Thinking of Jane, she paid special attention to the spirits. One at the bar wore an antiquated military uniform, toasting glory the empire had long forgotten. Two Restoration-clad ladies in the corner were murmuring brazen things about the mistress of the establishment and Lord Withersby—and while it was no terrible shock to Percy, given what she’d sensed between them, the language was more colourful than she required. A former actor floated in from nearby Covent Garden, trailing a lavish costume and greyscale grease-paint, offering recreations of his finest theatrical moments to the windows and oblivious passersby. The Guard had long ignored these harmless haunts, but Percy couldn’t help but take them in, her ability to hear their eternal and oft repetitive chatter adding to the café’s colourful atmosphere.
The Guard gathered around a circular table, likely appearing loud and inappropriate to any outsider: fraternizing across class lines, myriad buttons undone, familiarity between unmarried men and women—all with a vicar presiding. But the few other patrons here didn’t seem to notice, likely suspecting the seven of them to be a resident theatre troupe and thus excused. Empty bottles on tables, complements of the gracious hostess, also might explain the relative obliviousness.
Alexi enjoyed watching Percy take in the scene. He leaned in and murmured richly in her ear. “This is a second home to me, Percy, and while it’s hard to believe I’ve never brought you here, I’ve enjoyed bringing you home far better.”
“Bienvenue, Percy!” Josephine rushed to kiss Percy on both blushing cheeks. “As you see, I keep the wine French, cheap and flowing—a bit like my morals.” She snorted and darted behind the bar to procure Alexi a spot of sherry.
Percy giggled, blushing. She had to remind herself that she was now a married adult and no longer a convent girl. Her skin might not have any colour, but the world did, and she enjoyed it.
“What may I offer you?” the Frenchwoman asked, shoving the snifter into Alexi’s hand.
“Well…a glass of red wine?”
Josephine pursed her lips. “Now, I’m no enemy of red wine, but I’m guessing that’s the only drink a convent girl knows.”
“Champagne then,” Percy said.
“Oui!” Josephine clapped and darted off.
Alexi took Percy by the arm and sat her down beside Jane, who was insisting to Michael that Margaret Pole’s incessant execution inside the Tower of London was getting ridiculous. “The poor woman’s not only runnin’ round the scaffold, but she’s nearly acrobatic. I went to quiet her last night and she’d floated up the lancet windows, taunting her executioner to follow. It’s been since 1541, and she was seventy-two—shouldn’t she be tired by now? Vicar Carroll, go remind her martyrdom’s no sport.”
“I daresay watching would be sport.” Michael grinned. “If more people saw ghosts, why, cricket would be supplanted in a heartbeat.”
“Nil!” Elijah protested.
Jane waved a hand. “You’re welcome to her. Charge admission.” Everyone chortled at the thought.
Josephine set a bubbling glass of champagne before Percy and took a seat. Alexi launched right into business. “Athens is changing more than we thought,” he stated, swirling his snifter.
“Back there with you then,” Elijah said. “You’re spoiling our fun.”
Alexi continued, unperturbed. “All in multiples of seven. Windowpanes, floorboards, cobblestones—I daresay I’ve been so preoccupied I’d not noticed,” he admitted, grazing Percy’s hand with his own. “Our perceptive librarian did. This has, unfortunately, gone beyond our little coterie.”
“The war. We can’t ignore it,” Rebecca said. “Truly, friends, it will be like nothing we’ve ever known.”
“You said that about that hellhound. Jack the bloody Ripper,” Elijah muttered.
Percy froze, suddenly stunned. It was because of her that those women in Whitechapel were dead. That dog, that thing had been looking for her. She’d had no time to process the fact, but now that she did, tears sprang to her eyes.
“Yes, well, Prophecy continues, and each of its myriad parts is something we’ve never known,” Alexi retorted. This didn’t comfort Percy.
“Ah-ah, I feel where your mind is going, young lady, and it will do no good,” Michael cautioned.
“It’s my fault,” she gasped, a huge and terrible pain seizing her.
Michael moved to place a thumb on her sternum, and a jolt of light followed, chasing her sorrow and overtaking it with numbing calm. Percy eyed the vicar with renewed wonder.
