by Candace Camp
“What if...Carson has a partner,” Thisbe mused. “Carson was keeping us on a false trail, giving the other man time to go to ground with the Eye. Once that was accomplished, Carson was eager to join his partner.”
“So he could be in league with Gordon or Wallace. Or maybe a conspiracy of all of them.”
“Another possibility is that Carson had nothing to do with the theft, but he wants the Eye himself,” Thisbe continued. “So he helped us, hoping he’d get a clue.”
“That’s it.” Excitement threaded Desmond’s voice, and he turned to her. “Perhaps he realized where the thief might have hidden the Eye. He covered half the library by himself. What if he met someone who knew where Gordon went and he didn’t tell us?”
“He set off to find Gordon without any interference from us.” Thisbe caught Desmond’s enthusiasm. “We must go back and see if we can find who talked to him.” She turned to look in the direction of the university.
“I think it’s too late,” Desmond said. The afternoon had turned to dusk, with evening falling rapidly, as it did in winter. The purplish sky was deepening to black, and along the street, the gas streetlights were already on.
“Oh.” Thisbe’s voice fell. “Yes, of course. Whoever he talked to would be gone by the time we arrived.”
“It doesn’t matter. We can revisit the library tomorrow morning. If he did find someone there, it’s quite possible the man could be there again. Or there might be someone we didn’t talk to today who could give us the information we want.”
“Yes. Of course. That’s a better plan.” They started toward Thisbe’s house again, their pace picking up. “That will give us time to think about everything. I’ll talk to Grandmother about Mr. Wallace, see if she knows whether he has a house in the country he might have gone to. She knows an amazing amount about everyone.”
As they walked, they made plans for meeting at the library the following morning. It was a little disturbing how much Thisbe’s heart lightened at the prospect of continuing their search the next day. That was dangerous.
She should keep her distance, maintain the proper perspective. It would be foolish to rely on her growing belief that Desmond had not stolen her grandmother’s artifact. After all, the reasons for Carson joining their search applied to Desmond, as well. He could merely be trying to mislead or distract her.
There had been many times today when everything had seemed the way it had before, when she felt the thrill, the satisfaction, of their minds running along the same path. Was she allowing that ease, that familiarity, to sway her? She could not let herself be fooled by him again. It would be reckless to trust him, to let herself dream once more.
Before long Broughton House loomed up before them. Thisbe stopped at the passageway that led to the side door and turned to Desmond. The glow of the streetlamp fell across his face, highlighting his deep, dark eyes, his mobile mouth, the line of his cheekbones. What was he thinking? What did he feel? Regret? Sorrow? Satisfaction at a job well-done?
“Thisbe...” He moved closer, lowering his head a little to gaze into her eyes. “I want to explain.”
“Desmond...please. Don’t. I cannot—”
“I’m not asking you to forgive me. But I want to tell you the truth. I cannot bear that you go on thinking I set out to use you, that I didn’t really feel what I did for you. I didn’t engineer meeting you. I had no idea who you were when I saw you at that lecture. I learned later that Wallace had approached the dowager duchess about getting the Eye, but I didn’t know that Moreland was the duchess’s family name or that you were her granddaughter. I know it sounds too great a coincidence, but coincidences do happen. I sat down beside you on purpose, but it was because you were so beautiful. I was drawn to you, but not because you were the dowager duchess’s granddaughter.”
Thisbe drew a shaky breath. “Even if I accept that explanation, at some point you knew who I was, yet you continued to deceive me. You used me to gain entrance to my home so that you could find the Eye.”
“I didn’t give a damn about the Eye. I don’t know how to convince you of that, but it’s the truth. What I felt for you, the things I said to you, had nothing to do with Annie Blue’s Eye. When I realized that it was your grandmother who owned the Eye, I told Professor Gordon I wouldn’t do it. You know that I never asked you about it or attempted to persuade you to help me.”
“If you’d only told me...”
