Death and Mirrors: All Things Dark and Deadly, #1

By SF Benson

A necromancer. A mirror world. A deathly doctor.

Evaline Wainwright is the daughter of acclaimed occult archaeologists. If her father has his way, she'll marry the man next door and never learn to be a detective.

When a stranger dressed in black comes to the Wainwright home seeking help, Evaline is determined to discover the truth behind her request.

There's a heinous criminal known as Doctor Death running amuck in a mirror world. If Evaline finds a mythical artifact, she might end the fiend's streak of terror and possibly keep the creature from coming to London.

If you like a darker, grittier Alice in Wonderland, you'll love SF Benson's new Gaslamp fantasy.

One-click and learn what happens when a budding detective falls down the rabbit hole.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SF Benson
• Release date: Jul 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9798224323296

SF Benson

SF Benson, a Michigan native, resides in Southern California with her husband, a human daughter, and a couple of miniature fur kids (two female short-haired guinea pigs). At one time, she wrangled a household which included three Samoyeds, saltwater fish, a hamster, and three guinea pigs. She’s an avid bookworm who appreciates a well-written book regardless of genre. SF prefers writing stories about strong, diverse protagonists set in dystopian, science fiction, or paranormal worlds. Connect with Author SF Benson: Be the first one to find out news about releases and giveaways! Email List https://bit.ly/3GnDYCk Facebook www.facebook.com/bensonsf Twitter @bensonshantella

Book preview

1

MEETING A GHOST

London, England

January 1888

Ipracticed invoking the dead for months but had yet to meet a ghost. Not that I sought a random one. I hunted for my mother, acclaimed archaeologist Mallie Liddell Wainwright. A year passed since the unfortunate cave-in caused her death, and I missed her terribly. I missed her smile and the way she encouraged me to always be my best. Mother never failed to tell me the positives about being magickal.

Father, on the other hand, only highlighted the negativity that came with having powers. He constantly warned me of the possibility of punishment if I practiced outside the house. Doing so without a license could get me thrown into jail. But Father also restricted what I could do within our four walls. He forbade me to use my necromancy or any other magickal intervention to contact Mother, but I needed closure in the worst way.

After all, I still required lessons to wield my powers efficiently. Mother said when I turned twenty-one, my abilities would amplify. Well, my birthday passed without an ounce of fanfare. Father barely acknowledged the event. He did nothing to help me with my magick, either. All he did was tell me why I shouldn’t use it.

You lack a proper license.

Young ladies refrain from such things.

Father droned on about all the cons of being magickal instead of helping me. It was just one of the many reasons I was desperate to speak with Mother.

Tossing and turning didn’t help the situation. I peered at the clock. Almost six in the morning. The staff would soon prepare breakfast and start cleaning. Normally, I slept in until eight or nine, but my mind raced through every incantation and ritual. Trying to figure out why I couldn’t rouse the spirit world baffled me.

Something that had beckoned me all night long was a freshly baked batch of coasting cookies. I salivated, imagining the crispy, sweet morsels. More than once, I thought about going to the kitchen and raiding the larder. Unfortunately, I had a wicked appetite for desserts.

Since sleep wasn’t happening and I was hungry, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and reached for my velvet dressing gown. A ghastly winter wind blustered through the open window. I tucked my feet into my slippers and hurried to shut the transom when something caught my eye. Despite the lack of light, a definite shadow stood by the hearth.

W-who goes there? I asked, standing tall. Mother often said, never let someone know that you’re scared. Show yourself.

An icy chill passed over me as the figure tore itself from the darkness. Before me, like a character out of time, was the ghost I tried to call forth.

Mother?

Not quite, she said. I’m her shade.

I rubbed my eyes, thinking it must be a dream or a hallucination.

I assure you, Evaline, you’re not dreaming, said the familiar voice. You called for your mother. I’m here in her place.

Not possible. Every night, I enacted the ritual. And every night, nothing worthwhile happened. Why would my mother’s specter appear now?

The ghost, dressed in a dark-gold traveling ensemble, stepped forward and sat on my bed as though she were corporeal. You doubt what you see?

Not a question. With my track record, no one would blame me for being skeptical.

Evaline, you don’t trust I am who I say I am. Maybe this will help. Remember how your mother bandaged your knee on the first day of school? You tore your dress and stockings playing hide-and-seek with Delbert Higginbotham.

