Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1)

by Jeanine Croft

  “You seemed to weather the disappointment rather well.”

  “Never mind that, where did you disappear off to with Lord Winterly? It is rather unfair of you to have kept him all to yourself like that, for I wanted to dance with him too.”

  “I didn’t monopolize the man, he disappeared soon after our dance.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Milli, yawning, “Victoria did mention they would be leaving betimes—something about having to start out early for Winterthurse. Oh, I wish we could have gone earlier with them in the barouche.”

  “Are you certain you even wish to go? How well do we really know the Winterlys?”

  That certainly banished the sleep from Milli’s eyes. “Oh, Emma, why are you so determined to throw a rub in the way? Stay in London if you will, but do so alone and do not begrudge me my happiness.”

  “I would do nothing of the sort!”

  “Then stop being a windsucking old scold and let me hear no more of our not going. Come the Summer Solstice Ball, I will be waltzing in Winterthurse, with or without you.”

  “Then I shall thank you to behave and stop making silly comments to strangers like you did tonight about my sleepwalking,” said Emma as the carriage reached its destination, “which, incidentally, I haven’t done in a while. If I ever did at all.” But Emma knew she had a better chance of lifting a fog with her breath than wasting it, as now, on words Milli would soon dismiss anyway. Best not to let her irritation get the better of her, she decided, alighting from the carriage.

  She had no sooner reached the front door when Milli gave a shriek of delight behind her. When she glanced around it was to find her sister, still on the sidewalk, stroking a very large marmalade cat. The creature was even now using Milli’s skirts as a rubbing post, its throat rumbling with pleasure as it arched and stretched against her gloved hand.

  “Isn’t she delightful?” said Milli.

  “Mind you don’t catch fleas.”

  Milli shot her sister a glare. “She doesn’t have fleas.”

  “Nonsense, all vagrant little beasts have fleas. You had better get out of the street and come inside, or have the fleas distracted you from the mad butcher—he is still very much at large, you know.”

  “If she’s homeless then she ought to come inside with me.” That said, Milli lifted the cat and joined Emma at the front door just as Reid was opening the door.

  The poor man gaped in horror as Milli flounced past him with the cat in her arms, her cape billowing regally behind her. The whole scene was too ridiculous for Emma to keep a straight face, but she did her best to stifle her laughter as Reid closed the door.

  Though, upon reflection, the adoption of the cat soon lost some of its comicality, for Milli would inevitably lose interest in the cat, the responsibility of which would then be transferred to Emma. Sometimes Emma really believed her sister would be the death of her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Devil's Bane

  My Dear Mary,—What shall I say about Lord Winterly but that he is the most compelling, maddening creature I have ever met. And were it not an insult to your monastic mores, I should be quite convinced of his being a wicked monk! With all respect and love,

  Emma.

  Postscript:—Milli has been adopted by a peevish ginger cat.

  The morning rays streaming through the window promised a day free of fog and rain. Well, sunlight was certainly long overdue. Despite the beautiful morning, Emma rolled over and buried her head beneath her pillows, loath to get up. She had been turning Ana’s warning over in her mind since the ball, nearly a sennight ago, which was challenging enough for the mind without Winterly’s kiss besieging it at every turn.

  Oh, how that kiss bedeviled and consumed her sleepless thoughts in the darkest hours, every moment since he’d imparted it. And tomorrow they would depart for Winterthurse; tomorrow she would be a day closer to seeing him again.

  A sudden weight on the bed startled Emma and she emerged from under her pillows to see the cat perched at the foot of her bed.

  “Come to demand a saucer of cat-lap, have you?”

  It gave no answer, only stared with unblinking yellow eyes, the pupils no more than reptilian black slits in the sunbeams. To their uncle’s great disgust, the creature seemed quite fixed to Milli’s side no matter how often he’d had it evicted. Boudicca found her way back night after night, and at length their uncle had surrendered to Milli’s pleading and the cat was then suffered to remain.

