He smiled but let her finish, and she did appreciate his look of love.
“I can’t come along beside you, my clothes all wrinkled and disheveled . . .”
Because, let’s face it, my love, wrinkled and disheveled is just who I am.
“. . . and not even in the proper ‘I’m wearing my great-great-great-great-grandfather’s clothes while I’m gardening, because why wouldn’t I?’ way.”
Seeing his objections, she sighed and pressed on.
“If you were a real duke, you could flout expectations and just face quiet exclusion. As the Magical Council’s duke with a mission, you can’t. You need access, and you need respect. You have to be someone no one questions. Otherwise, you’ll never be able to go out and do anything you want.”
Which was pretty much the way this job worked.
There was truth to this, and she knew Armand saw it, but he was stubborn. As it was his love for her which was making him dig in his heels, she appreciated it. But still . . .
“How about this?” she tried finally. “This Queen Mary trip is kind of our maiden voyage. We’ll try it your way . . .”
Which, sorry my love, is just plain cray-cray.
“. . . and if it doesn’t work, we’ll abandon it when we return. Chances are good we won’t see too many people from the hotel again in the future, so we won’t have as many people to bespell if it doesn’t work.”
Which, seriously. Me as a duke’s girlfriend? Ha! It won’t.
She knew he saw her ulterior motive, but he accepted the offer, clearly taking this as his opportunity to change her mind.
Annabella did, too, even if she knew his plans would never work. Besides, this was supposed to be a fast trip.
Maybe he’d learn quickly just how unlikely she was as his public companion and then they could get on with keeping their private lives private.
Chapter 3
Armand
It was half a week later that their luggage was being carried by a porter into the great, permanently-docked ocean liner, as Armand stood staring at it with Annabella and Hubert at his side. Sheba and Brutus were following the bags, entirely unaffected by the sheer magnitude of the ship.
Thankfully, Annabella voiced his thoughts. “Wow. Big.”
He just nodded.
Uncertain what it was caused by exactly, Armand felt rather overpowered by the sight. Finally, he voiced a theory.
“Do you think we feel so dwarfed because we’re young enough to have missed the era when all of this was normal?”
Even he felt how tortured that sentence was and realized he really had been completely thrown off by the sight.
“Speak for yourself, my dear,” Hubert corrected him, and Armand reminded himself that the man was about 70, which would have put him around during the latter days of ocean travel. Still, being magical, he didn’t look over 35. Even as a witch himself, Armand could sometimes forget.
Besides, it was hard to focus on anything besides the sight before them.
The ship just went on and on. Several stories tall, it stretched out by what Americans would measure as several football fields.
Then again, Americans measured nearly everything in football fields. If they were invaded by hordes from Hell, the news would have reported it as how many football fields’ worth of demons there were.
Still, it wasn’t like he’d never been in a big building before. Somehow when it was a ship, though . . .
“I think . . .” Annabella broke in. “. . . it’s the thought of being in the middle of the wide sea with nothing but this between you and a watery grave.”
The two men looked at her.
“What? I’ve seen Titanic.”
Hubert smiled at both of them. “I think it’s just that we’re used to seeing ships as small things nowadays—or not seeing them at all. Even in a port city, they’re usually far away, their magnitude not as daunting. If portals ever become normal for mundanes, they’ll probably be amazed by the size of a normal airplane.”
Halfway up the gangplank to reception, Sheba turned back and stared at them with a look which definitely reminded everyone that she had once been a cat.
She was dressed beautifully now, in a blue silk number he missed seeing Annabella in, complete with full, gracious lady, broad-brimmed blue hat. The milliner—London being one of the few places left where a hatmaker could still make a living—had nearly had a fit of delight in matching her every dress, and, especially since she’d been doing her best to act human, Armand didn’t have the heart to tell her that hats really weren’t normal outside of formal events or royalty.
Thankfully, the whole daughter-of-a-Middle-Eastern-billionaire cover also gave a lot of leeway for odd behavior. Being wealthy often did.
They started to follow, then, Armand changing the subject, although he kept his voice low in case he had overlooked any nearby mundanes.
“Why couldn’t we take the portal?”
He looked over at Hubert.
“And why are you here again?”
Grinning, Hubert answered.
“One, this is your first outing as the Duke of Winchester. You need to arrive in grand and human style. Two, this is your first outing as the Duke of Winchester,” he repeated, smiling. “In case you need advice, I’m here as your advisor. If you really screw things up, then I’m here as your attorney.”
Armand gave him a look which made him laugh.
“Although I’m also here mostly on vacation, so don’t screw this up. Three, Annabella is still trying to catch up on 25 years of magic lessons.”
He raised an eyebrow, as they made their way up the steep walkway.
“If you don’t want her to convert into a sorcerer while her magic is still wild, she really can’t afford to take any time off.”
As much as Armand would have liked this to be a sort of honeymoon, he saw Hubert’s point. Wild conversions had a bad reputation for a reason. It would be much safer to get Annabella as trained in the ways of magic as possible before her own, natural magic asserted itself completely.
