Ghost Girl

by C. J. Archer

  "The priest," he said to the earl. "What's his name?"

  But Alwyn simply smiled and gripped Quin's shoulder. "Bains!" he shouted, signaling for the proprietor to join him. "Bains! I have a proposition for you." As Bains waddled over, Alwyn lowered his voice and said to Quin, "You will fight and you'll lose. Understand? Or I won't tell you a damned thing."

  CHAPTER 10

  I gasped and silently appealed to Jacob, but he was already ahead of me. "No," he said to Alwyn. "He won't fight for you."

  Alwyn bit down on his cigar and arched an eyebrow at Quin. "Well?" It was clear from his smug half-grin that he knew what the answer would be.

  Quin removed his hat and unbuttoned his jacket.

  I caught his arm, but he shook his head in warning. People were watching us now as Bains approached. The eerie silence was deafening after the roar of protests over the switch.

  Tommy took Quin's jacket, hat, tie, waistcoat and shirt. At the sight of Quin's muscular frame, the audience became intrigued. Their hushed whispers rippled through the room and some tried to get closer, but Alwyn kept them at bay with a few barked orders.

  "Why should I trust your friend?" Bains asked darkly.

  "That's your choice." Alwyn chomped down on his cigar. "But I think your customers would like to see him fight, and as a shrewd businessman, I'm sure you want to keep your audience happy. Imagine the mischief they could get up to if denied their sport."

  Bains glanced around at the patrons as the whispers became shouts. They called on him to let Quin fight and bayed for his blood if he did not. Someone had already led Old Filth away and the other opponent stood waiting. He was huge with a mean sneer that revealed large gaps between his teeth. I didn't want Quin to fight him.

  But he did not meet my gaze and I didn't dare throw myself at him and plead with him to refuse. That wouldn't do either of us any good.

  "You don't fight fair," Bains said to Alwyn. From the resigned way he said it, we all knew he'd given in.

  "Sometimes it's not about fighting fair. Sometimes it's simply about showing up." Alwyn grinned wolfishly.

  "Get in there," Bains growled at Quin. Before Quin could move off, Bains grabbed his arm. "And if I find out you threw it, I'll mess up that face of yours so bad your mother won't recognize you."

  The crowd roared its approval as Quin joined the other fighter in the ring. I felt sick.

  "He'll be all right," Jacob whispered to me as the other fellow threw a punch and Quin easily dodged it. "He's strong and has good instincts."

  "Yes, but he has to lose, or Alwyn won't tell him the priest's name."

  "Then he'll go down before he gets injured."

  "You think so?" I said wryly. "I hope you're right." But I had a horrible feeling that Quin would want to put on a good show. His masculine pride would forbid him to give up easily.

  We watched as Quin dodged a few more punches before finally getting in one of his own. The blow to the other man's stomach sent him reeling backward into the crowd who only shoved him forward again into the ring. He gasped for air and Quin allowed him a moment to recover before repeating the punch.

  "Why is he hitting him in the stomach and not the face?" I asked.

  "Because bare-knuckle fighting is not the same as boxing with gloves," Tommy told me. "Punching the hard bones of a jaw or skull will hurt Quin's hand just as much, maybe even break it. But punching a soft belly will wind his opponent and save Quin's hands. It's the better strategy." He nodded in approval. "Your warrior knows what he's doing."

  He was also the better fighter. Everyone there recognized it. He had a longer reach and was faster, getting in blow after rapid blow, but dancing away from the other man's fist as he wound up to punch. Quin was going to win, and win easily. The crowd knew it, and Bains knew it, going by his triumphant smirk in Alwyn's direction. The only people who didn't seem to think Quin would win were Alwyn and me. Quin wanted that book at all costs.

  But not because of me.

  "My God," I heard Jacob say. "He's damned good." He sounded impressed and a little awed.

  Quin finally went down after a blow slammed into his stomach. He had not defended himself or tried to get out of the way, and his body took the full force of the other man's punch. He did not get up.

  "Quin!" My cry was lost in the angry shouts of the spectators. They knew he could have avoided his opponent's fist if he'd wanted to, and they suspected foul play.

  Quin's pride had won out. He'd obeyed Alwyn's orders while proving that he could have won the fight.