“They will do you no good, Percy, those incapacitating thoughts. You need your heart, your energy, for the trials ahead.” He turned to the others. “We all do. Hold on to joy. To happiness. To love.” He made an effort not to let his eyes linger on Rebecca but failed; Percy noticed. “Hold to light, for darkness seeks to steal our breath.”
The Guard all sat in uncomfortable silence. Josephine rose and brought back two more bottles of wine.
“But the number seven is our number, friends,” Alexi rallied quietly. “There are indeed troops, spiritual friends who will fight on our side. I believe that now. No matter how strange it is to realize this…I feel a bit less left to the wolves.”
This eased things enough for them to speak of trivialities for a bit, to tease Alexi, to act like all was as it should be. But while Percy didn’t know The Guard perfectly well, she could tell it was a bit of a show. The underlying tension wouldn’t go away so easily. Those doors had to open, and the mysteries to reveal themselves.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next day began in peaceful, solitary quiet once Alexi kissed her and left for Athens, this being her agreed-upon time for calling hours. Percy dressed in gauzy layers, indulging the habit that whenever she was alone at home she would wander like a resident ghost. She was still amazed by the estate’s size, and that it was all, in part, hers.
For the lady of the house’s pleasure, the Wentworths had stocked the small ground-floor kitchen with treasures for high tea. Percy made light sandwiches on small breads with delicate ingredients she’d never dreamed of eating at the convent; soup and gruel had been her constant fare. She couldn’t wait to share exploration of the grounds with Marianna, to youthfully revel in these delights.
The knocker’s loud clatter sent her running to usher in her beaming friend, whose eyes appeared glassy and grey, but whose smile was so welcome and familiar Percy over-looked for the moment whatever weariness plagued her.
“Oh, Percy!” Marianna had worn her finest dress, and she swept into the entrance foyer with appropriate appreciation.
“Wait until you see it all,” Percy giggled, taking the blonde girl’s traveling cloak and stowing it.
In a tall hallway mirror, Marianna caught her reflection and paused to tuck a stubborn curl into the pile of locks that threatened to spill down her shoulders. She absently brushed her fingers on her bustle before turning to Percy with a girlish bounce. “So, a tour?”
Percy was only too happy to oblige. She swept Marianna about the estate, room by room, everywhere save the extremities, and her friend cooed in delight. Percy swelled with pride. When she opened the master bedroom and Marianna glimpsed the sumptuous furnishings and four-poster bed, a devilish grin was offered that made Percy blush fiercely.
“And does the master of the house show you every comfort in the privacy of these quarters?” the German girl asked huskily.
“Verily,” Percy breathed, placing cool hands on her warm cheeks. “Oh, goodness—tea! I’m to offer you tea and confections as the lady of the estate,” she added with theatrical grandeur, before giggling. “Alas, I’m a royal disaster at this. No one ever taught me fine manners at the convent, never thinking I’d have the good fortune to use them. I’m so very out of my depth.”
Marianna hummed, amused.
Percy led her friend into the parlour, where she’d drawn the curtains on one side to let light pour in, though the other side fell in shadow. Percy seated Marianna in the light and herself in the shade. “En
ough about me and my absurdly grand house! How is your Edward?”
“Oh, he’s fine. I’ve not seen much of him, though. He thinks I’m sad because I’ve lost you.” Marianna cocked her head before righting it again. There was something almost marionette-like about the movement, and Percy found herself wondering if she’d always had such quirks. Had she always been daydreaming of Alexi and never seen how her best friend was a bit odd? Or was something wrong?
“You’ve not lost me, dear. I’ll be here and at Athens for you. You may visit anytime.”
“Well, I have been dying to see more of you, darling, so he’s not entirely wrong.” Marianna abruptly rapped her hand on the round marble table, rattling the teacups on their saucers. She leaned forward. Her green eyes, tinged with grey, sparkled. “Tell me. How does it feel to be truly powerful?”
