“You have to choose a side, Greyston. Either we trust him or we don’t. I’m not saying he isn’t keeping secrets, but someone has to jump the fence or we’ll all die straddling it.”
“Dammit, Lily.” He drew to an abrupt halt at the base of the service staircase and spun her around to face him. “What have you done?”
She jerked free from his grip and glared at him. “I told him about my visions.”
“You should have discussed it with me first,” he ground out.
“You would have insisted I wait, and for what? Will you trust Kelan more tomorrow? The day after? Next week?”
“Don’t you understand?” He folded his arms and worked his jaw loose. “McAllister will never let you go now that he knows what you can do for him.”
“I’m not going anywhere until every last demon is banished and that tear is sealed, and then I’ll no longer be of any value for him to hold onto.”
“The McAllisters have been embroiled in this war for centuries, give or take a few decades. They strategise in terms of generations, not a single person’s lifespan.”
“Kelan believes I can learn to control my visions to probe for demon presence anywhere in our dimension. We can end this, Greyston, and I’m talking in terms of months, not years.”
He was far less confident. Once Lady Ostrich had been booted back to hell, he decided, he’d find a way to make her see reason.
Her eyes softened to honey. “Maybe we can even end this before another person has to die.”
“Maybe…” His gaze dipped to her mouth again.
The tug was irresistible.
One brief kiss.
Everything considered, what harm could one kiss do? Just one more messy fragment discharged into the chaos.
A sluggish heat pulsed through his veins, his blood hot with desire and tainted by a foreign sweetness that wouldn’t be rushed, demanded the time to savour, to make the moment last. His body swayed a little closer and his head lowered a fraction and he would have done it, he knew. Her chin turned up to him and, from the heaviness pulling over her lids, she knew it too.
Lily jumped back suddenly, pursing her lips.
Ana was at the top of the stairs with Lily’s letter.
He didn’t know which had come first, Lily’s reaction or Ana’s reappearance. Lily fled up the stairs, leaving him to follow a pace behind and stifling a string of curses as he realised what had slammed his resolve. He was looking for something to take away with him. A touch, a taste, anything to feed the hunger that had come on slow, so slow, he hadn’t recognised each new depth he’d unwittingly adjusted to.
Evelyn was waiting with her husband in the double volume entrance hall. “William’s gone on ahead with Paisley,” she told him. “It would appear he’s taken her under his wing.”
“The lad has excellent instincts,” Greyston said. Paisley was the main reason he’d offered William a place on his crew. The two of them had formed a bond of friendship during the long night and she seemed to draw some comfort from him.
Lily pressed her letter into Evelyn’s hands. “Don’t post it until you reach London.” She glanced at Lord Harchings, then back to Evelyn. “I don’t want Aunt Beatrice to worry, and she will if she thinks I’ve made a rash decision while on our travels.”
Greyston looked between the two friends. They were as thick as thieves and no doubt someone was about to be deceived.
“Yes, of course.” Evelyn pulled her into a quick hug. “Paisley wasn’t feeling up to company, but she asked me to pass on her goodbyes.”
“I feel so terrible for her.”
“Evelyn tells me you’re not returning with us.” Lord Harchings stepped forward. “That you’ve set your heart on the church.”
The words took on a physical presence, twisting a knot in Greyston’s gut.
“After the horrific events of yesterday, I feel a yearning for a deeper, spiritual connection,” Lily confirmed. “Lord Perth is a substantial benefactor to several abbeys further north and has arranged an interview for the morning. The Mother Superior indicated I’d be welcome to join them immediately as a guest while we determine if I’m suited.”
“You’re a dear friend to Evelyn and will be missed. I do hope you find temporary sanctuary sufficient and feel able to resume your life in London after a short stay at—” His blue gaze sharpened. “What did you say the name of the abbey was?”
“Enough of this morbid talk,” Evelyn burst forth, wringing her hands dramatically. “I can’t bear to think of how much I’ll miss you, Lily. I don’t want to hear another word about this abbey.”
Lord Harchings’ gaze shot to him. Greyston met the demanding stare and answered nothing. He was neither the man’s friend nor confidante. What he was, was a bloody fool. What in damnation had he been thinking?
