by C. J. Archer
"It was fair, Charlie. You used to be better."
"Huh. I see you're as brutally honest as ever."
He stopped suddenly. There was just enough light from the hissing streetlamp for me to see his frown. "Did I hurt your feelings?" he asked. "I thought I was making a simple observation."
"I know, Lincoln, and no, you didn't hurt my feelings. But if you ever observe that I've gotten fat, you should lie."
"I'll keep that in mind."
I rolled my eyes but he wouldn't have seen in the dark. "A better response would have been: 'You'll never get fat, Charlie. Yours is the sort of figure that couldn't put on a lot of weight.'"
"I'll keep that in mind too."
I laughed. I was no longer sure if he was serious or teasing me. "Come on. Let's visit the princess in the tower."
We waited across from Gillingham's house and watched as Lord Gillingham left in his carriage. Light edged the drapes in one of the third floor windows. The curtain briefly fluttered, revealing Lady Gillingham, before closing again.
We waited another hour in the shadows for the passing coaches to thin. Being winter, no one was out walking, and the street grew quiet. Lincoln tied the rope around both our waists and we silently approached the house. With a quick glance to see that we weren't observed, he used the external plumbing pipe to scale the wall. My eyes had grown used to the darkness, and I was able to see where he placed his feet and hands. I easily followed him. Neither of us spoke, and my body settled into a rhythm, as if it remembered how to move up a vertical surface. It was exhilarating and more satisfying than I could have imagined. I paused only once as he took a moment to look down and check on me.
"Keep going," I whispered.
We reached the third floor faster than I expected. Lincoln tapped on the window where we'd seen Lady Gillingham—Harriet—earlier. By the time I located holds for my fingers and feet, the window sash flew up. Harriet's face appeared. She smiled at Lincoln, then saw me and gasped.
"Charlie! When I heard the knock on my window, I suspected it would be Mr. Fitzroy, but not you. My goodness, come inside before you fall."
"She won't fall," Lincoln said.
I smiled at his faith in me. He helped me through the open window and didn't let go until I planted both feet flat on the floor. He untied me from the rope coiled around his waist.
"I enjoyed that," I said, dusting off my hands. We hadn't worn gloves, the better to grip onto pipes and ledges.
Harriet's bedchamber was very large and pink. From the dusky rose shade of the curtains to the bolder cerise of the bed cushions, it matched the woman’s girlish nature. The room was cold, however, with no fire in the grate. Our breaths frosted in the air. Fortunately, I was warm from the exercise.
"You're braver than I," Harriet whispered, glancing at her door.
"We saw your husband leave," Lincoln told her. "You're safe."
"Yes, but the servants…they spy for him."
"Spy?" I blinked. "What sort of husband spies on his wife?"
"The sort married to an ugly beast." She plopped down on the bed, her pretty face a picture of misery.
I sat next to her and went to take her hand to squeeze it as a show of support, but stopped myself. Her station was far above mine. As friendly as she was, she might not like me touching her. "The servants know nothing of your shape shifting, do they?"
She shook her head. "Gilly told them that I'm unwell and must remain in my rooms tonight. Even if I ask to leave, they're not to allow it."
"He's keeping you prisoner in here?"
"I'm sure I'll be allowed out in the morning." She lifted one shoulder before it slumped further than before.
"He's the beast," I muttered. "Not you."
She blinked tear-filled eyes. "Thank you, Charlie."
"For what? I haven't done anything. And to be perfectly honest, we're here because we want something from you, although if I'd known you were being kept prisoner, we would have come sooner—and perhaps brought something to make your imprisonment less dull."
"Sherry?"
"I was thinking of a deck of cards."
She giggled into her hand. "Thank you for cheering me up a little. But please, don't blame Gilly entirely for this. He is only doing what he sees as right."
"Right?" I blurted out. "If he sees this as the proper way to treat a woman, he needs spectacles to improve his vision. It is never right to have your freedom curtailed."