“What do you mean?” Percy asked. Her pulse quickened. Surely her friend meant the house, Alexi’s wealth, her sudden station…“I’m not powerful, Marianna. Or, at least, if these trappings do improve one’s station, I’m no different than I was before. Being deeply in love is the only change to my heart. The rest are simply blessings.”
Marianna rose listlessly, squinting at the sculptures on the mantel. “Did you ever find out who you were? You were so preoccupied with visions, I was curious if that professor of yours told you who you are. Searching for answers, some powerless young lady who could be so much more…”
Percy laughed nervously. “I’m no one but myself. Percy Parker…Rychman.” She moved to the tea tray, disturbed.
“Persephone,” Marianna said.
“Yes.”
“We’re all wondering what our place is in this little farce, aren’t we, and who will win in the end.”
“Win what? What on earth are you—?” Percy, having busied herself with a plate of scones and clotted cream, turned to find herself alone in the parlour. “Marianna?” she asked. Silence.
She shook her head, assuming her friend had gone for the water closet or was off mischievously searching the estate’s drawers. Giving Marianna some moments to declare herself, putting away the tea service, Percy then poked her head back in the parlour, but Marianna still hadn’t returned. She called out with a laugh, “What, are you off to procure some souvenir to take to school, some trinket of the fearsome Professor Rychman to dangle before his frightened students?” No answer.
Percy wandered the first, second, then third floors of her home. Standing at the base of the attic stairs, she promised herself that, the first moment back at Athens, she would demand a doctor examine Marianna. Her friend looked a bit unwell, and her mind was clearly off, too. She’d have to ask Edward.
“Marianna?” she called, her worry echoing up the stairs ahead of her. Just that morning she had explored the attic, peeking under dusty cloths at lavish furniture for parties that had not been held for decades, gazing out the tiny dormer window onto the struggling garden far below. And it was there that Percy finally found Marianna, staring out that small window, her blonde hair undone and spilling in a cascade down her back.
“Marianna.” This time, it was not a question but a demand. “What are you doing up here?”
“Indeed, a lovely house,” the girl murmured. “A lovely life.”
“Marianna…what’s troubling you? You’re not quite yourself.” Percy approached her, boots creaking across the wooden boards.
Reaching a hand back, as if urging Percy forward, Marianna did not turn around and look. Percy approached, eager to discover the source of her friend’s melancholy, her faraway gaze, her hollow voice…
Marianna seized her hand. Her grip was ice-cold. “Can you trust a man who leaves you all alone in a huge estate, far from all your precious friends? It’s true that I’m not myself.” The blonde girl chuckled. “But I’m so very glad to see you again, Persephone.”
Her body did not move, yet Marianna’s head turned entirely backward on her spine—a sickening, unnatural swivel. A scream leaped to Percy’s throat. Tears of grey ash poured from her friend’s vacantly staring eyes.
It was certainly no longer Marianna who stood before her, broken and horrible, ash spilling from her mouth, spewing onto Marianna’s fine silk garments and spattering Percy’s face. Marianna’s fallen hair now stirred to life, ashen snake skulls suddenly swarming over her scalp. It was the betrayal of which Beatrice warned. Perhaps a fatal oversight.
“Hello again!” A voice gurgled from deep inside Marianna’s throat. It was the voice of Lucille Linden. The Gorgon who had once nearly killed The Guard had returned.
“Oh, God. Percy!”
Inside her Athens office, fear and despair overtook Rebecca like a bolt of lightning from above. The betrayal. It was happening. Her veins felt the pull of spectral activity, the pulsing pain a distinct sensation of something untoward coming upon one of The Guard. She gasped, jumped to her feet and flew out the door.
Flinging open the Bay Room door, startling the professors Hart, who were silently reading to each other while floating above the window seat, she found Percy’s office otherwise empty. Rebecca didn’t take time to ponder the girl’s whereabouts, she was out and across the courtyard in a rush, lifting her prim skirts and running toward Apollo Hall.
Alexi paced at the front of his room, menacing students with a verbal onslaught of mathematical theorems. Rebecca saw him through the outside window and threw wide his door without a thought to caution, deference or protocol. Upon seeing the look on her face, he dropped the chalk he’d been using to hastily scrawl equations on the board behind him.