  Emma threw her legs over the side of the bed and marched past the cat to dress herself. When she turned back to the bed, the cat was glaring at the window. Curious, Emma proceeded there and peered outside, but there was naught to see, save the usual flood of pedestrians, a passing brougham, and an impertinent raven perched on the branch outside the glazing. It gave a sudden croak of menace and then launched its great heft off the branch and disappeared.

  She was about to turn away when, out of habit, her eyes shifted to the iron latch. The strand of hair looped around the hasp was, as ever, intact. Emma was immediately vexed at herself for having set the trap in the first place, all because she’d had some eidetic dream. Did she really think she’d catch a bogey this way? When had she become so fanciful? Milli was right, those books were corrupting her sanity.

  With rapidity and disgust, Emma removed the strand of hair from the hasp and flung it out the window, then she marched back to her bed and promised herself that today would be the day she finally returned that blasted Vampyris to its rightful ownership. Tomorrow at the very latest. And if Ana condemned her for the thief she was (like her silly pet had done) and vowed never to see her again, all the better; Emma was better off severing all ties to the occult and anyone who shared her morbid interests.

  She could feel the cat’s yellow gaze watching as she freed Vampyris from the cloth she’d used to protect it. Emma looked up to see the cat’s tail flicking knowingly as the silence stretched on.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, “I only meant to borrow the damnable thing.”

  The cat was spared the task of answering, for Milli suddenly sashayed into the room uninvited. She was carrying a little parcel wrapped in brown paper, a sprig of rosemary tucked into the twine that secured it. Also attached was a letter.

  “You and your cat need to learn how to knock,” said Emma, pushing Vampyris out of sight beneath her pillow.

  Milli dropped the parcel onto Emma’s bed and sat beside her, looking as excited as though it was her name elegantly scrawled on the paper and not Emma’s. “Open it, I want to see who it’s from. Oh, I’m sure it’s from your viscount, how wickedly romantic!”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “If you’re so sure then I wonder that you’re still here, prying.” Inside her chest, though, her heart was skipping and fluttering. But the crest stamped into the wax was not Winterly’s, she soon realized, and the thrill that had quickened her blood ceased almost instantly.

  “Well?” Milli leaned back and scratched the cat’s ears, which the cat bore with condescension, watching eagerly as Emma removed the letter.

  “It is from Ana De Grigori.”

  Disinclined to hide her own disappointment, Milli gave a snort and leapt off the bed. “You really ought not get too friendly with them, Emma. Victoria said to keep vigilant around that lot.”

  “And is Victoria’s word to be trusted above every other? Besides, Ana said the same about the Winterlys.”

  “Oh, fiddle-faddle.” With affected indifference, Milli examined the letter over her sister’s shoulder. “Does she mention her brother? He’s quite the bounder, you know, Victoria herself told me to mind his ogles.”

  “No, she doesn’t.” Emma compressed her lips. “And Victoria seems to have a long tongue.”

  “Come on, Boudicca,” said Milli, summoning the cat with another scratch, “Sister Strange can have nothing to say that will interest me.” And off she went, the cat stalking out ahead of her.

  Now that Emma had her room to herself,
she wandered over to the window again to give the letter her full attention.

  Dear Emma,—I find myself so much at my ease in your society that, consequently, it is easy to forget that I am not yet at liberty to act with such familiarity as I did at the ball, speaking so freely when our friendship is only in its nascence. For that I must atone. I have been perfectly uncomfortable since last I saw you for fear the intelligence I felt duty bound to share has made you uneasy. Let me assure you that my motives are disinterested. I wish you and your sister only happiness and good health during your stay at Winterthurse and hope you will accept the small gift that accompanies this letter as a token of my high esteem for you both.

  In the parcel you will find the antidotal elixir your sister bespoke in jest, though she little comprehended her own prudence. You may well think it a strange gift, this ward against evil dreams—all evil things, in fact—but I desire that you will forgive a superstitious friend her untoward eccentricities and use it nonetheless, if indeed the need arises, which I hope it shall not.

