The Odin Inheritance (The Pessarine Chronicles Book 1)

by Victoria L. Scott

  Suddenly, Mother’s words blazed in my mind, cutting through the fog. No man touches you without your permission, Ariana, and one who does is a blaggart of the highest order. Feel free to resort to violence if necessary against such an impertinent fellow. Your honor is at stake.

  I managed to shake my head, indignation at the man’s hand on my wrist boiling up from Mother’s reminder and fueling the movement. The desire to go with him tugged at me still, but I fought it down.

  “No,” I gasped, fighting to form words. “I… don’t. Leave me alone.”

  He pulled me away from the table and wrapped his arm around my waist so far that his hand snaked around to touch my stomach. His body was warm against mine, and the scents of rosemary and clove enveloped me.

  “You’re mine,” he hissed. “The spell holds even after all this time. I’ve come to collect you. You belong to me.”

  Spell? What spell? He casts spells? How is that possible? I wondered, worried and confused. The idea that I had to get away from him somehow burned like a coal in the back of my mind, hot and bright.

  Laufeson said more unknown words and the strange lethargic feeling grew. The black strands at the edges of my mind became roots, pushing other thoughts aside and urging me to comply with my captor’s wishes. My left wrist started to ache and something moved inside it, like a snake waking up from a long sleep. Even though Laufeson’s hold on me was not restrictive, I couldn’t pull together any impetus to move away from him. It would be so much easier just to give in and go—

  “Here, now,” came Mr. Avery’s outraged voice from the reference desk. “You there – take your hands off Lady Trevelyan.”

  And with that, whatever hold Laufeson had over my mind broke. I took in a shuddering breath and thanked my lucky stars that Mr. Avery was a rapid tea drinker and not a typical librarian. A large man and former policeman, Avery had salt and pepper hair and a booming voice. He’d been known to throw students out on their faces if they broke rules or caused a disturbance. He had no patience for ‘nonsense in his library,’ as he put it. He was particularly protective of the women of Cambridge, as he called students like me.

  The pressure of Mr. Laufeson’s hold on my body lifted. The lethargy left my thoughts as the panic and fear within me bloomed in full force. I spun and slapped the German across the face. The palm of my hand stung from the blow, the pain clearing my head completely as I quickly stepped away from him. I glared at the man who’d tried to claim me as ‘his.’ How could I have ever thought to go with him?

  “Get the Hell away from me,” I spat, fury in my tone. “I am not yours to touch.”

  Laufeson’s eyes narrowed in calculation, a glint of venom in them. “The raven has talons, I see,” he muttered. “How intriguing.” He moved quickly to close the distance between us, malice and fury on his face. I backed up to avoid him and hit the table with the back of my legs.

  In response to my slap and Laufeson’s continued pursuit of me, Mr. Avery launched himself from behind the reference desk and ran toward us, the soles of his shoes slapping on the tile floor of the reading room. He brought a silver whistle to his lips and blew two short blasts on it to call other library staff or students to his aid.

  “Oi!” he shouted, shaking a meaty fist over his head as he barreled toward us.

  Laufeson reached out to grab me again and I moved quickly to avoid his grasp, then put up my hands in what I hoped passed for a boxing stance, prepared to defend myself again.

  “We’ll have none of that in this here establishment,” Avery said, reaching us and grabbing the back of Mr. Laufeson’s jacket collar. Laufeson stumbled as Avery yanked him out of arms’ reach of me. I kept my fists up, watching the odd man carefully, not sure what he intended to do next.

  Two male students I didn’t recognize bounded into the reading room and slid to a halt, taking in the scene.

  “Steady on,” the shorter one of them said, watching in amazement as Avery hauled Laufeson toward the door. “Bloody Hell, Alfred! We’ve got an interloper!”

  Avery continued to drag Laufeson back, the man going along without a struggle though his anger-filled eyes never left me. I held my ground despite his glare though my knees felt wobbly. I’d be damned if I’d let the ruffian see he’d frightened me.

  Avery turned his attention to the two students his whistle had called. “You there – Ted, is it? Fetch Mrs. Sneed to assist Lady Trevelyan. Alfred,” he said to the taller of the two, “help me show this fellow the door.”

