THE PARTY

By Anthony Crute

London March 3rd, 1808

“Arthur!” bellowed the portly man as he raised his arm into the air. His other hand held his seventh glass of the finest scotch. His nose was a bright red which was surpassed only by the redness of his cheeks which were made to stand out even more by his long fluffy white mutton chops he sported down the side of his face. He licked his lips from one side to the other like a frog as Arthur approached. He was Percival Anderson (1750-1832, old age).

“Percy,” greeted Arthur with a smile as he embraced the older gentleman. The two were dressed in their finest evening wear for the party Arthur and his wife Elsbeth Norrell were throwing. Arthur Norrell was fifteen years the junior of Percival Anderson but the two men regarded each other as equals (1765-1808, unknown). Norrell had just the year hence made sure that Anderson and himself would be set with his last shipment of slaves from the Dark Continent. “You look well,” Arthur separated from Percival and turned to his daughter Amy. Amy matched her father’s rotund and portly appearance even down to the double chin…she was the picture of health (1790-1858, flu). Arthur bent double and kissed the young woman’s hand before turning back to Percy.

“I feel well too Arthur. That spot of business we did last year has kept me more than happy enough.” Percy patted his stomach heartily and chuckled. “I don’t suppose you’d be needing another few ships this year?” Percy smiled and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m out of that game now Percy,” Arthur rolled his eyes back as if he was looking at the back of his own greying head. “The lords have decided that the slave trade is wrong and finable by £100 a head…there’s no more profit to be made.”

“I did hear of some ships who simply toss the blighters overboard if boarded by the Navy…perhaps,” Arthur shook his head and raised his hand in front of Percy.

“I am out of the business Percy…for now at least.” He smiled. “I know half the lords who voted against it. Most have slaves of their own. This banning is just a political point against Napoleon and his renewed trade…I would never of course go against my land in favour of France.” The two men made a dry spit to the floor at the mention of France.

“I’m still surprised old George let the law pass. He hasn’t got any real power anymore but he has plenty of clout and I know that he…”

“Ah!” remarked Arthur. “Now you mention it! Archbridge over there” (Marcus Archbridge 1760-1840, old age) Arthur pointed through the heady crowd of party goers all of whom were in their best finery to a tall skeleton like gentlemen. “He tells me that he was at Balmoral as a guest not three months ago and his Majesty had hit upon another rough patch.” The two men regarded glances and nodded understanding what they meant. The two smiled pleasantly knowing that soon their lucrative business would soon return.

“I beg you to forgive my impertinence,” spoke Amy politely until the men had turned their attention to her. “I do not suppose you would have information on where your last set of slaves went too? I have a hobby of knowing how many savages have had their lives improved thanks in part to my father saving them from that heathen land.”

Arthur and Percival looked at one another and laughed, such a cute hobby and so socially minded. “I unfortunately do not, we did retain one young woman here…two if you count the boy, her younger brother. They have since left our service” Arthur spoke calmly and stilly.

Percival ‘hmm’d’ at the comment. It was most unusual for a slave to leave the employment of its master…he thought he knew what Arthur meant but was protecting Amy’s delicate ears and constitution from.

“Excuse me,” said a young gentleman. His hair was a dark and curly red and his face covered in freckles. He was an up and coming accountant who had been invited by Arthur’s son from the firm in which he had received from his wife’s father. His name was Michael Haroldson (1786-1858).

The two men regarded him with a smile. “Perchance have either of you seen my fiancé?” the two men and Amy replied with curt shakes of the head. The man walked off.

He picked his way through the thick heady crowds of London’s upper-class businessmen and their wives and children who laughed or discussed politics or business deals they have done or perhaps should do. The ball was very much a game of one-up-manship between every member of the crowd. The men bragged and belittled others for money earned and their wives for property or servants owned. Seconds before Percy had sighted Arthur he had disparaged him to another who then went off to remark what a frightful bore Percival was getting and how he was looking worse for his years.

The Norrell’s held the same ball every year in their London apartments in an attempt to compete with the 208 balls a year that the average middle class Londoner would attend in a year. The parties purpose was twofold firstly to keep the family in the social scene which helped Arthur Norrell with many of his business deals and secondly for the family to show how well they were doing.

