The Curse of the Brimstone Contract

by Corrina Lawson

  “I’m glad,” she said.

  She accepted his apology, as she’d not accepted her father’s. Sir August wasn’t the villain of this tale. He’d risked death to capture Roylott. He wanted to change.

  As did her father, but that wound was too deep and too raw.

  Milverton slipped her a note from their “mutual friend”. She opened it while alone in the guest bedroom.

  I believe this is yours. And come as soon as you are able.

  That is, if you wish to do so.

  Gregor.

  With the note was a sliver of mage coal. Perhaps he’d salvaged it from her home.

  She tucked the note inside the pocket of her dress. Then she went out and sold the mage coal and bought materials to make a new dress. She knew where she had come from. Now, she must plan for the future. She needed a new dress, one that reflected her new reality.

  She divided the rest of the money between her aunt, to thank her for the hospitality, and her father, whom she ordered to use it to pay severance wages to Emily and the other seamstresses now out of work.

  Sewing her new clothes took a good two days but Joan was more than satisfied when she was finished.

  Her original adventurer’s dress paled in comparison to this one. The bustier was solid, shaped brown leather, decorated with some of the symbols on the lotus flower from the case. She made the neck high, to protect her throat, and added ornate wrists cuffs of the same leather. Happily, she found boots to match.

  When she checked her look in the mirror, she almost didn’t recognize herself. I look formidable, she thought.

  Good.

  Before losing her nerve, she called a cab and set off for Gregor’s office. He always seemed to anticipate her, so why would she send word? She marched down the alley as she had done only two short weeks ago. There were no workmen present this time, but otherwise all seemed unchanged.

  She put a hand through the illusion of his door.

  This time, it opened without her even knocking. She stepped inside.

  Gregor was waiting in the hallway.

  “You were expecting me,” she said.

  “At every moment.”

  Could he be as nervous as she was?

  “You wear a formidable dress.”

  “I know.”

  “How is your hand?”

  “My hand will be fine,” she said. “It will heal. Other things might not.”

  He winced.

  “Can you answer a question?” she asked.

  “Only one?”

  “One above all. Who are you? Are you the dispassionate detective of our first meeting? The workman? The noble lord? Or the man who saved my life? Where does the true Gregor reside?”

  His sharp features softened. For once, he seemed baffled. “I do not know.” He emphasized each word, as if each was a separate sentence.

  “I expected the worst from Sir August. I expected the best from you. Truth, for certain. Yet…” her voice faltered, “…you’re like everyone else.”

  He bowed to her. “A hallway is no place for this. Come, sit with me, Joan. At least let me be a good host.”

  He seated her in his library again. This time, he offered only water.

  “So, did Roylott speak the truth when he accused me of winning the duel by cheating?”

  “No. That was his vanity talking. You won the duel. That terrified him, for to give your father’s soul back meant his destruction.”

  “He was always going to make everyone suffer if he lost,” Joan guessed.

  “Yes, as strictly speaking, the brimstone contract included no clauses requiring him to spare your mother, me, Sir August or even you. He was only bound to leave your soul alone and to return your father’s soul. You should have read the contract more closely before signing.”

  “So my duel was for nothing?”

  “On the contrary, your victory released your father’s soul. And it kept Roylott busy until I could act. A frontal assault would never have worked, and he was on guard against my usual deception.”

  “I thought there would be justice or honor at the end of all this. But I can find none.”

  “Honor?” Gregor snapped to his feet and began pacing. “Honor is a fantasy, a tale told to children to deceive them into believing the world has rules and that there is fairness and order. Honor is a creation by those in power to keep control. Honor.” He stopped in front of her and scowled. “There is no honor in this case. It is all foul, save for you.”

  She let his unexpected anger roll over her. When he was finished, he stared at her, challenging.

  “That is a very pretty rant, sir. Are you admitting you yourself have no honor?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She stood to face him. “You knew about the golem and my mother, and you kept it from me.”

  “I guessed. I didn’t have proof until I found you collapsed that night near the open safe.”

  “You found something else in the safe. What was it?”

  He walked away from her.

  “Answer me, damn you!”

  “I found another scroll, this time in German, in the safe. On it was written the spell that brought Roylott to life.”

  “That’s the burning paper you shoved in Roylott’s mouth.”

  “Yes. That needed to be done to break the golem spell.”

  She sat back down, a realization dawning. “That wasn’t Roylott’s safe. That was my mother’s safe.”

  “Indeed.” He turned. “I wanted to keep her involvement from you because I didn’t…I wanted…I thought to protect you.” He sat in his favorite chair. It looked the same as before she’d burned it.

  “I replaced my chair with a duplicate,” he explained, answering an unspoken question again.

  She nodded. “You thought if I knew my mother was behind it all, I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

  “No,” he snapped. “I knew you could face it with courage. I only wished to spare you pain.”

  “It didn’t work out that way.”

  “No,” he agreed.

  She took a deep breath. “It is to your credit that you will hear all my grievances.”