“I didn’t dare. I was too afraid of losing you. I didn’t want to see the disappointment and distrust in your eyes. I didn’t want you to look at me the way you do now. It seemed to me that if you knew, it would taint everything.”
“If you were so concerned about losing me, then why did you leave me?” Thisbe clamped her mouth shut, ashamed of the note of longing and hurt in her voice.
“For the reasons I told you. As long as you were with me, you were in danger.”
“Because of Grandmother’s prediction?” Thisbe asked scornfully.
“Yes. I didn’t want to believe it at first. I told myself it was nonsense. But when they threatened you, I realized that the duchess was right—I endangered you.”
“Threatened me? Just a moment. Who threatened me? What are you talking about?”
“Mr. Wallace. Or, rather, some ruffian whom I assume worked for Wallace. He implied that something would happen to you if I didn’t steal the Eye for them. Do you remember that day when you were knocked into the street?”
“Yes. But that was an accident.”
“That man who grabbed your arm and kept you from falling was the man who had threatened to hurt you the day before. He engineered that fall to show me what he could do.”
“Desmond.” Thisbe shook her head. “I can’t take all this in. It’s so absurd. Like something out of one of Olivia’s novels.”
He took her by the arms, his gaze intent on hers. “It happened. It was real. I couldn’t let anything happen to you. I had to break all ties with you. I had to show them that they couldn’t reach me through you. To prove I had lost whatever favor I had with your family.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this then?”
“I should have. It would doubtless have been an effective way to remove whatever affection you had for me.” He sighed. “I was weak. I couldn’t bear for you to think so little of me.” He reached up to cup his hand against her cheek. “If I couldn’t be with you, at least I could remain untarnished in your memories. But, of course, that wasn’t possible.”
“Desmond...” Tears swam in her eyes, blurring the image of his face.
“No, don’t cry,” he murmured, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I never wanted to cause you any pain. If I could do anything to take it away, I would.” He lowered his head and kissed her lips softly. “Thisbe, I’m sorry. So sorry. It would have been better for you if you’d never met me. I’d take it all away if I could.”
“No,” Thisbe said fiercely. “I don’t want that. I’d never want to not know you. To not remember...”
Impulsively, she stretched up to kiss him. His arms wrapped around her like steel bands, and his lips sank into hers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
IT WAS INTOXICATING. Exhilarating. Heartbreaking. Suddenly every nerve ending was alive, every sense awakened. The air cold all around them, the heat searing inside her. The feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him, all achingly familiar and so long missed, dizzied her.
Their lips parted only to reunite, his arms falling away only to slide beneath her mantle. Thisbe’s hands clutched the lapels of his coat as she pressed herself up into him. She had never before felt such heat, such throbbing need. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, his mouth on her body, his hands on her flesh.
Constricted by their clothing, they caressed and kissed, lost for a few minutes in a passion blind to everything else. Desmond shuddered, a low moan escaping him, and he broke from her. He stared at h
er for a long moment, his eyes stark. Then, with an inarticulate growl, he turned and rushed away into the night.
* * *
THISBE RAN UP the back stairs to her room to compose herself before she could face anyone in her family. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips soft and reddened, and her breath came far too rapidly. And those were just the outer signs. Inside her, heat burned low in her abdomen, and every nerve in her body tingled. Even after she had outwardly pulled herself together, her mind kept returning to their brief encounter, remembering each touch, each kiss, and she melted inside all over again.
Despite everything Desmond had done, she still wanted him. But she could not allow that to make any difference. After all, she loved chocolate, too, but that didn’t mean it was good to stuff herself with it. And love was far more treacherous than chocolate.
Kissing him had been wrong. Foolish. She should never have done it, and it was imperative that she not allow it to happen again. She shouldn’t even meet him tomorrow at the library. Looking at him, talking to him, even laughing—everything about him tempted her.