I smiled as I sat beside her. Delbert and I became fast friends that day. The adventurous, bright-eyed boy cared more about having fun than education. Just like me.

How about this one? Remember when the Robinsons moved in down the street? While I had tea with Charlotte, you played with Bernadette.

Dolls. She had a beautiful one from China.

The specter nodded. What about the day Delbert became more than your best friend? You told your mother over breakfast about your admirer.

My face heated. I was fourteen when I discovered I had deeper feelings for Delbert.

All right. Maybe I wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. I have tried for months to reach you. Why come to me now?

Everything comes when the time is right, my dear. She folded her elegant hands in her lap. Evaline, you are on the precipice of great things. Your abilities are stronger. Soon, it will be time to test your magick’s merit.

But how? I didn’t have a license to practice or the proper skills.

The shade held up a slim finger. Allow me to speak. We have little time together. She stood and floated across the floor to the fireplace. With a wave of her hand, the flames appeared, taking the frostiness out of the room. Your parents’ last archaeological dig left you confused.

Father said they found nothing on the expedition. But I doubted that. They never came home without new relics.

Not true. The apparition faced me. Her eyebrows knitted together briefly, and then she said, Mallie and Everett were on the hunt for a rare relic known as the Firestone. Your mother journeyed into the cave, believing the gem was inside. Instead, she found a mirror.

That made no sense. Mirrors didn’t belong inside caverns. How?

It wasn’t an ordinary looking glass, my dear. It was a gateway to another world.

I sat taller and leaned forward. Do you mean an alternate universe? Those things exist?

Yes. The land Mallie viewed mirrored London, but time and laws behave differently there.

My pulse quickened as I thought about Mother being alive and well. Please tell me my mother is in the other universe.

The spirit’s shoulders curled over her chest. I hate to disappoint you, but Mallie isn’t alive. When she peered into the looking glass, she stared into the eyes of death. The harvester claimed her, but not before unleashing a blight upon your family.

Although the window was no longer open, a shiver snaked down my spine. What harvester do you mean? What blight?

The ghost folded her arms. Death reaped her soul. As far as the curse goes, it will transcend time and plague you and your father. It’s best you stay out of the mirror world. Otherwise, evil will come for you too.

A dire warning wasn’t enough to deter me.

Does Father know about the curse?

The specter grimaced. He does. It’s why Everett no longer goes on expeditions. It’s the only way to avoid misfortune.

It sounded like something Father would say.

Learn if the object is real or a myth. A little deductive reasoning might get me more information. Tell me more about this relic. Is it something Father would go after?

The artifact holds power over life and death. If Everett goes on another excavation, evil will follow. You might lose him. When my lips parted, she added, Don’t even think about going after it, Evaline. Danger will transpire. You will lose all those you love and hold dear.

Ominous words, but not enough to prevent me from delving further.

Yes, I believed in magick, but not the malarkey surrounding an artifact. In my mind, that level of superstition was equivalent to believing in vampires, werewolves, and other paranormal rubbish.

Perhaps I should focus my questions to the gem and its location. I smelled a mystery worthy of the notorious Sherlock Holmes. I considered myself a burgeoning detective and welcomed the opportunity to uncover any puzzle. So far, I learned that solving a conundrum required asking the right questions and following the clues. Above all else, keeping one’s eyes open for any potentiality.

When I glanced up, the apparition had vanished. Even the fire snuffed out. It was like she’d never been in the room.

For a moment, I sat there, too stunned to move. Did I truly summon the apparition, or was something else responsible for the appearance? One could never be altogether certain with necromancy. Plus, there was an abundancy of magickal beings in our district. Plenty of people knew of my family’s misfortune. In all likelihood, one of those individuals might be responsible.

Unfortunately, many of those practitioners were also fraudulent. They were willing to do anything to make money. Because of the predominance of charlatans, the government required a license to perform magick. Without one, a person might be arrested for impersonation. It was easier, and safer, to keep one’s abilities hidden.

Still, that didn’t negate the presence of Mother’s shade.

What I needed was tangible, irrefutable proof of the specter’s words. She claimed the Firestone was a genuine article. There was no one I could ask about the relic, but…

I had Mother’s journal!

Upon her death, I discovered the notebook in her things. Perhaps there were clues about the reputed artifact in its pages. It wouldn’t hurt to look.