The house itself was a four story affair which had been completed only seven years prior was the height of Georgian fashion. Strong wooden oak beams lined the ceiling and were draped in streamers for the party while strong marble columns rested on the ornate flooring and held up the second floor balcony. A set of hardwood floors carpeted tastefully stretched up the centre of the foyer and to the upstairs which was attired similarly.

Michael Haroldson picked his way through the crowd asking people at random if perhaps they had seen his fiancé. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her. The thoughts of her last sighting slipped through his mind like mercury. He sometimes felt that it had been mere seconds ago and he had just turned his head and she was gone but other times it felt like eternity. He was quite worried about her for even in such regarded company a lady should not be left alone at a party for so long.

“Excuse me sir,” spoke Michael to a gentleman who rested gently upon a wall. The man seemed almost startled by his addressing. He had been leaning on the wall and looking out upon the crowd scouring it with his eyes as if he too were looking for someone he perchance would be the best person to ask thought Michael. The man turned and smiled. He was dressed in the finest suit Michael had ever seen; his hands were gloved and held a long black cane gently. His hair was tipped white at either temple and he had a thin moustache. The man stood with a China man to his right. “Sirs,” corrected Michael as he saw the bald China man in a green Chinese tunic.

“Yes?” questioned Doctor Stephen Strange as he raised an eyebrow at the man and grinned.

“I was wondering perhaps yourself of your Oriental companion had seen my fiancé.” Michael reached inside his jacket and took out a small golden fob watch which he popped open to show an exquisite time piece, in the other half on the inside of the door rested a picture. The woman in the picture was thin and pale but quite pretty.

Strange admired the photo and then turned to his assistant, confidant and friend who shook his head. “Neither I nor Wong have seen your fiancé…I apologise.”

Michael nodded at the man. He realised now that as he stood next to this man who appeared like a still bowl of water unmoved and unconcerned with anything in the world how nervous and upset he truly was over the disappearance of the girl he truly loved. He breathed heavily as he tried to calm himself.

“May I ask why there is such a hurry to find her?” The man seemed calculating as he stared Michael in the eye as if he was attempting to look past or through him and find some information in Michael’s answer which Michael had not actually given.

“We were supposed to leave early,” Michael glanced at the face of his watch. “Odd it’s Swiss…it’s stopped” he shook the thought free from his mind. “We were supposed to leave to attend another party…I do fear we shall be late.” He paused and sniffed “I miss her too….like I haven’t seen her in centuries.”

“She must have left just in time,” nodded Doctor Strange as he turned to Wong. He turned back to Michael “I bet you were a step or two too late…I’m sorry.” Strange sighed. “Your wife is in a better place I should hope.”

Michael stared at the man for a few seconds as he tried to make sense of what the man had just said. There was something about Strange and the way he spoke, the air he had about himself that he was right. The words he said made no real sense in the situation but he was right. Michael suddenly felt lighter, he was still weighed down by the loss of his wife at the party but he felt lighter. The man in front of him was so real and so solid that everything else including himself was less so.

Michael wobbled backwards away from the Doctor and the shot him an unhappy look. “My wife is not in a better place…she is without me and I am without her.” He seemed to take everything he could muster to walk away from Strange in search of his wife again…ever searching.

“You handled that well,” Wong turned his head to Doctor Strange and held back a grin to his master.

“You know I do think Jarvis would love to work for me…all I get from you is funny comments.” Strange smiled at Wong. “I was a little to the point wasn’t I?”

Wong nodded. “My father always told me that ghosts were overly emotional…that’s why they remain on our plane and haunt us. We must not try to slight them…or love them too much.”

Strange nodded solemnly. He had met and known a number of ghosts in his time and what Wong said was true ghosts often have unfinished business or emotional ties which keep them trapped forever (in most cases) on the Earthly plane. “These however aren’t ghosts…not exactly.”

Strange’s eyes moved again over the crowd, he was looking for anything odd or out of the usual. He found it in the shape of a tall black male with a bald head. His clothes were obviously chosen in an attempt to fit in but they were obviously cheap and ill-fitting as if it was a costume of a 19th century gentleman. The fact that this tall dark skinned man was in the party whatsoever signalled him out as something special.

A large bald man waddled across the view of Strange and once he was gone so was the bald black man. Strange glanced around in several directions to see whether he could spot him but he was gone from sight.

