by KJ Charles
“Steph!” shrieked Esther, with absolute horror.
“Hold on tight, Dan,” said Stephen calmly. His eyes met Crane’s for just a second, wide and strained with something that didn’t show in his voice, and then he drew on the power, the tingling in his hands turning to needles of hot ice that stabbed through Crane’s skin, and suddenly Stephen’s eyes were full of magpies.
Crane felt it like a wave, cresting through his body, a rush of goose pimples through muscle and organs and bone. The hair prickled on his head, and stood up visibly on Stephen’s, as his eyes flashed black, white and blue. Stephen pulled harder, lifting Crane higher, an almost orgasmic feeling of exquisite tension running through him. Esther was shouting and Leonora was wailing and Dr. Gold was grunting with agony or pleasure as Stephen lit the power in Crane’s blood into spectacular, glorious life—
—and they reached the top.
Crane blinked. He felt a strange, calm, slightly dizzy sensation, not unlike a mild opium buzz, a sense of dissociation, as though he would have to move carefully to be sure his mind didn’t leave his body behind.
Stephen’s eyes were blazing gold around huge pupils, black and white shadows fluttering and flickering. His face was very still.
Dr. Gold, by contrast, was wearing an incredulous grin.
“Oh, yes.” He swept his hands over Leonora, and the horrible thrashing stopped. “Oh, yes. Oh, this is beautiful. Let’s get you out, shall we?”
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” His wife’s voice was shrill.
“My job, my love.” Dr. Gold smiled beatifically.
Esther turned and stalked away, arms folded, face red.
“Out you come now. Oh, this is easy, so very easy.” Dr. Gold moved a hand like a conductor and a thick brownish smoke erupted from Leonora’s wounds, eyes and mouth, pouring into the air and evaporating on the instant. “Out, out, out, gone. There. Dear me, what was all the fuss about? And now, let’s fix this lady up.” He looked down at Leonora’s face and put both hands over it. One deep breath, then his head snapped back, mouth open ecstatically. The air around his hands was thick and viscous.
Crane glanced at Stephen, who was looking down at Leonora, face unreadable. His hand lay on Crane’s, over her body. He was wearing the Magpie Lord’s ring on his finger. Usually he kept it on a chain round his neck, to avoid the ancient carved gold attracting attention. It was too late for that now.
“Keep your hands clear, Mr. Crane,” Dr. Gold said. “Here it comes.”
It was, simply, healing. Down from her shoulder, the flesh knitted and mended as Crane watched with numb acceptance, the tears and bites repairing themselves. Leo’s sick pallor changed to a healthier pink, her breathing became steady and gentle, and finally Dr. Gold lifted his hands from her head and looked down at unmarked skin, with only the slightest fading lines to show where the horrible tears had been.
“Tsaena,” Crane whispered. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Don’t thank him,” Esther said. “It’s not his power.”
The doctor looked up, eyes very bright. “But I can use it. Oh, I can use it. Mrs. Henville’s cancer. Lucy Gillett’s consumption—”
“No, no, no, no.” Esther’s voice was harsh. “Stop this.”
“But look at what I can do. Think who I can heal. So many people.” His face was alight with wild wonder and greed.
“Stop this, Danny. Stop it now.”
“Don’t. I don’t want it to stop.”
“Stop it!”
Stephen jerked his hand violently away from Crane’s, and the world snapped back to normality with a disorienting jolt, like the sensation of falling in a dream. Dr. Gold gave a cry of pain and rage, and reached a hand towards Crane, but Esther was right in his face now, talking urgently. Stephen span away and stood, facing the wall. Crane looked down at Leonora, unmarked and peaceful, at his own hand that showed no trace of a wound, at his lover’s tense, hunched shoulders, then over at the Golds. Dr. Gold was sitting on a stool at the head of the couch now, face in his hands, Esther holding him with angry care.
As the power drained out of the room, the silence grew.
“So,” Esther said finally. “Blood magic.”
“It wasn’t—” began Stephen, without looking round.
