by Bec McMaster
"Well," Verity said, and looked toward her apologetically.
"I think I should sleep in my own bed tonight," Cleo told her quietly. As if there was any other possibility.
But Bishop was staring after his brother.
"What's wrong?" she asked him.
"I offered to heal him, but he wouldn't let me."
Cleo's heart jammed itself into her throat. "What do you mean? It is just a scratch?"
"Sometimes imps have poisonous claws, and I don't know how deep his wounds are. He wouldn't let me look at them." Bishop hesitated. "I'd go after him, but...."
But he doesn't entirely trust you. "I'll do it. Verity, could you see to making up a bedchamber for me?"
Cleo followed her husband into the hallway. He hadn't gone far, staring up the stairs as if they led all the way to heaven, and his legs already felt like lead. "Are you going to let me see to that wound?"
He blinked when he saw her, and her heart started to tick a little faster. Signs of fever made his eyes sink into his head. She pressed a hand to his forehead. Burning up.
"Let's get you upstairs," Cleo murmured, tucking herself under his arm and trying to tackle the stairs.
It wasn't easy.
"You don't have to do this," he murmured.
You stupid fool. Her heart twisted in her chest as she remembered their wedding night, when she'd finally realized he'd actually been shot. He hadn't told her then either, though he'd admitted his mother refused to heal him because he'd been responsible for foiling her plans.
Little wonder he didn't ask for help. What else had he suffered over the years because Morgana deemed his feelings unimportant?
Pain barely bothered him. He was clearly used to pain. But depending upon someone was his Achilles heel.
"I know," she whispered, finally managing to get him up the stairs. "But I want to help. I hate seeing you hurt."
He stared at her, then sighed and pushed open the door to his bedchamber. "You're not going to let up, are you?"
"Would you rather I didn't care?"
Those quicksilver eyes gave nothing away.
She closed the door behind her, helping him to sit on the bed. A quick glimpse beneath his coat revealed bloody stains. "Wait here while I fetch some water and a cloth."
When she'd returned, he'd managed to strip his coat off, and sweat dampened his hair. Fresh blood stained his shirt, as if he'd torn his wound open in trying to undress himself.
"Hold still," Cleo snapped, trying to lift Sebastian’s shirt to see the damage.
"I’m fine," he snapped back. "It’s just a scratch."
"Scratch or not, that’s some mighty impressive bleeding," she countered, and then held up a hand when he moved to continue the argument. "You can continue talking if you wish, but know that no matter what you say, or how loud you are when you say it, the odds of me agreeing to leave you alone before I’ve had a look at that so-called scratch are rather minute."
Sebastian opened his mouth. Then shut it.
"A wise decision. Now remove your shirt."
Reaching over his shoulder with a wince, he hauled the shirt over his head, scrunched it into a bundle, and then threw it across the room. "Better?"
She’d tended his wounds once, and knew what his body looked like. But it was still a slap in the face, especially after the visit to Malachi's. A sleek sheathing of muscle covered his ribs, and his abdominals flexed as he sank back onto the bed. He'd been lean before, but not quite like this. The month of working with Bishop had honed his body into a finely wrought weapon.
"Lie down," she insisted, bringing her small bowl of water closer to her, and eyeing the ragged edges of the claw marks that sliced across his abdomen. One of them came perilously close to his belt. Another half an inch deeper, and the imp would have torn through gut muscle. Cleo swallowed, "You’re lucky, by the look of this."
He lay flat, one hand cupped beneath his head. Cleo gently wiped his wounds clean, the sound of water dripping into the bowl as she rung out her cloth the only noise.
"You promised you wouldn’t get hurt," she said softly.
Wringing the water into the bowl, she tried to ignore the red hue it now bore.
"I was trying not to," Sebastian replied, those silver eyes turning distant. "Two of them came at me at once, and one of them got lucky."
"I felt it," she whispered. "Through the bond. I nearly made Verity go back and fetch you, but then I sensed you were all right."
