As Joey swept the wooden floor of the library, the shades lounging in the chamber glanced over. “Oh, Joey.” One girl tilted her head towards Joey and rested her chin on her fist. “There was something I was supposed to tell you. What was it?” She tapped the black, featureless finger of her other hand on her temple.
Joey paused and curtsied politely. “Yes, Miss?”
“It was about you being down here. Isn’t that right?” Another of the girls, a plump blonde, tittered as she leaned closer to Joey. “Something about… changing your duties. But if you’re needed elsewhere, then we’d have to clean the library, and I don’t see the rush for that. You’re so good at it, after all.”
“That’s very kind,” Joey said with a smile. “I’m happy to do whatever is asked of me.”
“So well behaved.” The girl with her head resting in her hands raised her chin and looked Joey up and down. “Ugh, I’m sick of your manner. Why does she get to serve His Lordship and Her Ladyship?”
Joey blinked. “They asked for me upstairs?”
Another shade snorted. “Of course not. That would require them to pay attention to anything besides themselves.” The others laughed, and the blonde stood up. “But Mrs. Hawthorne, she’s soft on you, of course. The master and mistress are having drinks before dinner, and… oh dear, I imagine you’re late for that now!”
Joey dropped the broom with a clatter. “Yes! Thank you so much!” They spun on the toe of one of their black slippers and raced to the door. Their uniform was dusty and stained, and at least the apron would have to be changed. The two shade maids laughed quietly as they watched Joey hurry away.
Joey dashed through the kitchen, dodging between the footmen as they placed plates and silverware onto a. When Joey finally arrived, having donned a fresh apron and brushed themselves off, Mr. Grantham had the door open and was beckoning them inside.
The butler’s manner was stiff, and his empty black visage seemed to glower at Joey. “It’s about time. But not enough time for me to instruct you properly. Pour the sherry and serve it, don’t interrupt, and do not enter the lord’s line of sight unless bidden.”
Joey bobbed their head, dipping their knees in a curtsy and slipping quietly through the door. In the drawing room, Lord and Lady Davenport sat on couches facing away from Joey. They tiptoed to the side table where the crystal decanters waited, lined up on a silver tray. On the far side of the drawing room, sliding doors lay partly open, letting Joey glimpse the hallway that led to the lord’s private library.
“It’s taking too long.” Davenport’s voice was deep and resonant. “We should present an heir at the Grand Salon, but the process has barely begun. Have you done as I asked, Agatha?”
“You’ve hardly been patient enough, Maximillian.” Lady Davenport sounded displeased. “And the first egg is always the trickiest. Wait for the cracks to appear.”
The lord huffed and threw back his head, pointing his blank face up at the chandelier above them. “Patience is not one of my strong suits. You should know that better than anyone. We both must maintain appearances, especially in a society full of wolves. It is not patient either, but I need to satisfy its demands.”
Joey, aware they were overhearing something not meant for servants’ ears, kept their gaze silently fixed on the tray before them. Two small glasses sat waiting there beside the largest decanter, a crystal shape surrounding golden liquid. They reached out to remove the crystal stopper.
Lady Davenport scoffed. “Oh, please. This is just your way to pass the time. You don’t even know what it wants. Do you?” Joey poured one glass full, doing their best to fill the glass quietly.
“I have a better theory than you, my dear.” The lord’s tone held no affection. “All you do is indulge in pointless diversions while I actually attempt to control our position.” There was a thump and the sound of shifting weight from the couch, a sharp crack, and then silence. Lady Davenport let out a small grunt of pain. Joey noticed that their hand was trembling and set the decanter down before any of the sherry spilled on the carpet.
“Not now.” Lord Davenport’s voice was harsh. “We can do this later.”
There was a scuffling sound. “Joey,” came Lady Davenport’s strained voice, “The sherry is well overdue. Two glasses, please.”
“Yes, milady.” Joey managed to pour the second glass, set both on a tray, and turned towards the lord and lady of the manor. Their knees felt like water; they thought they might faint. Could this body faint?