  And if it is in my power to assist you, howsoever that may be, while you are away among strangers in a strange place, you must write directly, you know the address. Indulge my concern, however excessive, and let me hear from you as soon as you arrive, and regularly thereafter for the sake of my heartsease. Perhaps on your return you shall allow me to tell you everything. Adieu, my friend and good journey. Yours sincerely,

  Ana.

  Emma read the letter twice over before she finally came away from the window and took up the parcel, wary of what strangeness she might find beneath the paper and twine.

  It turned out to be a small, plain cedar box no bigger than the span of her open hand. Within it, on a bed of red velveteen, lay the mysterious gift—a curious, little vial. An antique perfume bottle, in fact, of rose-tinted finished crystal that was entirely embowered in ornate, silver filigree of leaves and sprigs. To the neck, either side of the stopper, was attached a long, argentine chain so that the vial might be worn as a necklace. It was of such excellent craftsmanship that Emma was momentarily distracted from its contents.

  What on earth did Ana mean by giving away such a costly trinket, and to somebody in whose company she had spent very little time? There was an engraving on the small banderole between the leaves of silver that suddenly drew Emma’s notice as she turned the little bottle over. Devil’s Bane, it read in fine cursive. Strange gift indeed, thought Emma. And what was Devil’s Bane exactly? An antidotal elixir of some sort, apparently, but antidotal to what? To venom? To strange dreams? Some preternatural entity? No, likely cat dander, she thought with a chuckle.

  Nevertheless, she lifted the stopper and brought the dabber to her nose to sniff at the delicate, little wand. It was rather a strong fragrance, perhaps a little too odd even to suit her taste. She thought she detected a little rosemary in the infusion, but the rest of the blend was a mystery.

  She dropped the chain over her head to test the bottle’s weight and found it hung quite comfortably. At least the bottle was pleasing, if not the perfume itself—and what an unfortunate name for a perfume, Devil’s Bane. Thus was she employed, still trying to divine the contents and the name, when Milli came in again.

  “I hope you have begun packing, Emma, I should hate to be delayed tomorrow.”

  Emma dropped the perfume bottle so that it hung like a pendant. “We have all day to pack, Milli, calm yourself.”

  “Victoria has arranged for us to take a private chaise as far as York. Therefrom, she will have her own coachman collect us to take us the rest of the way to Winterthurse.” Milli moved to stand beside the bed, her brows lowering as she glanced over Ana’s letter. “What a loose fish.” Her eyes skimmed the open box and discarded paper and then settled on the little perfume bottle resting over Emma’s bodice. “That’s very pretty, what is it?”

  Well, it could hardly be called perfume. Emma lifted the vial, remarking the way the contents seemed to glow in the sunlight. “Some sort of apotropaic, I think.”

  But Milli was no longer listening, her sharp eyes having discovered Vampyris beneath the pillow. “And what is that?”

  “Just a book,” said Emma, dragging Vampyris behind her back. “I am to return it to the De Grigoris today.”

  “Well, make haste, we leave at cockcrow tomorrow and still have much to do.”

  “Yes , Mother.”

  “Oh Lord! What is that ghastly odor? Smells like medicine!”

  Emma smirked and clutched the vial around her neck. Then, affecting a Romany accent, she said, “What if I told you it was a philter that would make Valko wildly in love with you?”

  For a moment Milli’s eyes brightened. Then she folded her arms and stuck her tongue out. “Gammon! I’d as soon suspect you of turning me into a toad.”

  Emma laughed as her sister withdrew with one last peremptory glance at Emma’s empty trunk. The smile soon faded, however. It was time to return the book; she was deuced tired of being a thief. She only wished she could somehow replace it without the offense being remarked by the De Grigoris.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Vitam Aeternam

  My Dear Emma,—Tell Milli, in future, she is better off adopting stray dogs, for cats are mistrustful, cunning beasts. Yours faithfully,

  Mary.