He looked down, silky lashes fanned across his cheeks. The second Verity had whisked her away, he’d shut down the bond again, as if he simply couldn’t allow himself to be so vulnerable for so long.
Cleo captured his fingertips, unable to help herself.
"Are you ready?" She gathered her power. She'd healed him once before, and despite her lack of education, healing was one of the arts she had a natural inclination for. "This might sting a little."
Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath, and his fingers tightened in hers. Cleo burned the poison from his body, closing her eyes as she worked through the complex healing weaves.
It was only minutes later, when she opened her eyes, that she found him watching her.
"It's done." And she was run ragged, exhausted by the day's events.
"Thank you," Sebastian whispered.
She should leave now. But something caught her tongue. It hadn't felt right to question him earlier, and she'd been too overwrought with emotion to think, but there was something she needed to know.
"I have a question for you," Cleo whispered. "I didn't wish to bring it up before everyone else, and there hasn't been a chance to ask it since."
He looked at her, perhaps sensing danger. "Yes?"
"I caught a glimpse of one of the demon's allies in my scrying. She's someone from your past I think. I suspect she has the ability to scry too." Cleo gave a brittle laugh. "She's probably serving the demon in the same capacity I'm helping everyone here. Do you... do you know of anyone?"
Nothing in his expression changed, but an arctic chill somehow seemed to emanate from him. He knew what she was asking. "Not off the top of my mind, no."
"Could you think about it? I think it's important to discover her identity."
His lashes obscured his eyes. "I'll try."
There was no further reason to remain. Any warmth that had existed between them in the previous moment had vanished. Cleo swallowed, and gathered her bowl. "Thank you."
* * *
"Well, don't you look like you lost a fight with a pack of rabid cats," Lady Eberhardt announced as Sebastian made his way to the dining room the following morning.
There was no sign of anyone else, and Cleo hadn't roused from the bedchamber beside him. She'd been exhausted last night, closing his bedchamber door quietly, and leaving him alone with his thoughts.
A part of him had wanted her to stay.
"Any reason you're plaguing the household this early in the morning?" Sebastian examined the sideboard with a hunger he didn't usually feel. The healing had taken something out of him.
"Careful." Lady Eberhardt snorted, lifting her teacup to her mouth. "I might take offense at some of your sass."
Despite himself, he almost smiled. The old bat had proved an endless source of frustration in the past month, but she treated him precisely as she treated anyone else. The first time she'd swatted Bishop over the ears for being impertinent had been the first time he'd almost relaxed beneath this roof.
"Where's Bishop?" she demanded.
"Probably in bed," he replied, and began loading up his plate with coddled eggs. "Why don't you go haul him out?"
"Because Verity deserves some time with her husband, the poor gel."
He gave her a look. "Verity's no lamb."
A snort. "She is to me."
Verity's clear inability to do any wrong in Lady E's eyes made Bishop roll his and often. Sebastian shook his head. What did it take to get on the right side of Lady E?
"Take a seat," Lady E
told him, as if he hadn't been about to do precisely that. "I have something for you."
"A present, just for me?" Something told him he wasn't going to enjoy it. Lady E was of the opinion that people should be given what they needed, not what they wanted.
Lady E gave him a sweet look over the rim of her teacup. "Well, we could sit here and discuss the reason your wife isn't keeping you in her bed, like Verity is with Adrian, but something tells me you'd prefer to have a tooth pulled."
He gave her a sour look. "That's none of your business."
"Oh, boy." Lady E reached out and patted his cheek almost tenderly. "Haven't you realized yet? Everything that happens in my sphere is my business." She set her teacup down. "Adrian tells me you ran into an incubus."
"Could we not discuss this?"
"Well, it's been a good thirty years since I came across one. They're quite rare." Her expression grew distant and fond. "Damned good in bed, though one doesn't appreciate being used as fodder."
