Ghost Girl

by C. J. Archer

  "And he's prepared to get that knowledge through bribery, trickery, and lies," Sylvia added with a wrinkle of her pert nose.

  "He sounds useful," Quin said.

  I frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

  "If he knows much, then he might help us find the book."

  "He's been looking for some time," Sylvia said with a huff of exasperation. "To no avail."

  I turned fully to Quin. He might be onto something. "You think he knows more than he's letting on?"

  "Mayhap. Or mayhap he doesn't know the significance of what he knows."

  Tommy brightened. "That's a good point."

  "Are you suggesting we ask him to help us?" Sylvia shook her head and plopped down on a stone. "I don't think he will. Or if he does think of something new, he won't tell us what it is. He's far too selfish to share."

  "Then perhaps we can ask him for access to his books," I said. "The Society for Supernatural Activity does have a large library of rare volumes on paranormal topics. He has offered Emily and Jacob access to them on occasion. Perhaps it's time we took him up on his offer. We don't have to tell him that we're looking for the missing spell book."

  "Don't you think he's already searched through them?" Tommy asked.

  "Probably. But he doesn't have one distinct advantage that we have."

  "What?"

  "Quin."

  We all looked at Quin. He squared his shoulders and met my gaze. The color of his eyes deepened, but there was no other sign that he felt overwhelmed by my faith in him or the task ahead. Indeed, I got the impression that having others rely on him was nothing new.

  "Where does Myer live?" he asked.

  "London."

  "How far is London?"

  "Several hours by train or a little over a day by coach."

  "And by horse?"

  I smiled. "Much the same as it is by coach."

  "Then we travel by train. What is it? Another new invention?"

  "You'll see soon enough."

  He stood and extended his hand to me. "We'll depart now."

  I took his hand and allowed him to assist me to my feet. His fingers gently squeezed mine and held them a little longer than necessary. A small jolt traveled the length of my arm, warming me. He must have felt it too because those intense eyes connected with mine, albeit far too briefly. He let me go and stepped away.

  "Wait a moment," Sylvia said as Tommy assisted her to stand. "We cannot go right this moment. Mr. St. Clair has no proper clothes."

  "Mr. Irwin assured me he would have the first shirt ready by late today," I said. "That will suffice for now. He can send the other garments on to London when they're ready."

  "Where are we to stay in London?"

  "Emily and Jacob's townhouse, of course."

  "All of us?"

  "You don't have to come if you don't want to, Sylvia."

  "I most certainly do. Tommy too. We are not letting you both out of our sight. Isn't that right, Tommy?"

  "Whatever you say, Miss Langley."

  She scowled at him. The two of them had an interesting relationship. Not quite one of servant and mistress, but not friends either. It must be strange for them, since Tommy was a childhood friend to Sylvia's cousin, Jack. I'd thought they were sweet on one another, but there were moments of frostiness between them that threw that theory out the window. I couldn't imagine the two of them ever acting on their feelings, if they did indeed have feelings for one another. For one thing, Sylvia was a snob; for another, her uncle would never allow it.

  "Emily and Jacob would love to have us all stay with them," I assured her. "They have more than enough room. Oh." I sighed. "I'm going to have to tell her about my illness after all, and Quin's role in making me better. She won't like that he has to sleep in my room with me."

  "Yet it will be safer to do so in the privacy of their home rather than a hotel," Sylvia agreed. "At least we can control who knows, to some degree."

  "Then it's settled," Tommy said. "I'll make arrangements to leave tomorrow."

  ***

  "By all that is holy," Quin murmured, his eyes as big as saucers. "What manner of hellish beast is that?" He stepped in front of me and reached for the sword that was no longer strapped to his hip.

  I touched his arm to reassure him. "It's a steam engine. It's quite harmless, and will take us to London."

  We stood on the platform at Harborough Station as the hissing, snorting train rolled in. I could understand how someone who'd never seen such a sight before would think it a dangerous creature from another realm. It seemed to be alive as it puffed steam from all orifices.

