A Wild Conversion

by Katherine Gilbert

  “Truer bonds cannot be cut from outside.”

  Emma knew his plan then, felt what he was about to do.

  Finally looking away from her, he knelt down to put his hands on either side of Nat’s head, and his gaze started to glow with his growing power.

  “I’m sorry to work through you, Natalie Wetherby, but you’re the conduit.”

  Her eyes widened—and then Emma felt all their consciousnesses work together into one.

  Her mantra changed and shifted, until all of them heard it:

  Save the one, and save the all. All will conquer with the good. Good will blossom from the old, and all will work toward the one.

  Chapter 20

  Frederick

  It was this last thought of his beloved’s which Frederick heard pounding through his soul, as he tugged Natalie violently out into the waking world again.

  It felt a little like being pulled inside out while a giant swallowed him for breakfast—but he was in no position to be choosy. Although Emma had done an excellent job of protecting her best friend within herself, he felt certain that getting the two of them back to this dimension would have cost her far more than she could have afforded to lose without their help.

  This seemed to be especially true, as the woman he loved and had pledged himself to was lying on a table nearby, clearly still unconscious. Hoping she would rouse herself if they needed her, the rest of the scene left little time for analysis, all of it exactly as he had feared.

  Holding onto Natalie’s hand, steadying her, he drew on her unbreakable link to Emma. Even if his beloved were not awake, he knew that, through her friend, she would be able to follow what happened in her mental absence. He just hoped Natalie didn’t decide to object. Especially given what they were facing now . . .

  The fact that his entire family was there was the least of his worries. He saw Uncle Philip lean over to Aunt Sarah and thought he heard him whisper, “Did they just appear full-formed out of that little witch’s ear?”

  Philip might be good with trees, but the physics of higher magic didn’t seem to be a specialty.

  It wasn’t one for Frederick, either—would have lost him, had he allowed himself to think into it very deeply—so he had to work on pure instinct, instead. Unfortunately, that might well not be enough to get him through.

  If he had to guess, he would have said they were in the conservatory in his family’s house, which he had only seen once. While the glass walls and ceiling should have been lovely, making nature part of the house and mixing with the various fascinating plants the room held—probably his Uncle Philip’s work—right now, it felt like a torture chamber.

  Looking over to where his sweet sister was collapsed over that bastard Philbert’s arm, her daughter wriggling wildly in the unloving hands of Hester, it took everything he was not to just start trying to fry all their enemies with magic. His grandfather—damn him—was holding the little luck witch with just five fingers, dangling her by the back of the neck of some tight-fitting garment.

  It’s a onesie, he heard Natalie fill in for him automatically, but he was too worried about the little girl to really care about semantics.

  To say the baby’s situation was perilous would have been far too mild. Not only was his grandfather swinging her around insanely as he moved, but he was holding her over a large black cauldron which bubbled with something sticky and red. Poor Grace was fortunately not a newborn, could hold up her own head, but she looked far too terrified to even move or cry out. He supposed her luck must be keeping her from making any sound which might get her dropped.

  Her situation wasn’t the only perilous one, however.

  Most of those Emma had protected were there, as well—Aubry and Trudy trembling in terror at the side of the room, Trudy clutching their baby, as her partner tried to shield her. They seemed only too aware that they—or their child—could be next, both wanting to stop what was happening but having no power to at all.

  The only real question was what they had done with Benjamin. Worriedly, Frederick’s gaze traveled down to the cauldron. He had to pray that he wasn’t the donor of all that red.

  Still, he had no time to fear for those he couldn’t see, as their enemies were fully ranked before him.

  Randolph, as he apparently was, was watching the whole ceremony smugly, while a woman he didn’t know half-cowered in the corner, and he supposed that she must be Randolph’s wife—Emma’s much-abused mother. Thin to the point where he suspected starvation was one of their methods of control, Lily’s light green eyes were wide, her long brownish-blonde hair unkempt as though she had been dragged along behind someone who barely noticed her. She watched her husband and Frederick’s grandfather in terror but did nothing to try to rescue their victims.

  Frederick couldn’t blame her. Clearly, she had been raised to suffer the painful consequences of caring before.

  His horror was not unshared, although he could only hear Natalie’s exclamations in his head, as she seemed too terrified to actually say anything. Sainted Hecate! What are they doing?

  His grandfather was saying the words of some chant which sounded ancient and bloodstained, and he prodded her mentally. Can you translate what he’s saying for me? While he could feel the terrible shape of it, it might be better to know the detail.

  Her answer, again, was inaudible—and slightly panicked. I don’t know. It’s not any of the holy magical languages I understand.

  Frederick nearly growled, as he suspected there was nothing holy about this one at all.

  He could think of little he could do—was terrified that, should he run to snatch the child out of his grandfather’s hands, the man might just let her fall to either her likely death on the floor or a certain death and damnation in that awful cauldron.

  The only plan which came to him was to interrupt and hope that, somewhere within the distraction, they would find a way through.

  Stepping forward, then, he kept Natalie behind him, still holding her hand—unwilling to let go of his main, current connection to Emma.

  “Grandfather!” he screamed.