  “Have I answered all your questions?”

  She snorted. “All my questions? I believe that would take months.”

  “For you, Joan, I would spend years.”

  She sucked in a deep breath, as if he’d struck her midsection and robbed her of air. “I don’t understand you, or any of this. I was a seamstress and a designer of clothes. Now I don’t know what I am.”

  “You’re a woman who wants to control her own life, a mage sprung from a lineage that my father’s class doesn’t recognize and a woman who proved more a partner to me than client.”

  Another direct hit. “I’m not sure I like your compliments, Gregor.”

  “Simple truth.”

  “Is that what we are to each other now? Partners?”

  “My mother would say the Fates haven’t revealed that as yet.” He smiled. “She would like you.”

  “She would like me? I find that difficult to believe.”

  He put his hands into a steeple. “You were a seamstress from a merchant’s home. My mother was a girl on the streets in India. My father took her off those streets, cleaned her up and trained her mage gift.” He shook his head. “Had he stopped there or had he made her his mistress, the powers that be would not have batted an eye. Instead, he married her.”

  “Did she want to marry him?”

  Gregor cocked an eyebrow. “Do you know, I have never asked. It’s never good to ask questions when one fears the answer. But, you see, the Dowager Duchess of Bennington knows well what it feels like to be an outsider, especially when her son turned out to be such a disappointment.”

  Why would he be… Oh. “Because you’re not a powerful mage.”

  “The supposed saving grace of my parents’ marriage was bringing a powerful mage gift to the family. Instead, they received me. To call me a disappointment is puttin
g it mildly.”

  “That’s why you work here.”

  “That’s why I have my own life’s work. What I do is break down mage gifts and spells, and try to make some sense of them. I knew brimstone was a chemical that could seal magical contracts, but now I know why, in that it’s a substance that responds well to magic.”

  “Like clay.” She looked down, thinking of the golem.

  “Certain types of clay, yes.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I took samples from Roylott’s, ah, form. It was clay but not from London. It’s from Eastern Europe, though I cannot narrow it down more than that. I suspect substances unique to that type of clay can hold the spell that animates a golem.”

  “My mother just happened to have this clay around?”

  “As I said, I can only tell you where it was from, not how it was brought here.”

  “My father said my mother studied her mother and her grandmother’s journals, looking for spells, but that she also had more recent documents.”

  “She’d been talking to another mage, most likely.”

  “Someone else who’d trained their gift without the knowledge of your noble classes.”

  “That is the logical answer.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “I wish I did. I intend to keep investigating to find out.”

  Out there, somewhere, was someone who’d helped her mother steal her father’s soul. She closed her eyes. “Am I still in trouble with Moran or Scotland Yard?”

  “Scotland Yard, no. In fact, you won Inspector Davis’s sympathy. He knows exactly what happened, though he’s been sworn to secrecy. Moran…is playing a long game and is backed by people who are as yet in the shadows. He’s our enemy.”

  She shivered. “I don’t know what to do about that. Or with the rest of my life. I have no means of income. I thought about doing some hired sewing work, if I can borrow a sewing machine, but that is subsistence work.”

  “You have plenty of means, Joan.” He walked to her and offered his hand. “Come, I will show you. And know I would have come to you in another day, if you’d not come here. I just wanted to give you a surprise.”

  She offered her hand slowly, worried about her injury. His grip was strong but not crushing. As she rose, she felt his thumb caress her palm. Such a small action, and yet it had such a large effect on her.

  He led her across the hallway to his laboratory. It was still overly warm, but today all the machines and gadgets were quiet. All the overhead lights were shining brightly.

  He brought her to a far corner and pulled a heavy cloth from a tall lump.

  The action revealed a tower of mage coal that came to her shoulders. She put her hand to her mouth and gasped. “Where did you get this?”

  “The base is the mage coal from your breaking of the safe. The rest was created when you threw your wild energy at Roylott. I salvaged it in secret from the wreckage for you.”

  “This must be worth a fortune.”

  “Yes. You could keep a small amount for yourself and that would keep you warm for several years. The rest you could sell to buy a home and support yourself.” He replaced the cloth. “This is your future, Joan. The fortune and choices are yours.”

  “I could even leave England,” she said. “Perhaps go to America where everyone is not so conscious of class.”

  “You could even leave England,” he repeated. “Though America is not perfect.”

  “Money buys choices.”

  Gregor nodded.

  “And if I stay in England?” She turned to him. “Are you part of that choice?”

  “Do you want me to be?”

  “Don’t. Do not play games with me, Gregor Sherringford. I’m tired of games and lies and half-truths. Speak now, else I’ll leave this place and be gone for good.”

  She bit her tongue, appalled, not even sure what she was asking. She’d no right to expect any promises from him.

