by Emma Newman
“Who is this Neugent?” Ekstrand asked. “Is he a puppet?”
“No, he works for CoFerrum Inc,” Sam said. “He’s got something to do with Lord Iron.”
“Well, so do you.” Ekstrand pointed at the wedding ring. “Were you involved?”
“Sam.” Petra’s hand brushed his arm. “She died of natural causes.”
“There was nothing natural about it, she wasn’t even thirty!”
“But an aneurysm can happen to anyone at any time, and another person can’t cause it,” she replied. “It’s just something awful that happened to your wife. You can’t say with absolute certainty that Neugent had anything to do with it and the likelihood is he didn’t.”
“Bullshit. Max warned me about him, he does something to people and it makes them die young. He’ll do it again, I know he will.” He looked back at Ekstrand. “Look, aren’t you and the Arbiters supposed to protect innocents?”
“From the Fae and their puppets, yes,” Ekstrand replied.
“And the likes of Lord Iron and his people?”
“There’s never been any need. The Elemental Court are completely different from the Fae—they don’t interfere with people or kidnap them.”
“But my wife was an innocent who got sucked into some job that ended up with her living in an apartment designed to be an iron cage.”
“The apartment was designed to protect against Fae,” Max said. “It had a cage-like structure, but there was no sense of imprisonment there.”
“Well, that sounds rather helpful and sensible,” Ekstrand said.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Sam yelled. “My wife is dead! I tried to warn her, I did everything I could, but she died, and I’m telling you this will happen again to another couple. Help me do something about that! It’s directly connected to Lord Iron, who’s presumably in this Elemental Court, and you’re saying there’s no need to police them like the Fae?”
Ekstrand looked at Max. “Do you think there’s grounds for concern?”
Sam stared at the Arbiter, willing Max to support him.
“I do, sir,” Max replied.
“I disagree,” Petra said. “I think it was an awful coincidence.”
Ekstrand rubbed his chin and then turned to his students. “What you see here is a rather complex dilemma.”
“Don’t you dare make a fucking lesson out of this!” Sam marched over. “This is none of their business. The only lesson to be learnt is that Neugent needs to be stopped.”
Ekstrand’s eyes were shadowed by his brow. “There’s a lesson in everything. Even in watching what happens when a Sorcerer is insulted. Would you like me to make this more educational?”
“Mr Ekstrand—” Petra practically threw herself between them “—Sam is upset, please forgive him for being so emotional.”
Ekstrand pursed his lips, peering at Sam over her shoulder. “I can’t just leap to conclusions about people who may or may not be connected to Lord Iron. There are formal channels of communication with the Elemental Court which must be observed.”
“There are important reasons why things are done this way, Sam,” Petra said, now facing him with Ekstrand behind her. “I know it must be frustrating but—”
“That doesn’t even come close. I’ve had it with you people. You’ve never given a shit about how you’ve screwed my life up, there’s no way you’re going to help me now. Fuck you, fuck your sorcery bullshit and fuck your ways of doing things. I’m off.”
Sam pushed his way past Petra, who was begging Ekstrand to forgive him in his griefstricken state. Axon was near the front door looking at him expectantly. “I want to go home,” Sam said. There was a pause as Axon listened for any contrary instruction from Ekstrand. When none came he nodded to Sam. “Take care, sir,” he said, opened the door and led him down the path to open the gates onto Mundanus.
Sam stepped out, looked up at the stars and the moon and felt hollow inside. The wounds hurt and there was nothing to listen to but the iron plugs clanking in his pockets as he began the walk home.
All Cathy saw at first was light. Then a shape by her side coalesced into Will.
“My love.” Will kissed her cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired.” She looked down at her bandaged arms and hands. There were tubes and beeps and a distinct sense of being unwell. “I dreamed you were here.”
He smiled and smoothed her hair away from her forehead. “I came to you in the recovery room after the surgery but you were still waking up. The nurse said you might think you’d dreamed me.”
