Judith’s hazel gaze narrowed, hardening as she regarded Adam. The tendrils of her mind flickered out, sending aching pulses through his temples, but he refused to let it show.
“Watch your tone, Mr. Fenice. I’m doing you both a favor by sticking my neck out to let you have your way.”
“Adam, please,” Immanuel whispered, keeping his eyes down. “Don’t start.”
Leaning back in his chair, Adam waited expectantly with his arms barred across his breast.
“I would listen to him if I were you, Mr. Fenice. In terms of rules, you have already heard most of them. The main one being don’t get caught using magic in front of people, unless you want to create another Inquisition, and don’t make a mess of things. We won’t always be there to clean it up for you. Our employer doesn’t like a high body count unless absolutely necessary.”
Meeting Adam’s stony features, Judith held them for a long moment from across her desk. Immanuel’s gaze flickered between them. Both had protected him, both had a ferocity few would expect, but in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to leave them to bicker by themselves. He rubbed his temples and closed his lids as his damaged eye throbbed with fatigue. Releasing a shuddering sigh, he looked up to find Judith and Adam watching him, one with pity and the other concern.
Before they could speak, Immanuel stood and took his coat from the rack by the door. He wouldn’t let his infirmities of mind or body control him. He had to act. He had to do this right, with or without their help. “Let’s go, Adam. If we leave now, I think I can catch Sir William before he finishes up at the museum.”
Adam followed, slipping on his coat in a fluid motion. Immanuel ducked into the hall ahead of him, but as Adam opened the door to leave, Judith slipped in front of him. Putting her hand over his, she threw her weight back until the door clicked shut. Adam tried to jerk his hand out from under the small of her back, but she held his hand and gaze firm.
“Remember, Mr. Fenice, we are here to guide you,” she said, her voice unnervingly calm. “Whether you choose to take it is your choice, but once lost, our trust is rarely regained. You wouldn’t want that for Immanuel, would you?”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s the truth.”
***
Walking up Cromwell Road toward the Natural History Museum, Immanuel kept his head down, though his mind’s eye traced the familiar arches of the windows and the spires of the brick minarets. The bitter wet wind burst from the trees, snaking down his neck and under the collar of his wool coat. A shiver passed through his thin form despite several layers of clothing. He tugged the brim of his top hat lower and resisted the urge to fold in on himself to guard against the cold. As much as he didn’t mind his position at the museum or the tedium that accompanied it, he hated going there on the weekend. It felt as if the entire city had emptied into the museum, spilling out onto the parks and galleries surrounding it until he could scarcely move without accidentally bumping into someone lurking in his blind spot. Between his own embarrassment and their nasty glares, he avoided the place as often as he could, but as he reached the iron and stone fence lining the lawn, he raised his gaze to the window he knew belonged to Sir William Henry Flower’s office. The yellow haze of an electric light glowed dismally in the drizzle.
Taking a blind step forward, a hand clamped down on Immanuel’s arm and yanked him back into the trees. He wheeled back, swinging his fist to dislodge his assailant but the man held firm. As Immanuel drew back with his other hand, the man raised his face. Relief washed over him at the realization that it was Peregrine Nichols digging his nails into his wrist. The short man glared up at him from under the brim of his bowler hat, his normally impish face grim. With a flick of his hand, he released Immanuel, who quietly rubbed the spot on his wrist he was certain would be bruised by morning.
“Peregrine, what are you doing here?”
“Same thing you are, coming to see Sir William. I assume that’s why you’re here.”
Immanuel nodded, leaning against the ivy-clad fence as he worked to slow his breath. “I didn’t see you at headquarters. Mr. Fenice and I will be leaving tomorrow to go to investigate the specimen I received from the Interceptors. It’s only a probationary case, but I need to give some excuse to Sir William as to why I have to leave. What do you tell him? I know it’s short notice and— I—” Immanuel stopped short at the look darkening Peregrine’s features. “What is it?”