“You used his blood. You’ve been using his blood for months.”
“Twice. I’ve done it twice. And it wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.” Esther’s voice cut like a whip. “I’ve seen you riding this. What are you doing, cutting him? Drinking it?” Her tone was thick with anger and contempt.
“I haven’t done anything like that.” Stephen spoke flatly. His voice sounded hopeless. “That was the second time. If you don’t believe me—”
“No, I don’t believe you!” Esther screamed. “I saw you. That’s the power you’ve been drawing on for months and I stood up for you in front of the Council and told them, no, Stephen Day is not turning warlock, and now this—blood magic right in front of me, and you don’t even have the spine to look me in the face and admit it, you cowardly little—”
“Mrs. Gold!” roared Crane, in a voice trained by ten years on a trading floor. It rang off the walls, jolted Dr. Gold into looking up, and momentarily silenced Esther.
“Mrs. Gold,” Crane repeated, with slightly less volume. “Mr. Day told you the absolute truth. That was the second time he’s used my blood in that way, and the first time was to save my life. This business is none of his choosing or his seeking, it’s my fault if it’s anyone’s, and if you need to shout at someone, Mrs. Gold, then you can shout at me and we’ll see who shouts loudest.”
“I don’t want to shout,” Esther said through her teeth, addressing the words to Stephen. “I want an explanation. You’re telling me it’s not blood magic. Very well, let’s say that’s true. Then how the devil have you been riding that power for months? If you’ve not been using blood magic, what’s the source?”
Stephen turned then. He was chalk white. “It’s, um—it is a transference, but the blood is purely catalytic. You can see that. If I’d stripped that power out of him, he’d be a heap of dust.”
“That’s true, Esther,” said Dr. Gold wearily. “I’d have noticed.”
“A catalyst. And his blood has been a catalyst for the last few months because—?”
“It hasn’t. Well, not, not precisely. It, um, I—”
Esther folded her arms. Her face was disbelieving, and disgusted.
“Look.” Stephen shut his eyes. “It’s, um…well, it is physical, only not blood, but it happens when, when we—” His voice dried up, and he flung a desperate look at Crane, who took two strides forward at that mute appeal, unclenching his fists from the white-knuckled nail-in-palm position that he had used to make himself keep silent, and put both hands possessively on Stephen’s slender, shaking shoulders.
“Oh,” said Dr. Gold.
“Stephen and I are lovers.” Crane held Esther’s eyes as they widened. He didn’t want her to look at Stephen. “Have been for some four months. That is what causes the transfer of power, as I understand it. No blood magic, no warlockry. It happens when we go to bed, it’s something to do with my family line, it’s not within my control or his. That’s the long and short of it, and if you have any opinions to offer on the matter, you can address them to me.” More aggression than he’d intended rang in the last words, but he was damned if Stephen would stand here and take abuse.
Esther stared back at him, face tight with emotion. Crane saw Dr. Gold’s intent form in his peripheral vision. Under his hands, Stephen was rigid with tension, head bowed.
“Is this true?” Esther said at last.
“Yes. He—we— Yes.”
“You and he. And he’s a source.”
“Blood, bone and birdspit.” Stephen’s voice was thin. “You can’t tell anyone,
either of you, not about him being a source. Please. Say what you need to the Council, Esther, tell them anything, I’ll resign whenever you want, but we can’t let people know about this. They’ll tear him apart.”
“You are not resigning on my account,” Crane said harshly. “He has not put a foot out of line, Mrs. Gold. He has not done a damned thing wrong.”
Stephen gave an almost-laugh. “Lucien, we’re breaking the law.”
Esther was looking at Stephen. “And this is why you’ve been letting us think you’ve gone bad. To hide this. For pity’s sake!” She turned abruptly away. Stephen twitched violently, and Crane gripped him tighter.
Dr. Gold let out a long sigh. “Oh, Steph. You might have said something.”
Stephen made a strangled noise. Crane drawled, “Might he?”
“Yes, actually, he might. We’re not imbeciles. Great Scott, man, did it not occur to you we’d understand?”