  “The truth? You are now the fulcrum in a war, Joan.” He took her hand again. “I told you that as the idea that anyone can be a mage filters down—and it’s beginning to do so—the noble class will fight harder to keep its power. And the ones being left out will fight harder to gain power. Where Moran fits in, I’m not certain, but he’s been busy identifying mages operating ‘illegally’ for a long time. Scotland Yard thinks he’s doing it on their behalf, as does the Queen and the ruling party. But I have my doubts.”

  “Anyone who knows who all the illegal mages are could make use of them,” she said.

  “Just so.” He smiled. “You do make an excellent partner.”

  “Is that what you’re offering? A partnership in your consulting detective business?”

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I would offer more.” His voice was low and deep. “But do you trust me enough for that?”

  “Will you train my gift?”

  “I will and may the gods pray that I’m up to that task.” He put her hand to his chest. “Marry me, Joan.”

  “Oh, Gregor.” She curled her hand around his forearm. “Having seen what marriage did to my mother, I’m not eager for it.”

  His eyes widened. She’d surprised him. Well, she’d surprised herself with that answer.

  “Are you refusing my suit?”

  She traced his jaw with her finger. So arrogant. So much reason for him to be so. But also so much hidden kindness. “Marriage is ownership, at least in the current form. I’m tired of being owned.”

  Growing bolder, she stepped closer, putting their faces only inches apart. “On the other hand, I rather liked the sound of partner. I’ve never been a partner. I think I would enjoy that.”

  He tilted his head. “Partner or wife, our lives would be entwined.”

  “I’d like that very much. But only if you promise that you won’t keep things from me in the future, not even to spare me pain.”

  He nodded. “Then there is one last thing you should know.”

  “Oh no, Gregor, please don’t say you’re hiding something else.”

  “Shush.” He put two fingers over her lips. “I’m trying to tell you, in my own poor way, wife or not, I love you.”

  She pushed up on her feet and their lips met.

  She moaned. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she pressed her body into his. Even through the layers of clothing, she could feel his long, lean form.

  He slid his hands around her waist. She sighed, the kiss deepened and when he broke their embrace, she was breathless.

  “I can protect you better, my love, if we’re married,” he said.

  “I’ve had damned enough of being bloody protected.” She pulled the pins from her hair. “I want to do this together, on my own terms.” She took his hands and entwined their fingers. “I love you too.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “Perhaps we can come to a meeting of the minds on those terms of yours?”

  She laughed. “That’s exactly what I’d hoped.”

  About the Author

  Corrina is a former newspaper reporter with a degree in journalism from Boston University. She turned to writing fiction after her twins were born (they were kids three and four) to save her sanity and hasn’t ever stopped.

  She does most of her writing in her walk-in closet, which doubles as an office because it has a door.

  She is the author of four stories in the Phoenix Institute superhero romance series, Phoenix Rising, Luminous, Phoenix Legacy and the upcoming Ghost Phoenix.

  You can find her on the Internet at her website, www.corrina-lawson.com, at her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/corrinalawsonwriter, and on Twitter as @CorrinaLawson.

  Look for these titles by Corrina Lawson

  Now Available:

  Freya’s Gift

  The Phoenix Institute

  Phoenix Rising

  Luminous

  Phoenix Legacy

  He was born to be a weapon. For her, he must learn to be a hero.

  Phoenix Rising

  © 2011 Corrina Law
son

  The Phoenix Institute, Book 1

  Since birth, Alec Farley has been trained to be a living weapon. His firestarter and telekinetic abilities have been honed to deadly perfection by the Resource, a shadowy anti-terrorist organization—the only family he has ever known. What the Resource didn’t teach him, though, is how to play well with others.

  When psychologist Beth Nakamora meets Alec to help him work on his people skills, she’s hit with a double-barreled first impression. He’s hot in more ways than one. And her first instinct is to rescue him from his insular existence.

  Her plan to kidnap and deprogram him goes awry when her latent telepathic ability flares, turning Alec’s powers off. Hoping close proximity will reignite his flame, she leads him by the hand through a world he’s never known. And something else flares: Alec’s anger over everything he’s been denied. Especially the passion that melds his mind and body with hers.

  The Resource, however, isn’t going to let anything—or anyone—steal its prime investment. Alec needs to be reminded where his loyalties lie…starting with breaking his trust in the woman he’s come to love.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Phoenix Rising:

  “I’m sorry for staring. I’ve haven’t seen your equipment up close before.”

  “Hah!” He sat in an easy chair to lace up his boots. “You know you can see my equipment anytime you ask.”

  “Um, that’s not quite what I had in mind.” Alec had charmed her. Lansing had been right about that. She hadn’t counted on him being so genuinely interested in her.

  At least she’d had the willpower not to touch Alec’s hand and risk that intense jolt of energy a second time. Just being around him was seductive enough.

  Alec shrugged at her refusal, walked back to the bed and loaded a clip into his handgun. Some sort of pistol, though she had no idea exactly what kind. Philip would have known. Alec’s eyes narrowed as he double-checked the weapon. For a moment, he was completely the competent military officer.

  Satisfied, he set it down and turned to face her. He frowned, on uncertain ground again.