“We have work to do,” said Strange with a nod to his companion. Strange moved away from the wall and strode calmly forward as he headed towards the crowd. The backs of people faced the walls as they chatted about this business deal or that, politics and the latest fashions among men and women in the city and of course constantly tried to prove that they were just as good if not better than everyone else at the party. The wall of backs popped a picture of Jericho into Doctor Strange’s mind but much like in the bible the walls tumbled and opened up as Strange slipped between a small group.

The two picked their way through the crowd looking for anyone who may know the source of what was occurring on that night. The different snatches of conversation which Strange caught did not interest him in the slightest. His lip twitched as he caught a glimpse of someone who did stoke his interest. The young man he was staring at glanced over to them and smiled.

“S’cuse me mate?” said the young man as he approached the pair. He could have been no older than 18. He had long black hair pushed behind his ears and topped with a Nike cap. His T-shirt informed Strange that some gentleman named Frankie thinks he should relax. “Do you know how I can get out of here?”

Strange knew nothing of this man.

“I’m sorry I don’t. What singled me out amongst all these other gentlemen?” Strange was dressed entirely of the right period and setting of the party. It was odd for an Asian man such as Wong to be accompanying him but not so out of the ordinary as to attract the youth to him.

The guy screwed up his nose as he glanced at Strange. “You just look different…shimmering or something…him too,” nodded the guy towards Wong. “We meet each other occasionally but never for long…all trying to find our way put and you look like one of the knowledgeable ones. There was this one bloke before like one of the Ghostbusters.”

The guy stopped speaking and seemed to flicker like a flame or a picture on the TV with bad reception. The guy could obviously feel it as his mouth opened and his eyes closed and his hands moved to his chest and head.

He flickered back into solidity but now with tears streaming down his face, his hands looked like they were dripping down to the floor as the bonds in his body dissolved. “I’m not real anymore…were not real are we? Please help me!” he flickered and vanished.

“I’ll try my best.” Strange nodded as he tried to return to scouring the crowd to see if there was anything he could notice which would explain the events which were occurring. He was taken aback by the event…the first time that night. This had been the third a homeless girl from WWII and a doctor from 1969 had pleaded with Strange for help. He was helpless to do anything until he discovered the source of the disturbance. He had already tried many spells to no avail before he entered the building and once inside he discovered his powers had dwindled to next to nothing.

“I beg your pardon” the woman who addressed Strange had a dark tanned skin tone which she had gotten from the summer in Brighton in the family holiday home. Strange turned his attention to her “Do I know you?”

Strange leaned backwards till he was standing upright and looked at the woman carefully. He knew everyone at the party and he just had to identify them. Her hair was trussed and curled down past her ears and onto her shoulders where rested the straps of the elegant frock she was wearing. She was in her mid-twenties and was the daughter of Arthur Norrell. Sally Nightingale (1784-1830) he thought in his head. She died from a tragic coach accident with her three children and their nanny. “No I’m afraid you don’t.”

The woman paused and looked down the length of Strange from his face all the way past his suit to his shoes and back again to his face. Strange wore again on his face an expression which let the woman know he didn’t care whether she knew him or not. “W-Well sir as I personally wrote out the invitations so if you are not invited then I shall have to have the staff and coachmen remove you and your…” she raised her lips in disgust at Wong. “…chink.”

Strange glanced at Wong and closed his eyes slowly and then at the woman. If this had been their time, if they had been real he would have made her pay. Ignorance should never be tolerated especially when against his closest friend and confidant. He would strip the power of speech from her tongue until he had taught her to watch the words she spoke or he would have made her experience the hatred she had dished out. He sighed and let the anger flow away as he repeated he was not in his own time and the half-life of the woman was not worth his worry.

“Wong I believe I will step outside…it does not do well for ME to lose my head,” Strange glared at the woman as he turned and strode away leaning on his cane. Soon enough her memory of meeting him would slip from her.

Strange and Wong walked through the crowds listening to the snatches of conversation as they made their way to the front door. Ships, slaves, rail roads, groceries, farming, the ministers and the ne’er-do-wells and what should be done with them in the streets…hanging was a popular option were the topics of discussion they caught.

The patronage of the party glanced in their direction and cast eyes over them carefully as they threaded through the party. They were all rich and important in the social circles of London where it truly mattered to them.

Strange’s hand reached for the ornate door handle as he reached it “Wong there are places I cannot travel without raising too much suspicion could you…” Stephen nodded towards the double swinging doors down the hall which led to the kitchen which was bustling with servants. Wong understood and nodded before turning and heading towards the kitchen.