  Confused, the man stopped dead, staring at him, and Frederick took the opportunity of the lull to move in front of Emma’s inert form—whatever he could do to shield her. He knew his eyes were glowing.

  “Stop what you are doing at once!”

  The words rolled out like a shockwave over the group, and, for just a moment, the man actually looked a bit more human. Staring down to his hand, his eyes widened, seemed more vital. “How did . . . ?”

  Starting to right the baby, he held it much more carefully, if awkwardly. He seemed genuinely confused.

  “I don’t remember . . .”

  Hester became truly, obviously annoyed then, even if she was bouncing the raging Olivia up and down, trying to calm her. Well, knowing Hester, probably just trying to get her to stop annoying her with her wailing.

  Frederick could see that she was using a good portion of her magic to keep Olivia’s powers in check, and he glanced back to Jenny, but she was still collapsed in a way the classic gothic novelists would be truly proud of.

  With a huff, Hester jigged the child up and down, which had the unfortunate consequence of making her breasts keep time. At least now she was in a robe of some sort, rather than that bikini abomination, but still . . .

  Clearly unhappy at his arrival, his great-aunt glowered. Apparently, he was not her favorite member of the family.

  Turning a skewering look on her brother before visibly calming herself, her words were hypnotic. “There’s nothing to notice here, Reginald. Nothing’s unusual.”

  The man jigged his own infant rather tenderly, even if he seemed to be lost in a dream.

  “No one’s ever hurt you with me around, have they?”

  Thoroughly confused, the man stared down to the baby in his arms.

  “It’s just a dream, isn’t it, Reggie?”

  Reggie frowned.

  “She’s just a doll.”

&nbs
p; As her hypnotic voice went on, he glanced up at her uncertainly.

  “They’re all just dolls.”

  Sadly, the look seemed to do it, whatever had been momentarily alive in the man’s eyes dying once more.

  Frederick’s anger boiled over. As the realization dawned, he growled out at Hester, “He’s been under your control the whole of my life, hasn’t he?”

  Looking over to his other great-aunt and uncle, who cowered a little on the far side of the conservatory, he realized she hadn’t had to work too hard there, as they were clearly far too terrified to rebel. Apparently, only his grandfather gave her enough trouble to be kept entirely under her spell. Well, he and Aunt Pen—and she was so strong she had to be banished to another century.

  He wished fiercely that Pen were there with them now. Unleashing her on her twin would have been cosmically just.

  Still, she wasn’t here, only himself, Natalie, and a group of terrified allies and onlookers. His gaze burning into Hester, the growl deepened. There really was no end to the punishment she deserved for this.

  Certain he understood all her plots, he decided to press anything like an advantage he had. Being from an era before the true birth of the detective novel, he had no idea what a cliché it was to tempt the villain to reveal all to play for time, but he wouldn’t have stopped, even if he had known.

  “Why are you sacrificing that child—and to whom?”

  “Sacrifice? How 19th-century melodramatic of you.” Hester went on before he could speak. “What makes you think they’ll come to any harm?”

  Well, the cauldron and eldritch chanting were rather tell-tale, but he didn’t focus there.

  “You already tried to destroy the child on the train. You would have killed her there, if I hadn’t gotten in the way.”

  He heard Natalie’s thought: If it just hadn’t been for you meddling kids . . .

  What? he whispered back. Some references were easier to look up than others.

  Um, never mind.

  This interchange passed unnoticed by Hester, who didn’t even seem to realize they were speaking to each other. That was a fact he was going to need to remember.

  Damn it all! He wished Emma were awake.

  The older woman dismissed him. “Kill? Hardly.”

  Olivia’s screams of discontentment suddenly went up to that level that only babies could manage to hit—the one which threatened to destroy the tympanic nerve. Hester jiggled her annoyedly.

  “It was a simple compulsion spell.” She rolled her eyes. “You were always so overdramatic.”

  He couldn’t remember ever being so in his life, could rarely even remember letting an emotion show before now, too well-trained as a man of his time. Still, he supposed he had briefly tried to object to his sister’s marriage to “William.” His eyes narrowed. Even the most minor questioning of the woman—to her—must seem like an hysterical fit.

  “What are you doing with them now?” he probed again, ignoring her jibe.

  “It’s nothing of importance to you.”

  Olivia squirmed and fidgeted, and Hester clearly had to hold herself back from wanting to damage her.

  “Both these children were bred for a specific purpose.”

  She jigged the child again but was obviously growing weary of it.

  “They’re only being used to fulfill their functions.”

  However, this idea made him more infuriated than any other—especially as he realized that his own mother had been married off to his father by this woman’s whims, his and his sister’s presence on the planet some demonic part of her plans.

  It was this, too, which finally made him act. To hell with waiting and hoping for better inspiration.

  His mind whispered to Natalie, Bring Emma back around. He dropped the woman’s hand. Now!

  Then, he was surging forward with a variety of bolts of magic which he had pulled from the soils of other realms aimed at anyone who seemed likely to stand with Hester. The attack also hurled the poor, wailing Olivia into Natalie’s arms—he heard her catch the child with an “Oof!”—the little luck witch into Aubry’s, and sent streams of burning light toward his grandfather and aunt.

