by C. J. Archer
"You have questions about my illness at the church today," he began. "Cara, please do not—"
"I know why you became ill." My heart fluttered a warning to proceed carefully.
He stilled. "Go on."
"You're from Purgatory."
His brief intake of breath was the only sound in the room, and even that was barely audible in the thick, heavy air. The silence stretched and suddenly it seemed like I'd made a terrible mistake.
"Say something," I urged him. "Please. Just…say something." Deny it, tell me that I'm wrong. Tell me you weren't sent to a place of pain and suffering after your death.
"Purgatory is one name for it," he finally answered.
Tears burned the backs of my eyes. It was the confirmation I'd dreaded. "Is it the same as what the Catholic religion teaches?"
"It is a place in between. A place where sinners are punished and given a chance to redeem themselves. Those that do may move on to a better afterlife. Those that don't go somewhere worse."
"But I don't understand. If you've been given a chance to redeem yourself, why haven't you? Why are you still there, after all this time?"
"I was given the opportunity to become a warrior and keep demons and other undesirable supernatural creatures from this realm." It wasn't an answer to my question. Had he chosen to become a warrior or was it foisted upon him? If he had chosen it, did that mean he didn't want to redeem himself and leave Purgatory? Did he believe whatever he had done to be so terrible that he deserved to remain there?
"But you are dead?"
"My life as a human ended, but I live on as a warrior. It was a position granted to me because of the unusual circumstances surrounding my death. I'm neither dead nor alive. I just…am." He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. "Because of my state, I'm not able to enter sacred places. It hasn't caused me difficulty until today." He almost sounded amused by the notion.
"What unusual circumstances?"
"My death came about by supernatural means. That is all I can tell you."
"Will you be punished if you tell me more?"
He didn't answer.
"Quin, I don't understand." I shifted a little and my hip touched his feet beneath the covers. "I've seen you with the children. You're kind and honest. What sin did you commit to see you sent to Purgatory?"
I heard him swallow. "I can't answer that."
"Can't or won't?" He went to shift his foot away from me, but I clamped my hand down on it, trapping him beneath the covers.
"Cara, that is one question I will not give an answer to." He spoke harshly, his voice a low growl. He jerked his foot free and drew both knees up to his chest. "I'm in that realm for a reason. It is not a mistake. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
My throat was too tight to answer him so I nodded. A single tear dripped down my cheek. I dashed it away with my shoulder. "But I don't believe that you committed a terrible crime."
"It was more than terrible. It was unforgiveable."
"It couldn’t be unforgiveable, or you would have been sent straight to Hell, or whatever the darkest place is called. You weren't. They gave you another chance in Purgatory."
He rested his elbow on his knee and dragged his hand through his hair. "I told you not to trust me, Cara. I meant it. I am no angel."
"I would like to make up my mind for myself," I hissed. "Tell me what you did."
He turned his face away and buried his hand further into his hair.
"We're friends," I whispered, as more tears spilled down my cheeks. My hands trembled and I clasped them together in an attempt to regain some control. But it was useless; my heart was crumbling a little more with everything I heard, and with every answer he refused to give. "Friends don't keep secrets from one another."
"We are friends, Cara. I've come to value your friendship and I don't want it to end." He looked up at me and, despite the darkness, I could see the glint of pain in his eyes, the downturn of his mouth. "That's why I can't tell you. If you knew the truth you wouldn't want me as your friend anymore. I've lost too much. I…I couldn't bear to lose you too."
Instinct told me to hold him and be held by him. I reached out but he leaned back, avoiding contact.
"No." He spoke firmly but quietly. "Friends only. There can never be anything more between us." The breath he expelled was half growl, half curse. "Return to bed, Cara. Please," he added when I was slow to move.
The plea was too raw and desperate for me not to obey. I crept back into my bed and shed silent tears into the pillow. My heart ached and my head felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton. Everything was a mess. I'd wanted to break down the barrier between us by asking him about Purgatory. Instead, it had grown even higher.