"Gillingham will hear from me in the morning," Lincoln said.
"No!" Harriet sprang up but sat down again just as abruptly, as if she'd surprised herself with her vehemence. "Please don't mention you were here. It will only make things worse."
I looked to Lincoln and shook my head. His flattened lips were the only sign he'd comply with her wishes.
"Better times are ahead of us," Harriet said, her childlike voice full of hope. "If only I can have a baby. All I have to do is convince him to…" Her hands screwed into her skirt, and she studiously avoided our gazes.
"Right," I said. "Well then. The reason behind our visit. We want to know what you were about to say to me when your husband interrupted us. You said you might know of something that could help us learn who the imposter is."
"Yes, of course." She plucked at her skirts. "It's not much, and I hope I haven't brought you here under false pretenses. You see, it may not work."
"Work?" Lincoln asked with a small frown.
"I know so little about what I am, but there is someone who knows more. Much more. He may have the answers you seek."
She knew of another like her? She had claimed not to. Had she lied, and there was a family member, after all?
"I see," Lincoln said simply. He turned to me and I blanched at the odd look in his eyes. A worried look.
What did I have to do with any of this?
And then I understood. Harriet meant her father could help us. He was the only other person she'd ever known who could change shape like her. But he was dead.
I drew in a deep breath to steady my suddenly pounding heart. "It's fortunate that I came."
"Will you do it?" Harriet nibbled the skin on her top lip and glanced between us. "Will you summon his ghost here?"
"It seems like a good idea," I said. "Indeed, it's the only idea we have at present. What's his full name?"
"Wait." The single word dropped from Lincoln's lips like a stone. "He's a supernatural."
"A shape-changer, nothing more," I assured him.
We'd once encountered a midwife capable of breathing temporary life back into the newly deceased using a spell. Her magic had allowed her spirit to ignore my commands when I directed it back into her body. If she'd been a cruel, hateful woman, she could have done enormous harm to the living in those few hours. We did not want a repetition of that incident.
Lincoln crouched before me and rested his hand on my knee. He didn't speak or offer counter arguments. But I knew from the look in his eyes that he was remembering the midwife too.
I placed my hand over his and touched the amber orb tucked beneath my clothes. It throbbed in response. "He's a shape-changer," I said again. "Not a necromancer or whatever Estelle Pearson was."
"Good heavens, no," Harriet said. "Why would you think that?"
Lincoln swallowed then gave a single nod. He stood and glanced at the door then the window—deciding which to guard, I assumed. He chose the window.
I turned to Harriet. "What's your father's name?"
Chapter 8
The heart of the imp inside my amber necklace beat steadily, albeit faintly. It held no fear of the spirit coalescing into the shape of a tall, solidly built man with an equine nose and untidy mutton chop whiskers. I wasn't afraid either, merely uneasy. But until I knew that the barefoot man wearing a nightgown was harmless, my gut would continue to churn and I wouldn't let go of the orb.
"Good evening, my lord," I began.
Harriet's gaze darted around the room. "Where is he?"
I nodded at the
figure, an imposing man, even in death. The mist shimmered, as if the spirit couldn't quite keep his form, then steadied.
"Harriet?" he murmured. "What are you doing here?" Then, louder, "What is the meaning of this?"
"You're dead," I said quickly.
"I know that. Are you? Is…is she?"
"No, she's alive. We three are, but only I can see you."
"I'm alive and in excellent health, Daddy," Harriet said cheerfully. "Don't worry about me."
Lord Erskine's wooly brows drew together. He studied his daughter and then Lincoln, standing impassive by the window. "Who're you? And who's he?" I put up my hands to stop his questions, but he ignored me. "What are you doing in my daughter's bedroom? And why has my rest been disturbed? Where's Gillingham?"
I introduced myself and Lincoln, and explained about my necromancy. "It was your daughter's suggestion that we summon you," I told him. "You see, we need your help. We need to understand more about how you and your daughter are able to change form."
