Poison in the Blood

by Robyn Bachar

  “I apologize. I was speaking with Mrs. Black, and I asked her to join our investigation. She is a seer, and has some experience in solving murders. I feel she can aid us.”

  “Small experience,” I corrected. “Only two murders. But I am glad to help in any way that I am able.”

  Miss Dubois straightened and approached us. She was quite beautiful, and I could see why Dr. Bennett was so helplessly attracted to her. She had a charming, heart-shaped face graced with large blue eyes framed with thick lashes. Her hair was arranged in an artful mass of golden curls, and she was positively radiant. Almost angelic.

  She eyed me thoughtfully. “I have never met a seer before.”

  I smiled as I refrained from commenting on how I had never met a female guardian before. Instead I chose a more polite reply. “Very few people have. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Nodding briskly, she returned her attention to the body. “What do you see?”

  Simple. To the point. I rather liked that. It was refreshing to be spared having to justify my abilities, though I suspected that as a woman Miss Dubois was familiar with having to justify her own magic to others.

  I stepped away from Dr. Bennett and centered myself, clearing my thoughts of my curiosity about their relationship. When I opened my eyes I winced at the riot of colors emanating from the Undiscovered Country; was nothing calm in this city? The necromancers had cast so many spells upon their building that the narrow alleyway rather looked like our table linens the day the twins had gotten into the watercolors. I turned my gaze to the body itself and found it devoid of energy, as I expected. Mrs. Harding’s dark hair was unbound, and her lifeless eyes stared blankly up at the night sky.

  “I should like to see the young woman’s home. I may be able to see a vision of her abduction,” I said.

  “That can be arranged,” Miss Dubois replied. “Is there anything of note on the body?”

  “No, and there are no strong impressions around the body. It is doubtful that she was killed here, but that much is obvious from the lack of blood in the area.”

  “Anything else?” Miss Dubois prompted.

  My attention flicked to her, and I winced at her bright silver aura. She was by far the most powerful magician I had ever encountered. Were all guardian auras that strong? There was something odd about her parasol as well. It gave off a bright energy, which was unusual for an object because most items only held residual traces of the person who had been handling them.

  Blinking past the brightness, I walked away, hoping to find some sort of trail in the swirling mass of magic. I left the lantern’s light behind me, but my vision was filled with the necromancers’ spells, at least on my right side. The building to my left was plain, dull brick, with no magic whatsoever…except for one spot. Tilting my head, I studied the area. A long gash of unfamiliar energy was torn into the brick, a bit taller and wider than myself. It almost looked like a door of sorts.

  “Would you bring a lantern here, please?” I asked.

  One of the necromancers obliged, muttering less-than-polite things about meddling women under his breath as he did so. The light bobbed nearer, and I frowned as I saw nothing—the absence of color, as though a dark void was painted onto the wall. I removed my right glove, intending to place my hand against the brick, but was startled by a sudden, angry shout.

  I whirled at the sound and spotted two figures approaching, their energy faint in the dark like two ghosts storming down the alleyway. My eyes widened with shock when the lanterns caught them, revealing my nemesis, Simon St. Jerome, with my husband, Michael, in tow. As always, Simon was a spindly tower of disapproval crowned with long chestnut hair, and, also as always, my husband, Michael, followed at his heel like a loyal hunting dog.

  The change in Michael’s aura struck me like a physical blow, forcing the air from my lungs until it was difficult to breathe. Though on the surface he was still the handsome man I married, small details of the change in his condition became clearer as they drew to a halt, like the bloodless paleness of his skin and the stillness of his body. Tears welled in my eyes, and I shook my head and turned away, unable to keep looking.

  Miss Dubois spoke first. “What is the meaning of this? You are interfering with a guardian investigation.”

  “No, madam, we are conducting an investigation for the Order of St. Jerome,” Simon replied. “Though it appears we are also in time to escort Mrs. Black home where she belongs before she gets herself into trouble.”

  Where I belong. As though I were a wayward kitten who had wandered off chasing a butterfly. Of course they thought I belonged at home with my children, where the extent of the use of my magic was to determine whether the baby was truly hungry or merely cranky. I loved my family, and I didn’t dispute that my place was with them. I did, however, believe that Michael’s place was with us as well. Instead, he had left us to pursue becoming a chronicler, because his magic was important and mine was not.

  “Emily, are you all right?” Michael asked.

  Fighting the instinctive urge to go to him, I folded my hands and blinked repeatedly until my vision returned to normal and the tears were kept at bay. Taking a deep breath, I turned back to face them.

  “I am in perfect health, thank you.”

  “I was not informed that the Order is conducting an investigation of their own,” Miss Dubois said.

  “Now you have been. Judging by the escalation of the crimes, the Scrivener is not convinced that you are capable of handling this matter.”

  I stared up at Simon in disbelief—he was tall and gangly, like a sneering scarecrow. Anger boiled from Miss Dubois, though she only took a half step forward, her hands tightening on the handle of her parasol until her knuckles whitened. I stole another look at Michael. He watched me with silent concern, his dark eyes gleaming in the weak light.