  "We travel in one of the carriages attached to it. See?" I nodded at the line of carriages behind, but did not let him go. I was afraid he'd jump in front of the engine and either try to stop it from attacking me, or inspect the new curiosity. "You must stay clear of the wheels or you'll be crushed to—" What would happen to him? "Quin, are you immortal?"

  My question captured his full attention, despite the marvelous invention pulling to a noisy stop in a cloud of steam.

  "I am mortal in this realm."

  I bit my lip and, for the first time, worried about him. I'd been selfishly absorbed in my own health and had not given a moment's thought to his. "What can kill you here?"

  "The same things that kill any human."

  There were so many things that could cause injury or death, from falling under the wheels of a fast moving train to any number of illnesses. Why hadn't I thought to check before we decided on this venture? It seemed so obvious now that the rules of life and death in this realm would not apply to him in the "in between" one but did when he was here.

  "Quin, listen to me." I gripped both his forearms and turned him to face me. I felt his muscles flex instinctively beneath his crisp new shirt, then relax as he registered that I wasn't a threat. "You must be very careful. If you died because of me, I would never forgive myself."

  He smiled gently. "Do not fear, Cara. I'm very strong."

  "Yes. I can see that." I let go of his muscles—er, arms. "But you have no idea of the diseases and other hazards in this time."

  "Are there more diseases now?"

  "Actually, there are probably less, but—"

  "Then do not fear for me. Let me worry about you."

  "Oh." His conviction left me quite speechless. Many people had promised to care for me, ever since Emily and Celia had taken me in eight years ago, but none quite so thrillingly enigmatic as the warrior. "Thank you, Quin. I don't think I've had a chance to tell you how grateful I am that you're keeping me alive. It's a generous and selfless task, whether you've been ordered to do it or not." I cleared my throat. "Were you ordered? Or are you doing this of your own free will? And if it were an order—"

  "Enough, Cara. You can thank me by not asking so many questions."

  He marched off toward a frantic Sylvia, who was trying to attract our attention from the open door of the first class carriage. I sighed and followed, ignoring the curious stares of other passengers. I couldn't blame them for ogling. Quin did look odd, dressed in his leather pants and new white shirt with neither vest nor jacket. He held his hat in his hand, having almost left it behind in the Langley coach that had driven us to the station. We had convinced him to pack his sword in a valise, but not been able to get him to wear the hat.

  The four of us settled into a booth and Tommy stowed our luggage then shut the door for privacy. Sylvia had insisted the footman join us, and not travel in second class, so that we could form plans together. It would be easier not to relay it all again later. I had the sneaking suspicion she simply wanted him beside her, however. The rough, jerky ride would make touching inevitable.

  "I've been thinking," I said, as the train jolted forward. "We may not have to rely completely on Myer and the society's library. There is somebody else with just as many books and I'd wager his knowledge is as vast as Myer's."

  "Mr. Culvert?" Sylvia asked. "Yes, of course. Why didn't I think of him b
efore?"

  "George is also far nicer and will help us willingly once we explain the problem."

  "Surely he would have already helped us if he could," Tommy said.

  "Not in finding the book. As far as I know, nobody has mentioned it to him. Have you? Or Samuel?"

  He shook his head. "I doubt Samuel or Charity would do so. It would lead to all sorts of questions we couldn't answer."

  We had all agreed to keep quiet about the parchment torn from the book, now in the possession of the residents of Freak House. With the likes of Myer after it, it was safer to keep it hidden. Discussing it with George Culvert now couldn't be helped. He was an expert demonologist who also happened to be Jacob's brother-in-law. We could trust him.

  "Where was the book last seen?" Quin asked. "And when?" He looked cramped on the seat beside me, the small cabin not built for men of his size with such long legs. Between he and Tommy, the cabin felt crowded.

  The door slid open and the conductor leaned up against the doorframe to steady himself against the rocking carriage. Quin shot to his feet, sending his hat tumbling to the floor. He closed his fists at his sides and bared his teeth at the trembling conductor.

  "Quin!" Tommy, Sylvia and I shouted.