Annabella took his hand, smiling, and he sighed. There really hadn’t been enough alone time with her.
Still, as much as he wanted to focus on this, he was also here on his last job as an akukar. If there were something happening on this ship which was more than just the expected amount of spirits any ocean liner of its time might attract, he had to remain fully focused to discover it.
“It has an atmosphere, doesn’t it?” Annabella noted, as they entered the check-in area.
It did. Everything was wooden and elegantly decorated and just definitely from another time. Even the carpeting was plush and rather Victorianly florid. It was somewhat like standing in an Art Deco masterpiece, and knowing they were going to be sleeping in it, like a night at the museum.
The registration clerk ran a practiced eye over them and then looked a little confused. Armand didn’t entirely blame him.
Brutus and Sheba stood together, the dogman waiting patiently—short, bald, solid, and, as always, a little unkempt, as much as he tried—and Sheba now elegantly beautiful but also always with that air that there was something not quite normal about her. Armand had put on his most pompous air—which he hated—and Annabella was smiling quietly at his side, because she was, well, Annabella. She just didn’t do pompous.
He loved her for that.
Hubert stepped forward as the great man’s spokesman.
“We’re the Duke of Winchester’s party. I believe we should be booked into three rooms?”
The clerk, a young, tall, thin man with slicked-back black hair, looked around this party, clearly playing “Spot the Duke.” When his eyes landed on Armand, he straightened, bowing his head slightly, “Your Grace.”
Wow. He even got your title right. That took me at least a week, Annabella noted in his head, and he was very glad that she had agreed to share their thoughts.
True, he had been able to send her just a few of his even when they had first met
, but they had mostly been warnings. As they were somewhat undercover here, it would be exceptionally easier just to be able to say what they meant without listeners.
Don’t forget to bow your head back to him graciously, she reminded.
Oops. Right.
He gave what appeared to be the right signal, as the man grinned and checked them in. Maybe you don’t work here unless you’re into pomp and circumstance? he theorized.
She didn’t actually answer, but he felt her agreement.
A little while later, they were being shown into their stateroom, one of the grander suites on the same floor as check-in, by a bellman who was young as well as clearly and oddly nervous, which Armand took to be some sort of strange reaction to being around a Duke.
Right now, the boy was giving a history lesson.
“The ship is decorated with 56 types of wood, as that was how many colonies Britain had at the time.”
Oh, yay. Colonialism, he heard Annabella ponder dryly and smiled, loving her all over again, as the boy went on.
“In fact, six of the types of wood used are now extinct, so it’s even more rare.”
Whee. Not only colonialism but ecocide, too! Annabella opined, and he had to try not to laugh. Still, she went on. I have to grudgingly admit that it’s beyond beautiful.
While the boy chattered on about the ship’s many amenities in a quick way which said this was his usual practiced speech and even he wasn’t listening to the words which came out of his mouth, Armand noticed that Annabella was looking around.
Kinda tiny, isn’t it?
Well, it’s not a modern hotel. They needed to cram as many people onboard—in as much relative comfort as possible in the first class cabins—as they could.
Still, she was right. By modern hotel standards, even with a separate sitting room, it was pretty darn small. He shuddered to think what the less luxury cabins would be like.
Distracted for a moment, he didn’t quite catch his cue, especially as Annabella broke into his thoughts.
Hold off on that tip a second. I’m going to work on getting some information.
“Tell me,” she moved toward the young bellman, smiling. “The Duke thinks I’m silly, but I just love to hear about the ghost stories.”
He noticed she was putting on her soft Southern accent a bit thickly. Honestly, if she’d been looking at him like that, he’d have told her every secret the ship held.
She really has NO idea of how attractive she is.
What? she wondered.
Never mind.
Surprisingly, the bellman looked a little nervous. In some places, this would have made sense, but the Queen Mary advertised its ghosts as one of its attractions. It had ghost tours and Halloween events. There was no reason he shouldn’t be jumping at the chance to get her to stay longer and sign up for an event or two.
“Yeah, um. The ghosts . . .” He started looking around the room, as though there might be spirit eavesdroppers.
Annabella tilted her head and looked sympathetic and sweet. It was both true and a very expert act. She really was taking to her new role quickly.
The bellman came a little closer, his voice dropping. If Armand hadn’t been in her head, he might have missed what was said.
“Look. Today’s my last day here, so I’m going to give you a warning I probably shouldn’t, and I don’t think you’ll get from anyone else.”
Her sweet and curious smile continued, and he applauded her choice not to interrupt.
“The ghosts have always been here, but lately . . .”
He trailed off, looking at her nervously and then around behind himself again.
“You know the stories of when this was a ship?”
Armand failed to point out that it still was, just a permanently-docked one.
“They said you could always tell when there’d been a death on board, because everyone would get a whole lot more ice cream at meals, so they’d have somewhere cold to store the body?”
As he leaned in even further, Annabella smiled encouragingly.
“Let’s just say that it’d be serious ice cream time around here lately.”
Leaning back, staring at Armand nervously, he started to back away.