The face of Lord Maximillian Davenport was as featureless and smooth as those of the other shades, but he was otherwise a striking and imposing figure. Tall and muscular, with brown wavy locks framing his dark and empty visage, he wore an immaculately tailored suit of the finest material. The lord’s presence and bearing spoke to his wealth and power.
His wife, Lady Agatha, sat on the other couch, her own clothing slightly disheveled and one hand against her cheek. She had hair the color of straw, and her high cheekbones pulled the featureless mask of her face into a rather different shape than the broad countenance of her husband. She held herself upright with a tired but elegant poise, and there was something cold about her manner.
Joey brought the tray forward and placed it on the low table between the couches. They paused, unsure whether to curtsy again, and Lady Davenport reached out and snatched up the sherry. Lord Davenport did the same with his glass and swirled the liquor once before downing it in one swallow.
“So, this is the new girl.” Lord Davenport’s voice was rich and commanding, and he sounded like someone sneering despite the lack of any visible lips to curl.
“Yes, husband,” said Lady Davenport, “This is the one. They call her Joey, though it’s obviously not a proper name.”
Joey, keeping their face down to avoid making eye contact with Lord Davenport, cleared their throat softly. “Beg your pardon, milord, milady. I have no more suitable name.” They glanced at the couple and took note of the subtle signs of conflict they’d been ignoring before: Lady Davenport’s left sleeve was torn, and one of her slippers had fallen off.
“Come here.” Lord Davenport beckoned Joey closer with a wave of one hand. Joey obeyed, approaching to kneel before the couch. The lord grabbed one of their hands and lifted it to examine it. “Fresh enough, yes. No calluses yet.” He lowered Joey’s hand and reached for their chin, tilting Joey’s face up so they met his gaze. “And this one is obedient, I take it?”
“Well behaved, certainly.” Lady Davenport sounded irked. “A good girl.” Joey felt their cheeks flush, but stayed in place, frozen in the lord’s grip as surely as a bird pinned under a raptor’s talon.
“That’s good.” Lord Davenport’s eyes—or the place where his eyes should be—roamed Joey’s face and body. “It’s rare that a fresh recruit is ready to go to work at once.” He leaned closer and gave Joey’s nose a light tap with his fingertip; Joey tried not to flinch, but their thoughts raced. Why do I feel so afraid? Even if this shade hurt me, stunned me into unconsciousness, I’d just get back up again… wouldn’t I? Is there something different about my body now, or just my mind?
“That will be all, Joey,” snapped Lady Davenport. They scooped up the empty glasses and scurried backwards quickly, taking the tray and leaving the room with a barely audible gasp of relief.
***
“Reshy! Reshy, wake up.” The little doll’s button eyes couldn’t close, but she wasn’t responsive to Joey’s pokes. “Something’s happening.” It was late at night, or whatever passed for night in the perpetually twilit facility where shades played at daily cycles.
Reshy’s limbs moved. “I’m not asleep… just trying to stay still. What the hell is it?”
Joey was pulling their clothes on, hastily cinching laces. “I don’t know—some sort of commotion outside. I have a bad feeling about it. We should go see!”
Reshy pulled herself up to lean against the pillow. “A bad feeling? Everything in this place is a bad feeling. Are you sure you should be—” but Joey had already snatched her up, stuffing Reshy’s diminutive form inside the bodice of their maid’s uniform.
“Sure, sure,” grumbled Reshy. “Just treat me like an inanimate object. I should be used to it. Were you at least able to map out the upstairs today?”
“Yes,” Joey said as they shuffled quickly down the servants’ stairwell. “I got a glimpse of the hallway to the library, based on what the other servants have said. It’s about ten feet long, with decorative suits of armor on the sides, probably replicas. Some examples of longbows mounted on the wall; those might be functional if ammunition was available. Heavy oak door at the end, most likely locked from what I can gather about Davenport.”
Joey emerged on the ground floor and turned left to exit into the gardens. Somewhere nearby, people were shouting, and torchlight flickered across the shadowy grounds of the estate. Some of the noise sounded inhuman, like the yapping of dogs.
