The Clockwork Wolf

by Lynn Viehl

  Before I’d come to know magic was real I’d have thought it nothing more than flashy showmanship; now the glassy cloak alarmed me. Mirror weave was bespelled very specifically to deflect evil power away from the wearer, and Dredmore had covered himself from neck to ankle with it.

  “Maybe he ought to just toss the rat into the furnace,” I said to Winslow.

  “That would waste the opportunity to discover the mage who enchanted it,” Dredmore said in a voice so clear he might have been standing beside me instead of two floors beneath us.

  “Can you hear me as well?” I asked, and when he nodded I gestured to the rat. “Just how dangerous is that thing?”

  “I won’t know until I rekindle it. As a precaution I’ve sent the staff out of the house.” He approached the pedestal. “It will have no effect on you, of course, nor Winslow, as long as he remains beside you.”

  I put my arm through the butler’s. “So we’re not separated if the thing explodes and blows off your master’s face,” I said. “You see, the rat they sent before this one was a bomb. I expect he forgot to mention that.”

  Winslow went pale. “A small oversight on his part, miss.”

  Dredmore placed several blue stones on the edges of the pedestal until they encircled the animech. He then made a tugging gesture over the rat, from which the rest of the frost immediately melted and trickled away.

  The rat’s jointed legs twitched as Dredmore began murmuring in a language I couldn’t fathom, and light rippled along the tangerstone walls.

  I shuffled back a step as the rat belched out an oily smoke that rose in a narrow, swirling column. “That’s not promising.”

  Spots of red glinted in the rat’s eyes as it sat up, rather like a small dog, and regarded Dredmore. “Grand Master,” it said in a horribly squeaky voice. “I was not sent for you.”

  “It smokes and talks,” I said faintly. “I wonder if it does any tricks.”

  “Yet come you have into my sphere.” Dredmore lifted his hands, from which came arcing slashes of bright, crackling blue. “Your work is undone. Reveal your maker.”

  Fragments of metal flew as the rat gnashed its pointy teeth.

  “I command you, name he who made thee.” Dredmore threw his hands out, caging the animech in a net of the blue light.

  I almost felt sorry for the rat as it squealed and struggled beneath the constricting net. “Tell him,” I muttered under my breath.

  The rat uttered something that sounded like laughter, and then a very familiar name. “Fox hee,” it finally shrilled. “Fox hee Fox hee Fox hee—”

  More smoke burst from the animech, this time with such violence both Winslow and I flinched. The explosion we anticipated, however, never occurred, and after a final grinding clank and a large blat of smoke the rat fell onto its side and lay motionless.

  “Well.” I felt a cautious relief. “No bomb in this one.”

  “So it would seem, miss.” The butler absently patted the hand I had clenched on his forearm. “My lord, shall I summon—”

  The rat rattled, its parts falling away from a cracking glass orb filled with swirling black bloodbane.

  It was worse than a bomb—an assassin’s snuffball, ready to burst.

  “Lucien, get out of there,” I shouted as I pushed Winslow toward the door.

  Dredmore did nothing of the kind, instead drawing up a fold of his cloak to shield his face an instant before the snuffball exploded. Its lethal contents doused everything within two yards and obscured my view entirely.

  I knelt down and hammered on the glass floor. “Lucien? Lucien! I’m coming—don’t move. Or breathe.”

  I ran past Winslow and to the stairs, nearly tumbling down them until I reached the first level. It took me a moment to work out which room was Dredmore’s spell chamber, and when I pushed in the door a waft of smoke and black powdery bloodbane enveloped me.

  The moment it touched me the bloodbane became no more dangerous than ordinary soot, but I didn’t care to breathe it in, and covered my nose and mouth with my hand as I made my way in. I felt in the blackness until I found glassy fabric and wrapped my arms round Dredmore, who somehow was still standing.

  “Stupid, worthless man,” I sputtered, coughing as I pulled him along with me out into the hall and away from the smoke. Once we were clear I pushed him against the wall and frantically swatted the bloodbane from his hair.

  “Charmian.” He lowered the cloak and caught my hands. “I am not harmed.”