  Ted nodded and ran for Ms. Sneed, the housekeeper of the residence next to the library. Alfred reached out and grabbed Laufeson roughly by the right arm. Together they escorted him out the reading room door.

  Chapter Six

  I sat down in my library chair with a thump. I started to shake, due in part to a need for food, but primarily because I had the distinct feeling I’d barely escaped with my life. I had no idea why Laufeson had decided I was ‘his’, or what he’d said in that guttural language to dull my fear of him… but his attempt to abduct me shook me down to my soul. As I sat there shaking and gritting my teeth against waves of panic, wispy memories of pain and blood flitted back and forth in my mind like ghastly butterflies.

  The world sort of greyed out in a mixture of shock and fear for a few minutes after that, the solid chair under me my only connection to the here and now until Mrs. Sneed arrived with Ted, Mr. Avery, and Alfred.

  Mrs. Sneed, she of white hair and stained apron, went into full caretaker mode. She hauled me up from the chair in a swift motion and clutched me to her ample body as if I were a child. I smelled shepherd’s pie on the apron and nearly wept in relief at the familiar, safe odor.

  “Stop your shaking, m’Lady. I don’t know who the fellow was,” she cooed gently, “but he’s gone now. We’ll not let him near you again. Now, let’s get you settled.” She turned her attention to the gentlemen around us. “Boys – off with you. James, I’ll need your help.”

  “Right-o,” said Ted, and the two young men departed, reliving their part of the excitement of the encounter with Laufeson in hushed tones as they left. Mr. Avery remained, looking angry and worried.

  Mrs. Sneed released me from her embrace and looked me up and down. “For the love of Mike, she’s pale as a sheet!” she exclaimed. “It’s good you had the boy fetch me, James,” she said as she took me by the left arm and we made our way into Avery’s office, “she’s all flustered, and no wonder!”

  Mr. Avery took up a position on my other side, clutching my right arm as our pace to his office increased. “Let’s get her in a chair,” he responded, guiding us into his inner sanctum. “Once she gets a bit of Nelson’s blood in her, she’ll be able to tell us who that chap was and what he wanted with her.”

  “Nelson’s blood?” Mrs. Sneed asked. She steered me to a chair next to a side table and sat me down. I saw the tea things spread out on his desk: crumbs on a plate, a little butter and jam, a brown betty teapot and delicate teacup resting on the blotter.

  “Brandy,” Avery clarified, going to a cupboard behind his desk and pulling out a bottle with three small glasses. “They brought Nelson back from Trafalgar in a barrel of brandy. Sailors being what they are, when the Victory returned to England, the barrel was empty of everything but Nelson’s body.”

  Brandy sloshed into glasses, its non-sanguineous aroma filling the air. I’d never had brandy before, but it certainly smelled potent.

  Mrs. Sneed took a glass from Avery. “That’s positively barbaric,” she said, then pressed the glass into my hand. “Have a sip, Lady Trevelyan,” she urged. “It might have served to pickle Lord Nelson, God help us, but I dare say it’ll calm your nerves.”

  I lifted the glass to my lips, nearly choked on the pungent aroma and lowered the glass. Mr. Avery motioned with his hand that I really should partake. Reluctantly I took a small sip. The taste reminded me very much of the fuel we used in the Bosch’s engines as the brandy slid down my throat with all the subtlety of a bonfire on N
ovember fifth. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited in dread for the fire to reach my stomach.

  I’d always wondered why brandy was the drink people offered those who’d endured a shock. I now understood that the taste of the infernal stuff was enough to obliterate the memory of whatever prior shock had been endured. The brandy exploded in my belly like a shattered oil lamp. My eyes widened and started to water. I exhaled slowly in hopes that it would dampen the fire in my abdomen. I also hoped I could get away with consuming as little of the noxious stuff as possible without offending Mr. Avery.

  “That’s better,” Mrs. Sneed said, noting the change in my expression.

  Better? I thought and coughed, surprised that flames didn’t jet out of my mouth. Good God.

