Souls to Heal
Page 8
Alice placed her cup on the bench and refilled the kettle. Ewan frowned and tossed the book to the table. Quinn and Ianthe wrapped him in cotton wool, rushing to undertake tasks before he exerted himself. Alice could almost see frustration running over his skin, even if his face kept the same bland look.
He needed a purpose in life before he went as mad as her.
It wasn’t long before everyone bustled into the warm kitchen and took off wet outer layers. Sarah and Perkins were indeed soaked through. Sodden overcoats were hung on pegs on the wall by the range to dry. Alice poured tea, and once seated with a steaming mug, Sarah pulled a packet from inside her jacket.
“Mail,” Sarah said as she handed it over to Ianthe.
Ianthe dropped into a chair and sorted through the mail. She tore open one letter and scanned the contents. “Oh, Quinn, exciting news. We have finally been extended an invitation to visit the Burrow’s farm. I hear they have some divine mares.”
Quinn smiled. “Excellent. We need at least five more and, dare I suggest, perhaps even another stallion to add to our herd?”
Ianthe clasped the letter to her chest. “Oh, you are a man after my own heart.”
She passed the letter to Quinn and then finished sorting the rest of the mail. There was one for Alice from Aunt Maggie and another she passed it to Ewan. “From your major.”
He arched an eyebrow as he took the heavy envelope. Then he drew the knife from his boot and slit the seal before he pulled out the sheets within. Two pages were covered in tight, neat script. He leaned back in his chair as he read, as though considering the words in his hand.
“What is it? Is everything all right with Aster and little Rab?” Quinn eventually asked him.
Ewan looked up as though he had quite forgotten they were there. “Yes, mother and child are in excellent health. Aster has been hard at work once more and appears to have found a trace of a certain person of interest who, despite the fact that his heart no longer beats, still causes trouble for us all. Hamish asks that we put off going to Woolwich and pursue the lead instead.”
Quinn frowned and the large clock in the corner ticked loudly as he thought. “Forge? But Alick tore his throat out and he disappeared behind a wall of flame when the warehouse burned.”
Ewan tapped the letter in his hand. “Vampyres seem rather difficult to eradicate. They’re like a red wine stain on your best cravat. Aster has deciphered secret messages that mention him returning to England to distribute something to advance the French cause.”
Alice paused on her way from the dresser with a pile of plates. The names meant nothing to her, but the undertone in the room changed. Without shifting form, the men became wolves who had scented their quarry and gone on the alert. Her attention flicked from Quinn to Ewan as some unspoken communication passed between the two men.
“Where?” Quinn asked. A rare hard light entered his brown eyes.
Ewan laid the letter on the table, face down. “Aster found a reference to Seabrook, a small village in Kent. Whatever he plans to distribute is going to be smuggled in. This could finally be our chance for justice.”
8
Ewan
* * *
Ewan stared at Aster’s neatly formed words that marched across the paper. For almost two years there had been no word of the vampyre. With no remains, the Highland Wolves couldn’t be certain he’d died in that fire. Once a British agent, Forge had been turned by the French with the lure of immortality and the gold to accommodate his new lifestyle. All they asked in return was a few years in their service. Personally Ewan thought the man did it simply to feed his bloodlust.
The traitor had nearly cost England the war with his plot to intercept the gold payments to her allies. Cutting off the gold would have left England to face France alone, with no allies at her back. There were also rumours that France had crafted a magical weapon to bring England to her knees and Forge was in the thick of that plot.
For his treachery he should have hanged, not that stretching his neck would have achieved anything except making him taller. Add the innocent men he drained of blood, including Aster’s father, and Ewan would take great delight in making sure the undead Forge met a grisly final end.
The only question was how to catch the slippery eel who constantly evaded them? He was going to need a better trap this time.
Quinn rubbed his chin. “Forge knows you and he’s canny. You would never get close enough to get your hands on him.”
