The Last Necromancer

by C. J. Archer

  "Where did you pick up your medical knowledge?" I asked as I handed the needle back to Gus.

  "A surgeon taught me," Fitzroy said.

  "Your lessons included surgery?"

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Seth shaking his head at me in warning. I frowned at him, but Fitzroy caught it and arched a brow. Seth cleared his throat and followed Gus out of the room.

  "My education was more varied than a regular student's," Fitzroy said.

  "Why?"

  "So that I could fulfill this role," he said matter-of-factly. "It's been my destiny since birth. The ministry is new, but its origins are ancient. I was chosen early as a future leader."

  "At birth," I muttered.

  "Before."

  I laughed, then realized he was serious. "How could you have been chosen before your birth?"

  "It happens." He picked up the gauze and placed it over his wound. "The bandage, Charlie."

  If he had been chosen before birth, that implied there was something special about his parents. Perhaps a combination of characteristics that were deemed important in a future leader of the ministry. I wanted to ask, but he seemed to not want to talk about it. I gave up, for now, but I intended to find out more about his parents and childhood. It was thoroughly intriguing. He was intriguing.

  I wrapped the bandage around his torso. It brought me close to him, my face just below his shoulder height. If I leaned a few inches forward, I could kiss him. I dared not look up into his face, but staring at the hollow of his throat did nothing to settle the blood raging through my body. Where before my ministrations had been clinical, now they were anything but. Every part of me was aware of him and how close we stood; how easy it would be to close the gap between us, tilt my head, and receive his kiss.

  As I wrapped the bandage around him, my fingers brushed the smooth skin of his back and sides. I slowed, not wanting the connection to end. Wanting only to touch him more, to feel the muscles twitch with restrained desire, the thud of his pulse, the heat of his skin.

  He wanted those things too. I could sense it, rather than see it or feel it. It was in the way he didn't move when I fastened the bandage in place, and how he lowered his face to my hair and drew in a deep breath.

  With my hands still resting over the bandage, I dared to glance up at him. His eyes were closed, his jaw slack, making his face a little softer and even more handsome. I wanted to capture him in that moment, so I lifted my hand and cupped his cheek.

  His eyes flew open and his face hardened. He turned away.

  "Lincoln," I whispered.

  He gathered up his ruined, bloody clothes. "Mr. Fitzroy," he snapped. "Or sir."

  I stepped back as if he'd pushed me. "I—I thought—"

  "You thought wrong." He stalked into the adjoining bedroom but didn't shut the door. He emerged a few moments later wearing a clean shirt. If I'd thought his jaw was rigid before, now it was positively rock-hard. His eyes were as black and bleak as I'd ever seen them, and his gaze didn't waver from mine. "I've decided. You can't stay here."

  "Wh—what?" He was talking too fast. My head was still fuzzy from desire and his brutal rejection.

  "When Frankenstein is caught, you'll go to live with Lady Harcourt."

  He might as well have slapped me. My head was suddenly clear again. "No! You said I don't have to live with her if I didn't want to."

  "I've changed my mind. It's the best place for you."

  "Here is—"

  "You can't stay here." He moved to the door, as if to see me out.

  I stayed put. "Why not?"

  "Because your infatuation with me is inappropriate."

  My face burst into flames, or it might as well have, it felt so hot. I crossed my arms, as defiant as I could possibly be when utter humiliation ate me alive. I wanted to shout at him that he desired me too but, in truth, I wasn't sure. If he'd liked my touch as I bandaged him, it could have been because the fingers touching him belonged to a woman. Any woman. The look on his face may not have had anything to do with me.

  "It's unhealthy," he went on. "And not in either of our best interests for you to live here."

  Tears stung my eyes and tingled my nose. I had to hold myself very tight to keep from unraveling. "I understood your point. There's no need to pour salt on the wound."

  "This is the way it has to be. You will be well taken care of at Lady Harcourt's house. She's kind."

  "And if I don't wish to go there?"

  "You would be a fool not to."