  “You should be. You should be whipped.” I pushed the now-filthy cloak from his shoulders, kicking it away from him. “Sweet Jesu, it’s all over you.” I kept hold of him as I dragged him down the corridor and into the nearest bedchamber. “Where is the bloody damn bathing room?”

  “Charmian, there is no . . .” Dredmore paused and then nodded at a door on the right. “In there.”

  “Don’t let go of my hand,” I told him as I hauled him into the smaller room. I knew that by touching the bloodbane I could see I’d rendered it useless, but particles of the lethal powder had likely fallen down in his collar and God knew where else. “We have to get you out of these clothes and cleaned off.”

  I looked at the bath, which was not a tub but something like a wide, shallow, flat-bottomed sieve, over which hung several large pipes fitted with broad spouts like garden watering tins. “Sweet Mary, Lucien. Do you bathe in here, or pan for gold?”

  “I dislike being immersed in water.” Dredmore released his necktie and began to unbutton his shirt, but using one hand made him slow. “But you already know that.”

  “I know you’re an idiot.” I placed his hand that I was holding on my neck and went to work on his shirt myself. “How could you do something so reckless and stupid?” I wrenched off his shirt and reached for his trouser bands. “You’re supposed to be a grand master of the dark arts, not some fumbling fete teller.” I realized I wasn’t getting off the pants with his boots still on his feet and made a murderous sound as I dropped to my knees and jerked up his trouser cuffs. “You didn’t enjoy dying the last time, I assure you.”

  “Charmian.”

  I stopped wrestling with his boot as I realized we were no longer touching, and he wasn’t dying. “If you tell me you’re immune to bloodbane, I’m going to hurt you. Somewhere significant and very personal.”

  Dredmore helped me to my feet. “I am not immune to bloodbane.”

  I drew in a short, trembling breath. “But you didn’t run out of there.” I looked up into his black eyes. “Why didn’t you run, Lucien?”

  He cupped my cheek with his long, cool hand. “I was warded. Protected, by you.”

  “Me? I haven’t any magic.” I shivered as his thumb strayed along the curve of my lower lip, leaving a trail of heat. “I was completely utterly bloody useless. Do you know how that felt, when I saw that thing explode in your face?” And suddenly I was a blink away from bursting into tears.

  “Oh, yes.” He bent his head, and touched his mouth to mine. “I know.”

  Little dark puffs of bloodbane drifted to the tiled floor as we embraced. I wanted to kill him, not kiss him, but once we started I couldn’t stop. Not when I felt him at the buttons of my gown, or when my skirts slipped to pool round my feet. I clung to his bare shoulders, rubbing my hot face against the hard vault of his chest while his fingers unwound the tangles of my hair.

  I had promised myself I would never again be naked with Lucien Dredmore, but after a few more moments I was, and he with me. I knew it was wicked to press my skin to his, and stroke his lovely long limbs with my palms, but I didn’t care. Whatever nonsense he believed, I’d almost lost him—again.

  A gentle cascade of warm water spilled down my back as Dredmore moved me onto the basin, and there stood holding me as his shower rained down on both our heads. I stood watching the drops bead on his dark lashes and run down the haughty bridge of his nose, but it was the rivulets that wet his lips that proved irresistible. I stood on tiptoe, my hands slipping behind his
neck to bring them to me so I could lick them away.

  “Why is it we can never do this without imminent danger or death looming over us?” I murmured, gripping the tight muscles in his arms with my wet hands.

  “This has happened to me only in my dreams, Charmian.” He nudged up my chin, and his expression was that of a starved man presented with a feast. “And that is your magic.”

  The water raining down on us washed away the final traces of the bloodbane from Lucien’s body, and took the last of my doubts with them. I could not think or know or care about anything more than feeling his touch, and being in his gaze, and falling under the spell of his passion. It should have been an awkward business, the two of us standing, the water drenching and making every inch of us slick, but it became instead a very intimate dance. His strong arms lifted me, sliding me up and then settling me, my legs winding round about his as he forged between them.