But how could she not use his help in her search for Gordon and Wallace? She must find the men, and Desmond knew far more about them than she did. It was only logical to combine her efforts with his again. And, really...she was a grown woman, intelligent and disciplined. Surely she could control her worst impulses; she would simply have to take more care. But as she drifted off to sleep, a nagging voice in the back of her mind whispered that she was only making excuses...
* * *
THE FIRE ROARED UPWARD, and all around her the crowd cheered. As they watched the figure standing still amidst the blaze, a storm blew in. Heavy gray clouds scudded across the sky, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind swirled, bending the flames away and sending sparks shooting into the air. It seemed almost as if the wind protected the woman from the pyre, and for a wild moment, Thisbe thought the heavens were about to open and send down a deluge to extinguish the burning logs. But there was no rain. And in the next instant, the wind tossed the flames onto the woman’s skirts.
The fire raced up her clothes. Within seconds, she was engulfed. Flames swirled around her and her fiery strands of hair danced on the wind. But, impossibly, Anne’s face showed no sign of pain, only a deep, abiding rage. There was another clap of thunder, and lightning shot across the sky.
Anne’s eyes were as bright and fierce as the lightning. She raised her bound hands and pointed straight at Thisbe. “Thou shalt obey me. There is no escape—thou owest me.”
Thisbe stared at her, rooted to the spot, her chest flooded with fear. The air around her was charged, her hair standing up on her arms. She tried to speak, to deny the other woman’s words, but no sound came out.
Anne raised her arms, turned her face up to the heavens and cried, “Come, Samael, I await thee. I call on thee, oh, Gabriel, oh, Dumah. Hear thy daughter’s plea. By treachery am I slain, and I look to thee for vengeance. Come thou, Barachiel and Harut, to my bidding. Come, Michael. Come, Kushiel. Come, Azrael and Abaddon. Grant me thy strength.” She lowered her gaze and her bound hands to Thisbe. “I bind thee to me. By all the saints above and the demons below, I bind thee. A life for a life. Thou art mine...”
* * *
THISBE CAME AWAKE with a start, as she always did after one of these nightmares, her heart pounding and gasping for air. The faint scent of lightning hung in the air, her scalp still prickled and the hair on her arms was raised.
She lay there for a few minutes, waiting for her heart and lungs to return to normal. She wasn’t sure that her mind and emotions could. Anne Ballew had cursed her? Bound Thisbe to her? What did that mean? And how could she possible owe her anything? The woman had died three centuries before Thisbe was born.
Thisbe groaned. This was ridiculous—as if she could make sense of the outlandish words in a dream! If she kept this up, she really was going to go mad.
Well, that had murdered sleep as effectively as Macbeth. Thisbe got out of bed, wrapped her dressing gown around her and went to the window. Dawn was breaking. She might as well get ready for the day. And she wanted to speak to her uncle before she left to meet Desmond.
She was lucky enough to find Bellard at the breakfast table, eating in companionable silence with her father. Thisbe waited until her father and great-uncle had finished their meal before she asked, “Do either of you know anything about the names of angels and such?”
“Angels?” Her father blinked. “Well, the Christian era is a bit past my time of expertise, but, let me see, there’s Jophiel. Isn’t he the one who drove Adam and Eve from the Garden?”
“I was thinking more of Michael and Gabriel. Abaddon.”
“Well, I believe Gabriel was a messenger,” the duke said. “Rather like the role of Hermes in the Greek pantheon.”
“Ah, but in the Muslim religion, he’s considered the angel of destruction,” Uncle Bellard pointed out.
“Is that so?” the duke said, turning to his uncle, intrigued, as he always was, by any academic discussion.
“Yes. Now, Michael, interestingly, is regarded as the angel of mercy by Muslims, but in Christian faiths, or at least some of them, he is the angel of death.”
“Naturally,” Thisbe muttered.
“Now, who else, dear? I don’t believe I’m familiar with that last one you said,” Uncle Bellard went on.