  "Fool!" Alwyn threw his cigar onto the floor where it sizzled in the spilled ale before getting trodden on. "Your friend is a damned imbecile, Beaufort! He's put us all in danger."

  Bains met his gaze from across the ring and shook his head. He might have caught Alwyn out at his game, but he had not won, either. The drunken crowd's objections grew louder, echoing around the basement. They called for Quin's blood and blamed Bains for the farcical result. The referee appealed to Bains just as a stool was flung into the ring. It smashed near Quin's head, and he leapt to his feet. Seeing him healthy and alert riled the spectators more.

  "Bloody cheats!" one shouted.

  "Bains! You owe me a quid."

  "You better pay up or your dog won't get out alive."

  Oh God. "Quin!" I ran toward him, but Jacob and Tommy held me back.

  "We have to get you out of here," Jacob growled. "Up the stairs! Now!"

  "I can't go without him." It wasn't simply that I didn't want to leave him behind, I couldn't. Not if I wanted to survive the curse.

  We headed into the ring. The crowd grew thicker around Quin and Bains. The money collectors formed a ring around their employer, but not even they could hold back a hundred men intent on revenge and havoc.

  We pushed into the ring, or what was left of it, and joined Quin. His gaze connected with mine then quickly roamed over me, to check that I was unharmed perhaps, or still in disguise. I touched my fingertips to his ridged stomach where he'd been hit. A bruise was already blooming.

  "You couldn't lose properly?" Tommy snapped. He must be panicked or he wouldn't have spoken so candidly. "Fine mess you've landed us in."

  The crowd shouted at Quin and Bains, and some argued among themselves too. Ale and entire tankards were thrown in our direction as we backed into the center of the ring. Our party and Bains's formed a cluster surrounded by the angry mob.

  "Bains!" Jacob called. "You have to offer them their money back."

  "It's not my bloody fault! It's Alwyn's. He should pay 'em."

  "Alwyn has gone." It was true. I only hoped he would still give us the name of the priest in the morning when we called on him at home.

  If we got out of the tavern alive and unharmed.

  Quin gripped my arm and roughly pulled me behind him. He looked ready to take on the entire roomful of drunks. I wondered if he were capable. He had, after all, sent dozens of demons back to the otherworld single-handedly.

  "Giving them their money back won't be enough," Bains said, puffing like a steam engine. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. "I should thrash you for that pathetic act," he growled at Quin.

  Another stool was lobbed from the back of the crowd. Quin and Jacob fended it off before it hit us, but the crowd cheered. They'd found a new sport and the tide began to shift away from us and toward the walls where the furniture and barrels were stacked. Our exit, however, was still blocked.

  My heart hammered in my chest and a tremble rippled through me. Quin, standing at my back, must have sensed my fear. He circled his arm around my middle. "Stay close to me."

  I wanted to believe he could protect me, but there were so many.

  "Calm down!" Jacob shouted at the crowd as he punched away a flying table leg. "Bains will give you your money back!"

  Bains made a hissing sound, but grudgingly nodded. He put up his hands, placating. "Anyone who bet on St. Clair to win will be reimbursed."

  Half the crow
d quieted, but not all. They had been cheated of their entertainment and wanted to see a fight. It no longer mattered if it didn't take place in the ring.

  "Go upstairs!" Jacob ordered them. They were at least quieter so that he could be heard. "If you leave now, I will buy you all an ale."

  "Two!" someone called back.

  Laughter and echoes of agreement rang around the basement.

  "Two then," Jacob agreed.

  "It'll cost you a fortune, sir," Tommy said.

  But it had worked. The spectators put down their weapons and surged up the staircase to the trapdoor. Quin let me go when the last of them disappeared. I drew in a long, measured breath and exhaled slowly. That had been too close.

  "Send the account to my house," Jacob told Bains. "Eaton Square."

  I wasn't sure if Bains heard him, however. His one eye pinned Quin with a steely glare. His lips peeled back and he bared his teeth. "You could have ruined me! I hope Alwyn is paying you well to dance for him."

  Quin ignored him.

  "That's it? You almost start a riot in my tavern and you think you can walk away?"