  "I think we've already proven that I am indeed that." I sniffed, but fortunately my tears didn't spill. I didn't want him to see how pathetic I was, crying over a man I hardly knew.

  "It's that or a house of charity," he said.

  "I hate you, Fitzroy."

  "No, you don't," he said stiffly. "That's the problem."

  His cruel words were enough to shock me out of myself, and forced me to see what I was doing and saying. A small flame of anger burned in my chest, and I fueled it with thoughts of how he'd abducted me, treated me like a prisoner, and callously ridiculed my affections. I took a deep breath and felt quite a bit better; more determined than ever to conquer my feelings for him.

  He was right when he'd called it an infatuation. What I felt for him was quite possibly fleeting, and certainly foolish, brought on by living in the same house and my gratitude at being rescued from poverty. I could conquer my feelings, given a little more time.

  There. Better. Admitting that my affections were misplaced was the first step.

  "I'll miss Seth and Gus, and Cook too," I told him with a tilt of my chin. "Perhaps more than I'll miss you, in the long term. They've shown me nothing but kindness, whereas you…have not."

  I never got to see what he thought of that. Seth and Gus returned, their steps full of bounce, and they asked for an account of Fitzroy's chase through the sewer tunnels. They lapped up the details as eagerly as the boys from the gangs did, when I told them stories in the evenings. I sat on a chair and listened too. The distraction was a welcome relief.

  "He exited the sewers near the docks in Wapping," Fitzroy said. "He was far enough ahead the entire time that I couldn't catch him or get close enough to throw my knife."

  "Why didn't you shoot him?" Gus asked.

  "The gases in the tunnels are volatile. Shooting would have been hazardous. Once above ground again, there were too many people. I followed him to a small warehouse, tucked away behind the larger ones along the docks. I decided to return here instead of entering."

  "Why?" Seth asked.

  Fitzroy hesitated before continuing. "In the brief glimpse I caught as he slipped inside, I decided I needed to be better armed and have a plan of attack."

  Seth and Gus glanced at one another, perhaps wondering if they were going to be part of the plan. "What did you see?" I asked him, sitting forward.

  "A half dozen others, perhaps more."

  "Men?"

  He paused. "In a way."

  I gasped. "They were his monsters, weren't they? His creations, as he calls them?"

  "Bloody hell," Seth murmured. "What did they look like?"

  "I saw them only briefly, and from a distance. They bore scars across their foreheads, necks and chests. They wore trousers but nothing else, and appeared to be strapped to large chairs."

  I was about to remark at the horrible inhumanity of chaining someone to a chair, but remembered that the creatures weren't entirely human. "Were they…alive?"

  "I'm not certain. They sat very still and their eyes were closed."

  I shivered. "Thank God." I remembered how horrid it had been looking into the dead eyes of the bodies inhabited by the spirits of my mother and my savior from the holding cell. I wouldn't want to see the eyes of Frankenstein's creations open.

  "Did you see anything else?" Gus asked in a hushed voice.

  Fitzroy shook his head. "He closed the door, and all the windows were covered. I returned here."

  "That might have been th
e best chance to capture him," Seth muttered, half to himself. "While his monsters were strapped to their chairs."

  Fitzroy just looked at him.

  "He's injured!" I said on his behalf. "Indeed, he ought to be resting and regaining his strength."

  "Right. Yes." Seth jerked his head at Gus. "We should go. Is there anything you need, sir?"

  "No."

  "Come on, Charlie," Gus said, escorting me out with a hand at my back.

  I stopped in the doorway. I found it difficult to meet Fitzroy's gaze, but I managed it. What I had to say had nothing to do with our earlier conversation, and I shouldn't let that stop me. "There's something you ought to know. Frankenstein claims to be my father. Having seen him face to face now, I admit there's a strong resemblance."

  His lips parted and for several long heartbeats, he didn't speak.

  "The news has shocked you as much as it did me," I said with a wry twist of my mouth.

