The Latch Key

  Olivia Atwater

  Copyright © 2022 by Olivia Atwater

  https://oliviaatwater.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and stories are the product of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons (living or dead), organizations, and events is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About the Author

  Also by Olivia Atwater

  Chapter 1

  The Lord Sorcier, Elias Wilder, had never intended to be a father. In fact, he had never intended to marry at all—but now, some‐ how, he had found himself with both a Mrs Theodora Wilder and an entire orphanage of children who seemed to consider him their father.

  Elias was not fond of children. On the whole, he found other adults to be barely tolerable. Given the choice, he greatly preferred to spend his time in isolation with his books and his magic and… well, his wife was excellent company, actually, and he was fond of her, at least.

  But the fact remained that Elias had helped to save several children from a faerie. And so, despite his preferences, he was indeed a father now. And he was not at all the sort to shirk such an important responsibility.

  Elias was unsurprised to discover, early one Sunday evening, that he was not very good at the job.

  The sky was just beginning to darken as Elias approached the set of apartments which had been granted to him by the Crown. The living space was a townhouse of several stories, stacked atop a perfume shop which always smelled cloyingly of flowers. The apartments had probably had a very important sounding name at one time, like Highcrest or Willow House— but Elias could not stand ostentatious things, and so he and his wife had decided simply to call it the House.

  As Elias came within sight of the House—just close enough to catch a whiff of that noxious mixture of roses, lilies, and lavender—he caught a glimpse of one lonely, flickering candle through a window on the third floor. Said candle had taken up residence within his study, among his magical books and his spellcasting implements. Elias’s first instinct, of course, was that his wife Dora had stepped into his study in order to satisfy some momentary curiosity among his books. Dora often asked him dreamy questions about magical theory, but she was just as apt to research such questions all on her own. Though the study could be a dangerous place, this never bothered Elias at all, since his wife had already killed one faerie all on her own and could therefore take perfectly good care of herself, thank you very much.

  Elias loosened his cravat as he climbed the stairs. “I wonder what’s caught her attention this time,” he mused.

  But as he opened the door to the dining room on the second floor, he saw Dora sitting at the table, surrounded by several children. Everyone was still wearing their Sunday best, with a smattering of little bonnets and coarse long coats.

  “You do need to eat your peas, Roger,” Dora was saying to a young brown-haired boy in the chair just next to her. “Don’t mistake me, I’m pleased that you can be picky now—but Mr Lowe says that if you don’t eat all of the healthy bits, he may need to come and visit again.”

  Roger grimaced as though Dora had presented him with an impossible ultimatum. “You know what I think?” he said. “I think some faerie made peas just to torture us. Can’t I just say some Hail Marys an’ eat more pie instead?”

  Dora paused to consider this seriously, and Elias found himself briefly amused. It was true that his wife had only half a soul—and this made her act very fanciful and distracted at times—but it was this very quality which often endeared her to the children, since she was always ready to consider things from their perspective.

  “But why would a faerie make peas terrible on purpose, unless they were trying to prevent you from eating peas?” Dora asked. “Surely, you don’t intend to let a faerie trick you, Roger.”

  Roger narrowed his eyes, clearly put off by this response—though surely not defeated. Before he could reply, however, Elias cleared his throat audibly.

  “Dora,” he said. “Did you leave a candle burning in the study?”

  Dora glanced towards Elias. As she did, Roger swiftly snatched the peas from his plate, tucking them into his handkerchief to hide them.

  “I have not been in the study at all today,” Dora said. “I took the children to church, and then to Kensington Gardens—and now, we are having supper.”

  Elias knitted his brow warily. “If you have not been in the study, Dora,” he said slowly, “then who is in there right now?”

  The children at the table all looked at each other with such guilty expressions that Elias knew there was a minor conspiracy afoot. Dora turned to look over the gathering, quietly counting heads, even as Elias stormed for the stairs once more.

  “Oh,” Dora sighed. “Abigail.”

  Elias took the stairs up to the study two at a time. His heart thudded quickly in his chest, sick with danger in a way that it had not been for years now. The books and tools in his study could easily harm an unwary adult; a child of Abigail’s age would surely fare even worse if she touched the wrong thing.

  His mind conjured up horrible images one after another. Perhaps Abigail had accidentally summoned some dark creature, or erased her own memories, or started a fire—

  None of these terrible imaginings were in evidence when Elias finally threw open the door to his study. All that he saw, in fact, was a little twelve-year-old girl sitting in his large leather chair, staring down at a thick tome in her lap. She still wore her Sunday dress—a worn but respectable white gown which one of the women from the Charitable Ladies’ Board had donated to the orphanage. Her bonnet had been tossed onto the floor nearby; her lank, straw-like blonde hair had come free of its careful bun.

  Abigail glanced up swiftly as Elias slammed the door open. Her expression stayed calm and still—but her blue eyes filled with knowing guilt, and she pushed back a few strands of her hair nervously, tucking them behind her ear.

