by L. A. Banks
"I beg your pardon," Olivia said to her nearest neighbors as she squeezed past them out of the aisle. She looked about for Kit and, not seeing him, strode for the doors.
A flood of wedding guests poured out of the church, crowding about Olivia as she paused at the top of the steps. A woman at Olivia's elbow gasped, and a gentleman cursed under his breath.
The stranger lay at the bottom of the steps, his body twisted, his head bent at an improbable angle. One of the guests crouched by his side. Christopher Meredith—"Kit" to his dearest friends—was particularly handsome today in his wedding clothes, his unruly black hair tamed into a semblance of order and no whiff of the Black Dog about him, though he wore his smoke-lensed spectacles to hide the crimson glint in his eyes.
Olivia remembered the third guest who had followed the unfortunate stranger and searched the crowd of gawkers that had gathered in the square to point and gossip. She caught a glimpse of a gentleman's well-cut suit, an impression of aristocratic features, just before the man turned and vanished into the mob.
Olivia lifted her skirts and rushed down the steps with indecorous haste. Kit looked up as she joined him.
"Lady Olivia," he said, inclining his head with grave formality. "I'm afraid he has passed on."
Olivia knelt beside him, calling upon her fickle Residual gift and praying that this time it would obey her summons. In an instant she knew that Kit's diagnosis was correct.
"He appears to have died of a broken neck," she murmured. "What do you suppose he was running away from?"
"Probably thought better of his dashed interruption in a church filled to the rafters with Talent and a bridegroom capable of frying him in his boots."
Olivia clucked. "This is no time for levity, Kit. He was terrified before he fled the church, as if he'd seen a . . ."
A what? she asked herself. Unless one of the guests was an Illusionist or an extremely rare Conjuror, it was highly unlikely that the man could have seen an apparition invisible to the guests. And yet. . .
"There's a stink of magic in the air," Kit said more seriously, "but I can't identify it. It isn't human, that's certain."
"Then he was driven to his death by supernatural means."
Kit frowned. "It's possible. But just as I arrived, I saw a man in wedding clothes departing the scene. It wouldn't be difficult to trip someone fleeing down the stairs in a state of mortal terror."
"And if this man was murdered . . ." She bit her lip. "Who would want to silence a man with objections to a marriage?"
She and Kit exchanged glances. The motives were obvious when one wished to protect the reputation of one's daughter ... or fiancee.
"Lord Wakefield wouldn't stoop to such an act, even if he anticipated this disturbance in time to arrange the murder," Olivia protested. "And as for Edward . . ."
"Impossible," Kit agreed. "But whatever or whoever contributed to this man's end, the devil's in it now. The police are on their way, although I'm sure that Lord Wakefield will arrange to keep the matter quiet. The bishop will call a halt to the proceedings pending an investigation . . . and as the subject is dead . . ."
"Poor Emma. What an odious thing to happen on one's wedding day." She shook her head. "Will you see Edward?"
"Yes. He'll be distraught, but Emma . . ." He sighed. "You should go to her, Livvy. Her mother will be having a fit of the vapors, and her other relations won't help in the least."
"Of course." She touched Kit's arm. "I'll see you later, then."
She hurried back up the stairs and continued on through the nave to the vestry, where Emma sat surrounded by her family and a most agitated clergyman. Emma's sister was weeping, Lord Wakefield was pacing furiously, his wife the countess lay prostrate on a settee, and Edward was nowhere to be seen.
Olivia went straight to Emma and took her icy hands. "Are you all right, my dear?" she asked gently.
Emma met Olivia's gaze, her eyes great wells of misery. "Edward is furious," she whispered. "The wedding must be postponed. And I hear that the young man is dead. . . ."
"Hush." Olivia stroked a loose strand of hair away from Emma's face. "Don't trouble yourself about that now. I want to help you, Emma. Can you answer a few questions?"
"I . . . believe so."
"Good girl. Have you ever seen that man before?"
Olivia felt Emma's heart jump, but her answer was swift and vehement. "No."