  Although I knew very well how it would be, the shock of feeling him pressing and penetrating me with his shaft made all of the air leave my lungs. I sank as he guided me, taking the full length of his shaft into my body, the heated flesh piercing me with a moment of sharp pain before pushing deep.

  Dredmore held me there, one arm under my bottom, his other hand on my face. “You are a maiden.” He sounded bemused.

  “You mean, I was.” I shifted a little, trying not to clench against the most intimate invasion of my person—for the second time. “Fate seems determined to have you as my ruin.”

  “To hell with Fate.” His arm tightened as he stepped out of the basin. “What will you have, Charmian?”

  “You.” I linked my hands behind his neck and tucked my face into the crook of his shoulder. “I’ll have you. And a bed, if you don’t mind the ruin of your linens. Gravity might”—a laugh bubbled out of me as he carried me back into the bedchamber and fell onto the mattress with me—“ah, interrupt.”

  The weight of his big body atop mine felt more splendid as I cradled him, nudging his hips with mine in wanton encouragement. Lucien’s wet hair formed a dripping curtain about our faces and he drew back and then surged forward, completing the smooth fit of our sexes. He kissed every drop from my face and throat, pausing only to regard me with intense scrutiny before carrying on.

  Delight made my toes curl and my hands grow restless, and I clutched at him as our bodies moved together, orchestrated by a deep and almost frightening passion that removed every thought but him from my mind. Revisiting the carnal sensations of lovemaking made my face burn, but inside me grew an ache so intense that soon I was like a wild thing, arching up to meet his heavy thrusts, bearing down to clasp him within, wanting nothing more for it to end and for it to last forever, both urgencies setting my blood afire.

  My pleasure trembled, just out of reach, when Lucien dragged me up with him, gripping my hips and working me over him as I held on, breathless and wide-eyed. “I did not dream this. You gave yourself to me once before, as you do now. Tell me the truth.”

  I shook my head, and then groaned as he used his teeth to catch my earlobe. “Why does it matter?”

  He moved deep and held me fast, staring into my eyes as I squirmed, desperate for more. “Tell me, damn you.”

  I wanted to slap him, and then I saw something in his eyes, a longing so desperate that it melted my heart and my pride. “Yes. It happened, twice.” I rested my hand over his heart, and felt the hammering beat of it throb against my palm. “And now again.”

  “Then you are mine.” He put his mouth on mine for a kiss so deep I felt it in my bones, one that sent us both to shatter within an enormous burst of pleasure.

  We collapsed together, bodies still enmeshed, and I never wanted to move again, not from his bed or his arms. Once I could breathe I examined the handsome lines of his throat, and traced a finger along the black cord encircling it. I found the silver filigree pendant suspended by it hanging askew, and absently turned it to admire its odd design. “I’ve never seen you wear this.” I frowned. “It’s a woman’s locket.”

  “My mother’s.” He pillowed his head on his arm and watched my face. “Open it.”

  I pressed the tiny clasp and it sprang open to reveal a small curl of brunette hair tied with silver thread. “So your mother was dark, like you.”

  He shook his head. “She was a blue-eyed blond.”

  “But then whose . . . “I peered at the curl again. “Just a minute. This looks like my hair.” I reached back to touch the shortened patch on my nape. “It is my hair. You cut my hair.”

  “I snipped away one curl where it would not be noticed. Given the general state of your mop, I doubted even you would miss it.”

  “Why?” Before he could answer I knew. “You thought my hair would dispel the magic? This was how you were protected against the bloodbane?”

  He closed the locket. “It was not the reason I took it, but the possibility did occur to me.”

  “You weren’t sure?” I thumped my fist against his chest. “You could have died in there, you bloody stupid man.”

  “So much anger.” He kissed my mouth so gently I hardly felt the touch of his lips. “So you do care for me.”

  “As a friend, yes, I do. I’m thinking about making other friends who aren’t as bloody stupid as you.” I gave him another halfhearted thump before I presented my back to him. “You knew this, the entire time. But you let me make a fool of myself anyway.”

