Dangerous Thoughts

Chapter 23

Things were quiet for the remainder of the evening.

James, Charles, and Juliette had a silent dinner, eating the leftovers from the banquet that had been chilled in the icebox. Lillian didn't join them. After the meal, Juliette disappeared upstairs without a word and Charles helped his brother tidy up the kitchen. They cleared dishes and wiped surfaces in near silence, and it was only when every last dish had been put away that Charles excused himself and went to his office.

He tilted the yellow memory into his scrying bowl and watched as it swirled about. He knew he should be working, scrying, poring over the memory to try to find any other clues on how they could stop this cult. But he was too tired, too drained to do anything except watch the memory swirl around in the bowl, giving off its sickly yellow light. He didn't want to re-live everything all over again.

When he finally left his office, he found Juliette sitting by herself in the parlor. It was one of the few times she didn't have a tall stack of books at her side. Her eyes, instead, were locked on various surfaces, which she gazed at silently for extended periods of time: the coffered ceiling, the dirty window, the antique side table.

Charles sat down next to her. For a moment, it was as if she didn't realize he was there. But suddenly, after a few minutes of sitting in silence, her eyes flickered to him.

"Mister Abbot?" she asked.

"Yes, Juliette?"

"Where do you think we go when we die?"

Charles hadn't expected the question, and yet it seemed fitting, considering the day. He turned to look at the girl; she stared back at him, blue eyes wide and unflinching.

"Well," he said, trying to think of what to say. He knew Juliette was too smart to accept anything other than his actual thoughts on the matter. "To be perfectly honest, I don't know. Some people believe that we go somewhere else after we die, like to Heaven or Hell or some other waiting place. Others believe in reincarnation, that the soul finds another body to inhabit on Earth and we live again. And still others think that there's nothing, that at the time of death we just cease to exist."

Juliette frowned, fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt. "I feel like wherever I go, death follows me."

"Juliette, that's not true—"

"It is, though!" she insisted. "I killed my mother, and then that man down in the tunnels. And now Madame Bisset is about to die too."

"Madame Bisset isn't your doing," Charles insisted. "She's been sick for a long time and that has nothing to do with you. Like James was saying: it's her time."

"I know. But it still feels like it's my fault. Like I'm cursed." She looked down at her hands, and Charles couldn't help but notice that for all of the complex magick she was able to wield at her command, her fingers were so small. "I've been thinking a lot about that man in the tunnel. I think his name was John."

"Juliette—"

"Let me finish," she said, cutting him off.

Charles was surprised by the fire in her voice and closed his mouth.

Juliette sighed. "I thought I'd feel worse, about what I did to him. But the thing is, I don't." She looked Charles in the eyes. "He was a horrible person and I'd do it again if I had to."

Her confession caught him off guard, but at the same time, he didn't blame her. He just smiled sadly at her. "You saved my life by killing that man. I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you for that. But I hope you'll never have to kill anyone again—even if they deserve it."