The petite man shook his head and held firm to the fence’s iron pike. He languidly eyed a pair of women strolling past in their Sunday best, waiting for them to cross the road before turning his attention back to Immanuel with renewed annoyance.
“I can’t believe you still insist on doing this. Even before you had a clue what Lady Rose and Lord Hale were cooking up, I told you to stay away from the Interceptors, but here we are. Did that teach you nothing?”
“It’s only an investigation for a week. It isn’t like that.”
“How do you know?” Peregrine hissed. “Lives are at stake, they always are, and you think you can just waltz in and start changing the rules. Do you not think the rules are there for a reason? Are you truly that arrogant?”
Immanuel blinked, opening and shutting his mouth several times when his voice refused to come. “I— I just thought since—”
“Don’t you understand? Of course you don’t. You’re a scientist with a fancy pedigree, that’s all. You are not an Interceptor, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you will be. Sure, you’re a Lazarus and a Resurrectionist, but that means nothing if you have no training. You are not the exception, Winter. You’re the rule. The best thing for you to do would be to go back to Elliott’s office and tell her you’ve come to your bloody senses and will wait to go through the proper channels, like everyone else.”
The breath seeped from Immanuel’s lungs with each word until he thought his ribs would collapse in on themselves. Before disbelief and hurt settled in his chest, indignation consumed them. “Pardon me, but what cause have you to berate me? My dealings with Miss Elliott and the Interceptors are none of your business.”
“Are they now?” Reaching into his breast pocket, Peregrine pulled out a leather case lined with capped vials and tossed it at Immanuel. “Do what you will with them. I didn’t know who I was making them for, but either way, I’ve already been paid for my troubles.”
“What are they?” Immanuel asked, pulling a vial out to reveal an opaque ointment peppered with bits of green.
“Figure it out yourself if you’re so damn smart.”
Peregrine’s dark eyes trailed to Sir William’s window. The light went out, and a stately shadow passed across the curtain as he reached for his hat and coat. In his mind, Immanuel could hear the director’s echoing tread upon the stone steps as he left for the day.
“You had better hurry if you want to catch him, and you better have a good story ready. He was in a foul mood when I saw him. I can’t imagine he would take kindly to your excuses.” Turning back to Immanuel, Peregrine stared into his features, lingering on his scar a moment too long. “Good luck, Winter. I hope this doesn’t backfire on you.”
Pushing past him, Peregrine strode down the street. As he passed each tree, Immanuel swore the nearest branches bowed toward the curator as if reaching out to touch him. By the time he crossed the road and melded into the throngs of museum-goers, the trees had fallen silent once more. The glass bottles rattled in Immanuel’s hand in time with his churning thoughts. Glancing up at the museum’s ringed portal, Immanuel tucked the leather pouch into his pocket. Sir William Henry Flower would be out any minute, and he couldn’t be caught if he wanted his plan to work.
***
Slipping into the foyer, Immanuel truly exhaled for the first time since leaving the museum. Beyond the honks and clatter of steamers on the other side of the door, Immanuel could make out the tap and scuff of Adam’s footsteps above his head. Lingering at the coat rack, his gaze trailed into the living room wher
e two shelves stood against the wall. Beside books on evolution, taxonomy, chemistry, and anatomy stood romances and novels from the continent and beyond. Shelved together, they served as the only public sign of his and Adam’s intertwined life. Immanuel rubbed the top of his hand where the shadowy touch of the four cords still remained. The experience had been surreal. Never before had he been acknowledged like that before. Even though his uncles lived together as a couple, no one had done anything like that. No one had discussed a bond or given them vows. No one there had said they were abominations or against the seemingly inane rules of polite society.
A wistful smile crossed his lips as he touched the vase of carnations sitting before the hall mirror. Gently stroking their browning heads, Immanuel could see the look on Adam’s face when the priestess stepped back. For a brief moment, he had seen that flash of vulnerability he so often missed. The brown edges of the carnations’ petals stretched at his touch and melted back to their white flesh. Reaching into his pocket, he stroked the smooth braids of the cords. If only Johannes and Theodor had been able to experience something like that.
