She followed him, still dazed by the apparition. A moment later, the match Ismael was holding went out and once again they were enveloped in darkness.
As soon as they reached the door leading into Cravenmoore, the carpet of shadow that had spread beneath their feet slowly unfurled behind them, becoming thicker and sliding along the walls like a liquid black shroud. The shadow slithered towards the workshop table and crawled over the white veil covering the mechanical angel Lazarus had shown Dorian. Slowly, the shadow slipped under the sheet and its vaporous mass penetrated the joints of the metal structure.
The shadow’s outline disappeared completely inside the metal body. A layer of frost spread over the mechanical creature, covering it with an icy cobweb. Then, slowly, the angel’s eyes opened in the dark, two burning coals glowing underneath the veil.
Little by little, the colossal figure rose and spread its wings. Then it placed both feet on the floor. Its claws gripped the wooden surface, leaving scratches as it went. A curl of smoke from the burnt-out match Ismael had thrown away spiralled into the bluish air. The angel walked through it and was soon lost in the darkness, following Ismael and Irene’s steps.
9
THE NIGHT TRANSFIGURED
An insistent drumming wrenched Simone out of a strange dream in which she was waltzing the night away with her deceased husband Armand in one of Paris’s old hotel ballrooms, now decayed and covered in cobwebs. In life Armand had never been a dancer, in fact she doubted there had been a clumsier man in all of Paris, yet somehow he had found his dancing feet in the afterlife.
‘Come and join me here, Simone,’ he whispered in a voice that was not his. He looked at her with eyes that were not his either. ‘You’ll be happy here, with the others . . .’
‘You’re not my husband, are you?’ she asked.
The stranger in her arms gave her a wolf-like smile.
The sound persisted, and by now Simone was wide awake, the chill of the dream fading away. Someone was tapping gently on the window that overlooked the porch. Simone stood up and recognised Lazarus’s smiling face on the other side of the glass. Instantly, she felt herself blush. On her way to the door she glanced at herself in the mirror. You foolish old woman, she thought.
‘Good evening, Madame Sauvelle. Perhaps this isn’t a good moment . . .’ said Lazarus.
‘Not at all. I was just . . . Actually, I was reading and fell asleep.’
‘That means you should change books.’
‘I suppose so. Anyway, do come in, please.’
‘I don’t want to bother you.’
‘Don’t be silly. Come in.’
Lazarus nodded politely as he entered. His eyes reconnoitred the place quickly.
‘Seaview has never looked so good,’ he remarked. ‘I must congratulate you.’
‘Irene deserves all the credit. She’s the one with a talent for decorating. A cup of tea? Coffee?’
‘Tea would be perfect, but . . .’
‘Say no more. I’d like one too.’
Their eyes met for a second. Lazarus smiled warmly. Simone, suddenly embarrassed, looked down and concentrated on preparing the tea.
‘You’ll wonder why I’m here,’ the toymaker began.
Indeed, thought Simone.
‘Every night I go for a walk through the forest to the cliffs. It helps me relax,’ said Lazarus.
There was a moment of silence, filled only by the sound of the water heating in the kettle.
‘Have you heard about the annual masked ball in Blue Bay, Madame Sauvelle?’
‘On the last full moon of August,’ Simone recalled.
‘That’s right. I wondered . . . Well, you must understand you’re under no obligation to accept, otherwise I wouldn’t ask you. I’m not sure I’m making myself clear . . .’