  "That's his shocked face?" Gus grunted. "Looks like his normal face, to me." He quieted when Seth elbowed him in the ribs.

  "Why didn't you say before?" Fitzroy said.

  I shrugged. "I was going to. Stitching you up was more important."

  "But I—" He shook his head. "You should have told me. I wouldn't have spoken so harshly to you."

  "What does the news about my real father have to do with…anything else?"

  "The day has been ordeal enough for you. I might have been kinder. Or left our conversation for another day."

  "That would only delay the inevitable. Besides, you were simply being honest, in that uniquely cool way of yours."

  "I'm—"

  "Don't trouble your conscience over it. A kinder delivery probably wouldn't have achieved the same result anyway. I'm grateful that you chose to enlighten me on your thoughts today rather than a point in the future. It allows me to plan ahead." I turned away quickly so that I couldn't see the impact my words had. I expected he would be relieved, since he'd managed to achieve precisely what he wanted—my willingness to leave Lichfield when this was over.

  "What was that about?" Gus asked as he caught up to me in the corridor.

  Seth drew alongside too. "What were you two discussing before we returned?"

  "The future," I told them, pausing outside my bedroom door.

  "And?" Seth placed his hand on the doorknob but didn't open the door.

  "And he decided that my future does not lie at Lichfield Towers."

  "You're going to live with Lady Harcourt?"

  "No. I'll find somewhere else."

  "Where?" Gus blurted out. "There ain't no work in the factories, you ain't trained for domestic work, and you're too bloody stubborn besides."

  "Perhaps I'll offer to speak to the souls of the dying as they pass away. I wonder how much one ought to charge for such work."

  "That's not funny," Seth growled. His face was surprisingly grim.

  I patted his arm. "I'll think of something. Don't worry about me."

  "Don't you think about goin' back to live on the streets," Gus warned. "That ain't no life for you. I'll hide you in the stables myself, if necessary."

  I took his hand. "Thank you, Gus, but it won't come to that."

  "I'll speak to him." Seth pointed his chin over my head back up the corridor. "He won't throw you out."

  Gus snorted. "He won't listen to you. Or me. He don't even listen to Lady H."

  "It's all right," I told them. "I just need some time to think up a plan."

  "And what if he don't give you time? He's just as likely to toss you out the minute Frankenstein is caught. That could be as soon as tomorrow."

  "I'm sure he'll give me more time. He's not that heartless."

  "Isn't he?" Seth shook his head. "I'm not so sure." He opened the door and offered me a grim smile. "I'll bring you some tea, shortly."

  I thanked him and entered my room—my cozy room with the pile of books, clean clothes, and soft bed. I sighed as they shut the door and left me to contemplate my uncertain future.

  ***

  Fitzroy had recovered enough to leave the house the following morning with Seth and Gus. They were going to investigate the warehouse where Frankenstein kept his creatures. He wouldn't be drawn on whether they would attempt to capture him today or simply investigate.

  I tried to read but my mind kept wandering. When I did manage a few pages of the new book, however, I had to set it down altogether. It was about a girl who learned she was adopted. At least her father wasn't a murderer.

  I closed my eyes. Perhaps that wasn't fair. Frankenstein had seemed to genuinely care for his creatures. And what if the men whose parts he'd used were dying, as he claimed? Some deaths were prolonged and painful, and I could well see why the dying would beg him to end their pain. Did it really matter that he'd then used parts of them to create something else, something akin to another life?

  And what of Mr. Calthorn, the spy master, the man with the knowledge to bring down the government and the crown? The brutal man who'd hurt his wife. If Frankenstein told the truth—and that wasn't a certainty—was he a bad person for ridding the world of such a monster?

  I didn't know what to think. The little boy he'd used as a shield came to mind, and so did Frankenstein's blue eyes—so like mine. I knew in my heart that I wasn't a bad person, despite what Holloway said, so how could the man who'd fathered me be bad?