Strange stepped out into the cold night air in 2007 and sighed heavily. The very air tasted different but only by degrees the smoke and dirty smell of London which reminded him so of London. The posh and expensive area of London which the house once stood had now descended with the huge houses once owned by the rich and powerful being broken down into several apartments each.

Strange dropped down the few steps and leaned carefully on the wall while he inhaled a large amount of air. He glanced upwards at the derelict house he had just left.

Once the events of 1808 had played out the house had been put back on the market once the police investigation found nothing. Seven dead at the end of the night and a whole set of party goers with no idea of what happened. The house had been bought again and again by families and individuals until after the complete disappearance of everything they owned (and in several cases the people themselves) at seemingly random intervals the house had remained empty.

The house had however attracted quite a following, spiritualists and sceptics arrived at the house when word reached them of mysterious ghostly music. They came to unravel the mystery of what had happened on that night some never left, those who did couldn’t answer what had happened. The facts seem to be a sort of temporal displacement of souls which centres on the building. Those who were at the party in 1808 when whatever happened were drawn back to it to live through the party again and again after their deaths. Michael’s wife had escaped just in time to escape the strong magic.

Blackstone the magician was a stage magician who held real arcane magic. He fought Nazis during WWII whenever he could and he was also an investigator of the paranormal much like Doctor strange. He too had once been entertained at the party in 1947 and again in 1951, before leaving the second party he made sure to get as full a set of information he could on each and every partygoer. It was through this detailed report that the sorcerer supreme had found out about the party and decoded the seemingly random appearances using a 1st century religious text detailing the movements of a comet through the negative zone as a mathematical base.

He was Doctor Stephen Strange master of the mystic arts and the sorcerer supreme of the universe. His job was to solve the magical maladies of the universe and help its inhabitants. 304 souls were trapped within a loop of time and in the building, party goers, later tenants, visitors and inquisitors who had come searching of the truth and vanished.

“So you’re the Sorcerer Supreme?” said the voice in a south of England accent. The owner of the voice stepped from the street which was hidden by bushes and into the garden through the gate. It was the black bald man from earlier in the party.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” said Strange as he watched man dressed in early 19th century attire walk up the path towards him “how do you know that?”

“I’m a seer,” he smiled. His smile came with a sly wink which did not put Doctor Strange at ease as he was sure it was intended to do.

“I’m not quite sure what that is supposed to mean,” Strange raised an eyebrow as he tried to identify anything which would help him if the conversation drifted towards violence.

“That’s what me granddad used to call it, little silver funnel in my mind kind-a thing. I see the things others don’t. You get it in varying strengths naturally from those who just get feelings something is wrong all the way up to me. I look at things and it’s like I’ve got a little narrator in my mind spilling all sorts of secrets. I know who you are and what you’re doing here…though I already knew that second half that’s why I’m here. I couldn’t tell who you were in there…you probably figured out for some reason all the magic ya got seems a bit skew whiff in there.”

Strange glanced at the man and then up to the house behind him. He nodded gently, it seemed that this man was lucky enough…though many would say unlucky enough to be given sight beyond sight. “What interest do you have in what’s playing out here?”

“Same as you is my bet. Saving lives…so to speak. One in particular for me.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment and the offer my line of work has taught me unfortunately not to trust every such olive branch and so while I must keep my wits about me to discover what has occurred her I would ask you to stay out of my way.” Strange pulled himself to his feet as he rested on his stick and stared down at the man on the path who shrugged gently.

“Well how about this I introduce myself so were on level pegging and while you try and figure out what’s going on I go inside and sort it all out. I already know what caused this little record skip.” The man smiled at Stephen like a fox might at a chicken. Stephen didn’t reply but the man continued anyway. “Segundus, Segundus Norrell.”

1808, the kitchens

Wong strode through the kitchen as his eyes moved across the faces of the servants and slaves who bustled around making sure everything was perfect. The trays of food and drink they prepared were then taken by other servants dressed more respectably as busboys and waiters in the modern day may. These servants were the children of the elder servants who through years of labour were not the most presentable lot to the upper crust guests even though chances are they had a number of similar servants in their own homes.

Wong despite being a lifelong servant found the entire process deplorable. His family were descendants of Kan the great who drove evil wizards from Tibet. In his family for ten generations the first male of each generation had served the Ancient One in his needs. They had been treated with respect and care even when in service which risked…and in some cases lost them their lives. They were more friends than servants, the relationship of mutual trust between master and the servant who had chosen to serve for the greater good. He supposed that was the difference.

