The Shadow in the Glass by JJA Harwood (any book recommendations txt) 📕

‘But I can offer you so much more than those meagre wages you had saved; barely enough to scrape by for a few months. Security. Freedom. The chance to see the world. You wouldn’t have to scrimp and save and dodge wandering hands for years. You could leave whenever you wanted, with whatever you wanted.’

The back of Eleanor’s neck itched; she had to fight the urge to look over her shoulder. ‘Are you asking me to steal something?’

The woman laughed again. ‘You are a sweet little thing. No. You may be as law-abiding as you like. But you will have power. The first real power you’ve had in your life, I’d wager.’

Power. The word was unfamiliar, even in Eleanor’s head. A dark, solid kind of word that made her think of smoke rings, blown from expensive cigars.

‘What do you mean, power?’

‘I’d like to propose a bargain. I will offer you seven wishes. Whatever you ask for, I shall grant you. There are few limits.’

‘Wishes? I stopped believing in fairy godmothers long ago.’

The woman’s eyes flashed. ‘Perhaps you ought to have a little more faith.’

She snapped her fingers. The little book, balanced on Eleanor’s knee, burst into flame. Eleanor jerked backwards before she realized there was no heat. Flames snapping at her fingers, Eleanor reached for the book. The second she touched it, the fire vanished. Her fingers came away clean, with no soot or ash in sight. It even felt a little damp to the touch. Rotten. A new fear lapped at the edges of her thoughts. What kind of creature could do such a thing?

Slowly, she set the book on the arm of her chair. The woman was smiling at her.

‘Don’t worry, dear. I never would have hurt you. But I hope you realize that I am perfectly serious. I can grant wishes. I will grant yours, if you let me.’

A horrible certainty stole over Eleanor, like frost creeping up a window pane. ‘And what would you ask in return?’ she said, already knowing the answer.

The woman’s eyes flickered to the book. ‘Perhaps I should’ve let you read a little further. Your soul.’

‘What? No, I – no!’

‘I’m not unreasonable,’ the woman said mildly. ‘I would only collect my due if you made all seven wishes. I’ve no wish to cheat you, my dear.’

Eleanor stared at the book. She was half-convinced that when she looked up the black-eyed woman would be gone. A part of her hoped she would be. She knew Eleanor’s secrets, true, but surely she could not be real, with her shadows squirming around her like witches’ familiars. But when she looked back the black-eyed woman still sat there, still smiling, still silent.

Her soul, in exchange for seven wishes. What would she be without it? Where did she keep it? Would she even notice if it was gone? It was not like losing a finger, or an eye, or a lock of hair – she knew what she would be without them. If she bartered away her soul, what would she become?

Her soul …

‘Why are you offering me this deal?’

The black-eyed woman spread her hands. ‘Does it matter? Just think of it, my dear,’ she said, holding out her hand, ‘you’ll be safe, warm, well-fed. You can leave your cares behind. Anything you want is yours. Anything.’

The black-eyed woman’s hand was perfectly smooth. There were no lines on her palm, no whorls on her fingertips. Eleanor’s hands were scrubbed raw, a fine web of cuts across the knuckles, skin flaking all along her fingers. They were the hands of an old woman, and Eleanor was seventeen.

Anything she wanted …

She wouldn’t have to end up like Leah. She could find her, give her a place to recover. She could stop Aoife from going down that path, too. She could keep her friends safe. And not just that. A soft, warm bed. A roof that didn’t leak. Hot, delicious food every night, food that wouldn’t get knocked out of her hands. No more knots in her back. No more throbbing knees from scrubbing floors. No more itching uniforms. No more Mr Pembroke.

She would be a lady. A real lady, like Mrs Pembroke had wanted her to be. She’d be safe, warm, well-fed, well-dressed, and that would be only the beginning of it. She could spirit herself away to all the places she’d read about, and fly home again quicker than blinking. There would be no door left closed to her, no secret that she could not uncover, and she would be adored everywhere she went.

With her hand held out the black-eyed woman looked like a mother, waiting for her child to come to her. Eleanor took it. For a moment, the black-eyed woman’s hand seemed to flicker.

‘Eleanor Rose Hartley,’ said the black-eyed woman, her smile vanishing, ‘I will be with you always. I will give you anything you desire; you have only to ask. You may use this gift seven times, after which your soul will belong to me. Do you understand?’

The silence billowed around them.

‘I understand.’

‘And do you consent to it of your own free will, knowing the price you must pay?’

‘I do.’

‘Then, Eleanor Rose Hartley, I am your servant.’

Eleanor started awake. She was still in the library chair, head lolling against the leather. The little book was still on her lap, and her candle had almost burned down. Dirty moonlight crept through a gap in the curtains. Everything was just as she had left it, but the black-eyed woman had gone.

Eleanor stretched out a kink in her neck and put the book back on the shelf. She was usually careful never to fall asleep in the library; it gave her strange dreams. Tentatively, she touched the cushion of the black-eyed woman’s chair. It was cold. Eleanor’s shoulders slumped. It had been a dream after all.

She blew out her candle and unlocked the library door. She knew she ought to go back to her room before anyone saw