"He is of Eirish descent. You know no one from that country?"
"Only servants, and they would have no cause—" She broke off and raised her handkerchief to her mouth, stifling a sob.
She was clearly in no state to cooperate in any investigation, so Olivia comforted the thwarted bride with every reassurance she could muster. "Don't worry, my dear. I will do whatever I can to help you."
Emma sniffed but didn't answer. Olivia took her leave and went back outside, where the guests were finally beginning to disperse. The police had come and gone, taking the body with them.
"Any luck?" Kit asked, coming up beside her.
"None. Apparently Emma didn't know the man, although . . ."
Kit arched a brow. "Although what?"
"There is something very peculiar about the entire situation."
"And you naturally wish to get to the bottom of it."
"Naturally. Emma is in a great deal of distress. If the investigators determine that the stranger was in fact made to fall, suspicion could descend upon Emma's family. This could be a scandal of epic proportions—"
"And you could never contain your curiosity in any case."
Olivia wrinkled her nose. "Don't tell me that you have not resolved to take action yourself."
"But of course. I am Edward's friend, after all." Kit offered his arm, and they walked in the direction of Olivia's waiting carriage. "But I would never dream of doing so without you at my side."
"Or you at mine." They smiled at each other, content in the perfect understanding of a long and durable friendship.
"Emma is gone."
“Gone?”
“Is my speech as incomprehensible as all that, Mr. Meredith?” Olivia said irritably, pausing to instruct the coachman to deliver her to her hotel. "The countess says that Emma must have departed before dawn this morning—crept out without so much as waking her maid—and left only a brief note that said nothing of her reasons save that she had no choice but to go. She took only one small bag . . . scarcely enough for a lady of her breeding, even for a single day."
"Not all ladies of breeding feel compelled to carry their entire wardrobe wherever they travel," Kit said, giving Olivia a pointed glance. "Perhaps Lady Emma is more like you than most of these simpering society damsels."
"Don't be foolish, Kit. Even if that were so, why should she run off, and without a decent word to her family? Surely she can't be so ashamed of yesterday's incident—"
Unless she has something to do with the death, Olivia thought, but Kit suggested a slightly more palatable explanation.
"It's quite possible that she knows there is some substance to the stranger's objection, which she has failed to admit to her interrogators"—he cast Olivia another piercing look—"and she fears to have her secret exposed."
Olivia folded her arms across her chest. "What 'secret' do you suggest? That Emma is already married, or that she and Edward are within the proscribed degree of blood relation?" She snorted. "That is ridiculous, and you know it."
"I admit that it does seem unlikely. But it's no coincidence that she left within a day of the interrupted wedding."
"No. And Emma's family have not been able to locate her, though they have had servants, police, and Finders looking for her since she was first discovered missing."
Kit examined a cracked fingernail. "Are you still committed to solving this mystery, Livvy?"
"More than ever."
"Then we shall have to summon Old Shuck."
Olivia rolled her eyes at the quaint old East Anglian name Kit gave his other half. "
You know I'm as fond of dogs as any good Al-bian, but—"
"Old Shuck is no mere dog," Kit said with feigned affront. "Really, Livvy. If even Finders can't locate Lady Emma, then she has well and truly disappeared. A Residual Talent, perhaps?"
Olivia thought of her own vexingly unreliable ability as an Anatomist—one who could literally see into the human body, which was only a tiny part of the power she would receive once her grandmother chose to bestow her magical inheritance. Primogeniture declared that nonmagical assets such as land and title were almost always passed on from peer to eldest son, leaving younger sons and daughters with lesser property or modest annuities.
With Talents it was different. Each bearer of Talent in a Great Family, male and female, respectively, selected a boy and girl of the next generation to inherit that line's magic. Inheritance was not dependent upon the matrimonial state of the heir. When the elder died or chose to surrender his or her powers, the younger successor received the Talent in full measure.
Emma was almost certainly Lady Wakefield's chosen heir. She might possess some Residual form of her mother's gift.