  “Is that so?” Miss Dubois said. “The Order is welcome to perform its own investigation. After I have completed mine. I will brook no meddling from you or any other chronicler, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the penalties for interfering with a guardian’s affairs.”

  Simon stiffened. Clearly he knew what she was referring to, but I had no idea. I assumed the penalties must be dire. Miss Dubois turned to me.

  “What did you see, Mrs. Black?” she asked.

  “Emily is returning home. Now,” my husband announced.

  Now he was angry with me. His temper was obvious in his snappish tone and did not require seer magic’s to detect, not that I wanted another look at his anemic chronicler’s aura. How awful. My dear and loving husband, reduced to a copy of his contemptible mentor. I swallowed hard past a lump of emotion that tightened my throat. At the very least I deserved a “darling” and a kiss from Michael, not a lecture.

  With a defiant lift to my chin, I turned to the guardian. “Some sort of doorway made of magic. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It is just here.”

  “Emily.” Michael sighed my name as though describing a heavy burden. I ignored him, for I was quite used to hearing that sound from my parents and sisters. I was Emily, the family disgrace.

  Miss Dubois joined me and peered at the wall as I gestured to the outline. She placed her palm against it and hissed as she snatched her hand away.

  “Justine! Are you hurt?” Dr. Bennett reached for her hand and took it in his, examining it for wounds.

  “It’s freezing,” she said.

  Considering the warm summer evening, I doubted there was any reasonable explanation for why the wall would be that cold. Unable to resist, I touched it. A spike of cold traveled up my arm as though an icicle had impaled my palm. I shrieked in pain and surprise, stumbled back and promptly fainted as a vision overwhelmed me.

  Chapter Two

  For the first time in months, everything around me was calm and serene. I inhaled the wholesome scent of country air and smiled as I walked through the meadow. Wildflowers bobbed in the gentle breeze, dotting the verdant grass with pastels
. Leaves rustled in the trees, whispering to each other like mischievous children. I strained to hear the laughter of my children, but I was alone. It surprised me, for it was rare that I had time to myself anymore, but I was at ease. The meadow felt like home, unlike the dull, gray streets of London.

  The thought sent a pang of sadness through me—this was a dream, a vision, and as such it would end and I would be sent back to the horrid truth of reality. Determined to enjoy it as long as I could, I continued my stroll. As I neared the trees I spotted one with branches laden with bright red apples, and I plucked one from a low-hanging limb. The familiar scent of the fruit made my stomach roil with a hungry growl, and after brushing it against the skirt of my walking dress I took a bite.

  Instead of sweetness, the apple tasted of dry, bitter ashes. I spat it out and stared down at it. Instead of white flesh, the interior was dingy, like snow on the side of a busy road. The color drained from the apple’s skin, covering it in gray. I dropped it, and where it landed on the ground a creeping wave sucked the life and color out of the grass, spreading to the nearby trees and into the meadow. The world around me became dead and silent, and I screamed as the decay slithered up my dress, staining my body to match the surroundings until I stood lifeless, frozen like a marble statue.

  “She’s coming around,” Dr. Bennett’s voice announced.

  The vision vanished, and my eyes slowly focused on Michael’s concerned face. He had caught me before I could fall, and I was grateful for that, for I did not want the alley’s muck ground into my ball gown, though I wondered if he was allowed to be so near me this soon.

  “See, she’s quite well. It’s only a vision, nothing to be concerned about. Now let her go,” Simon ordered. I glanced in the direction of his voice and spotted him glaring at us.

  “Not until I’m certain she’s well.” Michael’s voice was calm, but his embrace was cold despite the warm summer night, and it unsettled me.

  “I’m all right. I was unprepared.” I leaned upon my husband as I steadied myself, and I took several deep breaths until I was strong enough to stand on my own. Michael reluctantly parted from me and returned to his mentor’s side.

  “What did you see?” Miss Dubois demanded.

  “A vision. It was quite detailed. Perhaps this is not the best venue to share it in.” I glanced at our audience, which had grown to include several necromancers who were eyeing us all with disdain, and she nodded.

  Miss Dubois turned to Dr. Bennett. “If you would please see to the body, I will take Mrs. Black home.”

  “We will escort her home,” Michael announced.

  “You may follow in your carriage, if you wish. As I understand it, in your condition you shouldn’t be allowed to travel in such an enclosed space with her,” she countered.

  It was a valid point—his condition was the reason the children and I had been sent away in the first place, and I assumed it was the reason Simon had been staring daggers at Michael for having caught me after my faint.

  “I want to examine the body first. We will follow shortly,” Simon announced. Michael frowned but didn’t argue.

  “Very well.” Dr. Bennett bowed politely. “Mrs. Black, it was a pleasure to see you again, even under such unfortunate circumstances.”

  I smiled at him. “Thank you. You must come for tea.” It would give me an opportunity to do a proper reading. Surely it would set his mind at ease if I could confirm that he and Miss Dubois were compatible. They did seem to work very well together, and I was quite surprised that she did not reciprocate his affection.