He almost gagged on his mouthful of eggs.
Lady E's dark eyes locked on him. "I heard... he might have given your lovely wife a kiss."
Sebastian grabbed his plate and stood, pushing back his chair. Done. He was done with this. "I swear to God—"
An iron hand locked around his wrist. "Oh, sit, and I'll leave you and your wife alone."
Anything was better than this. Anything.
"Here," she said, reaching for the chair beside her and pulling out a slim package bound in brown paper. "I've been searching for this for the past week, and finally found it last night."
He tore the package open, revealing a slim brown leather book. "Is it going to bite?"
"Perhaps." Her voice turned serious. "I want you to read it."
He turned the book over, and then untied the string holding it closed. "What is it?"
"Your mother's journal. I made her write it many years ago when she first came to the Order, and I was named as her master."
Sebastian froze, his thumb sliding from the middle of the book. He set it aside firmly. "I don't need it."
And he was done with breakfast, done with Lady Eberhardt... done with this whole cursed house. Wiping his mouth, he avoided her grasping hand, and escaped his chair.
"Why not? Know your enemy and all...."
"I know my mother," he said coldly, "perhaps better than any of you do. I don't need her bloody diary to understand her strengths, or weaknesses, or what she plans to do—"
"I'm not asking you to understand her strengths and weaknesses. Take it," Lady Eberhardt said, pushing the diary toward him. "And promise me you'll read it. Within the week."
Frustration itched beneath his skin. He didn't want to do this. Plunging himself into his mother's youthful mind would be like drenching himself with poison, and besides, there was little point. "Why?"
"That's an answer I hope you can tell me."
He glared at her. There were few things in life that had so utterly foiled him. Lady E was one of them. Not only did she not fear him, but she seemed to treat him like... like she treated his brother, Bishop. I could make her fear me.... But no. Sebastian looked down at the diary. That was arrogance speaking. Not himself.
"Perhaps the more interesting question is, why are you so against reading Morgana's diary? There's nothing to be frightened of, Sebastian. Just odd musings and the ramblings of a young woman with a vindictive outlook on life. What can her diary do to you?"
Sebastian turned away toward the window, feeling restless. "She put me in a fucking collar that made me little more than her slave. I was thirteen."
"She could have loved you and nurtured your talents," Lady E continued, "but she feared you instead. Her fear is the reason you suffered, and you need to understand that. Bishop claims we don't have the time to help you overcome all your... issues of trust... but I think it's important. Especially when it is certain you will face your mother again, and she knows how to manipulate your emotions."
Sebastian stared through the window, rocked by the knowledge. It hurt. But more than that, it sounded like the truth. "She wasn't... wasn't always cruel," he finally admitted, in a careful voice. "Perhaps that's the hardest thing to deal with. Sometimes I remember when I was a small child, and she bought me a new book, or kissed my cheek. She did that once. I mean, she was never a perfect mother, but she knew I liked chocolates, and books, and sometimes she would smile at me...."
"Few people truly are rotten through and through." Lady Eberhardt sighed. "Your mother does come close, but that is my own prejudices showing." Her lips thinned. "And if I were being truly honest with myself I could perhaps admit I bear some blame for the path she took. I was arrogant and heavy-handed as her master, and I never did trust her. All I ever did was counsel your father against her."
"That doesn't sound like a mistake."
Lady E smiled bitterly. "Perhaps it doesn't. But what if all your mother ever needed was for someone to love her? To accept her? A female mentor who could teach her a better way? She never truly trusted men, but perhaps a woman could have reached her. I failed in that. And I never truly realized until I held that journal in my hands. Sorcery is about understanding yourself intimately. One cannot wield immense power with blatant disregard to their own desires or weaknesses. All it ever does is end in someone dying."
He stared at the journal as though it were a mistake.