“Hmm,” said Reshy. “Not bad at all. Maybe that placid persona improves your powers of observation.” Joey wasn’t listening, their ears straining to hear what the shade guards in the distance were yelling. “The boy?” Did they just say something about a boy? Joey broke into a run, jostling Reshy against their breastbone.
Ahead, the high barriers of the hedge maze loomed, lit from below by lanterns strung up on posts. A pair of shades armed with truncheons held two leashed animals in check. Joey skidded to a stop, observing from a safe distance. “Those aren’t normal dogs…” Reshy pointed out. “They’re shaped like dogs, but there are no eyes, and their bodies look like—”
“Shades,” interrupted Joey. They watched in alarm as the hounds’ bodies shifted restlessly, seeming to flex and grow more bestial as they surged forward against the chains. Their handlers yelled in surprise as the creatures yanked them forward into the maze.
“I know another way.” Joey spoke as much to herself as to Reshy, who was rubbing at her burlap head in consternation. Joey raced back the way they’d come, looking for the small entrance they’d noticed—and there it was. A small wooden door with a simple latch, set into the hedge. It was unlocked and opened easily, and Joey dashed through, ignoring Reshy’s muffled protests.
As they ran through the maze, Joey felt a flutter of apprehension. Why did this seem so important? Of course, Joe had his mission; Romesh’s family had hired him to find and recover the boy. And of course, the very thought of an innocent kid trapped in this pocket dimension was horrifying. But there was something more, something they couldn’t quite put their finger on.
The maze was confusing enough at first, but Joey had asked Mrs. Birch if they could bring lunch to gardeners working here the other day, so had some sense of the layout. As they ran, Joey recalled the path towards the overlook, which ran past the east wing of the house, easily visible over the hedge tops. Somewhere, the hounds were baying, the sound briefly mixed with a cry of pain.
If Romesh is here, Joey thought while running across the soft, slick grass, and I can’t shake the feeling that he is… he must be looking for some way out. Perhaps on the far side…
A set of stairs climbed between two hedges up to a small, raised platform lit by two torches on either side of another useless sundial. From here, Joey could see torches moving in the distance, bobbing and dancing along the paths of the maze. The call of hounds was louder and seemed to come from every direction.
“There,” yelped Reshy, and motioned feebly with one arm. “Near the corner of the house!” Sure enough, the little sack doll’s gesture pointed in the right direction—but it took Joey a moment to spot a figure in white moving along the outer edge of the maze.
“Romesh!” Joey yelled, acting on some instinct. Sure enough, the boy turned in surprise, his head tilting up and then down again as the howls resounded through the hedges, growing louder still. Romesh turned and ran.
Joey gritted their teeth. “I think I’m light enough to do this.” They ran forward and onto the top of a hedge that extended to the west, in the direction Romesh was running. Then they jumped, legs splayed, and landed on a hedge to the east, sending leaves fluttering. Their footing left everything to be desired, with the tiny branches of the hedges unable to support their weight for long. Still, Joey did their best to keep running after the fleeing boy, scrambling across the hedge-tops before their feet sank into the pliant foliage.
Another leap, and then another, and Joey was closing the distance between them and Romesh. Abruptly, their grace and luck ran out: Joey’s feet landed in a gap between solid stretches of hedges on the fourth leap. Yanking their leg free, they tumbled downwards, smashing through branches on the way to the ground.
Reshy rolled out of Joey’s bodice, flopped over and laid there, coughing inelegantly as Joey shook their head to clear it. “What are you trying to accomplish?” she demanded. “A rescue? During a hunt full of shades and those dog-things?”
Joey sprang to their feet, brushing off the skirt of their uniform. “Maybe there’s some way I can help,” they stated, as if it were all the explanation needed. They snatched up Reshy unceremoniously and ran in the direction the boy had gone.