He looked at Lily, standing with her back to him in that ill-fitting dress that revealed the top of her boots and inches of bare skin. If she’d noticed half of her hair had escaped the odd pin she’d clearly jabbed in at random, she didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.
That’s what he’d been thinking. Demons walked amongst them. Their world had been turned upside down and inside out. Nothing would ever be the same.
That’s what he’d been thinking. That no one could see what they’d seen, know what they knew, and not look back through different eyes. He had started thinking he might get to keep her, while she’d been plotting her re-acceptance into Polite Society. How could he not have known what foolishness had been festering in his heart?
His anger built, at his own silly delusions and, fair or not, at Lily’s stubborn refusal to change with the tide of this new, crazy world. Instead she thought she could set the old world right side up again and step straight back into it. He had no right to demand anything of her. He should leave it be. He could not.
As soon as Kelan arrived to see his guests out, Greyston pulled Lily aside into the library.
“You want to return to the pompous strictures of London so badly,” he accused in a blistering tone, “you’re willing to go to war to fix it.”
“You say that as if I have a choice. When Lady Ostrich is gone, the next one will track us down and they won’t stop coming. Nowhere is safe while demons roam free.”
The edge drained from his anger. “Es Vedra is surrounded by miles of demon-toxic ocean.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I meant nowhere in England.”
“And I’m asking if you could ever consider Es Vedra.”
“That’s not all you’re asking,” she said softly after a significant pause. “You’re asking me to exile myself from the life I was born into, from everything I know. Family. Friends. You’re asking me to ignore the fact that I’d be leaving them to the mercy of demons, to pretend there’s nothing I could have done.”
Greyston had never considered himself a selfless person. There were, however, a handful of people he’d die for. He didn’t have to like it, but he understood. “So, we go to war.”
“We will finish this,” she said, her smile warming through him and damned if he didn’t believe her.
And when no more demons remained in England, there’d be no reason for her to leave. He could beg anyway, but that would still be asking her to exile herself from the life she’d been born into, from her family and friends. There was no happy ending here. He’d known that from the start and clearly nothing had changed since.
“We finish this.” He dredged up a grin as he looked into her eyes. And saw the fear that hadn’t touched her smile. The sadness and regret for that which had already passed and, likely, for what she guessed still lay ahead.
She wasn’t going into this fight a courageous warrior, but she was going. Her heart called for her to do the right thing and she followed without a second thought. That inner strength she always denied was a hundred fold stronger than he’d ever be.
If he were lucky enough to claim a piece of her, she wouldn’t think twice about not only following her heart to Es Vedr
a, but to blaze a trail through the Aether on the Red Hawk with him. She’d do it, no matter how scared she was, no matter how much she had to give up. And that’s why he wouldn’t ask.
His grin turned to dry amusement on that thought. When had he become so bloody noble?
They’d been in the air for less than fifteen minutes when a knock came at the door of the pilot cabin. Greyston brought his frown up from the damage report he’d been studying. Ferdie had replaced the sections of mangled pipe, but the ship would need to be taken into the Frankfurt workshop for repairs to the anodised aluminium alloy shell.
Jamie met his frown and shrugged.
The door flung open without invitation and Lord Harchings graced the threshold. “I was hoping you’d have a chance to talk.” His gaze skimmed the interior, from the navigation board to the Piping Control Unit.
Greyston knew better than to underestimate those sharp eyes. He swivelled his chair about and slid to his feet in a forward stride that forced Harchings to back up. He stepped out onto the Pilot Grid, closing the door behind them, and led the way through the opposite doorway.
“We’ll be more comfortable here,” he explained, glancing around the empty boarding cabin. “Where is…” He hesitated at being on informal terms with the wife but not the husband. When he’d probably refuse for the sheer hell of it even if Harchings gave him leave to use his first name. Lily would thoroughly approve. That brought on a smile before he could slam up the wall. “Evelyn?” he finished gruffly.
“With Paisley in the upper deck cabin.” Harchings set himself down on the padded bench.