  Mrs. Sneed took the glass Avery offered and had a sip herself as she sat in a chair to my right. She looked at the librarian. “Is there a chance the fellow you chucked will be coming back here?” she asked.

  Avery shook his head and drew up a chair to sit in front of me. “I didn’t ask for particulars as I showed the gent the door, but I made it clear he weren’t welcome. Foreign chap he was. Did you know him, Lady Trevelyan?”

  I forced my mind to work. “No,” I managed, my first words coming out in a croak. “He approached me while I studied in my usual spot.”

  Mr. Avery narrowed his eyes. “While I was conveniently absent,” he noted. “Right odd no one else was here. You aren’t the only one who works right through teatime. What happened next?”

  The explanation of what had happened tumbled out of me. “He said his name was Augustus Laufeson and he was a transfer from the University of Halle-Wittenberg. He needed help finding books. I told him I wasn’t allowed in the stacks. Then he noticed we were alone in the reading room and he asked me to join him in private.”

  “Thank my sainted aunt I was nearly done taking my tea,” Mr. Avery said. “I shudder to think what might have happened if I’d not been close by.”

  “So he tried to take you away with him, then, my dear?” Mrs. Sneed asked, placing a reassuring hand on my knee. “Is that what happened?”

  I nodded. “I told him I didn’t want to join him. I went to sit down and get back to my studies, but he said or did something to me that made me stop. He spoke of a spell and how I was ‘his’. He said he’d come to ‘collect me’. I didn’t want to go with him,” I said, struggling to put what I’d experienced into words, “but he made me want to do whatever he asked.” I mistakenly took another sip of brandy, its noxious taste and fumes obliterating any other tastes, smells or coherent thoughts. I waited for it to burn its way down my throat, coughed and continued: “Then you showed up, Mr. Avery. I suppose you know the rest.”

  Avery let out a low whistle. “I thought you looked a bit odd, but I never thought I’d see the day. Someone using mesmerism to have his way with a lass? It’s disgraceful.”

  “Mesmerism? That spiritualist nonsense? You mean to tell me that bunkum actually works?” Mrs. Sneed exclaimed. “I can hardly believe it.”

  Avery took a sip of his brandy and motioned at me. “Drink up, my girl,” he ordered. Holding my breath, I brought the glass to my lips and allowed the liquid to touch, but not pass them, holding my breath to avoid the fumes. I lowered the glass and acted like I’d swallowed some of the stuff in the interest of politeness and discretely wiped my lip to remove the small amount of brandy left there.

  “I don’t know how it works, or why, Mrs. Sneed,” Avery said, “but I’ve seen those chaps on stage mesmerize folk, and Mrs. Avery dragged me to one of those séance thing-gummies about a year ago. It’s a rum business, but as that fellow Hamlet says: ‘There’s more in Heaven and Earth than our philosophies dream of.'” He rubbed his chin. “What she’s describing is classic mesmeric influencing. I’ll have to add it to my report on the incident for the dons.”

  “He tried to put the ‘fluence on you, my girl,” Mrs. Sneed said, patting my knee soothingly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Avery snorted. “She got a good slap in before we grabbed him and then she put her fists up, ready to take him on… all ‘Marquis of Queensbury rules’ and spit and vinegar. I dare say he’d have had a run for his money trying to get her out of the reading room on his own, ‘fluence or no ‘fluence. She’s stubborn as a bull.” He winked at me, obviously proud. “That’s my girl, m’Lady.”

  I put the glass of brandy down. I felt oddly warm and slightly dizzy. I could feel sweat blooming under my corset and chemise. “Yes,” I said, “thank you, Mr. Avery. I appreciate your help, and yours too, Mrs. Sneed. But,” I continued, “I’m afraid I’ve not had much to eat since breakfast.” I resisted the urge to grab the chair I sat on for dear life as a wave of dizziness went through me. “Though I am most grateful you came to my aid, I think perhaps it’s best I head back to Towson House. I can get something to eat and rest there.” I also didn’t want to return to the residence smelling of brandy, of all things. If I had to keep pretending to drink the nasty stuff much longer, I’d be redolent of a distillery by the time I got home.

