Teddy helped Malcolm carry Owen's body through the kitchen and down the steps to the basement. It was slow, clumsy work. She was surprised by how heavy he was, despite being so thin.
Dead weight, Teddy thought, then scolded herself. She wanted to throw up.
She worried that this was somehow her fault, but she scolded herself for that thought too. A boy was dead, and she felt like throwing a pity party for herself.
When they reached the basement, Poole was already in his lab, tinkering with bottles and instruments. He looked up at them when they reached the landing.
"Place the body here," Poole said, his voice clinical, without warmth. A scientist at work.
They placed Owen on the floor as directed, as gently as they could manage.
Poole produced a vial of amber-colored liquid, it glowed in the candlelight. He strode over the where Owen lay and bent to observe him. As the butler poked and prodded at the body, Teddy felt Malcolm stiffen beside her.
Looking at Malcolm made her want to cry, so she tried not to look at him. It made her hate herself. But the pain on his face looked a little too familiar to her, took her back to a place she never wanted to go again. Again, she scolded herself for her selfishness. She took a deep breath and took Malcolm's hand.
"Cause of death?" Poole asked.
"I'm not sure, but he's . . . sick," Malcolm sputtered. "Er, he was. He's in remission, uh, from leukemia."
Poole shook his head, observing the body. "That is not ideal," he said.
Malcolm said nothing. Teddy held her breath to stop herself from cursing at Poole.
"You say you know me," Poole continued in that same even voice.
Malcolm gulped. "I know you lived hundreds of years ago. I know you made the spider live forever. I know you were working on the Philosopher's Sto—"
"I see," Poole cut him off. "So you know what you ask of me?"
Malcolm nodded. "Bring him back. Please."
"So you must know that he will be like me," Poole said, darkness washing over his face. "Not quite alive, but a soul freed."
Teddy saw the boy nod from the corner of her eye, but she wasn't convinced he understood the complexity of the concept. She wasn't confident she quite understood it, either.
"Malcolm," Poole said, and Teddy felt the boy flinch at the sound of his name. "Your brother will not be able to leave this house."
The boy ripped his hand out of hers and turned to face the wall, his hands covering his face. He hissed in a panicked breath.
"It is your choice—"
"There's got to be another way!" Malcolm shouted, cutting Poole off. He approached the butler with angry confidence, his shoulders squared, his finger pointing. "You're telling me you haven't . . . discovered anything in the last two hundred years?" He gestured wildly to the cluttered laboratory.
Teddy watched Poole face for any sign of anger, but his face remained calm. He watched, listened to Malcolm with a patience she had never seen in him.
Poole walked back behind his desk and shuffled through his papers, looking for something. When he found what he was looking for, he looked Malcolm in the eye, stared at him for a long time.
"There may be something I can try," he said carefully. "But I cannot promise you it will work."
Teddy's heart pounded. She suddenly felt like she was intruding on a private conversation, but she couldn't bring herself to move her feet.
"I can release your brother's soul from the body, that is the easy part," Poole explained. "The drawback of course, is that he will be bound to the elements in this house. My hypothesis for the past — how long did you say, 200 years? — has been this: If I can slow or stop the process of decay in the body, then I can rejoin the soul to the vessel, and Owen could, in theory, walk right out the door with you."
Malcolm's eyes were wide with hope. Teddy's were wide with wonder.
"The problem is that I have yet to execute the process with much success," Poole said, his eyes glazing over, as if recalling all the failed attempts. Teddy couldn't help but wonder what — or who — he experimented on.
"It is further complicated by your brother's illness—"
"—we have to try it," Malcolm said, his voice firm.
Teddy met his gaze. His eyes were fierce, determined. There was no trace of tears or fear. Teddy knew then that he wouldn't go away, wouldn't leave without his brother. She turned to Poole, pleading with her eyes. She didn't know the boy standing next to her, and she didn't know the dead boy sprawled out on the floor, but she wanted to help them.
"You can stay here," she heard herself say. "While Poole works . . . You can stay here."
Malcolm sputtered in disbelief and Teddy watched his confidence falter.
"I-I can pay you," he said, his voice pleading.
Teddy started to object, but Poole spoke up. He looked at Teddy as he spoke.
"In order to finish this job, it is imperative that we maintain ownership of this house," he said. "Theodora, how much do you need to get us through the year?"
Teddy suddenly felt very small. Frankly, she didn't have an exact number. Worse, she didn't feel right asking Malcolm for money while standing in front of his brother's corpse.
" . . . a lot," she admitted.
"I don't have much," Malcolm said, face falling. "But I'll do anything, anything . . ."
An idea lit up in her head.
"You could help us with the business," she said, words tumbling out of her mouth too fast.
Poole sighed. He had clearly thought she was done with that idea.
"Yeah!" she said, excited now. "Help us get customers, help us with the seances . . ."
Malcolm nodded. "Deal. Anything."
Poole shook his head as if trying to catch up, but he said nothing. He took the vial of amber-colored liquid and approached Owen's body once again. He uncorked the vial, then tipped its contents out over his subject. Teddy watched, mouth slack in awe. In the back of her mind, she wondered why the butler was being so accommodating. What was in it for him? A guinea pig? Or did it have something to do with this ancestor, William Allan?
"For the sake of time, I will use this liquid to attract the . . . necessary elements," Poole explained. Teddy wondered if he'd ever had reason to explain his process verbally. She supposed not.
A whimpered groan escaped Malcolm's lips, and Teddy turned to see what was wrong.
Then she saw them.
Moving like a dark cloud across the cement floor, a swarm of spiders emerged from the shadows. Teddy felt a jolt at the base of her spine, a feeling of incomprehensible ickiness moved through her. Her and Malcolm scurried out of the way. Teddy resisted the urge to climb on top of a desk.
There was no need. The spiders moved as a mass to Owen's body. They climbed up his arms, his legs, his torso to get to the substance Poole had dowsed him in.
"This is what I feed them," Poole said, holding up what was left of the amber substance. "It is a formula that took me years to perfect."
Teddy stared in horror as Owen's body became a dark, writhing mound. The spiders covered his body, obscured it completely. When they reached his head, they covered his eyes, climbed into his mouth. She dared not look at Malcolm. She hoped he hadn't seen it.
Soon, the writhing stopped, the spiders seemed to calm down. Their motions were in-sync, as if controlled by one mind. They've finished eating, Teddy realized. Then, in perfect unison, they began spinning their webs.
Her eyes burned, but she couldn't blink, couldn't look away. Moisture fell to her cheeks, making her skin itch where it tread. She watched, through tears, as the spiders spun their webs, cocooning Owen's body in a white veil. It was strangely beautiful, the fibers sparkled like freshly-fallen snow, so thin she could still see the boy trapped beneath.
Still, the beauty couldn't mask the utter horror of what she witnessed. Reality lingered, a tedious, intrusive reminder: a boy is dead, a boy is dead, a boy is dead.
"This process will take some time," Poole said. He sounded far, far away. "Theodora, why don't you show our guest to his room?"
Teddy blinked and a waterfall of tears fell. She stared at Owen for a moment longer, watched him slowly disappearing under layers of silk, then forced her gaze away. She wiped her face.
She led Malcolm up the stairs. They didn't speak. His eyes had glazed over, they seemed to focus on nothing. She took him to the upstairs bedroom. She collected her things from the room, then left Malcolm alone for the night.