notice of dismissal had been so brief as to slip away. But there was no notice, and no telegram when she asked at the office. With little other choice, Sage returned to the palace and found Walter waiting in his usual spot. He didn't mention her absence the afternoon before and didn't take her to the Chamberlain for a reprimanding. He only held aside the heart-embroidered tapestry as, high above, the bells rang out over the city.

A/N I'm just about the finish re-reading The Night Circus and now I'm desperate to add more magical moments and inventions to TAC!! All I can think about is clocks and scented bottles and wishing trees ahhh