  "It's Alwyn you want to talk to," Jacob said. "We needed something from him and struck a deal. Now, if you'll excuse us."

  "Excuse you! You think I care about your deal? Alwyn is not here. You are."

  Jacob squared up to him, apparently oblivious to the thugs backing up Bains. "There was no riot, Bains. The trouble is over. Chalk it up to a bad experience and move on."

  "Move on! A bad experience!" Spittle flew from Bains's lips and splattered on his massive chest. "My reputation is ruined! If you think I'll let you walk away from here after that, you're mistaken. I don't care who you are, toff, you're not in your big, fancy house now. You're in my den. We play by my rules here."

  As if he'd given them a signal, his men produced knives from where they'd hidden them beneath jackets and waistcoats. I gasped and found myself once more being roughly pulled behind Quin.

  "Bloody hell," Jacob muttered. "Emily's going to be upset when she learns what happened here."

  Tommy grunted. "I won't tell her if you won't inform Miss Langley."

  "I'm afraid they'll probably find out somehow, Dawson. Women always do."

  With a sudden burst of speed, Quin charged into the group. Jacob and Tommy followed. Both were armed with knives. Where had they gotten those? Quin, too, wielded a dagger. He easily dodged the first thug's wild slash, and kicked him away.

  "Get back, Cara!" he ordered.

  "Cara?" Bains frowned at me. "You're a woman!" He advanced on me as his companions kept Tommy, Jacob and Quin busy. I wanted to help, but I felt utterly useless. Why hadn't I thought to carry a knife too?

  "Stay where you are," I warned Bains. I backed into a stack of broken stools near the wall, but he kept coming and coming. His small, pink tongue wet his lips like a dog that had sniffed out a piece of meat.

  "Got you now," he said with a twisted grin.

  I gripped a stool leg behind me, but I wasn't sure if I could hit him hard enough to make him stop. The stool leg was small and he was very large. A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed it down; now was no time for fear. The others were still occupied and I was hemmed into a corner with the slavering Bains advancing on me. I needed a cool head and a steady hand.

  The spirit of the Irish fighter suddenly appeared near Bains. "Aim for his knees." He rubbed his bruised and bloodied hands together in anticipation of some violence.

  "He has weak knees?" Forget keeping my talent a secret. Bains already knew I was female, he might as well know I was a medium too.

  Bains looked around. "Who are you talking to?"

  The Irishman chuckled. "The knees are weakest. Don't have to hit a man hard there to make him lose his balance. And a fat pig like Bains loses his balance easy. Wish I could show you."

  "You can. You can pick up one of these stools and use it on him."

  "I got no beef with Bains."

  "You're mad," Bains said, laughing. His tongue darted out again and slid along his top lip. "Come here, Mad Cara. Let Bains give you something to ramble about."

  Ugh. The man was disgusting. The fight behind him was drawing to a close. Three thugs lay on the ground, and Jacob, Tommy and Quin battled with one last opponent each. Quin spotted me and quickly ended his fight with a fist to the other man's jaw.

  "It's all over," I said to Bains.

  "Can't be." He spun round to see for himself. He muttered a curse then looked to me again. He reached for me, perhaps planning on using me as a bargaining chip with a fast approaching and very fierce looking Quin.

  I didn't give him a chance. I smacked the table leg into his knee. He screamed in pain as his leg buckled. He lost his balance and toppled to the floor, landing with a bone-shuddering thud.

  "Good girl!" the spirit said with a nod of approval. Then he vanished.

  "Cara!" Quin had barely gotten my name out before his fingers wrapped around my arm. He steered me up the stairs, his grip bruising.

  I glanced back to see Tommy and Jacob following, having dispensed with the remainder of the men. Bains hauled himself to his feet, grunting and sweating like an animal.

  We wound our way through the crowded taproom. Quin received the occasional jeer or punch on his shoulder, but he forged ahead with single-minded determination. He had not let go of my arm. We were about to exit when I recognized the face of someone I'd never expected to see there.

  "Nathaniel?" I stopped and Quin did too, following my gaze. "What's he doing here?"

  "Following us." Quin spoke in dark, guttural tones. His temper hadn't yet dissipated and I grew worried as he carved a path to Nathaniel.