  It didn't make sense, and my mind spun around in circles, trying to think it through. I needed a distraction, so I ventured to the kitchen where Cook was attacking a leg of mutton with a cleaver.

  "Can I help?" I asked. "Chop some vegetables or clean pots?"

  "Vegetables are all chopped, but there be some dusting to do and dishes to clean. There's a pile of 'em in the scullery. Gus'll be right pleased if he finds them all done. It be his turn, today."

  "Cook, why are there no maids or footmen here? The house could do with a few."

  "Aye, it could. Gus and Seth manage a little, here and there, but the house is too big for 'em to do things proper. You be only a little thing, but if you be a few inches taller, you'd see the dust on top of shelves."

  I chuckled and he smiled.

  "The master don't like no maids and footmen snooping about, so he says. The ministry got too many secrets."

  "Unless those secrets are written down, I don't see why employing some staff would cause problems."

  He merely shrugged and returned to the range.

  I fetched a duster from the utility cupboard and dusted everything I could reach in the entrance hall. The floor was filthy from the comings and goings, so I scrubbed the tiles with a bristly brush I found. I moved on to the sitting room next. The work wasn't difficult. Indeed, I found I enjoyed sprucing the house up. I took the liberty of rearranging a few pieces of the furniture in the parlor, and hiding some of the uglier knickknacks behind other things. A stuffed rat-like creature was the first to go. Who thought that ought to be displayed in a parlor?

  By the time I returned to the scullery, I felt content with what I'd achieved. Perhaps I could do a maid's work. It wasn't as awful as I'd expected, and although I would have to work with other maids, the company of women was something I needed to get used to. Perhaps I would ask Lady Harcourt for a reference. She might feel that the ministry owed me enough to lie for me. I couldn't work for her, however, no matter how often she asked. I would be forever expecting to see him there, and disappointed when I didn't, or when he ignored me, as a gentleman should ignore a maid. Besides, seeing Lady Harcourt every day would be a constant reminder of their relationship and how he found her tempting and not me.

  It was a thought I entertained as I picked up the empty pail and headed outside, to the water pump in the courtyard.

  I saw the flash of movement out of the corner of my eye too late. I was knocked to the ground, landing heavily on my knees and one hand. The other still held the pail. I whipped around and smashed the pail into my assailant, hitting him in the legs. His knees buckled and he fell on
top of me, pinning me. I tried to push him off, but he was too heavy. He grabbed one of my wrists and squeezed so hard my hand went numb.

  With his other hand, he held a knife to my throat. "Be still so I can remove the devil from you."

  "Father! Please," I sobbed, "let me go."

  "I told you." Holloway bared his teeth, and I noticed for the first time how long they were, how like a rabid dog he looked with madness brightening his eyes and saliva dripping from his lower lip. "I'm not your father. You're the devil's daughter."

  Yes, I almost told him. I am.

  "I'm going to save you, child. I'm going to release the devil from your body and bring you back to God's light."

  "How?" It sounded strangled. The knife at my throat dug into my skin. I felt a warm trickle of blood slide past my ear and into my hair. I dared not swallow, lest that make his blade dig in further.

  "The devil is well entrenched in you." His voice wasn't normal. It was raspy, harsh, and pitched low. It was the voice of a madman. "It must be gouged out."

  The knife pressed into my throat. I struggled again, pushing and kicking out, but nothing dislodged him, not even clawing at his cheek. Flesh scraped off in my fingernails, and blood poured down his face, but he didn't seem to notice. He was too intent on removing the devil from me. Too intent on killing me.

  And I was too weak to stop him.

  CHAPTER 14

  "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name." Holloway's body shook. His lips curled back from his teeth. If there was a devil inside anyone, it was inside him.

  I pushed and struggled, but it did no use. He didn't budge. I tried to scream, but either fear or the blade at my throat made it come out weak, strangled. I was pathetic, and soon I would be dead.

  "Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on—" His eyes suddenly widened, the pupils mere pinpricks in the sea of white. His face twisted as he arched backward, his mouth open in a silent scream.