Climbing the steps, Immanuel found Adam with their suitcases open on the bed and piles of clothing and toiletries scattered on the dresser and nightstand. Upon hearing his approach, Adam looked over his shoulder at his lover and gave him a dashing grin that sent his blood humming.
“That was quick. How did it go with Sir William?” he asked as he carefully folded a pair of blue pinstripe trousers.
“Aren’t those a little… bright?”
Adam looked between the trousers and Immanuel in his usual grey wool. “I didn’t think so.”
“If we’re to investigate, shouldn’t we try to blend in?”
“You mean, shouldn’t I try to blend in?”
“Honestly, it’s hard to miss either of us, but—”
“I understand. I wouldn’t want to look like some haughty Londoner if we’re going to be bumbling around in the middle of nowhere.”
Tilting his head, Immanuel watched Adam unpack and repack his suitcase. “You found it on a map?”
“In an atlas, actually. Apparently the island several miles off the coast of Scarborough.”
“Where is that?”
“The north-east coast.”
Immanuel nodded and sank onto the edge of the bed, trying not to imagine how far or how long they would travel to get there. Leaning back, he ran his hand along the prominent spikes of Percy’s spine as he lay sleeping in the lid of his suitcase. The skin-less Siamese picked up his head and stretched. His nails scratched against the luggage as he languidly stepped over it and climbed onto Immanuel’s chest. A hum rang through his sternum as Percy settled into a loose ball. Sighing, he closed his eyes and let the rhythmic vibration lull him into a doze.
“What’s wrong?” Adam asked. Even without looking, Immanuel could feel him standing inches from his knees, watching him. “Did something happen with Sir William?”
“No, I didn’t even see him. At this rate, I should just call in dead tomorrow. I wouldn’t have to worry about my job then, would I?”
The suitcase slid aside and Adam squeezed in beside him. Resting on his elbow, he regarded Immanuel with a thoughtful frown.
“Don’t say that. It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“I never even talked to him. I ran into Peregrine, and I got so befuddled that I couldn’t think of anything to say.” He scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hands. “If I froze up in front of Sir William, I would be in worse trouble than I am now.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I will send in a note tomorrow morning saying that I’m gravely ill. If he presses the issue or asks why I never replied to his messages, I will just say I was in the hospital.”
“It’s worth a shot. He can’t argue with an incapacitated man. What will it be? Typhus? Typhoid? Malaria? Something that makes you vomit is usually enough to assuage even the most tiresome employer.”
Immanuel chuckled to himself as Percy wormed across him until his skull rested under Immanuel’s chin. “Those may be a bit dramatic. I was thinking a bad cold, a wet one. Pneumonia at the worst.”
“Ew. Well, it always worked for Austen.” Fabric shuffled near Immanuel’s ear as Adam sat up and carefully tucked a pile of clothing into his suitcase. A belt slithered out from under Immanuel’s back, the cold metal catching his skin. Percy stretched a languid paw as Adam ran a hand over his side before landing on Immanuel’s ribs. “So what are we going to do about our little friend?”
“We could just tell the housekeeper not to come for a week. It isn’t like he needs to be fed.”
“Could you imagine explaining that to Hadley?”
Immanuel could still picture the mouse massacre that had occurred a week after he brought Percy home. He had discovered a mouse’s nest in the workroom, and when Adam came home from work, he was greeted by a skeletal cat flecked in blood and proudly carrying a carcass. Dropping the offering at Adam’s feet, he trotted off to find another quarry. Being the less squeamish of the two, Immanuel had been the one to clean up Percy’s messes. For a dead cat, he was quite the avid hunter.
“We could always contain him with a hatbox and a brick. That should hold him, don’t you think?” Turning his head, Immanuel gave him a dirty look that elicited a laugh from his companion. “You know I’m joking. Is there anything you want to add to your bag? I think I packed everything.”