  A surge of cautious relief flooded through Elias, even as he strode for the chair. He snatched the tome from Abigail’s lap as though it were a looming viper, setting it far out of reach on the corner of the desk. Abigail flinched, and he turned his attention sharply back upon her.

  “Are you hurt?” Elias demanded, searching her over for signs of injury. “Have you used any magic, even by accident?”

  Abigail shrank down into the chair. It was easily twice her size, such that she looked even smaller than she really was. “I—no sir,” Abigail mumbled. “I was just readin’.”

  Elias let out a shaky breath. The fear had yet to fully pass, and his heart‐ beat was very loud in his ears. “You are not allowed in here,” he said. “You know that you are not allowed in here, and you are certainly not allowed to read these books!” He paused briefly as a thought occurred to him. “You can read?” he asked. “Mrs Dun said that none of the children from Hollowvale knew how to read.”

  Abigail swallowed. “Mrs Dun started teachin’ us a few weeks back,” the little girl said.

  Elias pressed his fingers to his forehead. “You’ve only just started learning how to read,” he said slowly, “and yet, you are here in my study, attempting to decipher some of the most dangerous texts in all of England. Have I understood correctly?”

  Abigail did not respond this time. Instead, she looked down silently at her hands in her lap in the way that children did when they had no proper response.

  Elias shook his head. “Up,” he said shortly. “Out. And do not let me catch you in here again. You are fortunate to be alive, young lady.”

  Abigail pressed her lips together. She shoved herself up from the chair, keeping her eyes cast down to the floor.

  As soon as she had left, Elias collapsed into the leather chair. His hands still shook with an overwhelming surplus of emotion; a vice squeezed here and there at his heart, insisting that there might yet be danger at any moment.

  He breathed slowly for a long time, trying to still the dizziness that threatened to overtake him. After several minutes, the ongoing dread lessened just enough that he was able to stand again—though he knew from long experience that it would not fully depart for hours yet.

  Elias had never needed to lock his study before; he knew and trusted all of the servants that worked at the House, and his wife was every bit as dangerous as the books were. Until today, it hadn’t occurred to him that the children from Mrs Dun’s orphanage would ever be underfoot. But Dora loved all of the children dearly, he realised, and it only made sense that she would insist on bringing them back to the House at times.

  For the first time in a long while, Elias dug into the desk drawers to search out a large ornate key. On his way out of the study, he locked the door behind him and tucked the key into his coat pocket.

  Chapter 2

  But perhaps it is important to start this faerie tale from the very beginning. Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Elias whose father was a faerie. At least, Elias was fairly certain that Lord Swiftburn was his father—the tall, slender creature that always looked down at him would not respond unless Elias called him Father, which seemed to suggest as much.

  Lord Swiftburn was a comely elf with long, white-blond hair and piercing golden eyes. He was, all things considered, a terrifying father. All good fathers ought to be terrifying to their children, after all, Lord Swiftburn often told Elias. The faerie always said this with a charming, carefree sort of laugh which made his golden eyes twinkle. Elias feared that laughter above all else, though the other faeries who sometimes visited seemed to find it uniquely compelling. Lord Swiftburn’s laugh always seemed to presage a new and sudden change in Elias’ circumstances, over which he already had so little control.

  Like its lord, the land known as Swiftburn was both beautiful and deceptively frightening. It was a land of broad, sweeping forests and golden grasses, all bone dry from lack of rain. The sky was always dark and fore‐ boding with summer storm clouds, but no water ever fell; instead, great winds whipped across the land, stirring up the dry foliage in crackling hisses, while thunder rumbled ominously overhead.

  In all of Swiftburn, there was only one structure: a large, soot-blackened stone manor which Elias’s father called the Whithering House. The Whithering House was situated on a very tall hill, where no trees or grasses ever grew; its great sash windows were always so dirty that Elias spent much of his time scrubbing the soot from them in order to see outside at all. He rarely dared to set foot outside of the Whithering House—for Swiftburn was prone to dangerous outbursts, the consequences of which he often saw from the vantage point of his bedroom window.

  Every so often, a stray bolt of lightning struck somewhere in Swiftburn, like a spark in a tinderbox. Each time this happened, the world that Elias knew was transformed into a beautiful, raging inferno. Sheets of golden fire raked the land, dancing joyfully across the landscape as they burned the world to ash. The flames always climbed to engulf the Whithering House— but somehow, the building never burned. Instead, Elias marvelled at the sight of the fire licking along his windows, like a friendly pet come to say hello. The devastation to the land was terrible—but the rustling trees and the dry grasses always regrew in a hurry, so that everything was back to normal by the time Elias next awoke.

  Living in Swiftburn was dangerous indeed for a mortal child. But Elias did his best to stay within the Whithering House and obey his father’s changeable wishes. And for many years, this was enough.

  Eventually, however, Lord Swiftburn was inspired to leave his realm. “I intend to take a holiday in England!” the faerie declared to Elias, as they settled in for supper in the great hall. “Perhaps this time, I will trick an Englishman into insulting me, so that I may punish him!”