I was dimly aware of another question I'd forgotten to ask him too, although I probably wouldn't have received an answer. Did his need for the book of spells have something to do with him being in Purgatory?
***
Mr. Ludlow requested our company at his bookshop early the next morning. Quin and I departed immediately and traveled to Piccadilly, in silence, by coach. I occasionally stole glances his way, and twice I caught him looking at me from beneath lowered lashes. I wasn't sure what I'd expected to happen after our nocturnal discussion. An apology? A return to the normal state of affairs? An explanation? Hardly. I supposed silence was better than anger, but I missed our easy friendship and his humorous observations of the modern world. I missed him.
It wasn't yet opening time, and up and down Piccadilly shopkeepers swept their porches or prepared window displays. The street itself was choked with morning traffic and driving up to Hatchard's was a slow process. The coach had just swerved out of the bustle to park at Hatchard's front entrance when Quin leaned closer to the window.
"Bloody hell."
I followed his gaze and gasped. "What's he doing here?"
Nathaniel Faraday was climbing out of a hansom cab. He nodded a greeting at us as if he'd expected to see us there. I opened the coach door myself as soon as we stopped, alarming the footman who wasn't fast enough to do it for me. I marched up to Nathaniel and stabbed him with a glare. I wanted to stab his chest with my finger, but a glare would have to do in a busy precinct like Piccadilly.
"You questioned Father William after we left, didn't you?" I snapped.
His gaze lifted as Quin came up behind me. The solid presence at my back was as much a distraction as a comfort this morning. "Answer her." Quin's voice rumbled in the still, crisp air.
Nathaniel coughed nervously and flattened his tie. "Yes, I did. What of it?" His question lacked the bravado necessary to intimidate a kitten, let alone Quin. "Father William was happy to oblige, although he was curious as to why so much interest in a few books. I arrived here yesterday after you, and left Ludlow a message. It seems he's decided to see us together to save repeating himself."
"You're not getting that book, Nathaniel," I said. "Myer cannot be trusted with it."
"Ha! You're worried about Myer? Perhaps you ought to fear someone a little closer to home."
I felt Quin stiffen. Nathaniel swallowed heavily and stepped back. He didn't take his gaze off Quin—he was afraid of him. Of course! He'd seen what happened to Quin at St. Etheldreda's church and had guessed that Quin's soul wasn't worthy of being in a house of God.
"Look." He held up his hands. "You have nothing to fear from me, Cara."
"Perhaps not from you, but we do from your patron."
"I prefer not to comment on him but, I can assure you, the book will be in safe hands if I get it first."
"You won't."
"What does Myer want with it?" Quin asked.
Nathaniel seemed surprised that Quin addressed him directly. He touched his tie again, flattening it when it was already straight. "That is not for me to say." He took another step back until he was flat against the window of Hatchard's. He stared wide-eyed at Quin, as if he dared not blink or take his gaze off him. "Cara, I would ask you to consider turning away now an
d going home. Let me retrieve the book. I'll make sure it's not used against anyone."
"How can you assure us of that?" I spat. "Myer is unscrupulous."
"And your companion is trustworthy?" he spat back. "Do you know what he is?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Well. Do you know what realm he's from and why he wants the book?"
"Come, Cara," Quin said, storming off toward the door. "Mr. Ludlow awaits."
I should follow him, but Nathaniel might have the answers I sought. "Tell me," I said quickly before Quin returned.
"He wants it for his own ends." Nathaniel seemed somewhat relieved that Quin had moved off, but he still watched him warily. "He needs it to get out of Purgatory once and for all."
I spun around, but I already knew Quin had gone inside. My head swam with dizziness and my temperature plunged. I began to shiver uncontrollably, but that may not have been entirely the fever's fault. The shock of hearing Nathaniel's reasoning had settled into my bones and shaken me up.
"Ask yourself, Cara," Nathaniel said quietly. "Why does a fellow need to get out of Purgatory using a spell from the book when he can do so by enduring the official trials? He seems strong enough and capable of enduring anything."