  Daylight, the banisher of all dark things, seemed to have dispossessed number 28 Great Castle of whatever eerie, scowling force had dwelt there before. When Emma had first seen it, the shabbiness of its facade had been somehow attenuated by the grave dignity and watchfulness of the eaves and windows, its old bones creaking as it crouched in its shadowy corner of London. Now, dispossessed of the dark mystère accorded by the night, the meretricious, old bawd stared with lifeless eyes.

  Deception, that was all it was—a mask that nowise reflected that which was hidden within. Emma raised her hand to knock, disrelishing the prospect of fessing up to what she’d done, but her conscience demanded she own her guilt or let it fester and eat her from within. The rap of her knuckles made her wince and she turned around to survey the street and the dull foot traffic behind her. No one seemed to take any notice of her. She knocked again, but there came no answer. The third knock, which was really more of a hammering of her fist, also produced no result.

  Frustrated, Emma turned and fell back against the door to contemplate the best recourse. She couldn’t very well leave the book on the doorstep, that smacked of cowardice and her damnable conscience would not allow that. Tomorrow was out of the question as they were leaving early, but she loathed delaying the book’s return. What in God’s name had possessed her to take it in the first place? She was no thief! Or hadn’t been till recently. London evidently held some nefarious sway over her and she was eager to leave it behind—no more strange dreams and fancies; no more wicked urges.

  Without warning, the door gave way and before she even thought to scream she was on her back amidst a dust cloud. She scrambled to her feet, ready to stammer an apology to whoever had opened the door, but there was nobody there. And behind her not a soul seemed to have noticed her hurtling through the entrance.

  “Hello?” she said, inching forward. The hallway yawned around her as she peeked back over her shoulder, uncertain. An impulse to drop the book and flee came strong and fast upon her, but she steeled herself and pressed on. “Ana, are you there? It’s Emma. I don’t mean to intrude, but the door…” What about the door? Had it just unlocked itself and welcomed her in? Nonsense.

  Well, if there was nobody hereabout, she would just have to find that chamber of occult on her own, slip Vampyris back onto a shelf, and leave a note. Yes, that was exactly what she’d do. Resolved, Emma hurried down the empty corridor, her heels clacking rudely over the hardwood. It might have been a very good plan indeed if not for the shocking sight that awaited her at the bottom of the stairs.

  There was no subterranean vault of gilt splendor, no books, and no evidence that any such library had ever existed. Emma was, instead, staring
at an empty warehouse with clouded windows dressed only by tattered curtains of lacy cobwebs. The floor was covered in a layer of thick dust interrupted only by the small tracks of insects and rats. No one had set foot in this place for years.

  Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the old railing to steady herself, her eyes starting from their sockets in abject disbelief. She knew what she’d seen before, could still see the beautiful frescoes and pillars and gilt trimmings. In her other hand, she cleaved Vampyris to her chest as some sort of anchor. The book was real and the book bespoke the reality of that magical library, so she knew she couldn’t be all mad.

  Slowly, Emma backed away from the railing, her heel catching momentarily on the first step. She turned suddenly and fled up the stairs and back along the corridor, stumbling out into the daylight as though the building itself had given her a shove for good measure. The door slammed to behind her.

  As she rushed into the waiting carriage, she tried to recall if she herself had slammed the front door or if the damnable thing had shut itself. The niggling chill at her back suggested the latter.

  Emma was awaiting her sister in the vestibule as the last of their traps were secured by the driver of the bright yellow chaise that had arrived promptly at six o’clock. It had all been arranged by the Winterlys for their private use, which was fortunate indeed, for Milli, who’d demanded punctuality in her sister, had not seen fit to observe the time or meet her sister at the appointed hour. Not that Emma minded—her mind was turning and puzzling through yesterday’s misadventure.

  It had occurred to her to question the driver, to ascertain if he’d confused the address somehow. All those buildings looked more or less the same in the dark and perhaps, in daylight, he mistook the address entirely. However, the man had staunchly insisted that he’d deposited her at the very same door as before.