  Then, he was upon them.

  It was a lovely effort, but it didn’t work for long, Hester grabbing the strands of his magic—powerful though they were—and clinging to them, drew him closer. When she finally wrestled him around till she had her fingers sunk like claws in his neck, she laughed.

  “Fine. If you’re so determined to protect your niece, we’ll use you, instead. You’re certainly less trouble.”

  Her head jerked over toward his unconscious beloved.

  “How about we sacrifice your little romantic fixation and then cleave your soul to the demon’s for him to devour slowly?”

  While Frederick wasn’t certain whether the two of them were actually good substitutes for her plans or whether she were simply allowing her anger to do the thinking, the fact that they had been dismissed by her before seemed to argue for the latter.

  Still, there was little time for thought, Hester’s nails drawing blood from his throat, the intensity of the hatred he could feel throughout her brutalizing him. Pulling his magic closer, she made it impossible for him to resist or move, as her fist tightened. Struggle as he might, he suspected that, in another second, he might well pass out from lack of oxygen.

  Somewhere in that darkness which was rising to claim him, he saw Natalie use her bond to pull Emma almost bodily out of that inner dreamland. A second later, his beloved’s eyes opened—and she wasn’t prone or silent for long.

  In an instant, she was on her feet, bewitching to see. Amazed, his eyes widened, despite the pain. She was glowing head to foot in the most beautiful blueish-green light imaginable, was so lovely he wanted to pledge himself to her for eternity—not that he hadn’t already.

  Her voice low, her eyes bright purple with the rage of her conversion, her magic whirled around her like a living thing.

  Never letting Hester think she was winning, Emma stalked toward her prey like some wild, lovely creature—Frederick’s soul absorbed with her.

  “Let him go, you Witch!”

  And then the storm of her fury struck at last.

  Chapter 21

  Emma

  Anyone raised in a magical community was more than aware that calling a fully-converted sorcerer a mere “witch” was a poisonous insult. A sorcerer with Hester’s ego, especially, would fight to the death over it.

  Emma had meant it completely.

  Seeing her beloved in the woman’s grasp, knowing her evil intentions, was threatening to drive Emma mad. Even had no one she loved been part of this plotting, she would have risked everything to keep these people safe from whatever hell the woman planned for them—but to know that Hester was plotting to damage her Frederick . . .

  The bolt of magic which left her hands had all her power behind it, her eyes glowing in fury. When it struck, it simultaneously swathed her beloved in healing, protective light and battered at her enemy.

  The woman’s family hissed in surprise, as Hester was pounded by protective sorcery. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw what seemed to be old compulsion spells sticking out of their bodies, like weeds carving up through brick.

  Natalie! she called. The compulsions! Remove them!

  Her friend didn’t need to be asked twice, was shielding poor, shrieking Olivia on her shoulder, as she ran to start tearing away the spells with her other hand. Emma hoped she had the strength to do it, would rather have asked Frederick—inexperienced though he was—but she still hadn’t managed to drag him entirely free of Hester’s grasp.

  Leaving the woman to it, then, she focused on her beloved. Not only was she desperate to protect him, but she would also need all the aid she could get to win this now.

  Her wild, battering spells had taken Hester off-guard. Apparently, the woman hadn’t been expecting her to have so much power.

  Neither, really, had Emma. But seeing t
hose worlds Frederick had shown her, feeling his and Natalie’s love within her, bracing her, had made her even stronger.

  Hoping to continue to throw the evil woman off and addle her thoughts, Emma focused her will and magic toward Hester’s head. Besides, Hester had always been vain. Fearing damage to her looks might well help them further.

  Emma noticed the instant when his great-aunt’s hold on Frederick started to wane, even if Hester were beginning to pull herself together. She was also fighting back by pumping her own, dark magic into the man.

  Emma didn’t give her the time to get very far, pulling her beloved toward her, screaming to him, Frederick, fight her!

  Unfortunately, she could see the lume-noirs creeping into his eyes, feared the damage they might do, especially to a wild conversion such as his. She could feel them welling through him, started to fear.

  Fight her for me—for us!

  The room was chaotic now, Natalie doing her darnedest to tear away the clinging, invasive compulsions their sister had left in Sarah and Philip. Emma was half-surprised that she even remembered their names, usually only thought of them as Everly Distaff’s family, although her access to Frederick’s thoughts probably helped.

  Still, even with the spells only half-gone, the two were now actively fighting themselves free, which made Hester’s screams of wrath verge into ones of pain.

  Good.

  She would take whatever advantage they could get against her now.

  Surprisingly, Emma almost thought she saw Philbert Spear helping to fight them all free—especially dragging the barbed magic out of the increasingly-less-dazed-looking Reginald Everly. She wasn’t entirely certain that could be right, as it seemed so out of character from all she had always known of him, but she couldn’t focus on this portion of the chaos to be certain. All that mattered now was that, the more Hester’s various pawns freed themselves, the less power the woman wielded.

  Emma could sense this through the power she poured out against the woman. But the outcome was not yet certain, and there was still much fighting to do.