Creatures of Charm and Hunger (The Diabolist's Library #1) - Molly Tanzer Page 0,17

helped her negotiate with the hallucination as the dream played out a scenario where she had to escape a house when enemies knocked at the door. She’d done so quickly and efficiently; there had been nothing to fear, not really, so it had actually been fun.

A lot of fun. Dream-Miriam had been so much more able, more powerful, more capable than Miriam was in her everyday life. She’d evaded her pursuers with minimal effort. And having a demon with her, helping her, had felt right—like it was her right to be part of such a partnership, her birthright as her father might say. It was almost as if that shadow-place she sometimes imagined as existing within her had come to life to serve her differently.

She’d felt pleased, deeply so, when Edith told her she’d passed, and Nancy’s praise was, as always, Miriam’s favorite reward. Miriam felt a bit guilty, actually, over just how much Nancy’s regard meant to her. She felt more of a connection to her surrogate mother-figure than she ever had to the mother she’d left behind.

But there were also Jane’s feelings to be considered. Miriam didn’t want to supplant Jane in her mother’s heart, of course she didn’t. She wanted Nancy to regard them equally. That’s why Miriam’s pride had quickly turned to dread when Jane had lagged behind. She didn’t know what that meant, but Nancy and Edith started exchanging looks when ten minutes became twenty, then thirty . . . That’s when Nancy had gone down to the Library, only to come back with a strangely quiet Jane in tow. She’d passed but didn’t seem pleased.

And as if that wasn’t enough to worry about, Nancy then announced her intention to cook a special dinner.

Miriam’s mood had plummeted. Celebratory meals were the favored battleground of the Blackwood women; having one was a surefire way to guarantee the evening would be marred by an argument. Miriam had known something would happen, because something always happened—like the time Jane and Miriam had huddled together in Jane’s bed, listening to the Blackwood sisters’ raised voices after Edith had asked Jane if she would like to come to London for a few days, and Jane had accepted without asking permission. Or the time Nancy had alluded to some romantic feelings Edith held for someone, and Edith had been furious for some obviously very important reason that the girls never learned but had speculated upon endlessly.

At least it was easy enough to plead exhaustion once they’d finished the cider and the dessert. After the long walk to Hawkshead and back and the ensuing excitement, it was natural for her and Jane to want to retire early. Miriam supposed it was also natural for them to retire separately; Jane didn’t speak a word as they went upstairs together and then said nothing but a pale yet sincere “Congratulations, Miriam” before slipping inside her room. Well, Miriam had made an ass of herself, getting upset over Jane’s disclosures—and as usual she found it too difficult to begin any of the conversations it would take to patch things up.

Compared to Jane’s room, with its second wallpapering of movie star glamour shots and shelves thick with natural curiosities, Miriam’s was very plain. She’d arrived in England with little more than her clothes. Her mother had been so afraid that she’d demanded Miriam leave behind anything that might indicate her Jewish heritage—but her father had insisted she be allowed to go with something.

Miriam had first thought to take the family’s mezuzah, but in the end she’d selected her father’s antique “devil-trap,” a clay bowl used by ancient Jews to capture spirits who might be a nuisance to the household. Her father had been amused by the irony of the object, given his profession, but Miriam had always loved the hypnotic lines of the spiral inscription as well as the warm feel of the ancient clay in her hands.

It had soothed Miriam to hold the bowl even before it became her only connection to her former life. But, like all childhood comforts, she’d largely set it aside as she’d gotten older. That night, however, she took it carefully in hand and sat with it on her bed.

A knock at the door startled her. Miriam had been so lost in thought that she nearly dropped her bowl. She set it carefully aside before calling, “Come in!”

She’d hoped it would be Jane. It was Edith.

“Hullo there,” she said, and Miriam summoned a smile in an attempt to make her