by Emma Newman
“You’re a cruel man, William Iris,” she said, pulling the sheet up to cover herself as he resumed his dressing. “You do that to me before you leave? Am I to assume you want me to do nothing but lust after you all day?”
“I would like nothing more,” he said, truthfully. “I like the thought of you lying naked and restless under these sheets, needing me to return and quench that fire. I always knew something burned in you.”
“And I you,” she said. “We were meant to be together. Perhaps fate conspired on our behalf.”
“Perhaps.” He wondered why fate would be so unfair as to place Catherine in the role of wife.
Will did the best he could with the cravat, knowing he looked dishevelled and guilty of a night away from home. He ran his fingers through his hair in the hope of calming it into a neater tumble on the top, and took a last look at her. She’d rolled onto her side, propped up on one elbow, the sheet clinging to her curves beautifully. Her eyes were coaxing him back into bed.
“No,” he said, as firmly as he could. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
He tried to leave, then kissed her once and forced himself to walk out of the room. When he shut the door, the rest of the world came crashing in: the guilt at not consummating the marriage, the worry over what Catherine was doing now and where they could go from here. He leaned against the door for a moment, wishing unreservedly that Amelia was his wife, that Cornelius was his brother and that Catherine was off living her strange life in her own strange way with someone else.
Sam dropped his keys onto the shelf in the hallway and slung his rucksack on the sofa. The house felt horribly empty and was lit only by the orange glow from the streetlights outside. He switched on the light and went to the fridge only to find lumpy milk and something unrecognisable that smelt awful. He rescued a lone tin of beer from underneath a rotting lettuce, poured its contents into a glass and leaned against the kitchen worktop.
He knew he had messages from work to pick up and emails to check but he just couldn’t face them. He was probably going to get dragged over the coals by his boss in the morning and rightly so; his productivity and attendance had nosedived. He’d wanted to talk it over with Leanne but she’d been obsessed with showing him the sights. It was as if she was trying to sell him a lifestyle whilst keeping him at arm’s length, and he hated the way it felt. Every time he tried to have a proper conversation with her something came up. Either the bloody light started flashing on her Blackberry or it was time to get to the tube station to do the next “fun” thing on the list. He’d felt like a relative visiting, someone to keep busy and dazzle with success whilst ensuring there wasn’t enough time to have a meaningful conversation.
Sam rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a takeaway menu. There was a noise from the hallway and he assumed he’d not shut the front door properly. He took a menu with him to read as he went.
“Evenin’, Sam.”
Sam yelled. The gargoyle was standing in the middle of his hallway with Max behind him.
“Don’t you know how to use a bloody doorbell?”
“We came to make sure you’re not dead,” the gargoyle said in its smoker’s voice.
“Why would I be dead?”
“You disappeared,” Max said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a small octagonal box. “After you went back to Exilium. I take it you took the tainted there?”
“I had no choice.”
“But you disappeared the day after. Has the puppet been in contact with you? Did she take you into the Nether?”
“What? Look, I didn’t disappear, I was in London. And what puppet?”
“Catherine,” the gargoyle replied.
Sam felt the churn of guilt again at the memory of her face when he passed on the message from Lord Poppy. But they had met in Mundanus. “I haven’t been in the Nether, I don’t know how to get there and anyway I don’t ever want to go there ever again.”
“You’re certain?” Max asked.
“Course I bloody am, it’s a bit hard to miss, isn’t it? Even I would notice if the sky turned silver and night never came.”
The gargoyle and Max looked at each other. “Something’s not right,” the gargoyle said.
“On Friday evening shortly after eight you went somewhere else, correct?” Max asked.
“Yes. I went somewhere else.”
“Where?” asked the gargoyle.
“None of your bloody business.”
“This is important, Sam,” Max continued. “You were taken somewhere outside Mundanus several times over the weekend and that shouldn’t be happening. Even though we’ve had dealings, as far as anyone else is concerned you’re an innocent. If someone has been taking you out of Mundanus that’s against the rules of the Treaty, so I have to investigate. You may not like it, but it’s my job.”
The Arbiter and gargoyle both looked out of place in his house and showed no signs of leaving. “Whatever your Sorcerer did to keep tabs on me must have something wrong with it,” he said. “I visited my wife’s new flat which is very definitely in London, not the Nether, and I would have noticed if it was because it has bloody great big windows that look over the city, OK?”
The gargoyle’s muzzle wrinkled. “Could’ve been a glamour, to make you think you were still there.”
“But we watched the telly. There were proper lights and a kettle that worked. So it couldn’t have been in the Nether. And I got a mobile phone signal there, for God’s sake, so just admit it, your Sorcerer is barking at the wrong postman.”
Max had wound up the little box in his hand, Sam expected it to open and show a tiny ballerina twirling to music. Instead, when Max held it out on his palm, the top opened and a tiny horn like that of a vintage doll’s house gramophone emerged and turned slowly.
“Has your wife been acting any differently to usual?” Max asked.