“I don’t understand,” said Esther, swinging back round. Her face was red. “You swine, Stephen Day. You pig. You horrible, vile—I thought—God damn you, I was so frightened!”
Her voice broke. Crane felt Stephen’s body stiffen under his hands. He instinctively clenched his fingers on his lover’s shoulders, but Stephen twisted free with a hoarse, “Es!”, and bolted towards his partner.
Esther flung herself into his arms and wept, choking with angry sobs. Stephen muttered something incoherent, face pressed into her shoulder, and Esther thumped him on the back with a hard fist. “Why didn’t you say?” she managed through her tears. “Why didn’t you just say?”
Crane took a step back from the pair, almost light-headed with relief, and heard a low whistle from the couch. He turned to see Dr. Gold jerking his head in summons, and moved over to him. “Doctor?”
“Nothing, really,” said Dr. Gold quietly. “It’s just that if Esther realises you’ve seen her cry, she’ll never forgive you.”
“Ah. Thank you.” Crane turned from Stephen and Esther, who were now talking tearfully, urgently and simultaneously. He could hear Stephen repeating, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” and Esther’s furious, “I don’t care about that!”
He concentrated on Dr. Gold instead. “Are you all right, Doctor?”
Dr. Gold made a face. He looked rather worn. “I’ve had worse. So. You and Stephen.”
“Yes. You don’t seem surprised.”
“Well, he’s been my best friend for ten years and my wife’s partner for five. We have had occasion to observe him. It’s the total lack of interest in the fair sex that gives it away, over the long run,” Dr. Gold added helpfully.
“I’ll make a note.”
“This business with the power started when he came back from that rather dramatic trip to the country in spring,” Dr. Gold said. “Which I seem to recall he said was a blood, bone and birdspit job. Now, does that make you the chap whose ancestor was the Magpie Lord?”
“It does, yes. Lord Crane.” He held his hand out.
Dr. Gold shook it. “Daniel Gold. Well, I can see why Steph’s been keeping you quiet, quite apart from the other. I am right in thinking it was your father who hounded Steph’s father to death?”
That was blunt, not to say brutal. Crane kept his voice level. “It was, yes.”
“Mmm. Hardly an auspicious start, I’d have thought.”
It hadn’t been remotely auspicious. Crane’s hated family had cast a very dark shadow over his first encounters with Stephen. He didn’t intend to discuss that, so he simply shrugged.
Dr. Gold cocked an eyebrow. “One might wonder why Steph would enter into a, er, liaison under such unpromising circumstances.”
“You’d need to speak to him about it.”
“I’ll do that, the next time I want to hear a pack of bare-faced lies. Lord Crane, I know Steph extremely well. And this is the first time I’ve known him risk arrest, disaster and the destruction of his professional reputation. Consider me fascinated that he’s doing so on your account. Fascinated, and just a little concerned.”
“I don’t intend to let him suffer any consequences.”
“I very much doubt you can avert them, in the long run,” Dr. Gold said. “This strikes me as something of a dangerous game.”
Crane checked quickly over his shoulder to be sure the two justiciars were still intent on one another. “I understand your concern, Doctor. Notwithstanding which, and with the greatest respect, it’s none of your business.”
Dr. Gold opened his hands, apparently unoffended. “Perhaps not. Although he’s weeping over my wife in my surgery. That surely gives me some say in the matter, if only to ask him to take it somewhere else.”
Crane wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he didn’t. The doctor continued, “We’re fond of Steph, you know. Despite appearances. I don’t wish to see him hurt.”
“I trust Mrs. Gold feels the same.”
Dr. Gold made a face. “Esther’s bark is worse than her bite. Well, actually, it isn’t, but she’s entitled to do some barking anyway. Steph’s put her through a miserable few months with all this.”
“It hasn’t been very entertaining for him either,” Crane returned swiftly, and saw a glint of something like approval in Dr. Gold’s expression.