A lump swelled in my throat. "He doesn't want the administrators in control of Purgatory to know," I whispered.
"That's my reasoning too."
I raced after Quin, not wanting to risk growing too weak. He held the door open for me, as polite as any modern gentleman. But the simmering anger I felt radiating from him told another story. The ice-cold glare he pinned on Nathaniel, coming up behind me, could have frozen Hell itself.
I managed to keep my thoughts to myself as Mr. Ludlow greeted us. In truth, however, I was in turmoil and hardly heard the introductions. I suspected Quin had overheard us, but he hadn't told Nathaniel that he was wrong. It was as much confirmation as I was likely to get.
Quin wanted to use a spell in the book to free himself from Purgatory—without the administrators knowing. I knew it couldn’t be the full story but I would save my questions for later. For now, we still had to find the book before we worried about who got to use it and keep it. I turned a smile on Mr. Ludlow and pushed my concerns about Quin to the back of my mind.
Mr. Ludlow reminded me of a bird, complete with beaky nose, lashless eyes and long, claw-like fingers. "The books arrived two days ago from Father William," he said in hushed tones, as if the deep leather chairs were occupied by readers. "I've been busy and only cataloged them yesterday. The book I needed was by far the oldest in the collection."
"You were commissioned to find that particular book?" Quin asked.
Mr. Ludlow winced at Quin's strong voice. "Yes and no. I was told to purchase a certain tome from Lord Alwyn, but the title and author were unknown. Only its location was certain. Or somewhat certain. There was a chance that it had left Lord Alwyn's library."
"How did you know it was there at all?" I asked.
"The gentleman who commissioned me informed me in his letter."
"Who was he?"
"I don't know. He didn't sign it."
"Isn't that a little odd?"
"Not at all. Sometimes buyers wish to remain anonymous, even from me." He smiled benignly. "After receiving the commission, I decided it was best to get my hands upon as many of Lord Alwyn's books as I could. I would send the one that best matched the gentleman's description to him, and keep the rest for myself, to sell in the shop. Not being an expert in holy texts, I approached Father William to be my intermediary. I've worked with him before, and his knowledge of antiquarian religious documents is second to none. He arranged to visit Lord Alwyn's library and purchase as many old books as he could. He told me his lordship was most obliging. Father William authenticated several from the collection and identified the most likely match to my client's needs." He bestowed another bland smile upon us. "I do hope that explanation has been of assistance to you."
"Thank you," I said, matching his polite smile with one of my own. "It was most helpful. But we do need to know the name of the gentleman who commissioned you."
The smile withered. "I'm afraid I can't give you that information, Miss Moreau. As I said, sometimes buyers—"
Quin's hand whipped out and grasped Ludlow by the throat. His mouth twisted into a cruel sneer as he towered over the smaller man. "I am in no mood for games. You must have some idea of who the man is."
"Quin!" I cried. "Let him go."
Nathaniel edged away. He wouldn't be any help if I had to wrestle Quin off Ludlow.
Quin's grip tightened. "My ledger," Ludlow gasped out. "An address."
Quin let him go and Ludlow slumped forward, rubbing his reddened throat. I eyed Quin, but he wasn't looking at me. Nathaniel had slipped farther away, out of reach.
When Ludlow had recovered enough to speak, he made his way past the reading tables and bookshelves to the counter near the back. He breathed deeply again, seemingly settling his nerves as he flipped through a thick, folio-sized ledger on top of the counter. Perhaps the musty, familiar scent of the books soothed him.
"I received some money up front with the original letter." He no longer seemed worried about not giving out the name of his client. Quin's threat had worked. I wasn't surprised. Being the object of Quin's black mood must be rather frightening. Nathaniel was wise to steer clear of him. Not even I felt entirely safe.
Ludlow pointed to a line scrawled in the ledger. "The rest will be sent to me after the book's delivery." He spun the ledger around so we could see the address. "I sent it off this morning."