  "Sit down," I said, taking his hand and tugging, hard. He did not sit and continued to glare at the poor conductor, who looked as if he was caught between wanting to flee and calling for help. "He just wants to check our tickets."

  "You must forgive him," Sylvia said to the conductor with a nervous laugh. "He's foreign."

  The conductor muttered something about foreigners under his breath as he straightened his tie, and I hoped Quin didn't understand the insult.

  Tommy handed him our tickets and the conductor punched holes in them before handing them back. "Mind he stays in here and doesn't frighten the other passengers," he barked. "Shouldn't have foreigners roaming about first class, if you ask me."

  "Nobody did ask you." I pulled on Quin's hand again.

  He did not sit until the conductor was out of sight and the door closed again. "That man was ill mannered," he said. "He should knock before entering."

  "You need to be more careful," I told him. "People don't go about threatening others in this realm. Not these days, anyway. We are no longer a war-like society."

  "You don't have wars?"

  "Well, yes, occasionally."

  "But we are not barbarians," Sylvia said. "We're far more civilized than we were in the sixteenth century."

  "And earlier," I said without taking my gaze off Quin's. "Quin is older than the sixteenth century."

  "Or is he ageless?" Tommy muttered, arching his brow at Quin. "Perhaps he doesn't belong to any particular historical period."

  Quin said nothing.

  "I don't think he's ageless," I ventured. "If that were the case, he wouldn't have small lines at the corners of his eyes. Have you noticed how they don't quite disappear, even after he has stopped smiling?"

  Sylvia and Tommy leaned forward. Quin leaned back. "You're right," Sylvia said. "He must be older than us if he has wrinkles."

  "I do not have wrinkles."

  "You do," I said. "Small ones. No gray hairs, however."

  He ran his hand through his dark hair and frowned.

  "Late twenties or early thirties is my guess," Tommy said cheerfully.

  I felt a little horrid for teasing Quin, but he had asked for it by not answering our questions, and it was amusing to see him suddenly worry about aging, something which would probably continue now that he was back in our realm. I supposed the aging process had stopped in the realm he'd been living in for the last few centuries.

  "Seven and twenty," Quin snapped. "I am seven and twenty."

  "In what year were you born?"

  "Cara." His voice was a low growl that invited no argument. "I have exercised patience with your impertinence, but no more. Tell me the last known whereabouts of the book. Since it is important to your survival, I expect you will want to help me find it instead of disobeying me yet again."

  "Yes," I muttered, not quite able to bring myself to apologize, despite feeling like I'd offended a prince. "Of course. We must maintain our focus on the end prize." My life. I swallowed and studied my hands in my lap. Opposite, Tommy stretched out his legs.

  Sylvia cleared her throat. "The last time we know the book was seen was during the dissolution of the monasteries. The abbot had it. He tore out a page and gave it to Brother Francis to speak the spell that summoned you, Quin."

  "That's not quite right," I said, trying to recall the exact words of the priest's ghost. "The abbot did give the parchment to Brother Francis, but he may have torn it out some time previously. Indeed, he may not have torn it out himself, but an earlier custodian could have. Brother Francis never mentioned seeing the book at all, ever."

  "Then we're even more in the dark than we thought."

  I nodded. The task ahead of us was enormous. The book itself may not even exist anymore. I knew everyone was thinking it, even though no one said it. The weight of their unspoken words filled the cabin.

  What would happen to me if we couldn't find it?

  I turned to the window and watched the scenery whip past. My heart felt heavy in my chest, my energy sapped, although I knew that was because I'd slept poorly the last two nights rather than the illness.

  "Cara," came Quin's soft voice after what must have been half an hour. I turned from the window to see Sylvia resting her head against Tommy's shoulder. They both had their eyes closed, although I couldn't be certain if they were asleep or not. It was possible they enjoyed the close proximity that sleep offered and were merely pretending.

  I blinked wearily at Quin. He seemed troubled, and a little pale, his lips pinched. "What is it? Do you feel ill? Sometimes the motion of the train can upset one's stomach. Sitting nearer the window can help. Shall we swap seats?"