Wong was born in Kamar-Taj with just the singular name attributed to the Ancient One’s servants. He was eldest son of Hamir the Hermit who himself was the servant to the Ancient One. Wong had been trained from birth by his father, The Ancient One and finally the monastery.

Wong had been trained in the arts of being a servant from presentation to cooking but only as a side bar. His primary lesson was in patience and control which would focus him in all areas of his studies. Wong was however also trained in many forms of martial arts, one of his main tasks as servant to Strange was to protect him from physical threats while Strange protected the world from mystic threats. Wong had also trained for years in the study of the mystic arts, he did not have any arcane power of his own but he was studied in all aspects. He did not have the senses for magic that Doctor Strange did but he was more than capable of deciphering what was going on.

“Who are you?” Wong turned and looked down at the woman he estimated to be in her mid-fifties who looked up at him. Her hair was scraggily and grey and stuck out from under a rag she tied her hair back with. Her back was crooked as she bent over before him.

“I am Wong, servant of Doctor Strange…he is a party guest.” Wong bowed to the woman gently and grinned warmly.

“Ooh get you, no need to be bowing to me love. You know don’t think I’ve ever seen one of your lot in person. Heard Tokyo is lovely though from my son… Royal Navy don’t you know.”

“I am Tibetan,” grinned Wong as he spoke to the woman. Despite her low standing in the community she seemed to be the most respectful woman he had met this evening. Wong thought back to his history and realised in 1808 Tibet and Britain were not on the best of terms so perhaps it would have been best to allow her to think what she would.

She looked up at him as if scrutinizing his story. “Never mind all of that, you know what flour looks like?” Wong nodded. “Good help me find some…bloody Marie has moved it somewhere and I don’t have a clue where. She’s gone now so I can’t very well ask her can I?”

“Marie?” Wong did not think that Marie was anything connected to the strange events which they were investigating but he was taught politeness and it seemed only polite to ask.

“Lovely girl!” exploded the old woman. “One of that lot you know, fresh off a boat from Afrika and all but lovely girl. She had some trouble with English but lovely and sunny she was. Tell you what them kids never had a better nanny…or a friend in that little brother of hers. It was such a shame…” the woman screwed the bottom lip of her face up and she sniffed as he held something in. “Ah well what’s to be done about it…ah here it is!”

The woman grinned as she pulled on the bag she held and dragged it out. “What happened to Marie?” pressed Wong.

“Ah no point in bothering about it, nothing to be done about it now.” The woman shook her head as she spoke.

“Please?” persisted Wong. He was beginning to now think that this may be of some interest to their investigation.

The woman sighed. “She did something, I don’t know what. She did something to upset the master and mistress chucked her out on the streets. Lucky they didn’t do more. The little lad was with me and we saw it all, he was going to run to her but she made him stay back. He was supposed to stay with me until she got herself sorted, it was only yesterday and he’s already run off somewhere…looking for his sister more than likely.”

“WONG!” The screamed name came from Doctor Strange. He was outside in the main foyer where the party was taking place. Wong’s trained senses were distinguishing his exact location from the call of his name. Wong didn’t even think as his body twisted and gave in to its training and began to sprint towards his master.

Wong’s super trained body was in peak physical health and so he was able to cover the distance down the corridor and into the foyer with next to no effort with a speed that would not be recorded within people until an Olympic Games years from then.

Wong skidded to a halt to see Strange and the mysterious black stranger from the party attempting to climb the stairs to the upper floors while a number of party goers and servants were trying to hold them back.

Wong wasted no time. His foot bounced off a pillar in the foyer and he pushed himself up with a simple flick of his ankle. He twisted his body and streamlined it allowing him to swirl over head of the crowd and land perfectly at the side of his master. “We must get upstairs to the children!” commanded Strange. Wong nodded and launched into action.

Wong’s foot flew out and connected with the chest of one Coachman knocking him backwards down the stairs into a host of others. A hand grabbed Wong’s shoulder before he seized it and with a gently twist broke the wrist of the man and flung him upside-down down the stairs too. His foot flew out and caught the face of the next man. The party didn’t stand a chance against his skill and despite whether they were dead or not he did not wish to harm them.

Wong glanced behind him and found both his master and the stranger reaching the second floor, he pursued.