He had nearly forgotten the pouch of vials was resting on the bed beside him. Staring at the ceiling, Immanuel focused on the hum of Percy’s purr resonating through his chest. Should he tell him? Even he didn’t understand Peregrine. He rarely did, but this time… this time something felt different. Adam had been cagey about what the Interceptors were planning, and now Peregrine said something to the same effect. Immanuel swallowed and shifted against the lumps in the mattress. If he told him what he said, would Adam change his mind about going?
“Immanuel?”
“No,” the word escaped his lips before he could stop himself. “Wait, I will be right back. There’s— there’s something I forgot I needed downstairs.”
Sliding Percy onto the coverlet, Immanuel trotted past Adam with his head down. The cat followed close at heel, nudging at his ankles when he could catch up. Immanuel paused at the bottom of the steps, his eyes following the motion of a steamer trailing down Baker Street. Laying his hand on the cool window, he closed his eyes. A hum of energy passed through his arm. If he cleared his mind, he could picture the web of protection symbols running around the perimeter of the house in a great chain. On a day like today, he needed to feel their reassuring pulse. He needed to know if he truly belonged with the Interceptors or if this magic was just another part of his life, a hobby discarded for the next interesting thing. Slowing his breathing, he felt the sigils beat in time with his heart.
It was as much in him as he was in it.
Chapter Nine
The Widow Larkin
While the train to Scarborough was emptier than Immanuel expected, he hated being trapped inside the cramped compartment. Adam couldn’t convince him to take the Underground after his first experience with claustrophobia, but the cacophonous chugging and clanging of the locomotive grated on his already frayed nerves. Chewing on his lip, he tried to apply his mind to the dossier Judith had provided them. At first, he had thought all it contained were tickets and instructions for the telegraph, but as he sifted through the envelope on their way to the train station, he found a copy of the Interceptors’ file on selkies, a drawing and description of their liaison, Will Jacobs, directions to the ferry in Scarborough, and a reiteration of their objectives. Staring at the file, the words blurred through his mind as quickly as the scenery outside the window. Beside him, Adam read the newspaper, the massive page blocking the dossier from view should a nosy passenger come by. Immanuel grumbled, stuffing the report into the envelope as he twisted toward the window. Resting his forehead on the cool glass, his sto
mach flipped and cramped mercilessly, churning his meager breakfast until he feared it would come back up.
“Are you all right?” Adam asked, folding his paper and setting it aside.
“I’m beginning to regret everything.” Burping into his hand, he winced. “There’s no way Sir William will believe that I’m ill and under Dr. Hawthorne’s care. Do you think he’ll inquire about it?”
“I doubt it.”
“What did you tell Hadley?”
A smile quirked his pencil mustache. “That you got me mixed up in some haired-brained scheme, and that I should be back next week. Did I show you the article I found?” When Immanuel shook his head, Adam produced a piece of folded newsprint from his breast pocket. He opened it to reveal a drawing of a lighthouse. “I knew I had heard of the island before. It was in the paper last week. Someone hooked a generator to a lighthouse. Now the whole town runs on electricity made by the water. Imagine doing that in London. The power-mongers would have a fit.”
“Imagine that,” Immanuel murmured, closing his eyes.
The train vibrated beneath his cheek, traveling through his skull and down his neck until his discordant thoughts scrambled. Perhaps if he could dwell on it quietly for a little while, he could figure out what he should do when they arrived on the island. Before he could put a plan together, Adam shook his arm. Opening his eyes, Immanuel shot up at the squeal of the train grinding to a halt. He glanced out the window, his heart pounding in his throat when he realized he had slept through most of the journey. As he straightened in his seat, he pawed the moisture off his cheek and patted his chest and lap for the envelope.
“I have it. You dropped it when you nodded off,” Adam said, pulling their bags from the rack above their heads.
“When? How long?” Immanuel rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I need to see the envelope again. I’m not certain where—”
Selkie Cove (The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Book 5) Page 9