Ewan made a noise in his throat and considered his options. As he mulled over possible plans, Ianthe took the plates from Alice and set them around the table.
At length he spoke, a vague idea forming in his head. “He knows the old Ewan, not this damaged one. I could wear a disguise of some sort.”
Alice looked up at his words. Transformations were very much on both their minds. Her fingers curled around the cutlery in her hands but she waited for a nod from him before speaking. He needed to work on her confidence; it bothered him that she always waited for permission to do anything.
“Does this man truly know your face or only aspects of you?” Alice asked.
Ewan narrowed his gaze at the young woman. Her words hinted at the same idea he was formulating. “What do you mean exactly?”
She placed the cutlery on the table before she clutched it so tight she cut her hand on the knives. She took a deep breath and let out her thoughts in a tumble. “Does he know the shape of your jaw, the hue of your eyes, and the type of soap you use? Or does he know the preciseness with which you tie a cravat and the impeccable cut of your jacket? The former is a more intimate type of recognition that cannot be hidden, but the latter is readily changed. I could use my hiding gift to smudge your edges and make you less like yourself.”
There was a quick mind hiding behind Alice’s haunted eyes. Perhaps the conversation veered close to her comment about turning a pig’s ear into a silk purse—or possibly the reverse in this case. “What do you mean smudge my edges?”
Heat flared under his skin and he breathed it out slowly. He could imagine her hands on his body working at his edges, and it wasn’t an image he wanted to share with the group.
“My mage blood enables me to find things and to hide them. I usually hide objects, but I could apply the same principles to you. It would be a simple ensorcellment to change the shape of your face or colour of your eyes and hair.” She waved her hands about his face as though she cast a spell as she spoke.
Ianthe ran a critical eye over Ewan. “Even without resorting to magic, we could play up your injuries. Make your limp more pronounced. Let your hair grow unkempt, keep your chin unshaved. I daresay no one who knew you in London would recognise you.”
Ewan shuddered. The idea of not grooming was anathema to him, and here they were suggesting he play the part of a vagabond. He couldn’t imagine a worse torture than telling him not to bathe or shave. They may as well ask him to stop pronouncing his Rs.
“You have raised an excellent point, Alice. It is an idea I can use, no matter how repugnant, to get close to Forge.” Ewan held her gaze, wanting to voice his admiration but not wanting to embarrass her in front of the others. Or did he not want to reveal something about himself by praising her remark? He would miss her company when he left for Hythe in Kent. Their time together was nearly at an end, and that made a cold weight settle in his stomach.
“Surely you won’t go on your own, though? Will you take other men?” Alice buried her hands in her apron and a frown pulled on her brows.
Ewan shook his head. “Quinn is too well known to Forge, quite apart from the fact he thinks he already killed him. If he recognised Quinn, it would put someone we both care about at risk. Besides, he has his own mission that he has put off long enough and must journey to London for Lady Miles. It is better if I do this alone as the injured and down-on-his-luck war veteran.”
“If Forge is working with smugglers, you’ll need something to trade to get their trust, apart from your good looks and
ability to carry full barrels of brandy,” Quinn said.
Ewan curled his right first and unfurled his fingers as far as they would reach. Each day the tendons stretched a smidge more. “If one doesn’t possess physical abilities, one must make use of one’s mental skills. I shall use our contacts for information on that feared enemy of the smuggler—the excise men.”
Ianthe carried the joint of meat from the oven, and Alice slid over a mat to go under the piping hot tray.
“You cannot go alone. Use me. I can be another set of ears and eyes in this endeavour,” Alice said, drawing attention to herself. “You can be my injured wastrel of a husband who I must support.”
Something in Ewan’s chest thumped at the idea of taking Alice with him and keeping her close. In Kent, they could continue her education and he could show her how to be whatever she wanted by changing her voice or posture. But not on a mission like this. “No. This man is a callous murderer. I’ll not put your life at risk.”