“Your wife,” she choked.
Alexi ran up the aisle, had her by the elbow and out the door in an instant. Behind them, the students fell to chattering. Neither of them cared.
Their questions came at each other in chorus:
“—Where is she?” Rebecca breathed.
“—What’s wrong?” Alexi barked. “Home,” he answered. “Calling hours.”
“Damn!” Rebecca cried. Why hadn’t she thought of Percy’s calling hours? It was her fault for not thinking about the ways of a lady, a civilian particular she was foolish for not having considered. What if they were too late?
Alexi was beside himself as they ran to the rear stables. “What is it?” he demanded.
“A Pull. Pain, like I felt with Jane. I’m afraid something’s got Percy,” Rebecca panted.
Alexi shot ahead to the stalls. Prospero anticipated his master, pawing the ground, wide black eyes fiercely alert and ready. A moment later, a blur of swirling black swept past Rebecca, a clatter of horse hooves and a deep cry for swift speed.
Rebecca procured one of the trusted mares kept at the school for emergency, used most often in service of The Guard. No amateur when it came to riding, she managed to keep Alexi in sight.
A mile from the school his hand flew to his head, his tall form shuddered and she knew he felt the discord now that she had earlier. She prayed her warning had been in time.
Josephine and Elijah rounded the corner in one of the Withersby carriages, heading as if to the academy. It wheeled round to follow Rebecca’s cry as she flagged her hand in a northerly direction. Jane’s worried face peeked out from one window, and Michael appeared on horseback close behind. The grim looks on their faces made it clear they felt the Pull as well.
Rebecca cursed herself. If she’d told Alexi the moment she’d had the first shudder of concern, the first fear of betrayal, perhaps he’d have kept Percy always in the school. This delay could cost them everything, and it would be her fault. At least in part.
But if all The Guard were accounted for, who was responsible? Who was the betrayer?
Percy shrieked again. Lucille laughed, and Marianna’s hand seized Percy’s throat. Her other arm struck the window, breaking the glass into dangerous shards. Marianna’s delicate hand came away bloody.
“You didn’t really think I was so easily defeated, did you? Don’t you realize that nothing is safe? No one is safe? You’re a liability to
all involved! Give up now before everyone you love suffers.”
“No!” Percy choked. Her flesh started to burn with light.
“Yes, yes, you and that blasted magic of yours. I was unprepared for it before. But I’m invincible now.”
“You don’t even have your own body,” Percy gasped. “You’re hardly—”
“Shut up! Damn your mortal words, I want blood. I always hated her. From the moment Darkness dragged her down there, mewling and weeping and retching fruit. I hated her light and colours and the noxious life sprouting in her sickening wake. I should have been a goddess, not a monster. Now you’re mortal, and I’m a goddess. How stupid of you.” Lucille drew Percy’s cheek close to the jagged glass. Percy struggled, but the supernatural strength flowing through her friend’s body was besting her.
She tried to focus her light like a retaliating blow. But truth be told, she still wasn’t sure how to use it. She was, after all, just a mortal, and perhaps helpless if left alone. Her heart begged Alexi to somehow hear her cry. Her face neared the jagged glass.
“Let’s see. How did our puppy treat those victims? Just how did the Ripper cut their faces? Before I send you out this window, you’ll look like all those girls who had to die before your stupid Guard understood. Even then they were helpless! Pathetic, all of you. Pieces of dead gods. I’ll take all your lives with me, and I shall reign in shadow’s seat—a place I adore, and a beautiful place you wish to destroy. I’ll turn your world Whisper instead!”
A surge of righteous anger bolstered Percy, and her light expanded, edging Marianna’s body back, loosening the grip on her neck. Lucille growled, and Marianna’s true voice cried out in pain.
“Marianna, darling, it’s Percy,” Percy choked, wedging her hand between her own throat and the preternatural grip around it. “Fight the demon that has you. Fight her!”
Marianna whimpered, sounding like her friend again before her eyes clouded and she gagged, an ashen serpent crawling from her mouth.
The Darkly Luminous Fight for Persephone Parker Page 23