There was no sign of him; Joey felt pursued by the howls as they grew louder and closer, no longer accompanied by the yells and cries of the humanoid shades. As they turned a corner, a massive, lumbering shade-beast lunged out of a hedge; Joey dropped low, barely dodging the flailing claws and snapping jaws of the beast. They scrambled to their feet, whipping around to flee in a different direction, only to have another creature appear in their path.
“We’ll end up surrounded,” Reshy whimpered from Joey’s chest. They turned and ran the other way, taking a different turn to the right, through a gabled archway into a courtyard that Joey had glimpsed earlier.
Thick vines and lush plants covered every inch of the courtyard. On the other side, a third hound-like creature, its face long and canine with slavering jaws, but devoid of eyes, growled at something Joey couldn’t see. Racing forward, Joey confirmed their hunch: the beast had cornered Romesh. Bending to one side as they ran, Joey scooped up a clod of earth as they went.
As they came within range, the beast swiped out with one paw and knocked the boy back against the courtyard wall. He hit the stones with a flat thunk, then crumpled to the ground. Joey stopped running and flung the dirt clod into the beast’s face, yelling incoherently. What was this feeling? Rage, anger, all on this boy’s behalf. Why? All Joey knew was that protecting him was the most important thing they could do.
The beast let out a snarl and leaped for them, but they held their ground and twisted to one side; the creature’s jaws closed on empty air, but its bulk crashed into them and sent them sprawling to the ground. Reshy fell on the grass and tumbled away, but Joey tried to grab hold of the beast’s neck.
“Romesh, run!” they yelled, but the only response was a whimpering sound from where the boy lay. The two other hounds crashed through the archway, snarling and yapping as they bounded towards the cornered prey. With a growl of effort, their pack-mate heaved Joey’s waifish doll body off, sending them crashing to one side. They rolled again, trying to move between the hounds and the boy’s still form.
“Romesh! Are you all right?” Joey hissed, not daring to move their gaze from the circling trio of dog-creatures. “Say something if you’re conscious.” The beasts snarled and lunged for them; Joey spun to face them, their skirts swirling around their legs as they darted to one side. One hound seized their hem in its jaws and tore a long stretch of fabric away.
“Y-yes,” came a tired voice. “Who…?”
“I’m here to help,” replied Joey. “Can you stand up?” With the hounds circling again, trying to flank Joey, they spared a backward glance towards Romesh. The boy was slowly climbing to his feet with the aid of the courtyard wall, and Joey felt relief flood their nerves. Then they saw Romesh’s face: though most of his skin was a warm nut-brown, a black growth covered one side of his head, a mottled patch textured like fabric. Joey felt their breath catch and a surge of anger boiling in their core.
A hound leaped for them and seized their arm in its teeth; the beast yanked Joey down to the ground and they landed with a grunt, staring into its blank, featureless face. A sharp pain surged through Joey as the beast’s teeth sank into their forearm. They were horribly aware of the beast’s jaw, the powerful muscle and sinew lining its mouth. Through the pain—so much pain, this body feels pain like it never did before, but somehow it doesn’t matter—Joey heard Romesh scream. “No! Get off her!”
Joey writhed and rolled to the side, trying to dislodge the beast’s grip on their arm, but the great jaws clamped tight and wrenched them in the other direction. With a sickening snap, Joey’s shoulder joint broke free of its socket and Joey’s arm hung useless at the elbow; Joey kicked at the thing’s jaw and screamed in pain. The hound reeled away as Joey clutched their arm. It was slick with fluid, but too cream-colored and oily to be blood.
Another creature grabbed Joey by the hair and jerked them back; Joey turned to face it and lashed out, landing a kick in its furry belly. It gave a surprised bark and reared back. The third hound leaped directly toward their face, and Joey snarled in defiance, trying to rise from a crouch. They lifted one knee to block the hurtling canine mass, but their leg only glanced off the beast’s lower jaw. The weight of the creature slammed into Joey’s head, spinning their neck on its axis with a sickening crack. Joey’s body flopped onto the grass, its limbs splayed awkwardly and its head lolling at an unnatural angle.
That was scary. Thank you for the chapter ✨✨✨