  Miss Dubois and I walked away in brisk silence as the irritated gazes of both chroniclers and necromancers bored into our backs. The carriage that had brought me was still waiting, and I gave the driver my sister’s address. Her family lived comfortably in a lovely, sedate neighborhood, though her household was more boisterous now with the addition of my little brood. Josephine’s children were older than mine, for she had been married years before me.

  “I apologize for the interruption of my husband and his mentor. I wasn’t aware they were even in London,” I said.

  Miss Dubois sighed. “I thought this might happen. My meeting with the Scrivener did not go well.”

  “You must be brave to have met with him. He frightens me. But you don’t truly believe the killer could be a chronicler, do you?”

  “No, but the other councils are not convinced. I feel that a master necromancer is the most likely culprit, but until I find him, every blood drinker in London is under suspicion.”

  Including my husband. How long had he been here? Surely not long enough to be considered a suspect. There wasn’t a violent bone in his body, or at least there hadn’t been before his transformation.

  Miss Dubois studied me. “I must admit, you are not what I was expecting in a seer.”

  “I have never met another of my kind, so I am not sure if there is a typical seer. I have never spoken at length with a guardian before,” I replied.

  “Most people don’t, unless they are in some sort of trouble. Please tell me about your vision.”

  Folding my hands in my lap, I squared my shoulders and related the details of the dream. Miss Dubois listened with rapt attention, reminding me of my little ones listening to a story. Young librarians take story time quite seriously. When I finished she sighed, looking very much as though she had developed a headache of her own.

  “I knew they were lying to me. Damn.”

  My brow rose at the curse. “Who?”

  “The necromancer council. They must be covering for one of their own. Someone important enough to protect despite his crimes.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “It must be a necromancer. They appear living on the outside, but are dead on the inside, like your apple,” she replied matter-of-factly. It made sense, but my visions are seldom explained so quickly and easily.

  “I could determine if the council is lying. I am able to discern the truth of a statement while examining a person’s energy.”

  “Even a master necromancer?”

  “It works on Simon,” I blurted, and then instantly regretted the statement. Simon likely assumed that I spied on his aura, but I attempted to be as clandestine about it as possible. Miss Dubois’s brow rose, and I cleared my throat with a weak smile.

  “Ah. I see.” She frowned as she worried at the lace trimming on the parasol. “Your involvement may create tension with the necromancers. They won’t take well to being questioned by a member of the Order.”

  “I am not a member. The Order does not wish me to be involved with them in any way.” I fought to keep my expression neutral and not betray any of the pain the Order’s rejection had caused me.

  Miss Dubois nodded. “I understand. Perhaps too well. Mrs. Black, I think you and I will accomplish great things together.”

  I smiled, blushing with a sudden swell of pride. Great things. Wouldn’t that be marvelous? “What can you tell me of the other murders?”

  “I wish to hold off on sharing the details for now, so that you can read Mrs. Harding’s home without any expectations.”

  I nodded, for it was a sensible request. We discussed the particulars of my abilities during the rest of the journey to my sister’s home. Miss Dubois wished to understand my magic, and I in turn wished to understand her. I wondered if her straightforwardness was an American trait or a guardian one, but I was not put off by her lack of manners. Perhaps I could tutor her in the niceties of English magician society while arranging a match between her and Dr. Bennett.

  We agreed that she would send a carriage for me in the afternoon so that I might examine Mrs. Harding’s home. After that I would have dinner with Miss Dubois in her home, followed by a meeting with the necromancer council in the evening. Michael and Simon would be absolutely livid at the idea, and therefore I had no intention of telling them about it.

  When I arrived at my sister’s home I discovered, much to my relief, that she and Thomas were still a
t the ball. I was hopeful that they were enjoying themselves, but knowing Jo, she was likely worrying about my welfare. Of my three sisters, she was the only one I was close to. Sarah was generally contrary and determined to disapprove of whatever I did, and Mary kept to herself.

  I paused in the nursery on my way to my room, beset with a sudden need to ensure that my children were safe. Perhaps I should have pressed Miss Dubois for more information. Dr. Bennett had mentioned the other victims were young women, so surely the murderer was not stealing children. All the magicians of London would have heard about that, for our children are particularly precious to us. During the Burning Times, an unspeakably dark part of our history, we nearly joined the elves in their extinction at the hands of mankind, and as such magicians took extreme care in keeping each next generation safe. Even the meddling Order of St. Jerome hadn’t argued with Michael’s choice to marry me once it became evident that we wished to have children. They seemed quite pleased at the little librarians we had produced.

  All the little librarians were a-snooze at this late hour, both my children and my nieces and nephews. As though sensing my presence, my youngest, Robert, stirred in his cot and began to whimper. He was by far the fussiest of my offspring, but he had a right to be, so I indulged him. Both of us were very fortunate to be alive; with the aid of a skilled witch midwife we survived a series of complications that would have killed a normal woman and child. I picked Robert up and carried him out of the nursery with me, cooing soothingly to him.

  Before I made it to the safety of my room I encountered Josephine, newly returned from the ball. I bit back an exasperated sigh, but I was grateful for Robert’s presence, knowing she would not scold me loudly in front of the baby.