The three slipped through one of the doors on the second floor and then threw their bodies against it in an attempt to keep it close. “We must find those children now!” commanded Strange to his two companions.

Strange crossed what appeared to be the study. The walls were filled with book shelves and a large oaken desk while Wong and Segundus moved a dark black leather sofa in front of the door.

“They’re in the attic,” said Segundus he breathed heavily as he rested his hands on his knees. Strange moved towards the wall behind the desk which had a large window. He looked out on the world in 2007 and swung the windows open. Wong was unsure what had occurred when Strange had stepped outside and who the man he returned with was but they seemed to have a purpose now in locating the source of the disturbance.

“I do hope the magic dampening field only extends as far as the window,” sighed Strange and with that he hurled himself from the window.

Wong and Segundus rushed to the window just as the form of Strange soured upwards past them. His cloak of levitation was strapped to his back beneath his suit which meant he could slip the bonds of gravity and rise to the fourth floor windows.

Wong’s hand moved around the window ledge and onto the wall. In 2007 a strong set of scaffolding held the back end of the building up from where it was being remodelled the last time its inhabitants vanished. He and Segundus followed as quickly as they could. “I am Wong,” said Wong as he introduced himself as his swift feet powered him up the scaffolding. He paused to look at Segundus who powered past him.

“Segundus Norrell…isn’t it amazing how good you can get on an Essex climbing wall?”

Strange flung the skylight windows open with a blast of force and stared into the abandoned attic. Rats scurried through the debris of a once used and destroyed room. He crossed the boundary.

The room was the children’s nursery. The walls covered in colourful wallpaper depicting the stories of nursery rhymes and toys scattered around the room. In the centre of the room sat two children Diana Norrell (1800-1808) and Daniel Norrell (1800-1808) the two both had long curly blonde hair and pale faces like that of china dolls. Their faces were marked with lines and symbols in blood which matched a large circle which was painted on the floor around the unconscious…or dead body of a small black boy who was covered in blood.

The aghast forms of Mr and Mrs Norrell (1765-1808) and Marcus (1775-1808) and Sally Nightingale. The rest of the guests had been barred entry by the Norrell’s and the coachmen to hide their secret.

“What are they doing?” gasped Mrs Norrell, her skinny features and hooked nose reminding Strange of the vulture he had just learned she was much like. She stared at her children who rocked backwards and forwards speaking in tongues as they anointed the boy.

“They’re trying to help him…save him,” responded Strange calmly as he approached the two. He moved his hands around them and found they were the source of the magic dampening and were both thoroughly under a trance of magic.

“He’s dead they can’t do anything!” yelled Marcus Nightingale.

“And whose fault is that then?” called Segundus as he hauled himself out of thin air through the window causing the group to gasp. “Who is the one who killed him? Mr Norrell? Mr Nightingale?”

The two men glanced at one another and then straightened up. “We were well within our rights after what we caught him doing and we will not be spoken too by one such as yourself in such a tone you filthy little…”

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” Strange spoke, he did not raise his voice or yell but the power washed over everyone in the room and they fell silent. “What pray tell do you think the boy did to deserve this!” Strange’s finger jutted out to the severe damage the boy had sustained to the top of his head.

Norrell glanced first at his wife and then his daughter. “Please let the ladies leave the room…they do not have to hear…”

“They are here by their own bigotry and hatred, if they are too see what happens tonight then that is how it must be” Strange spoke with no joy in his voice but a stream of truth echoing in his voice. “I promise you now nothing which they are about to endure will be anything compared to the punishment you shall all receive once I have dispelled this place…when all the evil of your lives come back upon you. SPEAK!”

Norrell snarled at Strange and began to speak. “We found him this morning…he laid his hands and his lips upon poor distressed Diana!”

The two women were aghast by this revelation and seemed as if they would vomit at any given second.

“She does not look distressed to me,” Strange shook his head. “The girl obviously is trying to help the boy. Did it ever cross your minds…” Strange stopped. He knew that these people would never believe their daughter may have wanted to be kissed and the boy could have been a friend of their children.

“His family were nothing but trouble. I caught that stupid cow teaching my children about the evils of slavery…I caught them talking in the gobbledygook she called a language! I will not have my children behaving like animals! His sister was no good and neither was he, had I known he had remained I would have found him and tossed him to the streets too!” screamed Mrs Norrell.