Sam sighed. “Come into the front room. Can I at least get some food in? I’m starving.”
He led Max and the gargoyle into the front room, hastily closed the curtains and then phoned through an order for sweet and sour chicken and rice.
Max was looking at him expectantly whilst the gargoyle was sniffing around the room like a bored bloodhound hopeful for some action. “You didn’t answer my question about your wife.”
“Leanne acting differently? Differently to what?”
“The usual.”
Sam shrugged. “She’s changed a lot since uni but I suppose that doesn’t count.”
The box and horn on the palm of Max’s hand gave a gentle ping and he checked something on its side before closing it and returning it to one of his pockets. “Did something happen after university?”
“She got a job. We got married. Well, it was the other way round. We married right after we graduated.” Maybe that was it, Sam thought. Maybe their parents had been right and they had married too young.
“Does she have the same job now?”
“She’s a lot higher in the company.” Sam folded his arms when he realised how far beyond his comfort zone he was. He didn’t want to give anything more away. “Hang on, why are you asking me all this?”
“Has she lost weight?”
“Yeah. But she’s busy.”
“Does she wear different kinds of clothes to the ones she used to?”
The room felt cold. Sam shivered and closed the door to the hallway. “She’s changed since she got this job but that’s normal…isn’t it?”
“Have you changed a lot since you got your job?”
Sam sat down, his legs feeling more unsteady than he wanted to admit. “No,” he finally said. “Not as much.” Perhaps that was the problem with their marriage. But he couldn’t just turn into another person, not like she had.
Max rubbed his chin and then pulled a notebook from the inside pocket of his coat, slid the tiny pencil out from its spine and thumbed to a particular page. “I want you to listen to these times a
nd tell me if you know where you were.”
Max listed all the times he’d been at Leanne’s apartment. Sam felt nauseous by the end. “I was at her new flat—our new flat—in London. I’m supposed to be moving up there. Theoretically.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” The gargoyle looked up from the corner of the rug he’d been snuffling around. “Must be something bloody wrong with that place.”
Sam reached for his beer and realised he’d left it in the kitchen. He unpeeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Do you think the Thorn brothers are…I dunno…doing something to Leanne? Or the flat?”
“It’s not them.” Max sounded confident. “They’re going to be in Exilium for a long time. Your wife wears a similar wedding ring to yours, I assume?”
“Yes, we made them together. I made hers and she made mine. Oh, fuck. Is this something to do with the wedding-ring protection thing?”
“Perhaps. Do you remember where you made them?”
Sam nodded and dug his phone out of his back pocket. “I’ve got the number of the forge here. I got it off Leanne this weekend, turns out her boss recommended the place to her.”
“Is this boss of hers involved with the new flat in any way?” Max asked.
“It’s a company flat and he chose it for her. He said it had the best view in the building. Fuck, is Neugent dodgy? Is he a fucking Fae?”
“Unlikely, if he recommended making those rings.”
“But something is definitely dodgy,” the gargoyle said. “We need to check that apartment out. Have a sniff about and see what’s what.”
“Agreed,” Max said and looked at Sam. “You need to take me there.”
“Now?”
“As long as your wife won’t be there.”
“She will be there now, but she’ll be out at work tomorrow. I’ve got a key.” Sam stopped. What was he saying? He shouldn’t tell Max where Leanne lived—where he might be living himself very soon.
“Good.” Max stood up. “I’ll come here at dawn. Don’t leave the house. We’ll go to London together, you can show me the flat, we’ll come straight back.”
“But what about—” the gargoyle began but Max held up a hand.
“We’ll talk later,” he said to it.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Sam said as Max positioned his walking stick.
“It’s not open to debate. You and your wife are at risk,” Max said. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
The gargoyle gave a terrifying grin as it passed Sam. Max closed the front-room door behind them. There was the sound of movement, then silence. However they got in, they used the same way to get out.
Sam retrieved his beer, tried to think of any solution to the problems ahead and came up with nothing. He belched. “Fucksticks,” he whispered as he realised there was another problem: there was no more beer in the house and there was no way he wanted to spend the rest of the evening alone and sober.
9
Will moved away from Amelia’s door and walked slowly to the top of the stairs. The smell of bacon and fresh bread made his stomach rumble. He’d barely touched the honeymoon supper and had hardly been conserving his energy overnight. A bite to eat before he left wouldn’t make a great difference, surely.
He followed the smells to a dining room where Cornelius was seated alone at the table. When he entered, Cornelius stood, making William all too aware of the power he had over him now.
“Sit down, old chap,” he said cheerfully, heading towards a table laden with covered silver dishes. He filled a plate, his back to Cornelius, imagining the baleful stare being directed towards him. It was inevitable: he’d just destroyed his sister’s virtue. He had to tread carefully.
Will sat across from Cornelius and the butler offered tea, which he accepted. The bacon was just crispy enough to be perfect, the toast still fluffy on the inside, the butter creamy and satisfying.