There was another shape outside the curtain and she could hear other beeps and people talking. “Where am I?”
“You’re in a hospital in London, in the intensive care unit. Do you remember what happened?”
She looked at the shape through the curtain. “Who’s that?”
“One of my people. I’m so sorry I wasn’t careful enough.” He kissed her cheek, her forehead, but she barely registered it. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, I promise.”
“Where’s Sophia?”
“She’s safe at home.”
“The thorns, they were wrapped around her, she was hurt.”
“They’ve bandaged her up, and my uncle is with her.” Will paused. “Thorns?”
Cathy tried to nod but wasn’t certain if she was successful. “I told her to run, she was grabbed by…these creepers…growing out of the bushes covered in thorns. She was screaming. I tried to pull them off her. They were trying to wrap around her neck.” She looked back down at her hands, now understanding why they were bandaged.
“Then what happened?”
“The man had a dagger. He was going to hurt Sophia, so I tried to stop him.” She felt exhausted just talking about it.
“He was trying to hurt Sophia?”
“Yes, I don’t know why.”
“Not you?”
“Why would he want to hurt me? Why would he want to hurt her though? I don’t know, it doesn’t make any sense. Oh, God, Will it was awful. I don’t remember how I got here. He didn’t get Sophia?”
Will shook his head. “The man who attacked you, Cathy, did you recognise him?”
“No.”
“What did he look like?”
“I don’t remember his face…I was looking at the knife.” She felt tears welling. “He stabbed me?”
“Yes. Do you remember anything about him?”
“He was Fae-touched, he was wearing a grey coat with half-cape and a sparkly waistcoat. I saw it when he drew the dagger. Brown hair, in a ponytail.”
“Did he look like one of the Tulipa line?”
Cathy closed her eyes. All she wanted to do was sleep.
“Cathy? I’m sorry, but I need to know as much as possible. Did he look like Bartholomew?”
“What? No, nothing like him or his family. I’m tired.”
“You’re certain?”
“It was a Rosa, Will. The thorns…” He said something else but it was far away. “That’s a Rose Charm.” There was a brush against her forehead and then sinking into velvety darkness.
26
Will sat hunched over his desk, the fire crackling in the grate as he examined what he knew. The Arbiter said there was Tulipa magic at the crime scene—how he knew that, Will hadn’t the faintest idea, but there was no reason the Arbiter would lie. The thorns Cathy reported explained Sophia’s injuries and those to her own hands. By the time the police arrived the Charm controlling the thorns would have dissipated, leaving a badly hurt child and no evidence.
Whilst it was some relief to know how Sophia had been scarred, it also confused him. Cathy was convinced the attacker was a Rosa and the thorn angle was damning. But it sounded like a powerful Charm, and who could wield Rose magic now the patron was broken and the Rosas rounded up by the Agency? And if there had been such powerful Rose magic there, why hadn’t the Arbiter mentioned it?
His uncle was still spending every minute of the day with Sophia, for which
he was grateful; he only wanted close family around her. Every time he checked on her she asked when Cathy was coming home.
Will was still haunted by the thought that the man who threw the railing was a lover meeting Cathy in the park for a stolen hour. There was a chance he could have been passing by and intervened when he saw a woman and child being attacked, but when Will considered the secret mobile phone and computer, it was clear Cathy had been up to something in her private time. Whatever it was would end now. She was his wife and his alone, regardless of what happened before they married.
A rattling in the door made him look up. By the time he’d reached it the gilded letterbox had appeared and a note was posted through. When he saw the seal he knew it was from Amelia.
It was a Rosa, Will… Cathy’s words haunted him as he went to the fireplace and opened the envelope. The note was brief and the handwriting suggested it was penned in a hurry.
Will, please come to me, something is wrong with Cornelius and I’m frightened.
Please hurry, darling.
Amelia.