  Elias normally tried to stay quiet in order to avoid his father’s attention —but at this, he could not help his curiosity. “What is England, Father?” he asked. “I have never heard of it before.”

  Lord Swiftburn smiled at his son. “It is a foreign land where mortals live,” he said. “I have hidden many paths to England within Swiftburn, since I so enjoy visiting there. I will take one of those paths within the day and catch myself a mortal.”

  Elias knew that he was mortal, though he did not fully understand the word. He frowned at this. “Am I from England?” he asked.

  Lord Swiftburn waved his hand distractedly. “Oh, I do not quite remember,” he said. “It does not matter, does it? You are here now, and you are my son. Let us not speak of it.” He pressed one long finger to his chin now, deep in thought. “I cannot bring you with me, of course—you will surely spoil my holiday. But I cannot leave you here in the Whithering House either, can I? Who knows what mischief you might cause while I am not here to watch you?”

  Elias closed his fingers into his palms beneath the table, suddenly worried. But he kept his tone calm from long years of practice. “But what if Swiftburn catches fire while you are gone?” he asked. “I will need to hide in the Whithering House, won’t I?”

  Lord Swiftburn shook his head at Elias, as though his son was being very silly indeed. “I will only be gone for a little bit,” he said. “I am sure that everything will be fine.”

  Elias was not at all certain that everything would be fine. “I will be very well behaved, Father,” he said quickly. “If you’ll only let me stay in the house, I’ll remain in my room and make no noise at all—”

  Lord Swiftburn turned a dark expression upon his son, and Elias shut his mouth abruptly. “A good son does not argue with his father!” the faerie said softly. “Have I not taught you better than this, Elias?”

  The candles that glowed golden upon the table flickered with warning, burning higher and brighter and hotter. Elias sucked in his breath with fear. He knew, of course, that being trapped outside could be deadly… but displeasing his father could be dangerous as well. And of course, above all else, he did desire to be a good son.

  “You… have taught me better,” Elias said softly. He looked down at his plate. “I am sorry, Father. I will not argue any more.”

  Lord Swiftburn let out a sharp, impatient sound. He rose from his place at the table. “It is too late,” he said. “You have spoiled supper entirely. I might as well depart for my holiday now.” He gestured at Elias. “Up. Out. I will let you back into the Whithering House when I have returned.”

  Elias stared helplessly at his father. But he knew that arguing would only make things worse—and so, he shoved to his feet and headed for the front door of the manor.

  Outside, the black, rumbling sky spread out before him. Elias hesitated on the threshold of the Whithering House, terrified to set foot beyond it— but Lord Swiftburn dragged him out by the arm and closed the soot-stained door behind them both. The faerie pulled a key from his coat and turned to lock the door.

  “I am taking the latch key with me,” Lord Swiftburn declared. “I will unlock the door when I return.”

  And then, without further ado, the faerie started down the hill on his way towards England. Eventually, his white-blond hair disappeared between the trees—and Elias was left alone on the doorstep of the Whithering House.

  Elias sat there for many minutes, staring helplessly out into the distance. Every so often, a flash of lightning cut across the sky; each time, his body tensed and his eyes scanned the forest ahead for signs of fire.

  I am surely going to die, Elias thought. Father will be heartbroken when he returns—but I will still be dead.

  Fear choked his throat and clouded his mind. But Elias was a clever boy, and he was used to surviving in faerie. He took several deep breaths, forcing away the dizziness—and as he turned to consider the Whithering House behind him, an idea finally occurred.

  ***

  TWICE, Elias watched the world go up in flames from his bedroom window before Lord Swiftburn returned from his holiday in England. He had intended to sneak back out of the Whithering House before his father returned—but the faerie arrived while Elias was sleeping, and he only knew that Lord Swiftburn had come back when he was pulled abruptly from his bed.

  “What is this?” Lord Swiftburn demanded. “How are you here? I am certain that I locked the front door!”

  Elias stumbled up to his feet, blinking away his bleariness. His father was frustrated and dishevelled looking; his white-blond hair was all askew, with straw sticking out of it at odd angles.

  “You were very late returning,” Elias said carefully. “I had to hide from a fire while you were gone. But what has happened to you, Father?”

  Lord Swiftburn’s golden eyes sparked with fury. “I disguised myself as a toothless, disgusting old mortal man!” he said. “I knocked at a farmer’s door and asked him to let me inside. And do you know what he did?”

  Elias frowned uncertainly. “Well… did he not insult you, Father?”

  “No! Not in the least!” Lord Swiftburn threw up his hands, now pacing the bedroom. “He invited me inside, the cunning wretch! He set a place for me at his supper table! He even gave me his own bed for the evening!” Lord Swiftburn’s face twisted into a furious scowl. “You know that I cannot accept gifts—I must instead return them threefold. I have been weeding crops and mucking stables for days!”

 

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