by Bec McMaster
"We will do whatever we must."
"What happens," Sebastian repeated softly, "if we fail?"
Bishop finally stopped chalking the cue, his voice turning to ice. "Then I have to kill him. I'm the only one who can."
Chapter 19
'Any seer has the ability to scry; to seek another's whereabouts. But there are ways to Veil against scrying, if one knows how. And ways to break through that Veil.'
* * *
—Quentin Farshaw, 'Sidestep Through Time'
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Cleo reached for the map of London and her scrying crystal. She was still under orders not to engage her divination arts, but she needed to know.
Taking a small knife, she cut her finger and dipped the crystal in her blood, before turning to the map. And then she hesitated.
What if there was a child out there who shared her blood? There was a hollow feeling in her chest. She almost didn't want to know.
A sister?
Imagine the hallways of her childhood then, filled with laughter instead of silence. Imagine being able to curl up in bed together, knowing their father cared little for them, but at least they had each other.
If the child survived, then why had her father sent her away? To be raised as this... this black queen?
"Blood reaches blood," she whispered, opening herself to her power. "Show me the blood."
Setting the crystal swinging over the map, she closed her eyes and felt for any answering tug. Sweat dripped from her upper lip as the minutes ticked by. Cleo finally opened her eyes.
Not in London.
She rifled through Bishop's desk, coming up with a map of the British Empire. A droplet of blood slid from her nose, but she dashed it away and turned back to the crystal. She needed to know.
But there was no sign of anyone sharing her blood in London. No one in the entire Empire. Cleo finally let the crystal spin to a halt.
Nothing.
It made no sense.
Unless the child truly hadn't survived childbirth.
* * *
"Do you remember the runes your mother used for your illusion watch?" Bishop asked, as Sebastian sat down for breakfast the next day.
"I can do better." He reached inside his waistcoat pocket and produced the bloody thing, sliding it across the table toward Bishop.
"What is that?" Lady E demanded, peering at it over the top of her teacup. "It makes me feel wretchedly queasy."
Bishop examined it. "Morgana etched the watch with illusion runes. When Sebastian wound it, the watch changed his appearance in the eyes of all who saw him."
"It's been broken for years," he said, seeing where this was going. Surely Bishop wasn't that desperate?
Last night reared up in his mind. The camaraderie they'd shared for a few brief minutes had evaporated when Bishop pronounced Drake's fate if they failed.
It made Sebastian uncomfortable. The only thing they shared was blood, but his brother loved Drake. It was clear in every plane of his face when the man's name was brought up. Killing him would destroy something inside Bishop, and while he might have wished all manner of curses upon the bastard, that... that was a line he didn't think he wanted Bishop to cross.
Bishop snatched the watch up in his palm. "Then it's a good thing I have a certain knack for restoring spell-crafted mechanisms—or creating them."
"You're going to fix it." Lady E's eyes narrowed. "And you think to use it against Morgana and the demon?"
"Why not?" Bishop suggested. "Perhaps we can use it to spy, or get close to them before they know it."
She turned and settled that beady gaze upon Sebastian. "Did your mother ever not recognize you when you wore the watch?"
"No."
"Is your mother the greatest Mistress of Illusions the Order has ever seen?"
He almost enjoyed ganging up on Bishop. It chased away the last of his moody thoughts. "As far as I know. She made me believe I'd destroyed the Blade of Altarrh, when all I bloody melted into slag was a kitchen knife."
"Adrian," Lady E raised her voice, "do you have any gifts of Illusion at all?"
Bishop laced his arms together over his chest and scowled at her. "I'm an assassin, Agatha. The answer is yes, though I'm not Morgana. And I wasn't planning on sending Sebastian in wearing a disguise. I was planning on sending myself in."
Bishop suddenly flinched, as if something invisible swatted him across the ear.