Will crushed it in his hand, disturbed by the doubts that surfaced. Before seeing Cathy earlier that evening he would have been summoning a carriage without a second thought; now he wasn’t certain whether he should go at all. But he couldn’t just ignore the note.
He pulled the cord beside the fireplace. “Morgan, I need the carriage, urgently, with two armed footmen. And bring my sword cane with my cape.”
“Yes, sir.” Morgan bowed and left.
In the carriage Will prepared himself for the worst, fearing that Amelia was luring him into a trap. He chided himself for such paranoia. Then he remembered that if he’d been more cautious, Cathy and Sophia would never have been attacked. He was never going to let Cathy leave the house alone again. He’d have to find her a bodyguard for when he couldn’t be with her, but could he trust the Agency enough to provide one? He shook his head. It was getting to him.
The carriage drew up; the door was opened and the step lowered. Will climbed out and looked at the footmen. They had both been trained in the latest techniques from Mundanus, with modern pistols unclipped and ready to be drawn at their hip, the holsters incongruous with their formal eighteenth-century footmen’s attire. “Come with me,” he said to them. “And be ready for foul play.”
Will rapped on the door with the knocker and the butler answered as usual. Amelia was in the hallway. At the sight of him she rushed forward and threw her arms around him.
“I’m so glad you’re here!”
He could see she’d been crying. He returned the embrace, remembering how much he cared for her and how much he wanted her to be safe and happy. “What’s wrong?”
She glanced at the footmen and pulled him away a couple of paces. “Cornelius came back a few hours ago,” she said, her voice lowered. “He was very upset. He said Catherine had almost died and an Arbiter said the Tulipas were involved. But he seemed too upset. I knew he was holding something back.”
“Let’s talk in here,” Will said, pulling her towards the drawing room. “Guard the door,” he said to his men and then closed it.
“He was very tense…as if he were preoccupied. I asked him what was wrong but he wouldn’t tell me. He told me to go to my room and stay there.”
Will felt nauseous. Surely Cornelius couldn’t be involved? “Then what happened?”
“A couple of hours went by so I asked the maid what he was doing and she said he was writing letters and throwing them on the fire. I told her to tell me if he did anything else, and later she came to me saying he’d sent out the footman with a note. Cornelius didn’t come up to take tea with me as he usually does. I heard the door about an hour ago and the maid told me a man had arrived and asked for Cornelius. He was taken to his study straightaway. I asked her who it was and she said he didn’t have a calling card but Cornelius was expecting him.”
She paused, biting her lip. “Go on,” Will said.
“With everything that’s happened, and the way he was acting, I was worried so I came downstairs. I thought I’d knock on his door and pretend I didn’t know he had a guest, so I could see who it was. But when I came down I could hear Cornelius shouting. He never shouts. I heard the other man too, he said something about Tulipa, then there was a…I don’t know…a scuffle and then a thud and it went quiet.”
Will could feel her shivering beneath his hands. “Then what happened?”
“I knocked on the door and Cornelius told me to go away. Just like that, ‘Go away’, very harshly. Then I heard him weeping. I haven’t been able to get into the room, it’s locked from the inside. The butler said he was told not to disturb them. Cornelius won’t come out.” She broke down. “I didn’t know what to do so I wrote to you. Do you think I’m being silly?”
“No.”
“You’re angry with me.”
“No, I’m not. You did the right thing. Stay in here and don’t worry. I’ll make sure he’s all right.”
The thought of Cathy in hospital flashed through his mind as he kissed Amelia. He went out, checked she was remaining behind and then shut the door. “Come with me,” he said to his men and headed for Cornelius’s study.
“Cornelius?” he called as he knocked. “Is everything all right?” There was a long pause. Will tried the handle but the door was locked. He knocked again. “Cornelius?”
He pressed his ear to the door but couldn’t hear anything. He beckoned to the butler, who’d been lingering in the hallway since he’d arrived. “Do you have a spare key?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll get it for you.”