  I rose, but he caught my hand. "Sit. Please."

  I sat. "What is it? What's worrying you?"

  "You're not angry with me?"

  "No. Yes." I sighed and looked away. "I don't know. I'm not used to being chastised, I suppose. I find it a bitter pill to swallow."

  "Your father never managed you?"

  "Managed me? No. He had little to do with my upbringing and even less involvement in teaching me the finer points of obedience. He allowed me to do whatever I wanted."

  "An irresponsible man. All manner of ills could have befallen a girl in the streets of London."

  They had, to an extent, although I had fared better than many children left to fend for themselves entirely, like Tommy, Charity and Jack. "My brother became my guardian in more recent years. He was strict, although he never admonished me for asking questions. He encouraged me to be curious, in fact."

  "Then he created a rod for his own back, and that of your future husband."

  I narrowed my gaze at him. "What do you mean?"

  "A woman should not ask too many questions."

  "Why not?"

  "It creates problems."

  "What sort of problems?"

  He arched a brow at me and I bit my lip. I was asking too many questions again.

  "I warn you, Quin, I will find it difficult not to ask you things. It's in my nature to be curious."

  "Then you must forgive me when I command you to stop. It's in my nature not to speak of certain matters."

  Make that any matters. I sighed. "I'm afraid we're destined to clash on occasion. I don't take kindly to being commanded. My future husband will have to respect that."

  "Your father and brother failed in their duty as your guardians."

  I bristled. "Not Louis. He was a very good guardian and brother. He was there when I needed him and paid for a first-rate education, better than many boys received."

  "Education?" He stared at me. "You can read?"

  I smothered a smile. "Of course. I read the spell to summon you here, don't forget. I also speak and read French and Italian, have a good knowledge of
history and botany, and achieved honors in mathematics."

  "What is the use of all that knowledge to a woman?"

  "Sometimes I ask myself the same question," I muttered. Despite being allowed to attend lectures at Oxford and Cambridge, women couldn't become full members of the universities. Even if we could, there was little practical application for all that learning afterward, aside from becoming governesses, an occupation that my family considered beneath me. I was as yet undecided about my future. While attending lectures held more appeal than sitting through endless rounds of social calls with vacuous young ladies, it was decidedly dull compared to the adventures I'd had so far at Freak House.

  He grunted. "A little understanding of numbers can be of service to a lady running a household, I will admit, but as to the other things, I cannot see the point. How does history help her sew, embroider or heal the sick? And what is botany?"

  I wasn't sure whether to laugh at him or argue. Perhaps it was a little too soon in his visit to hit him with my modern sensibilities. To be fair, not too many present-day men liked the idea that I was smarter than they were.

  "Quin, you are positively medieval."

  That earned me another grunt. "If we are to be always near one another, we should not argue," he said.

  "Agreed. I'm sorry. I want you to know that I appreciate your being here. We both know what would happen if you weren't."

  He looked away and his throat flushed. "Do not thank me."

  "I must. I owe you my life."

  "Enough," he said through gritted teeth. "Do not thank me again."

  "Very well, if it embarrasses you."

  "Embarrasses me?" He paused, blinked. "Aye, it does."

  I frowned at the hard planes of his jaw, the heaviness of his brow as it crashed over his eyes. I got the feeling he wasn't at all embarrassed. He seemed like a brazen, unabashed man, as a matter of fact. So why would he not accept my thanks? What, exactly, was he hiding?

  CHAPTER 4

  The platform at King's Cross Station pulsed with passengers coming and going. Some stopped to buy flowers or refreshments from one of the many stalls, while others lingered with loved ones as people surged around them. Porters carried luggage or pushed wheeled trolleys piled high with crates, and railway staff kept a watchful eye on scruffy unattended children—the pickpocketing industry thrived at stations. Steam hissed and spat from the engine, momentarily cloaking our little party. Through the clearing haze, I saw a face I hadn't seen in months. My heart lifted. How good to see him again!