  Mrs. Sneed shook her head. “Oh no, my dear, you’re not walking back to Towson House alone. James, you and I will make sure she arrives safe and sound, yes?”

  Avery nodded. “I’ll pack up your things in the reading room and close the library early. After we get you home, we’ll drop by the central office and make a report.”

  I nodded, grateful for their offer of an escort. I didn’t want to be left alone if Laufeson decided to try grabbing me again.

  “Right then,” Mrs. Sneed said, setting down her own brandy and standing up. “Come along. Help me tidy these things while Mr. Avery takes care of your books.”

  Chapter Seven

  The walk home from the Faraday Library was uneventful. Mrs. Sneed walked with me arm in arm carrying on conversation meant more to soothe than anything else, while Mr. Avery walked on my other side and carried my bookbag. I felt protected between them, but I scanned the route ahead and around us just in case Laufeson made a reappearance, though I didn’t know what I’d do if he did show up again. Thankfully we arrived at my residence without incident. My companions left me and my bookbag on the Towson House steps and made their way back to make Avery’s report.

  I grabbed my bookbag, slung it over my shoulder wearily and climbed the stairs to the door of the residence, then let myself in. My housemates were scattered across the main rooms, their papers, books and conversations in the dining room, sitting rooms and living room bringing life and cheerfulness to the residence.

  Towson, while not nearly as big as Girton, was home to young women with a passion for learning and a certain joie de vivre. Lady Ahisa Sato, the foundress and financial backer of the residence, personally chose all the girls who lived at Towson House, and she looked for women who were ‘unusual, practical and benevolently devious’, according to her somewhat mysterious standards. A small, intense Japanese woman, she interviewed all the girls and decided who to admit to our merry band, distributing scholarships as needed. She came to visit the house occasionally, usually unannounced, and frequently found the residents of Towson covered in grime while engaged in un-lady-like activities, such as playing rugby in the back garden or building a trebuchet behind the kitchen. Luckily, Lady Sato didn’t mind our ‘messing about’, as she called it. Mrs. Guildersleeve, the house manager, did mind, of course, but with Lady Sato’s tacit approval on our side, there was little she could do.

  Therefore, my housemates were all outstanding scholars but pursued unusual hobbies or worked with philanthropic associations to effect societal change in addition to their studies. Even a small cross-section of Towson women who lived on the third floor of the residence revealed a great diversity of interests. I had my airship extra-curricular activities; Cora, a Classics major, was adept at practical jokes, cooking and battle tactics; Gertrude, a Biology major, studied poisons and tried her hand at taxidermy when she could, and Melisande, the resident expert on Icelandic sagas, painted watercolor landscap
es and was a proud suffragette. Despite our being individually eclectic and even slightly eccentric, we Towson girls hung together despite our diversity and genuinely enjoyed living in our quirky little house.

  The snippets of conversation that I caught here and there exemplified the usual mix of intentions for the later part of a typical Saturday afternoon and evening. Some girls planned an evening out while others made study arrangements with fellow classmates. Mrs. Guildersleeve shooed students out of the dining room, speaking to the staff about setting the table for the final meal of the day as she did so. I saw Sophie in the dining room, her arms full of tablecloth and napkins ready to be put on the dining room table.

  Amid the chatter and engulfed by the warmth that was Towson House, the tension from what happened in the library, which I’d not realized I’d been holding, released. I relaxed. I was home, where random German fellows couldn’t grab me. Friends surrounded me, and they’d help keep me safe. I no longer had to be vigilant. Relief coursed through my body, bringing exhaustion in its wake.

  Someone approached me from the dining room area. “My God, Ari,” my good friend Cora Allerton said, seeing me standing in the doorway and moving to join me there. She shut the front door behind me and handed me a small package wrapped in wax paper that she’d concealed in the skirts of her burgundy day dress. Somehow she always knew when I needed to eat.

  Cora blew a wayward strand of brown hair out of her face. “You look absolutely done in. I knew you’d forgotten lunch. You were gone far too long and you always forget about food at the damned library.” She indicated the package I held. “It’s a sandwich I snuck out of the kitchen – with Sophie’s help, of course.”