Two minutes later Will was turning the key in the lock, his other hand on the sword cane. He opened the door slowly. “Cornelius? It’s Will, I’m coming inside.”
He peered around the door. The body was the first thing he saw, sprawled on the rug in front of the fire. It was a man, dressed in a grey coat with half-cape, just as Cathy had described.
It took him a moment to locate Cornelius. He was sitting in a corner wedged between two bookcases with knees drawn up, staring at the body. A glass paperweight was lying on the floor between his feet, smeared with blood. He was as white as a fine china cup and there were spots of blood on his cheek.
“Wait outside,” Will told his footmen, then went in and closed the door behind him. “Cornelius?”
“I killed him,” Cornelius whispered.
Will stepped carefully over the body and moved round to look at his face, which had been obscured by the desk. He was lying on his back, his eyes open. His hair was long and brown, tied back in a ponytail, and Will could see a heavily embroidered waistcoat beneath the partially unbuttoned coat. As he got closer, he could see the blood pooled on the rug and the depression in the man’s skull, presumably made by the leaded glass ball.
“Who is he?”
“My cousin,” Cornelius finally answered.
“A Rosa?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?” Will stooped to close the man’s eyelids. He’d never seen a dead body before nor touched one.
“He was the one who stabbed Catherine.”
“How do you know that?”
“He told me.”
Will pulled the one chair in the room closer to Cornelius and sat down. “Did someone take him in to protect him from the Agency?”
“No. He was in hiding.”
“I think you need to start at the beginning. Let me get you a drink.”
Will poured two brandies from the decanter on the other side of the room and handed one to Cornelius, who took it with a shaking hand.
“When I came back from Mundanus I started to think about the Tulipas, how you said they’d never be so crass.” Cornelius took a long drink and it seemed to steady him. “So I decided to pull in a favour and make some enquiries.”
“I didn’t realise there was a place where one could contact the local assassin.”
Cornelius didn’t react to the comment. “There are certain unsavoury i
ndividuals in Londinium who always seem to know what’s going on. One thing led to another and it all pointed to my cousin. He was desperate enough to agree to a meeting. He was afraid he was going to be killed.” Cornelius laughed bitterly. “But not by his own cousin.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That Tulipa promised to hide him from the Agency indefinitely in return for Catherine’s death.”
Will put his glass on the desk. Now he was starting to shake. “Bartholomew?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain he was telling the truth?”
“Yes. I…I lost control of myself. I could see you throwing Amelia and me out to the dogs because of that selfish bastard. And there was a child there, he almost murdered a woman and child, Will. One of my blood. I didn’t realise I’d hit him until he fell.” The glass slipped from his hand and he hid his face.
“I don’t blame you,” Will said. All of his rage was aimed at the Tulipas. “You and Amelia are Whites now, not Rosas. And if you were still a Rosa you would have hidden this from me, hidden him and not cared about what he’d done. It all makes sense now. Cathy thought he was a Rosa. Bartholomew must have given him some sort of Charm, that’s what the Arbiter picked up on. But she said creepers covered with thorns were holding the child…that’s the only thing I don’t understand. How could a Rose Charm still be—”
“The dagger once belonged to one of the Thorn brothers,” Cornelius replied. “It still held some power. He told me.”
Will felt all the uncertainty drop away, leaving only a bright core of pure anger and the desire for revenge. “You were right about Bartholomew,” he whispered. “It was all an act and I fell for it. Even though he didn’t do it with his own hands, he planned it all and he paid another man to murder my wife.” Will knocked the rest of the brandy down his throat. “I have to act. It’s just a matter of time before my Patroon or my patron find out about this and demand to know what I’m doing about it.”
“This isn’t just about them trying to murder Catherine,” Cornelius said. “This is about the throne of Londinium. Strike back and send a clear signal to the Londinium Court that you are a strong, decisive man.”