I jumped off the bed and ran over to the trunk against the far wall. When Father packed up Mother’s belongings, I snagged her journal when he wasn’t looking. To keep my father and our housekeeper from finding the notebook, I buried it beneath my out-of-season evening gowns. Lifting the delicate silks and satins, I pulled out the worn brown leather diary. Engraved on its surface were the words, The Chronicles of Mallie Liddell Wainwright. I walked to my desk beneath the window and lit a candle. Then I unwrapped the binding and flipped the pages to an entry prior to Mother’s last expedition.

May 1886

Everett and I are planning our greatest excavation to date. Soon we’ll set sail for Egypt. From my research, along with a little magick, I’ve narrowed down the location for the Firestone. Everett thinks I’m daft for wanting to go after a mythical gem, but the object holds the answers. Whoever possesses it controls life. I don’t wish to harness its powers. I want to make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.

So Mother was searching for the elusive artifact. But the spirit said it had power over life and death. I turned to the next page.

As a necromancer, I have no need for the object. My concern is with the Raven’s Stone. Fire brings life while Raven brings death. If someone has both gems, they’d be a god.

No man or woman should think themselves divine.

While in Egypt, I will search for the antithesis as well. Only when both objects are secure will mankind be safe.

Did the artifacts have an Egyptian origin? It was well documented how the ancients thought themselves to be holier than God Himself.

Unexpectedly, my bedroom door flew open. A gust of wind blew through the room, snuffing out the sole candle. I dropped the journal, and an empty feeling settled in the pit of my stomach as I rose to my feet. When I looked toward the hall, my mouth dried up.

Between the jambs stood an image swathed in a black cloak. It raised an arm and displayed a slender hand, sporting an ornate dark ring. Sallow fingers pointed in my direction. An eerie moan escaped the personage and then a low voice said, Beware, Evaline Wainwright!

My limbs shook, and I had an overwhelming need to visit the water closet. My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of the Thames, but no words came forth.

The stranger turned its back and stalked out of sight.

What was that?

I pushed my fear aside and willed my feet to move. The stranger headed toward the stairs. I ran after it, but lost sight of it on the third-floor landing. There was no sign anyone had been in the house. Just a cool breeze blew past me.

Then the floorboard creaked in the distance.

2

THE DANGERS OF PRACTICING MAGICK

Adoor screeched open. I steeled my spine, expecting the dark shape to come into the light. But it was only Mrs. Pemberton. The rotund woman with kind blue eyes and gray hair closed the door to the linen room.

Good morning to you, Miss Evaline. She smiled and cocked her head to the side. It’s unlike you to be up so early. Is everything all right?

I wanted to get an early start on Father’s dictation. Not true. Listening to my father drone on and on regarding his latest lecture was like a good tonic right before bedtime.

Our housekeeper gave me a questioning gaze. Mr. Wainwright’s already in the drawing room. Cook is preparing his porridge and bacon. Perhaps you’d like to dress in proper attire before going downstairs.

Greeting Father in my dressing gown would never do. But of course. Please ask Cook to prepare eggs, toast, and marmalade for me. I’ll have tea instead of coffee.

Very well, miss. Do you require help with your clothing?

No. I can take care of it myself. Before departing, I asked, Were you or maybe Mr. Pemberton on the steps earlier?

She shook her head. I was putting away the linens. Wilbur is out in the carriage house. He’s been there for hours. Why? Mrs. Pemberton studied me and then felt my forehead. You don’t feel warm to me, but you are a little pale. Perhaps you’re coming down with a cold. I should get you a mustard plaster.

To be truthful, my light-brown skin was the perfect amalgamation of my Caucasian mother and Egyptian father. Contrary to the housekeeper’s beliefs, skin color wasn’t an indicator of health.

Stop fussing, Mrs. Pemberton. I’m not sick. Just a little tired. I didn’t rest well last night.

She removed her hand. Then I’ll make sure Cook supplies lemon with your tea. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious.

Of course not. I put the earlier incident out of my mind after I thought about it and said, I assure you, Mrs. Pemberton, I’m perfectly healthy. Lack of sleep causes one’s imagination to run wild. Nothing more. I’ll be upstairs should anyone need me.

Mrs. Pemberton entered the lift as I walked to the stairs. Perhaps lack of sleep altered my perception. After finishing my duties as Father’s personal secretary, I’d take a brief nap.