“She wasn’t his sister, she was his mother,” corrected Wong. He glanced at Segundus who confirmed it with a nod. He was the descendant of Marie Norrell a slave who was brought to England and renamed before being cast out onto the street. “It would appear some of her home tongue was not all she taught them!”

“She was a foolish girl!” Segundus turned to face Strange as he was taken aback by the slight to his family. “This magic was not meant for children…not even meant to raise the dead in this manor she was stupid to show it to them…all of this is due to them.”

Segundus nodded in acceptance.

The body of the boy suddenly moved, the two children around him collapsed backwards. The body twitched again and this time the skin of his chest ripped open as a large ebony black claw erupted through.

Black light poured into the room and twisted through the air like an ebony set of Northern lights as the claw gave way to a bony arm and the arm to a torso.

The giant shadow beast erupted out of the boy causing the Norrells and Nightingales to scream in terror. The room was plunged into darkness as the shadow crept around the walls yet every person in the room could still see the others clearly.

The creature was pitch black and was little more than a shape of nothingness in the room. Spikes jutted from its body and it searched the room with its black eyes of nothingness.

“Do something!” screamed Amy. “You said you were here to do something!” she was addressing Strange.

“I have no magic here. I understand now what I must do,” Strange turned to the two men he was with an indicated to the children on the floor. The two men crossed towards them under the eyes of the shadow beast and picked them up carefully before returning to Strange. Wong carried the husk of the black child and Daniel Norrell while Segundus carried Diana.

Strange’s hands moved across their faces wiping away the blood. “Innocence,” he smiled gently before turning his attention to the four adults and the shadow beast. “Justice must be seen to be done,” He began. “You cast this boy’s mother out and then killed him, how you treated them was inhuman and now all of your evil has come back on you. He didn’t know what he had to do and was scared and confused…he did things wrongly by the rules of magic and so he came back again and again until this moment. He just needed someone to comfort him and tell him that it was all right…what he did was justice.” Strange stared up into the blackness of the creature and nodded as the shadow descended upon the four, their screams stifled.

The room instantly returned to its true state. The appearance of the three men in the centre of the room sent the rats fleeing. Strange could hear the hustle and bustle of those downstairs who had accidentally joined the party through the years now free of the awry spell.

“I didn’t think you would let him kill them,” said Segundus. He stared at Strange mystified. He had heard stories of the Sorcerer Supreme as every magician had, he had heard of the warmth in his voice and the love in his heart for his fellow man but never the ice cold blade which rests within it when needed.

“I didn’t,” corrected Strange. “He killed them in 1808. He arose again and brought some terrible power with him, driven by anger over his mother and fear over his attackers as he saw them he destroyed them entirely and accidentally set the loop in motion. Justice however must be seen to be done…he was still only a child. He needed someone to tell him everything would be okay and that he was doing the right thing. We were always just here to watch.” Strange spoke with much sadness in his voice, not for the four who had just vanished but for the children and what they had become.

“So now what?” Segundus motioned to the children.

“They are your family it’s up to you? The Norrell children were as much the children of your Marie as was the boy…they’re your family.”

Segundus nodded as he understood. “They’ll get a proper burial.”

“What was the boy’s name?” Wong stared into the face of the husk which had once been a young boy so full of life and potential.

“He was the first Segundus,” smiled Segundus.

Hours later

Wong and Doctor Strange hurtled over the Atlantic reclining in their first class seats while the world swung by around them. They had left the building instantly and proceeded to the airport where they had tickets on standby for the next possible flight out. The two had had a rough day that day and did not want to spend any longer in the city. Their minds and spirits would heal and grow strong but at the second they just wanted to get away from the place.

“Doctor?” spoke Wong. He was so emotionally drained by the events of the night. Washed with feelings of anger over the families treatment of Segundus and Marie, sadness over how it had to end and joy over the end of the poor children’s torture as they were trapped looping forever in their own deaths.

‘Hm?’” responded Strange while keeping his eyes closed. He wore a face mask over his eyes so even if he had opened them Wong would be none the wiser. That was all part of Doctor Strange’s plan, he too felt drained and was intent to hide his tear stained face.

“Do you ever think we’re getting to old for this?”

“Every day Wong…every god damn day.” Strange sighed as he turned his head from Wong and wiped dry his eyes. A thought crossed Doctor Strange’s mind about whether he was too old or whether rather in fact he would never be old enough to handle the emotions without a care. Would that be even worse?