"Nobody likes to see truth in the mirror," she muttered. "But if you want to become a sorcerer, then you need to understand what drives you. Read the journal, Sebastian. It might enlighten you in ways you never expected."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Lady E's gnarled hands curled around her staff. "Like I said, Morgana made the wrong choices for the wrong reasons." Heaving herself to her feet, she strode toward him.
"And you think I'm about to make the same wrong choices," he realized.
"I understand you have suffered. I do understand that. But what I see is a young man who walls himself away, keeping everyone at arm's length. In a way you have more in common with Adrian than you realize." Reaching up, she patted his cheek, and for a moment the feel of her warm, cupped hand on his skin almost took his feet out from under him. How long since anyone besides Cleo had offered simple human comfort?
How long since he had trusted it?
"We all have our crosses to bear. Even Adrian. Even me." Those black eyes stared deeply into his soul. "You're not alone, and you're not the first to feel the weight of your past. But you're also no longer a child. The choices you make now could hurt people. They could hurt you. If I'm being honest, I could be staring at your mother right now, as much as you hate the notion."
He slowly, carefully, curled his hand over hers. He trusted Lady E, he realized, or at least he trusted her as far as he could ever trust anyone. "That could be the worst thing you've ever said to me."
"If that's the worst thing I've ever said to you, then you have little to complain about." One eyebrow arched. "Or perhaps it's a horrible notion because you know there is some truth behind it."
Patting his cheek, she stepped back and picked up the journal for him. "Read it. It might prove enlightening, even if you find it distasteful. To understand yourself, you need to understand your mother and what swayed her from her path."
"I'll consider it," he replied, as she handed him the book.
"And you need to stop avoiding your wife."
This time his cheeks burned with heat. "That's really none of your business."
Another snort, as she turned for the door. "I didn't think you were a coward, but time will tell."
Curse her. He had to get out of here. "Tell Bishop I'll be back by lunchtime. I'm going for a walk."
"To clear your head?"
"Something like that."
Chapter 10
Gulls squawked overhead, pinwheeling between the masts of numerous ships as Sebastian wandered along the docks. He'd come here often enough when he could slip away from Morgana's house, though the c
ollar he'd worn then limited how far he could go. The scent of the river left much to be desired, but it was the one place in London where he felt like he could relax.
Sebastian's gaze slowly came into focus, and he realized what he was staring at. The ticketing office's sign showed a ship, cast in bronze. It wasn't the first time he'd considered it.
It was, however, the first time he'd stepped inside.
The bell over the door tinkled. The small agent looked up sharply from where he was writing in a book. "May I help you?"
"Perhaps."
* * *
Half an hour later, he stepped out of the ticket office, tucking his purchase into his waistcoat pocket.
Liverpool to Manhattan.
He didn't know what had driven the purchase—he'd given Bishop an oath after all, to help destroy the demon—but this aimless jaunt in the city had ended here. The moment he saw the steerage ticket office, he'd known what he was looking for.
Escape.
A steerage ticket to Manhattan was all he could afford, but it offered him something he'd never had before. He could almost see a new city unfolding before him, filled with opportunities, and a new life.... Far away from the mess here, and the haunting reminder that his mother was still out there, no doubt plotting revenge against him for all he'd cost her. Lady E might think all he needed to do was embrace his past, and learn to control his emotions, but that restless itch was back.
He didn't belong here.
And last night... last night only reminded him of everything he couldn't have. It would be better this way.
He stopped in his tracks at the sight of a young woman sitting on a barrel, kicking her heels and sending her green skirts fluttering. "Verity."
"Fancy seeing you here," she said, biting on the apple she held and lifting her gaze to the sign on the shop.
"Indeed," he replied. "Were you following me? Did my brother put you up to this?"
Verity ignored him, as she was wont to do, but then he expected that living with his brother's glowering moods gave her some sort of immunity to anything he could throw at her. "Bishop wants to pay a visit to the One-Eyed Crows after lunch, so he sent me to find you. He thinks they might know the whereabouts of your father—"