"Have you heard anything of her maternal line's Talent?" Kit persisted. "Edward has never mentioned it, which leads me to believe that Lady Wakefield's line is one that prefers to keep the nature of its magic hidden from the world."
Rather like Kit himself, whose Wild Magic would not be considered quite acceptable in good society. It carried the stigma of illegitimacy and the Cymry and Eirish rebellions, of dark ceremonies chanted over ancient altars in the black of night.
A Talented family only concealed the form of its magic when said gift either was embarrassingly trivial, like a commoner's Residual knack, or carried darker implications. Such concealment was considered somewhat bad form, and could arouse suspicion . . . but the countess's secret had certainly not prevented the Earl of Wakefield from marrying her, or obtaining an excellent match for their daughter.
"Emma has never spoken of it, either," Olivia said. "I always assumed it was a minor and useless ability, like calling up an unpleasant odor." Her eyes narrowed. "Do you think the Eirishman's objection had something to do with her family Talent?"
"I can't imagine any Talent that would provide a real obstacle to the marriage."
"Nor can I. Well, once we find Emma, we shall simply have to persuade her to speak."
On that note they reached Olivia's hotel, where she alighted to pack her belongings while Kit made his own arrangements. Though the rules of strict propriety dictated that Olivia should take her maid on any excursion with a bachelor, the situation was not precisely conducive to propriety. It required the utmost discretion. And though Alice was far from unfamiliar with the workings of Great Family magic, she would return to Waveney Hall the next morning.
At sunset, just as Olivia was setting down her book on the life of Elizabeth III, she heard the expected knock at her door. Alice answered it and showed Kit into the room.
"I've found her trail," he said, grinning as he removed his spectacles. His eyes still burned with the Black Dog's crimson light. "She took the Oxford road."
Olivia dismissed Alice and offered Kit a glass of his favorite whiskey. "How was she traveling?"
"By carriage, or I might not have located her." He downed the whiskey in one swallow. "She must have hired a Residual to cover her tracks, but it wasn't enough to draw me off the scent."
"How far did you follow her?"
"Not far. I came back for you." He glanced about the small sitting room. "Are you ready?"
"Of course. I—-"
Another loud rapping came at the door, and with scarcely a pause Edward burst through.
"Kit!" he said. "I hoped I'd find you here." He bowed stiffly to Olivia. "Lady Olivia. I am sorry to disturb you, but. . ." He blew out his cheeks, looked straight at the whiskey carafe, and charged for the sideboard. "May I?"
"Of course." Olivia poured for him, judging that he was in no state to drink more than a little of the potent stuff. "You have heard nothing from Lady Emma?"
"Nothing." He drained the snifter and set it down with a trembling hand. "It's intolerable. There's no telling what predicament she has—" His voice thickened, and he swallowed. "I've come to ask for your help, Meredith. No one can seem to locate Emma, but I know that you . . ." He cleared his throat, peering with fascination into Kit's red-tinted eyes. "You have certain—"
"Shadowy abilities?" Kit offered wryly. "Wild Magic?"
Edward flushed, and the long-dead ashes in the grate suddenly began to spark. "I beg your pardon. I assume that Lady Olivia knows ..."
"Oh yes," Olivia said, striving to inject a little lightness into the conversation. "I've known since we were children."
"And it's hardly a secret anymore," Kit added, "at least not from my friends, though I'd prefer that it remain among friends."
"Naturally," Edward said, looking relieved. "Can you help me?"
"We shall help you," Olivia said. "Kit has discovered the way she took out of London, and now it is only a matter of—"
"Bless you," Edward said, seizing her hands. He noticed the bags standing alongside the sofa. "But you are leaving . . ."
"Only to find Emma," Olivia said. "I won't advertise that I am traveling alone with two unmarried gentlemen if you will not."
"I shall defend your honor with my life ... as I will defend Emma's."
"You are not troubled by the mysterious objection?"
"It is obvious to me that my fiancee is in some sort of trouble," he said fiercely, "and I shall do whatever is necessary to get her out of it."
"No matter what our investigation may uncover?" Kit asked.