The spirit shimmered again and clasped his hands behind his back. He studied Harriet, sitting primly on her bed, a look of expectation on her face. "I don't know what you're talking about," Erskine growled.
He reacted as I expected, but it still irked that I had to win his trust when his own daughter believed us. "Harriet has told us everything she knows, but it's not enough. We need to know if there are others like you, and if it's possible to change into anything other than a…a wolf-like creature."
The mist drifted away then suddenly swept around the room, darting over furniture, up to the ceiling, and plunging to the floor.
"My lord," I said. "Please, settle down and I will answer your questions. Firstly, Lord Gillingham has gone out and left instructions that his wife not be allowed out of her rooms."
The spirit stopped suddenly, his scowling face directly above mine. "He did what?" he bellowed.
"Don't worry about Gilly, Daddy," Harriet said. She couldn't hear or see her father's displeasure, but she must have guessed my statement upset him. "I can manage my husband." She gave me an arched look and I decided to leave the topic alone.
"Mr. Fitzroy and I are friends to your daughter, my lord. We wish her no harm. Indeed, we protect people like her and myself. People with supernatural abilities."
His nostrils flared. Up close, they were cavernous. "Being her friend doesn't make me inclined to speak to you of her affliction."
I didn't expect her father, a man who could change shape too, to call it an affliction. I was glad she couldn't hear. She had enough disappointment to bear with her husband's disgust.
"Please, sir," I begged. "If there's anything that can help us, you must tell us. There is no one else."
"You may be my daughter's friends, but I don't know you. I do know that Harriet is too trusting of others. She's gullible and inclined to think well of people who might not have her best interests at heart."
"We don't wish to harm her. Indeed, she's like me. Neither of us are normal."
"And him?" He jerked his head toward Lincoln. "What is his affliction?"
I paused but dared not glance Lincoln's way. "An inability to understand people."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lincoln shift his stance.
"Daddy, you must help." Harriet got to her feet and put out her hands, as if searching for something in the dark. I nodded in his direction and she turned toward the spirit. "The royal family is in trouble."
Erskine cocked his head to the side. "In what way?"
"Someone impersonated the Prince Consort," I told them. Harriet hadn't known the particulars, only that the royal family was affected.
"But he's dead," both Harriet and Erskine said at the same time.
"You see why we're searching for answers."
Harriet sat heavily on the bed again. "Indeed."
Erskine paced the room as a living person would, except his footsteps made no sound on the carpeted floor. After crossing the room three times, he stopped in front of Lincoln. "Why you?" he said to Lincoln's face.
Lincoln didn't answer, of course. He wouldn't even know Erskine was there.
"The Prince of Wales tasked us with the investigation," I told him. "We belong to a discreet organization working for England on matters such as this. Matters that can't be explained with reason or logic."
"Supernatural matters."
"Yes."
He half turned to look at me. "A government organization?"
"Semi-official. Mr. Fitzroy is our leader. Lord Gillingham is on the committee."
"Is he? Then why isn't he here, urging me to help?"
"Because he doesn't like his wife being involved, or his wife's family."
He must have understood my meaning because his nostrils flared again. His misty form shot toward me, his chin thrust out in all its noble glory. "If it's for the queen, then I am obliged to assist in any way I can."
"Thank you." I let go of my necklace. "He agreed to help," I informed the others.
Harriet clapped her hands quietly. "Thank you, Daddy. It's very important."
He sat on the bed beside her. "You wanted to know if I am aware of others like us?" He placed his hand over hers, but she didn't move. I could see that she'd inherited her father's large hands. Feet, too. "There are others, as it happens."
"How many?"