"Utter codswallop," Lady E muttered, slurping her tea. "While you might fool Morgana, there's a possibility you propose to waltz beneath a demon's nose. A demon can see through time, you fool, let alone any cloaking spells you intend to use. Then there is the matter of your father, and he would never fail to recognize you, no matter what face you wore—"
Sebastian tuned out, sensing the sudden strengthening on the soul-bond. He turned his head toward the door, drawn unerringly toward the focus point of his sudden awareness.
The ladies appeared, Verity linked arm in arm with Cleo. The second she walked in the room, his heart started to skip. A dark green gown caressed her slender curves, and the bodice was cut far lower than anything he'd ever seen on her before. The jacket was black velvet, with ribbons of green silk and black lace adorning it. He sensed Lady Rathbourne's hand all over it.
Sebastian looked away. He almost missed the virginal lace Cleo's father had draped her in, if only for the sake of his sanity. Green suited her pale skin, and his fingers itched to begin unhooking those little brass buttons down the front of her jacket. Touching her that night hadn't been enough. His long-dormant desire was stirring, and it had a particular destination in mind.
Verity blinked when she saw her husband. "What the devil are you wearing?"
Distraction, thank goodness.
Bishop scratched at his jaw. "Sebastian thought my attire needed brightening up."
"That's hideous," she continued, looking amused as she lifted the tureen lid on the kippers. "Where on earth did you find it?"
"Sebastian loaned it to me."
"Oh, no," Sebastian broke in. "Don't pretend that came out of my wardrobe."
"Is that my old dress? Is that what you wanted it for this morning?" Cleo frowned. There'd been shadows under her eyes earlier, but she seemed to have rallied. "You said it was an emergency."
He relaxed back in his chair. "It was. I'm hardly about to let him get away with losing a bet. It's a worthy cause, if only to see Bishop wear it for a week. I cut the skirt, and Agatha helped me hand-stitch it to the front of his waistcoat. It took almost two hours."
Cleo smiled her secret smile—the one that made his insides stir—and took her seat. "In that case, I'll consider it a worthwhile loss." She poured herself some tea, and appraised the man. "You look positively smashing in pink, Bishop."
Verity chortled.
"Thank you, my dear," Bishop drawled.
"So what are we up to?" Cleo mused. "I'm well rested and if I stay in the house one more day, I think I shall scream."
Verity touched the watch. "What is this?"
Bishop swiftly explained.
"I have a plan to steal the Blade back," Bishop said. "The only problem is we still cannot find Morgana. Lucien's tried scrying since the ball. Lady E tried. And Verity attempted to lock onto her location using her particular talent for finding anything she sets her mind to. Ianthe's had all her contacts out searching. She even set the rest of the Sicarii to hunting last night. And Verity and I have been all through Seven Dials, and Balthazar's Labyrinth. None of her usual allies know where she is."
Cleo's dark eyes locked on Bishop. "Are you trying to tell me you asked Lucien and Lady E to scry for Morgana's whereabouts and you didn't think of me?"
"I thought of you," Bishop said, resting one arm across his neighboring chair, revealing his delightfully pink waistcoat. "But you've been under the weather since the ball, and I was under strict instructions not to bother you."
Sebastian didn't quite look at his brother.
&nbs
p; "Give me the watch," Cleo growled.
Bishop crossed his arms and looked quite pointedly at Sebastian. "Is she allowed to use her scrying gifts?"
"I am sitting right here," Cleo said sharply. "Oh, for heaven's sakes." She reached across the table and snatched up the watch, shooting him a particularly challenging look.
"Madrigal said you'd overstretched yourself," Sebastian pointed out. "I didn't want you to harm yourself. And I thought you couldn't scry her either?"
"Something's shielding her from Sight," Cleo said grimly. "We've all tried. But that was before I laid hands upon Farshaw's book."
"Something?" Bishop murmured.
"Fine," Cleo replied. "The demon. Lascher. I could sense it watching over me the last time I tried to scry. I can feel Morgana out there, but Lascher obscures her whereabouts with some sort of shadow I can't penetrate."