"You haven't known Emma long," he said to his friend. "She has changed immeasurably since she returned from the Continent. Our marriage was desired by both our families, and we were engaged before she went away for her health." He stared at the carpet. "I confess that I did not love her then. I found her spoiled and more than a little arrogant, but I was prepared to do my duty. I was not prepared for the woman who came home to Albion."
"I did not know her well in those days, either," Olivia confessed. "We are distant cousins but had few occasions to meet. Now it seems that everyone wishes to be near her."
"Yes," Edward said, "and with good reason. Generosity and love of life have replaced vanity and overindulgence." His voice softened. "She seems almost a different person."
"You love her very much," Olivia said, glancing shyly at Kit.
"More than life itself." He glared at the coals in the grate, which gave up their feeble attempts to blaze with a gasp of gray smoke. "That is why I cannot bear . . . might we leave soon?"
"Immediately." She hesitated. "Is there anyone you wish to inform?"
"No. Better by far that Emma's family know nothing of this until.. . until we have found her."
"Very well. Give me a moment to speak with my maid."
Olivia hurried into the bedroom to consult with Alice and returned to find that the men had already taken up her baggage and were champing at the bit. Olivia's own coachman was waiting on the street, and the three of them climbed into the carriage as the last of the light faded from the overcast London sky.
Once they had reached the western outskirts of the city, Kit disappeared and made his transformation. The Black Dog burst from a thick patch of shrubbery, his great shaggy coat exuding steam, his red eyes burning with eagerness to begin the hunt. With a booming woof he bounded away, setting off on the Oxford road.
"What happened to his clothes?" Edward asked as the carriage set off after Kit. "Surely he didn't leave them in a pile behind the shrubbery."
Olivia laughed. "Hardly. He 'takes' his clothing with him . . . though what actually becomes of it I have no notion. It's magic."
"Of course." Edward sighed. "And I suppose he is tireless and can run for hundreds of miles without stopping?"
"Wild Magic is often that way, though it also possesses its share of
disadvantages. I have reminded Kit that we are not quite so resilient. He knows we'll have to make frequent stops to change horses and take meals, though in Black Dog form he can be rather impatient."
True to her assertions, Kit ranged far ahead and returned frequently to eye his human companions with crimson glares of disapproval. At High Wycombe the coachman and his passengers paused to change horses and share a quick meal. The moon had risen, and Edward supplemented its light with a ball of fire—a miniature sun that he held in place above the carriage. His magical strength was nearly spent by the time Kit finally came to a halt at Oxford's city limits.
"This is as far as my nose takes me," Kit said, emerging from behind a byre at the town's edge. He adjusted his spectacles. "There is a large train station here. It seems likely that she boarded once she was confident that no one followed her."
Edward, pale with exhaustion and fear for Emma, flung himself into a bout of furious pacing. "Can you track her on a train?"
"I fear not. But you mustn't give up hope, old man."
"And there must be some in town who saw her," Olivia said, "at least in the vicinity of the train station. We shall go at once."
"In the middle of the night?" Edward asked.
"There will still be people at the station," she said. "I doubt that any of us can sleep. I certainly could not."
The men agreed, and so they went on to the station, where—after an impatient attempt by Edward to intimidate the ticket seller— Olivia insisted upon asking the questions. Though she used all her charm, it soon became evident that the fellow was not being entirely forthcoming. His heartbeat was much too fast, and sweat flooded from his pores.
"He's lying," Kit said. "I could smell it from here."
"I'll get the truth out of him," Edward snarled, snapping a flame to life between his fingers.
Olivia winced. The last thing they needed was a hotheaded Lucifer getting out of hand. She placed her fingertips on Edward's arm.
"We shall learn the truth," she promised. "Why don't you and Kit wait here while I learn who else might have seen Emma."
With much grumbling and his friend's encouragement—for Kit well knew that Olivia could take care of herself—Edward consented. Olivia made the rounds of the station, finding a few employees and a handful of passengers waiting for the next train. None of them admitted to seeing a dark-haired, pretty young woman traveling alone.