“Have you taken up a new area of study?” her father asked. “Religions?”
“No, it was just a dream I had. Someone said their names.”
Her great-uncle sent her a shrewd look. “Ah, I see. Were those all the names that were mentioned?”
“No, there were others. Azrael, Dumah...” Thisbe related all the rest of the names Anne Ballew had called upon. She remembered them vividly.
“Odd dream,” the duke commented. “I’ve heard of Azrael. He’s the angel of retribution.”
“And death,” Bellard added.
“Another angel of death?” Thisbe remarked.
“Mmm, I believe death figures prominently in several of them. Samael is connected to death somehow as well, though I cannot remember exactly how.” The small man popped up from his seat. “Wait a moment. I know just where...” His expression turned vague, and he hurried out of the room.
“I didn’t mean for him to go to any trouble,” Thisbe said guiltily.
“Nonsense.” The duke waved off her concern. “Nothing Uncle Bellard loves like research. Keeps him young, in my opinion.”
Proving her father’s words, the old man was soon back, carrying two tomes and beaming. “Such a fascinating topic, Thisbe. I could get lost in this for days.”
“And probably will,” her father said with a chuckle.
“Too true, dear boy. Now...” Bellard opened both the books on the table. “Samael’s connection was that he was the one who collected souls. Abaddon is another angel of destruction. His name is Apollyon in Greek.”
“Ah, yes, of course!” The duke nodded. “I should have known that.”
“And here we have punishment—that’s Kushiel. Dumah’s domain is vindication.” Bellard sent Thisbe a significant look. “Barachiel is considered chief of the guardian angels, and his domain is blessings. And lightning. This one is intriguing.” He turned to the other book. “I could not find it except in Islam. Harut came to Babel, along with Marut, and taught man magic. Sorcery.”
“Goodness,” the duke said. “Your dream sounds rather disturbing.”
“It definitely was,” Thisbe agreed. She sat back in her chair as the two men began to delve further into the books. Anne Ballew was growing more frightening by the day. Thisbe must find the Eye. There was clearly more involved here than recovering one of her grandmother’s possessions. She felt certain that somehow the Eye was the key to resolving her nightmares.
Even after the time spent in discussion with her father and U
ncle Bellard, she was ready long before she was scheduled to meet Desmond at the library. Too impatient to sit still, she decided to arrive early and wait for him inside the carriage, and when she saw him walking toward her with that familiar long-legged stride, looking so...himself, her heart leaped in her chest.
This was not a good way to begin. She schooled her expression as best she could—impassivity was not one of her skills—and stepped out of the vehicle before Desmond could reach it. Taking his hand to step down was not a good idea.
She said nothing about the night before, and luckily Desmond appeared as reluctant as she to bring up the matter. They walked to the library in an awkward silence. Once inside, they made their way through the library, earning a number of disapproving looks along the way. By the time they had finished, the awkwardness between them had disappeared, but they learned nothing about Professor Gordon’s whereabouts.
They tried Gordon’s office again, but found it just as dark and locked as the day before. An older gentleman dressed in the robes of a professor emerged from the room next door, and looked disapprovingly at them. “Are you looking for Gordon, as well?”
“Yes.” Desmond walked forward eagerly. “Do you know where he is?”
“Everyone seems to be excessively interested in him these days. As I told the others, he’s gone to visit his sister. She’s ill.”
“The others? Who else asked about him?” Thisbe asked.
The man frowned at her. “I’ve no idea of their names. How would I know everyone who comes to Gordon’s door? Students, I suppose. Someone involved in his wretched experiment.”
“Do you know where his sister lives?” Thisbe took another tack, earning her a second scowl from the professor.
“I say, that’s rather an impertinence. Students chasing him down at his sick sister’s home! There’s no respect anymore. I told them it was a mistake to let females read for the examinations. Opened the gates to all sorts of—”