The last thing he wanted was the demon's gaze lingering upon his wife. "Cleo."
"I need to do this," she told him, and he heard the catch in her voice. "I'm the greatest seer of this generation. I have an item Morgana once touched in my hand, unlike last time. And Farshaw spoke of how to break through a Veil. I can do this. I can find her. I have to find her."
He stared at her determined face. This was more than merely an attempt at scrying out their enemy. She'd lost so much, but most of all she'd lost her belief in herself.
"If anyone can do this, it's you," he said, circling the table and sitting beside her. "Hold my hand. If you need me—my power, anything—then it's yours. Just don't push yourself too far. Madrigal spoke of knowing your limits."
Cleo took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing as he squeezed her hand. "I won't push too far."
She closed her eyes. Started muttering under her breath. Long moments stretched out as he stared at her moving lips. She shook her head. "The Veil's still there. The watch isn't enough."
Shoulders slumped, all around the table. He'd actually thought she could do it.
Cleo's eyes suddenly popped open. "I'm an idiot."
"You are?"
"Here, give me your hand," she said, reaching for him. "Bishop, do you have a knife?"
Bishop produced one—of presumably many—from within his coat. "Always."
She took the knife and met Sebastian's eyes. "Blood calls to blood. You have a direct link to your mother. Do you trust me?"
He nodded, holding out his hand.
Cleo took a deep breath, and sliced a small line across his finger. Blood welled, and she smeared it across her hands, before taking both of his palms in hers. "You might see some strange things, considering how we're bonded. Whatever you do, stay calm. And close your eyes."
He obeyed her, seeing nothing but darkness.
Cleo started murmuring her ritual words under her breath again. Suddenly he was floating high above London among fluffy gray clouds, even as he sat in a chair in Bishop's dining room. London seemed so far away, church steeples spearing up toward him, and a thousand miles of cobbled streets lying in wait, should he fall. He would have panicked, if not for the hand in his.
"Relax. We cannot fall. We're not truly here."
It felt real enough. Sebastian discovered a hitherto unknown fear of heights. He looked stoically at her bloodied hand in his, realizing he was clinging to it.
Cleo floated beside him, wearing a gown of pure white, with her silvery hair cascading down her back. He could barely make out her face. Some sort of diamond of pure light gleamed in the middle of her forehead. She looked like an angel.
Dark eyes flashed toward his, and she smiled. "That's very sweet, Sebastian. But I'm no angel. This is merely my astral form. What you're seeing is my Third Eye."
"Can you find her?"
Cleo turned her attention toward London. "This is where it will get strange."
Merde. He'd almost reached the levels of strange he could handle.
A throb of heat began to beat between their linked hands. The world around them pulsed in response.
"Blood follows blood," Cleo whispered. "Find me Morgana Montcalm. Find me blood of blood."
They swooped down, and he was fairly certain he screamed. Streets flashed past him. A cemetery ringed in an iron fence. Oxford Street, bare of any pedestrians. Covent Gardens theatres. Kensington.... Each image pulsed past him, until his heart was racing.
Then there was a hazy gray barrier in front of them, almost like a wall of pure fog.
Sebastian found himself standing upon a cobbled street, with Cleo's hand in his. Sweat dripped down his spine. Solid ground. Bloody hell.
"Here's the Veil," she said, her brown eyes fueled with pure determination. "I could never get through it in the past. But now I know how."
She began whispering again, strange words he almost, almost understood. Reaching forward with her free hand, she began to trace runes in the air, channeling power into them. They glowed with golden light, vanishing one after the other.
And then a thin golden strand of pure light latched around him, driving from his naval through the Veil.
"There it is," Cleo whispered. "Where is it taking you?"
Something tugged at him. Then he was flying forward, hungry faces swimming through the fog to meet him, their mouths opening toward him—
They punched through the Veil, the golden line hauling him faster and faster. He could hear himself screaming, gasping, trying not to react.