A sad smile touched her lips. “You cannot break something that has already been ruined.”
Ianthe gasped, but otherwise remained silent. Perkins and Sarah set about finishing off the table setting and dishing supper into serving bowls. Quinn sat and watched as though he found the whole exercise amusing.
Ewan ground his jaw as he measured her resolve. He understood her need to escape the nightmare world that Hoth had imprisoned her within, but was this the right step to progress the transformation? No. It was too dangerous. If he were truthful, he cared too much for her to risk her life.
“Quite apart from the fact no one expects you to undertake such a mission, you’re nowhere near ready for confidential work.” He picked up the letter and refolded it back into a neat square.
“Then either make me ready or I will simply follow.” Having formulated the idea, Alice seemed quite determined not to let the subject drop. “I will be of use and can disguise your features to enable you to get close to this Forge, but the spell would need to be renewed daily.”
Ewan let out a sigh. Was there any point in arguing with a woman who had made up her mind? He couldn’t have her following him like a puppy, so it would be better to construct some way to keep her out of harm’s way. A small village like Seabrook was bound to have a quiet corner where he could tuck her away. And that way she could smudge his edges each morning. “Very well. I will write to Hamish for any further information about Forge and the French weapon. I will also use my contacts for information on the excise men in Kent, and then we shall lay our trap together.”
Ianthe dropped a serving spoon with a clatter, her narrowed gaze on Ewan. “You cannot be serious. After all Alice has been through, how can you even entertain the idea of having her anywhere near someone like Forge? Absolutely not. I forbid it. She is one woman, not an agent for the Crown. Let the War Office dispatch someone else to help you.”
Alice laid a hand on Ianthe’s arm before Ewan had a chance to respond. “If not now, then when? After what I went through, I need to face my demons and slay them. This is an opportunity to take on the role of a fighter, not a victim. And it’s not as though I will be chasing the man down the street waving a knife.”
Quinn snorted at the image that conjured and Ianthe managed a quick smile. “But he’s not a man, Alice. This is a vampyre, and being Unnatural makes him exceptionally dangerous.”
The steel crept into her spine as she stood straighter. “I survived two years imprisoned with a soul eater. I think I can last a few weeks in the same county as a vampyre.”
Ewan slid his blade back into his boot. “Alice has a point. She survived where other women did not.”
“Apart from supporting Ewan, I could obtain a job in the village that would put me near the smugglers’ women. We do have a tendency to chat, and anything I learned might be of use to Ewan.” For once, Alice didn’t falter or back down. She didn’t drop her head or sneak out of the room. She stood tall as she told Ianthe of her plans. Whether they accepted her ideas or not, she seemed determined to be involved. “You have given me sanctuary while I heal, for which I will be forever grateful, but now I need to stand on my own feet. The time has come to test my mettle.”
Ianthe gripped her hand and met her gaze. “You have become my dearest friend, and I cannot bear to think of you added to the list of victims of this creature.”
“I’ll be at risk, too,” Ewan threw into the conversation, although no one seemed at all worried about his wellbeing.
He appreciated Alice’s situation. No one wanted to linger on the charity of others for too long. Even now, it itched that Ianthe and Quinn provided for him, and he had only been under their roof for two months. He would rather have a purpose than wander around the hills like a lost Romantic poet. And it delayed the time he had to present himself to the mages to become their pet experiment.
“Can you locate Forge, Alice? That might save Ewan valuable time,” Quinn asked.
“If we have something he has touched, yes. I would be able to pinpoint his whereabouts.” Alice turned to Ianthe. “You cannot protect me from the world, Ianthe. This is what I want, to help bring monsters and demons like Forge and Hoth to justice. Danger does not frighten me, and Ewan will accompany me. I won’t walk in the dark alone.”