“But you didn’t hear it from me.”
He left before Armand had even gotten out a tip, which he supposed was for the best. He’d completely forgotten to get his money exchanged. As today had proven, he wasn’t used to mundane methods of travel anymore.
Annabella turned back, and it didn’t surprise him that she kept the thought private
Did he just say that people have been dying here?
Armand nodded but didn’t know what to make of it, either. Apparently, his “nice little spirit exorcism” had just grown into a much more dangerous mission.
Chapter 4
Annabella
It was an hour after this worrying introduction to the ship when Annabella was walking toward the Promenade Café to meet the contact the Magical Council had sent. While the woman had apparently arrived at pretty much a moment’s notice half an hour ago—magic being what it was—Annabella had then spent the next half hour getting thoroughly lost on the ship.
It didn’t seem like it should be so hard to find her way around. Most places were labeled well, and there were plenty of people to ask. Still, somehow, every time she had taken what she’d thought was the right passage and was on the right deck, she’d ended up somewhere else entirely.
It was all very confusing—and probably not a good first impression.
Admittedly, she didn’t know what to expect from her contact, having only a name: Miss Janeway. No first name, no description. Still, if she was trusted by the Council, that meant she had to be formidable. They didn’t tend to send a weak witch out to do anything on their behalf.
Given this, and the name, Annabella expected to find a rather frosty middle-aged woman—probably all-the-less friendly for having to wait. Instead, when she told the very pleasant hostess whom she was meeting, the woman beamed and led her toward someone who looked like a very frail sort of grandmother.
The hostess—Nicolette, according to the tag on her jacket—smiled tenderly at the elderly white woman. Really, she was the platonic ideal of a certain type of little old lady, white-haired, wearing a sturdy tweed suit, and wrapped in no less than two shawls. One of them was pink. The other had cavorting bunnies and lambs knitted into its pattern.
“Miss Janeway has been telling me about the war bride trips the ship took,” Nicolette informed Annabella.
As she sat down to what appeared to be a full English afternoon tea, Annabella noticed that there was even a cup for her and a teapot covered by a knitted tea cozy with a crocheted llama head on top, which it seemed likely Miss Janeway had brought herself. Annabella even had suspicions that the ship didn’t normally serve tea here—but that was magic for you.
Trying to refocus on the hostess and breaking away from Miss Janeway’s beatifically innocent look—rather wondering if she’d been sat at the wrong table—Annabella realized she had no idea what the woman was talking about.
“War bride trips?”
“Yes,” Nicolette gushed. She was a lovely, dark-skinned African-American woman with light green eyes. “My great-grandmother was on one of them. She married a white American G.I.”
Laughing, she made a guess at what Annabella might say next.
“The two of them were pretty unusual together in the 1940s. They bought a ranch nearby, grew strawberries, and mostly kept to themselves.”
It was fascinating but wasn’t what Annabella wanted to ask, her original question not really answered—although it did occur to her that the couple had been wiser not to travel too far down South in that time period and risk getting arrested.
Not noticing, Nicolette went on. “She made two great friends on board, one of whom’s still with us, although she’s well over 90. I promised Miss Janeway I’d bring her by for a visit sometime soon.”
“I’d e
njoy meeting her,” Miss Janeway finally managed to insert in this tide of remembrance.
“Oops, customers! Enjoy your tea, Miss Janeway!”
And off she went.
Annabella ended up blinking at the complete stranger near her.
“Um, I’m Annabella LeRoy,” she smiled, since they hadn’t actually been introduced.
Armand and she had decided that it was better for their cover if they both used his last name, although she really thought they were going to have to change it to something more British so he wouldn’t raise even more eyebrows as the Duke.
“I take it you’re Miss Janeway?”
The little old woman’s merry blue eyes sparkled at her. “It’s one name I’ve had in a rather long life.” She nodded. “Pleased to meet you, my dear. Now have your tea, and we’ll talk.”
Annabella did, afternoon tea being one adaptation she’d been happy to get used to in her years with both the former and present Duke. Thankfully, it was still hot, which she suspected probably had more to do with magic than Miss Janeway’s adorable tea cozy. That the woman’s name was a front didn’t disturb her, as she knew she was on a mission. For all Annabella knew, her entire, current look was just a facade.
Magic means never taking anything for granted.
Um, what? Armand asked, picking up on this.
Our contact is apparently the platonic ideal of the sweet maiden aunt. And looks to be 80.
Ah, he responded but didn’t say more.
Her new companion waited until Annabella had settled herself and was tucking into her snack before she spoke.
“The war bride voyages were ones that some of the ocean liners like the Queen Mary took to bring over the newlywed brides of the G.I.s after World War II. Many of the soldiers had married women they’d met over in Europe, and they, and often their children, needed to be brought to America. The ships were already in service to transport soldiers during the war, so they just did some extra runs before returning to civilian life.”
It was useful knowledge for Annabella, who suddenly realized that she needed to be much better versed in history.
Sorcerers, Spirits, and Ships Page 3