And then they landed in the middle of a garden.
A house stood before them. A beautiful house, glimmering all over with a cascade of wards. He was on his knees, the golden strand at his naval tugging him toward the house.
"There it is." Cleo took a step toward it, slowly letting go of his hand.
Sebastian opened his eyes, finding himself on his knees on the carpet inside Bishop's dining room. Mother of night. There was a hand on his shoulder. Bishop. An empty tureen in front of him, just in case he wanted to cast up his accounts.
"A pleasant journey by the look of it." Bishop looked amused.
"Fuck," he said, scraping a hand over his sweating face and shaking. The world had stopped moving around him. He wanted to kiss the floor.
Cleo remained sitting in her chair, her eyes closed. "I've got her now. Morgana's in a house... a beautiful house. The West End somewhere, I suspect." Cleo's head cocked to the side, almost as if she were listening. "I can't see inside the house. It's warded quite heavily. I'm only just getting through. Not enough to give me any details."
Her eyes blinked open, staring into nothing. "Get me a map."
Bishop hastily produced one, scraping the tea setting out of the way.
Cleo took a deep breath, and hovered her hand over the map of London, shutting her eyes once more. She moved her hands slowly across the map, pausing over Knightsbridge.
The rest of them leaned forward. A sliver of tension went through him. After last night, Sebastian felt a little conflicted about confronting his mother. She deserved to die, but... it all felt a little raw.
"There," Cleo whispered, her eyes flicking open and her bloodied finger stabbing into the map. "She's right there."
"Hammerton Lane," Bishop mused, launching into action. "Let's go."
* * *
Lascher looked up from its working, halting the flood of power as he sensed a distant tickle at the back of his mind. Bloodied lines crisscrossed the lawn, and seven bodies lay discarded, their throats and wrists slit in sacrifice.
It turned his head toward London, and opened himself up to his Sight. For a second it saw the girl standing in front of Morgana's townhouse in her astral form. She glowed like a perfect beacon. The White Queen in all her glory.
She was learning. She'd pierced its Veil, and found the decoy.
The demon smiled. Run little rats.
And then it turned back to its work.
Nothing could stop it now. Plans were proceeding perfectly. And she still hadn't found its black queen.
* * *
"Slight problem," Verity said, p
opping out of thin air.
Sebastian would never get used to that. "What sort of problem?"
Ianthe, Lucien, and Agatha were leading a scouting party to find out if the demon was with Morgana. He hoped the problem wasn't coming from them.
"The house is warded. Bishop can't get inside. He tried to cross the threshold and it nearly knocked him out." Verity's face paled. "The illusion works. Even I wouldn't recognize him, but we can't get the Blade."
"Can he get through the wards?" Cleo asked. "He said he could slip through Drake's."
"He's studied Drake's wards for years," Verity replied. "With time he could get through Morgana's, but we don't have time. The demon's not inside the house, but it might return at any moment."
There was one solution. Sebastian scraped a hand over his mouth. "I might be able to get inside."
Both women blinked at him, but it was Cleo who shook her head. "No," she said, her dark eyes softening. "You can't face Morgana. You know you're not ready for that."
"If they're the same wards she's been using for years, then I can get through them," he argued. "It's tied to aura, or blood, which means it might still recognize mine. And there's one problem with harnessing your will, and using ritual to power spell craft; it's very difficult to change the ritual, or the runes, or the charms you use after so many years of using the same ones. She might not have been able to change the wards."
"You can't go alone," Cleo argued.
"Yet nobody else can get in," he pointed out.
"What about me? Our auras are linked. There's a chance that if you can get inside, then I can too. It might work."
Like hell. "If I go in alone, then she has no one to use against me. Bringing you is like gift-wrapping my weakness."
"That's very touching." Cleo crossed her arms. "I can ward better than you can. I also have this rather convenient innate detection guide. If something's about to go wrong, then I'll know it."