“Alice is quite right. If we place her in a role near the smugglers’ women, she can gather valuable information about their operation and reduce my need to expose my face to Forge.” Ewan tucked the letter into his jacket pocket. “Perhaps as a barmaid at a pub they frequent, or in a bakery or coffee shop. No one is suggesting she run him down screaming Die, traitor, die!”
“You will keep my friend alive—do you promise me, Ewan?” Ianthe had a determined glint in her eye, the one that said she wouldn’t budge on the price of a horse.
Ewan saluted the older woman. “Message received and understood.”
After dinner, Ewan laboured with his left hand writing two different letters, one to Aster and Hamish for any information they could find about Forge’s activities and what magical weapon the French laboured over. Their return letter was to be sent to a trusted contact in Kent. Then he wrote the retired soldier he knew to alert the man that Ewan would soon travel to Kent and for information of the excise officers in the area. All the while, he constructed a suitable backstory for himself and Alice.
They were to be a married couple with no source of income due to his war injuries. The lure of easy money from smuggling drew them to the eastern coast of England. Their biggest obstacle would be falling in with the right smuggling gang, as Kent was becoming a hot bed of illegal activity. Returned soldiers with no income and in some cases, lacking excitement, were turning to bringing goods into England under cover of dark. He hoped Alice’s mage-blood gift would help them narrow down the most likely area.
His concern for Alice gnawed at him. He nearly denied her request to accompany him outright. Forge was too dangerous to throw her in his path, and they weren’t even sure how you destroyed a vampyre. But resolve shone in Alice’s gaze. And selfishly, Ewan wanted to keep her near for a little longer.
Her words in the parlour bothered him. To think she saw herself as a pig’s ear when he saw only the silk purse. She was wrong. Breeding didn’t define a person’s ability to be accepted among society. Alick Ferguson was proof of that. He might have Highland aristocracy running through his veins, but that man would always be a beast.
Alice had the potential to be a chameleon, adapting who she was to suit her surroundings. With her mage-blood gift of disguise she might yet prove to be a literal chameleon, able to change her appearance. Yes, that was why he would keep her near: to watch her transformation from broken girl to avenging angel.
The next morning, Alice slipped out the back door as soon as she finished his regular massage. Ewan was still sitting at the kitchen table, rolling down his shirt sleeve and staring at the shut door, when Ianthe appeared.
“Has Alice run off already?” she asked as she put the kettle on to boil.
“Every time it rains. Alice and Eilidh last inside for so long, but first break in the weather, they are off.” Ianthe set cups on a tray and then filled the tea pot. “She’ll be back at dinner time, soaking wet, and the shadows will be gone from her eyes. Sometimes her pockets will be full of gold coins. She uses her mage blood to find old coins lost centuries ago.”
What he would give to lift the shadows from Alice’s gaze. If dog and mistress were running over the hills, he had a fair idea where they might eventually end up. He headed to the barn, slipped a bridle onto his horse, and set off on a quiet walk. The sun tried to shine through the clouds, and the landscape was strewn with scattered diamonds as raindrops clung to leaves. Winter would soon give way to spring, and they would make their way to Hythe with the change of the seasons.
He leaned against a tree in the clearing by the waterfall. The serene location was etched in his mind as their glade. The farm might be remote, but the residents still cosseted the broken pair. Ianthe and Quinn couldn’t help it; they wanted to heal both their friends. Ianthe and Sarah fussed over Alice as though she were an injured bird.
There was a privacy here with only the trees to observe their movements. By the waterfall, they could set aside their patch worked exteriors and be the broken creatures they were on the inside. If they were selkies, they could have peeled off their skins and frolicked in the water as seals. The idea made laughter well up in his chest, but it also had the ring of truth about it. Everybody hid some things until they found the right person they could shed their exterior with and share their darkest secrets.
The horse grazed on the lush grass growing by the water’s edge and Ewan waited. She would come. The spot called to her as though it held ancient magic that tugged at her mage-tainted blood.