The three of us crowded in to study the page. But it was me who muttered, "Bloody hell," much to Ludlow's horror. I apologized for my language and blinked up at Quin.
But he was looking past me. I turned to see the front door closing. Nathaniel had left, taking knowledge of the address with him.
"Thank you, Mr. Ludlow," I called back as Quin took my hand and dragged me out. "We apologize again for our obtrusive behavior, but I assure you it was necessary!"
Quin bundled me into the coach and directed the driver to return to Eaton Square posthaste. I instinctively tucked my feet away from him. He noticed, but did not say anything. Some of his anger seemed to have vanished, perhaps taken over by surprise. He wasn't the only one who was surprised. I couldn't believe it.
The book was on its way to the village of Harborough, near Frakingham House.
"We'll catch the next train," I said.
"What time does it leave?"
"I don't know," I snapped back. "I don't have the timetable memorized." I pressed my lips together, instantly ashamed at my outburst. "I'm sorry, Quin. I'm a little overwrought at the moment."
"You don't need to apologize to me." His gentle voice matched his concerned frown.
I supposed I didn't, considering. "You used me." I was tired and anxious and overwhelmed, but most of all I was sad. It welled inside me and turned my voice small and desperate. I hated hearing it. "You used me to get out of Purgatory so you could get your hands on the book."
He turned to look out the window, allowing me the privacy to wipe away my tears. His voice, when he finally spoke, was as quiet as mine. "I warned you not to trust me."
I'd wanted him to tell me Nathaniel had been wrong or at least that he was sorry and would not take the book from me. But he didn't say anything for the rest of the way home.
CHAPTER 13
The household was thrown into turmoil when we told Jacob, Emily and Sylvia what we'd learned from Ludlow. All the maids and footmen were directed to help us pack. Sylvia and Tommy would return with us, and we needed to get to the station as soon as possible. According to the copy of the timetable pinned to the board in Jacob's study, the next train left in an hour.
"Do you know the proprietor of The Red Lion?" Jacob asked Sylvia as she drew on her gloves in the entrance hall.
"As well as one can know an innkeeper," she said with a sniff and tilt of her chin.
"Tommy
will," I said. "He'll speak to him for us."
Quin paced the tiled floor, glancing every now and again up the staircase as we waited for the servants to come down with our luggage. I half expected him to run up and take over the task himself. "I'll force him to tell us," he growled.
"I'd rather not frighten the poor fellow half to death," I said. According to Ludlow's ledger, the book of spells had been put on the early train to Harborough. Its final destination was listed as The Red Lion Inn, room number three.
Quin blew out a long breath and finally stopped pacing. He stood directly in front of me, his usually bright blue-green eyes inky and huge. He looked at me with such pain and misery that I regretted my distrust of him and harsh tones. He made me feel like we were the only two people in the room.
But we were not. Quin opened his mouth to say something to me, but Jacob got in first. "I'm coming with you."
"Why?" I asked.
He fixed his steely gaze on Quin. "To keep your friend on a leash."
It reminded me of something the spirit of Father Ignatius had said at the church: 'Warriors are never let off their leash.' It was just another confirmation that Quin was operating outside the laws of Purgatory. It was looking increasingly likely that he should not even be here at all. Oh God. What happened when one defied the administrators? The thought chilled my bones.
Jacob and Quin stood toe to toe, equally fierce and determined expressions hardening their features. Quin was a little larger and taller, but I knew Jacob wouldn't back away.
"Stop it," Emily snapped. "Both of you. Jacob, you can't go. Have you forgotten that important business meeting?"
"I can reschedule it," he said without looking away from Quin.
"It's too important to change at such short notice. Besides, let Cara handle Quin her way. He hasn't harmed her yet, and I'm sure he won't start."
"I won't," Quin said. "Thank you, Emily." Then he did a remarkable thing. He stepped away, essentially conceding to Jacob. "I would never harm her." It wasn't clear whether his quietly spoken words were directed at Emily, Jacob or myself. He didn't look at me, but I had the distinct feeling that I was the intended recipient.