  When the man Nathaniel was speaking to nodded at us, Nathaniel's mouth flopped open and his eyes bulged wide. He broke away and made for the door, albeit in a circuitous pattern to avoid us. But he wasn't fast enough to beat Quin, despite him drawing me along in his wake. He grasped Nathaniel's collar. "Why are you following us?"

  "I'm not!" Nathaniel's eyes bulged even farther and his face turned purple. He gasped for air and flailed pathetically at Quin.

  The patrons around us went quiet, but none intervened. They were finally getting the sport they'd been denied downstairs.

  "Quin," I said. "You'll strangle him."

  "That's the idea." Nevertheless, he let him go. "Answer me."

  Nathaniel spluttered and coughed, but fortunately his face returned to its natural pallid color. Behind us, Jacob had caught up, while Tommy peeled away and headed for the door. He still carried Quin's clothes.

  "This is Nathaniel Faraday," I said to Jacob. "We're about to discover what he's doing here."

  "Nothing!" Nathaniel squeaked. He rubbed his throat and coughed again. "I swear to you, I wasn't following you. I happened to be driving past when I spotted you getting out of a coach," he said to Quin. "I went on my way, but couldn't help wondering what you were doing in this place. After I concluded my business, I returned via this route and decided to find out. I was asking after you just now." He blinked owlishly at me. "I admit to being surprised at seeing you, Cara, particularly dressed as a…er…country lad."

  "I don't believe you," Quin snarled.

  Nathaniel held up his hands. "It's the truth! I'm a scholar, and scholars become curious about these things. I thought it an odd place for a man like you to be seen." His gaze flicked to me. "I admit that I'd hoped to inform Cara that you liked to frequent these sorts of dens. I hadn't expected her to be a party to them."

  "Why would you do such a thing?" I said.

  He straightened his crooked tie. "Isn't it obvious? I can see that St. Clair and you are…well, acquainted. I had hoped…that is, I wanted to renew my…friendship with you."

  "By disparaging Quin?" I shook my head. "That is not the right way to go about renewing our friendship."

  Nathaniel conceded the point with a nod. "Forgive me. I'm not very adept at wooing."

  He'd been quite good at it on the ship. I wasn
't sure what to say to his response so I said nothing. He wouldn't meet my gaze and began to edge away from us.

  Beside me, Quin stiffened. He still looked furious, but he let Nathaniel go.

  Jacob watched him leave with a bemused expression. "I'm not sure what you see in him, Cara."

  We left The Brickmaker's Arms a moment later, before the crowd finished their two free ales and decided to pursue further compensation. I was sandwiched between Jacob and Quin. Outside, there was no sign of Nathaniel. The Beaufort coach pulled to a stop and Tommy jumped down from the back. He handed Quin his clothes and we piled into the cabin.

  "You too, Dawson," Jacob said.

  Tommy climbed in behind us and shut the door. Quin put his shirt on, but not his jacket, waistcoat or tie. I blew out a breath as the coach rolled off and flopped back against the leather seat. What a night!

  "Do you think Faraday was lying?" Jacob asked.

  "I'm not sure," I said, answering at the same time as Quin.

  "Aye."

  "You think he was spying on us?" I shook my head, but I suspected he was right. "For himself or for Myer?"

  "It doesn't matter," Jacob said. "If he was spying, that means he probably knows you're after the book of spells and not simply curious about the supernatural."

  Quin closed his bruised fist on his knee. He still seemed wound up like a tight coil. It wouldn't take much for him to unravel. "We'll visit him tomorrow."

  "No." I removed my oversized hat and shook my hair free. "If he was following us on behalf of Myer, then we should pretend we're none the wiser. We may need Myer's help again, and I'd rather keep him on our side. If he suspects that we know he sent Nathaniel, he'll be on his guard. Besides." I flicked my hair over my shoulder. "Nathaniel may be telling the truth. He may simply be trying to woo me again."

  "You're not going anywhere near him," Jacob growled. "I don't trust him."

  "Aye," Quin said. "He's not suitable for you, Cara."

  I sniffed. "I see you two can finally agree on something."

  "I suspect there's something else we agree upon," Jacob said. "You're quite a fighter, St. Clair."