Returning to my room, I walked over to the desk. When I bent down to retrieve Mother’s journal, nothing was there. I got on my knees and searched beneath the furniture. Odd. I swore I dropped the book.

Like a child, I crawled around and checked under the bed. Then I stood and looked between the covers, but the dang notebook disappeared. If I summoned a malevolent spirit, was it capable of absconding with the journal?

Impossible.

It was more likely Mrs. Pemberton had been in my room. She was probably on the lift while I ran down the stairs like a madwoman. Spirits aren’t corporeal, so they can’t take items.

I tried hard to accept those facts, but the questions remained with me as I entered the wardrobe. As I surveyed the array of colors, I kept thinking about the possibilities. Eventually, I chose a bright-blue reception dress and a pair of low-heeled black boots to complete the ensemble. I left the closet and stepped in front of the floor-length mirror, my mother came to mind again. As I pulled my wavy hair back into a loose Gibson girl, I wondered what Mother saw in the cave. What exactly did Death look like?

Standing between the jambs, I scanned the room once again. I would have preferred finding her notebook before going to breakfast. I had as much hope of locating the item as I did at deciphering the meaning behind the specter’s words.

When I reached the second floor, I found Father in the drawing room, poring over his notes while drinking coffee. As I entered, he looked up. Ah, there you are, dear Evaline. Are you ready to begin work?

Breakfast first, Father.

He pointed to the mahogany side table. Mrs. Pemberton brought up a tray for you.

I sighed and made a beeline for the food. As I prepared my tea with milk and honey, I asked, Father, what can you tell me about the last expedition with Mother?

He cleared his voice. What do you wish to know?

The purpose of the junket.

Exhaling, Father said, Evaline, we’ve discussed the subject ad nauseam. Must we have this talk again?

Humor me, please. The question kept me awake last night. If I told Father the truth, he would have had a conniption.

It’s not something you should worry your pretty little head about. He waved his hand, dismissing the topic. Hurry and finish your breakfast. We have lots of work to do before I go off to university.

Ever since Mother’s death, Father had devoted himself to education, becoming a professor of history at London University. Other instructors propositioned him with smaller junkets to unearth random artifacts, but Father rejected every offer.

In my humble opinion, the man had yet to grieve. He hadn’t shed a tear or even mentioned Mother. I wanted him to go on holiday and deal with the situation.

Forgetting about food, I carried my cup across the room and took a seat in the upholstered captain’s chair in front of the desk. Father, indulge my curiosity.

Father put down his pen and stared at me. We were after rare Egyptian artifacts.

Which ones? I sipped my tea.

Scrolls belonging to Imhotep. Your mother, however, was more concerned with finding proof the ancients practiced alchemy. She was very interested in the magick they practiced. He folded his hands on top of the papers. Anything else?

Lowering my cup, I asked, Is it possible Mother survived the cave-in?

He shook his head. I considered the possibility, but Evaline, it’s been a year. Your mother would have returned to us had she lived. I’ve made peace with her death. Why can’t you do the same?

Because I needed closure. We needed closure.

Because I didn’t want to believe the truth.

Instead of acknowledging my misgivings, I remained quiet.

My dear, why all the questions? I don’t believe for a minute this kept you awake.

Father knew me too well. The man had no trouble sniffing out a lie.

After a few minutes, I admitted, I had a visitor overnight.

His eyes widened.

Mother’s specter.

His jaw clenched tightly before he yelled, Evaline Alice Wainwright, you know you’re not supposed to practice magick!

I shifted in my seat. Father, who will know but us?

His brown cheeks reddened as he slammed his hand on the desk. Not the point! You don’t have a license. What if you slip up and perform in public?

I rolled my eyes. That won’t happen. I know better.

Imprisonment was the punishment for anyone conducting magick without a license. Unfortunately, permits were costly and only the well-to-do had them—like our neighbor, Fergus Culpepper. Father didn’t make enough as a professor to purchase a certificate.

Then stop being reckless, he warned. Leave the spirit world alone.

Father, it’s not recklessness to seek answers. Feeling more confident, I pushed back my shoulders. Besides, the law is absurd. It creates a division between the haves and have-nots.

He scoffed.

It also makes women subservient to men. The government readily granted licenses to men asserting women would mishandle the privilege. Poppycock!

"Evaline, I didn’t create the rules. Neither did you. Our only obligation is to abide by them. No