“Well, as you say, it’s his business. But watch your step, Lord Crane. And perhaps bear in mind that you may consult me in confidence, professionally speaking.” Crane had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but Dr. Gold looked past him before he could ask. “Ah, the march of justice. Have you two finished?”
Crane turned to see that Esther and Stephen had come up behind him, both somewhat red of cheek and eye, but under more control. He flicked an eyebrow at Stephen and received a quick, watery smile.
“Er. Dan…” Stephen began awkwardly.
Dr. Gold gripped Stephen’s shoulder and gave it a slight shake. “Stephen Day, you’re a blithering idiot.”
“I know.”
“Good,” Esther said. “And now that’s all sorted out, we have work to do.”
Chapter Twelve
Before any work could be done, Dr. Gold had to wake Leonora from her magically induced unconsciousness. He began a careful explanation, as she stared at her unbitten arms, which Crane interrupted with a brisk, “They’re shamans. It was magic.”
Leonora accepted the situation fairly rapidly, under the circumstances, but declined to be interviewed in the bloody rags of her gown, so Esther took her off to borrow a dress, and Dr. Gold disappeared to find Crane a shirt, while they waited for Merrick, who had been summoned to bring replacements for his gory clothing.
That left Stephen and Crane briefly alone.
“Are you all right?” Crane asked.
Stephen walked over and held on to as much of Crane as he could reach, burying his face in the stained shirtfront, gripping tight. “Oh God, Lucien. God. I was so frightened.”
“I know. You looked a great deal less scared when we were about to be murdered by warlocks.”
“That was only death. This was Esther.” Stephen snuggled closer, rubbing his face on Crane’s chest, trembling slightly. “Oh God, I’m such a coward. Don’t let me go.”
“I don’t intend to,” Crane said, caressing the curly hair, and something rang in his voice that made Stephen look up.
“You didn’t ask me to do it.” He pulled away slightly. “You don’t owe me anything. It was my choice.”
Crane heard the words from long ago that morning: I have to choose with the rest of my life in mind. His hands tightened on the smaller man, pulling him back, as close as he could come.
“You know, Gold’s right. You’re a fool, and I’m another. Between us, we’d barely make a village idiot. God damn the man,” he added as footsteps sounded, coming down the stairs. “I will talk to you later.”
“What does that mean?” said Stephen warily.
> “Shout at. Fuck. Adore. Come here.” He pulled Stephen’s chin up and planted a hard kiss on his mouth, then let him go just as Dr. Gold banged the door open, with a smock-like linen shirt in his hand.
“All I’ve got that might fit you, I’m afraid, here you go. The ladies are ready. If you go upstairs, I might even be able to see some patients. What the devil is that?”
“Tattoos.” Crane finished stripping off his stained shirt as the doctor stared in astonishment at his decorated, animated skin. “I had them done in China.”
“They’re moving!”
“They do,” Stephen said. “Don’t ask.”
“This is typical of you, Steph,” said Dr. Gold bitterly. “Typical. Of course you can’t just be unnatural like everyone else. Go on, get this overgrown magic lantern out of my way, this is a surgery, not a circus. Out!”
Leonora and Esther were waiting upstairs in the Golds’ small drawing room when Crane walked in, still grinning. It was a slightly awkward space, with bare floorboards and cheap furniture covered up by cushions and rugs, piles of books, and a couple of rather attractive wall hangings with lettering that Crane guessed to be Hebrew. The two women were sitting together as Crane and Stephen entered. As well as their similar colouring, they were much of a height, though Leonora filled the plain, borrowed gown almost to bursting. Esther didn’t give the impression of being aware of the unflattering contrast.
“You look wonderfully…intact,” Crane told Leo. “Stephen, Mrs. Hart. Leo, this is Stephen Day. In case you don’t know yet, Mrs. Gold and Mr. Day are justiciars. Shamanic law enforcers. Now, pay attention. The rats that attacked you also killed Rackham. Before that, they killed two men in Limehouse, and a family on Ratcliffe Highway. There’s probably but not necessarily a shaman behind this. The rats were very definitely trying to kill you; they didn’t touch me. So who’s after you?”