"I don't know. All I know is they do exist. I grew up thinking I was alone, you see, that nobody like me existed. My parents died when I was young, so no one ever told me what I was. I could control my changes easily, and none learned what I could do. Not even my wife. Not until…" He looked sadly at Harriet. "Not until Harriet changed from a baby into her other form as she slept. My wife went mad from the shock. She screamed whenever the nurse tried to give Harriet to her. I had to pay the nurse handsomely to keep her quiet about my daughter's condition, and I had my wife committed to an asylum."
An asylum! The poor woman. Poor Harriet, although I was quite sure she didn't know her mother's fate. She'd told Lincoln her mother had died.
"Harriet doesn't know the truth," he said, following my thoughts. "You have my permission to tell her, if you think she can cope with it. Otherwise, please keep it to yourself."
I nodded, somewhat numb. "Go on."
His large chest rose and fell, as if he took in a deep breath, although he no longer needed air. It would seem that breathing wasn't a habit easily broken. "I thought Harriet and I were the only ones in the world who could change, but then I read a newspaper article about some wolves seen in London."
"Wolves?"
"Wolf-like, was how they were described by the witnesses. They ran on all fours, had fur, a muzzle, claws and teeth. According to the article, they didn't harm anyone, just ran through the streets at night, sometimes howling."
He paused and I repeated what he'd told me for Lincoln's benefit.
"Did they appear at a specific time?" Lincoln asked, speaking for the first time since Lord Erskine's spirit arrived.
"One of the witnesses said only at a full moon, but others made no such comments," Erskine said.
I repeated this for Lincoln.
"Animals roaming the city's streets isn't unusual," Lincoln said.
"No," Erskine said. "But what was unusual was that they simply disappeared. When witnesses chased them, they came across only other people. Naked people. When asked if they were attacked by wolves, these people claimed they were not and showed their unmarked limbs to prove it. They laughed off their lack of attire as if it were nothing."
"Extraordinary," I said, and told Lincoln what Erskine had said. "You think these people were the wolves, back in their human form?"
Erskine nodded.
"Were any names given?"
"No, but I inquired at the newspaper office. The reporter gave me addresses of the witnesses and I sought them out. They laughed it off as a silly joke, a trick of the light, and claimed they must have been mistaken. They said the newspaper sensationalized the incidents and that it wa
s really nothing."
"Why would they laugh it off? Didn't they believe their own eyes?"
"It was dark, for one, and the lamps in that part of the city often don't work, particularly in those days. But it was largely because of the people they came across after chasing the wolves who convinced them they were deluded. They were well known in the area, you see. The witnesses believed them without question."
Again, I repeated his story for Lincoln.
"Did you investigate further?" Lincoln asked.
Erskine said he did. "I tried not to think any more of it after speaking to the witnesses, but I couldn't stop. Then the more I thought about it, the more I became certain these people were like me, capable of changing shape. The notion consumed me. I had to find them and know for myself. So I returned to the slums and asked the witnesses for names of the people they'd seen that night. I then went to speak to them, but was met with silence and threatening glares at every turn. I wasn't sure if they wouldn't speak to me because I was an outsider or because they had a secret to keep. Their silence frustrated me." He spread his hand over Harriet's then curled it into a fist. "I couldn't stand it anymore, so I told one of them that I could change shape too and that I was searching for others like me."
Revealing himself had been a risk. "And what did he say?"
"He gave me the name of a man, a leader of their group, I suspected. I visited him and he didn't dismiss me immediately, at least."
I shifted forward on the chair, my gaze riveted to Erskine. "Go on."
"He asked me to prove that I could change. So I did."
"He wanted you to change in front of him? Without proof that he could do so first?"
Harriet made a little sound in her throat, part horror, part surprise. She must have guessed her father's answer.
Erskine nodded. "It was the only thing I could do to get him to open up."
"And did he talk to you?"
"Once I returned to my human form, he became quite excited. He was eager to ask me about my changing, and we compared notes, as it were. I learned that he could also change into a wolf-like animal at will, but he was learning to change into other types of creatures."
"How could he learn to change into other things?" I asked, repeating his words for Harriet and Lincoln.