  “No.” He turned me onto my back and rolled over me to hold me down. “I want you, and I will do anything to have you. I have never concealed that. And if for once you will cease pretending this indifference that you have never truly felt toward me, then you can admit that it is the same for you.”

  “If I did, how long would that satisfy you, Lucien? Five minutes? Ten? If I become your mistress, would you not then want me to give up my business? With no means to support myself, you would then demand I live with you. Soon my days would be reduced to nothing but dancing attendance on your every desire.” I closed my eyes. “Is that what you believe will make me happy?”

  He rolled away from me and flung his arm over his eyes. “I do not know what will make you happy.”

  “Fortunately I do.” I got out of bed. “You can get dressed and take me down to the morgue.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After the unfortunate snuffball incident Connell drove us to Saint Albert’s. Once Dredmore had helped me down, I looked up at the driver, who had taken pains not to look at me once.

  “Mr. Connell, I had no warning of what my grandfather’s spirit intended to do to you,” I said formally. “But that is no excuse when one has a body-snatching spirit in the family. I take full responsibility for Harry’s actions, which were completely reprehensible, and that I sincerely regret. I assure you, it will never happen again.”

  Connell glanced down at me. “You needn’t apologize to me, miss. I’ve no memory of it, and I came to no harm.”

  “Nevertheless.” I curtseyed as low as the curb would allow. “Please forgive me, sir.”

  “Stand by, Connell.” Dredmore took my arm and led me down the walk toward the delivery platform at the side of the building. “That was quite considerate of you.”

  “I consider your driver a decent chap,” I said. “By the way, now you’ll definitely have to drop those charges you trumped up against me.”

  A guard stood leaning against a wall and picking at his fingernails by the platform, but as soon as he spied us approaching he straightened and adjusted the set of his hat. “Visitors go in the front, sir.”

  “The mayor summoned me to inspect two bodies,” Dredmore told him. “It is a matter of some urgency.”

  “Aye, sir?” The guard eyed me. “Surely not with your lady.”

  “I’m milord’s secretary,” I informed him in my best Middy accent. “Come along to take notes for Himself. Look alive, then, lad. We’ve not all day.”

  The guard nodded and hurried to unlock the door, bobbing his head as we went in.


  As we headed down the hall Dredmore gave me a sideways look. “I’ve never heard you speak in that fashion.”

  “Ta, sir, I ain’t always hobbed with nobs. ’Sides, plain speaking opens more doors than your fancy talk.” The smell of preservative made my nose wrinkle. “Hopefully Dez is on duty, or this might require the use of some of your particular talents.”

  Inside the examination chamber we did find Docket’s friend wheeling a body into a back room. He didn’t see us until he returned, and then he scowled at me.

  “Not you again.” His gaze moved to Dredmore. “Who’s this?”

  “My secretary, Lucien,” I said as I inspected the shrouded bodies still in the room. “Where are the two Wolfmen that were brought in from the Hill?”

  “No.” Dez thrust out his jaw. “I’ll not have any of your poking round here, ever again.”

  “And why not?”

  “Sister Bailey came down after that other one ran amok and near tore my head off about it.” He threw out his arms. “As if I’d known some bloody mage would reanimate the creature the minute I turned my back.”

  “No worries, then. You can tell her I barged in and found them myself.” I went to the first table and drew back the shroud. The elderly man beneath it looked entirely mortal and quite yellow. “Liver rot,” I guessed. “Too much wine, not enough women and song.” I went to the next table.

  Dez beat me to it and put an arm over the shroud. “You’ll not want a look at this one.”

  I peeked anyway and grimaced. “Trampled by a horse, or hit by a carri?”

  “Barnacle scrubber, got pinned between two boats.” Dez started to say more and then jerked the edge of the shroud back into place. “That’s enough. You need to see a vicar, and talk to him about this fascination of yours with the dead. It ain’t natural.”

  “I have one over here, Charmian,” Dredmore said from across the room, where he had uncovered a hairy body with an enormous chest wound. As I approached the hair began to recede into the man’s body. “The spell is still active.”

  “Not anymore,” I said as I joined him, at which point the body transformed into its natural mortal state. “Dez, I need to look in his mouth.”