“I’m glad I caught you,” Will said after a few mouthfuls. “I wanted to see whether you have everything you need.”
“Yes, thank you. We’ve wanted for nothing.”
“I trust the servants meet your expectations.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Will turned to the butler. “Could you leave us in private, please?”
The butler bowed and closed the door behind him. Will set down his cutlery to sip his tea.
“I’m keen to talk to you about the future,” he said, aware that Cornelius hadn’t yet looked him in the eye. “We haven’t had the chance to talk since that awful night in Aquae Sulis. I should imagine it’s been the most terrible time for you and your sister.”
“Yes.” Cornelius abandoned his toast. “It has been rather unpleasant, but not as much as it has been for the rest of our family, thanks to you.”
Cornelius was doing his best to hide it, but Will could still detect the anger beneath the polite words. “Dreadful business,” he said. “I couldn’t let the Agency take you and Amelia, not after we’d become friends.”
“Despite what Horatio said about us.”
“Those were the words of a desperate man,” Will said as lightly as he could. He’d believed every single one, but it didn’t serve his interests to tell Cornelius that. “You were a good friend to me, warning me about his character. I couldn’t allow Amelia to be rounded up and carted off by those awful people.” He watched Cornelius considering his words. “But it does make things rather awkward now, wouldn’t you agree?”
Cornelius simply nodded.
“Which is why I wanted to talk to you,” Will said, pausing to take another bite of toast. “I don’t like things to fester. Better to be straight with one another, wouldn’t you agree?”
Cornelius looked at him properly for the first time. “That’s not an approach favoured by many people in Londinium.”
Will grinned. “I’m not breakfasting with them. And I wouldn’t necessarily be like this with anyone whose regard meant nothing to me. But I value your respect, and would like to think our friendship could endure this tumult. I believe a frank discussion is just what we need.”
“I’m listening.” Cornelius was still guarded, no longer the man who, less than a week before, had been a self-assured elder brother escorting his sister in a foreign city.
“You’re no fool, and my rather disgraceful appearance this morning will no doubt confirm your fears for your sister. I imagine you expected I would take her as a mistress, given the circumstances.”
Cornelius looked down at his plate. “I hadn’t realised how frank you intended to be.”
“I know I’m bordering on the indecent,” Will said. “But hear me out. It pains me that the only way Amelia and I can be together lowers her status and robs her of honour, but I wanted to assure you that I don’t see her as a mere plaything. I have the utmost respect for her, and have every intention of fulfilling my responsibilities towards her, and you, with as much decency as I can.”
“But you still take her virtue, sir,” Cornelius whispered.
“Only a saint could resist Amelia in these circumstances and that I am not. But I’m no monster either. I want to beg your forgiveness and seek your blessing.”
“How can I grant it, sir? She’s a fallen woman, excluded from Society and destined to be nothing more than your private whore.”
“Please, don’t call her that,” Will said, his voice hard. “My desire for her does not exclude her from Society. On the contrary, it keeps her as close to it as she can be. Her fall was the work of the Gallica-Rosas and your patron, not me. But I beg you, permit me to nurture the love between us and find something beautiful in this mess we find ourselves in.”
Cornelius scowled at the table. “She was destined for great things. You must understand how difficult this is.”
“I can only imagine how I’d feel in your place and that’s why we’re having this conversation. We have a choice, Cornelius. We let this destroy our friendship, with you living a shadow of a life, kept here only to save your siste
r’s heart. Or you embrace me as a brother-in-law and treat me as her husband for all intents and purposes, excluding a life outside this house. I have so much I can offer you, if you do this for me. For Amelia.”
Cornelius stared at him, the cleft between his eyebrows deep. “You genuinely love her?”
“I do,” he replied.
“Then I give my consent,” he said, looking away again.
“Thank you.” Will poured himself another cup of tea in the absence of the butler, and poured one for Cornelius too. “Now, we need to talk about the future. I’m to move to Londinium by command of my Patroon. The family wishes me to take the Dukedom, and if you help me to do that, I’ll make you Marquis of Westminster and give you a place in Society once more.”
Cornelius’s eyes widened. “You’d do that, even though my family no longer exists?”
“You’re an intelligent man with an intimate knowledge of this city and its residents. I need someone I can trust, someone who needs to succeed as much as I. Besides—” Will smiled “—before all of this I got along well with you and I can beat you at cards.”
“Would I have the right to property again?”
Will could see he was tempted. “I would see to it personally that the deeds to this house would revert to you and you’d have the right to own other properties and invest in any businesses you wish. I don’t want you to feel beholden to me and I don’t want you to feel dependent. There’s no worse thing for a capable man.”
“And Amelia?”
“Would be a marchioness and we’ll hang the gossips.” Will pushed his plate aside and leaned forwards. “What say you? Together, we could forge a path back into Society for Amelia and elevate you above the ones who turned their backs on your family. You would be free of worrying about your survival, and I would have a man I could trust, free of an agenda from a rival Patroon.”