Greyston pulled a hardback chair away from the table and straddled it, crossing his arms over the top. The gaping hole where the pipes had burst through the wall was an eyesore and a harsh reminder. As soon as he returned from Es Vedra, he’d instruct Ferdie to take the Red Hawk to Frankfurt.
He moved his gaze to Harchings, who wasted no time in getting to the point.
“We’ve been chasing you for months.”
“Is that the royal we?” Greyston drawled. “Or do you mean the war office? Customs? The whole damn country?”
“All of the above.” His lips quirked. “Perhaps with the exception of the whole damn country.”
“Is that so?” Greyston rocked back onto the hind legs of his chair. “I never noticed anyone on my tail.”
“Precisely.” The duke’s humour faded. “The steam power of the Red Hawk is phenomenal. I’d be willing to pay a fortune for that kind of technology.”
“You and many others.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” He planted his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.
Greyston chuckled. “Does the queen know you’re offering to empty her coffers?”
“I’m not here in an official capacity.” Harchings leaned back on the bench again. “Name your price.”
And British regulations outlawed private air ships. That put an interesting spin on exactly what capacity the duke was here in. “The Red Hawk isn’t for sale.”
“I’m not after your ship, just a copy of the engine blue prints.” Harchings raised a brow at him. “You’re not afraid of a little competition in the Aether, are you?”
“Ruffling an Englishman’s ego might break him,” Greyston remarked. “A Scotsman’s spine is stiffer.”
“Consider the good of our country.”
“Hmm.” Greyston stroked his chin thoughtfully for a second. “The answer’s still no.”
“I’m accustomed to getting what I want,” Harchings said darkly.
Greyston wondered if that was truth or bluster. He had Neco and the ability to rewind time, a golden edge over most—scrap that, all men. The opportunities were endless and he’d taken advantage of every single one to get where he was today, to have and hold the life he’d created for himself from scratch. And he’d never come close to getting what he really wanted. He’d simply learned to stop the wanting.
He gave Harchings a long, hard look and read the unspoken ending to that declaration. By fair means or foul.
Now that was something Greyston could relate to and the age-old rivalry between English and Scottish kicked in his blood. “You’re welcome to try.”
Harchings inclined his head ever so slightly, accepting the challenge.
Greyston grinned. Only two copies of the blue print existed. One was secured in his vault on Es Vedra. The second was in Ferdie’s head. The compressed steam power circulatory system had taken the German engineer three decades to perfect. A lifetime’s work for a life. Ferdie’s solemn promise, when he’d made a gift of the exclusive technology after Greyston had saved his life. The second time around.
Baston & Graille kept a small stable at their docking yard for the convenience of their passengers. As soon as they landed, Greyston sent Neco to arrange the carriage rental while he helped Ian and Hob tether the ship. He didn’t mind in the least when his man returned with a two-seater Brougham. He jumped up onto the driver’s box with Neco, leaving Harchings to attend his wife and Puppy beneath the hardtop while Greyston took control of the reins.
The Central Terminus was the first stop.
After the precursory handshakes and formal goodbyes, Evelyn threw her arms around him. “I’ll hold you personally responsible if anything happens to Lily,” she whispered fiercely.
“So will I,” he murmured.
She pulled out of the hug and gave him a dazzling smile. “Take care, Grey. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you either.”
“I always land on my feet.” He lifted his gaze to where Harchings held the squirming puppy awkwardly at an arm’s length. “I can’t decide who looks more put out by that arrangement.”
Evelyn turned from him with a laugh. “Devon thinks automatons are unnatural.”
“That’s rather the point,” he said dryly and, despite his hurry, shoved his hands into his pockets and watched until Evelyn disappeared from view inside the terminal building.
Evelyn was ravishing, provocative and loved to flirt with danger. Lily was beautiful, loyal and selflessly committed to impossible causes. If asked a month ago, he would’ve picked the former every time.
He shook his head, shook Lily from his thoughts, and turned his attention to procuring a coffin, retrieving Jean’s body from the hospital and kidnapping a willing priest to take back with them to Forleough.
By the time the Red Hawk had docked in the meadow beside the mound of Forleough’s ashes and Jean had been laid to rest alongside her husband in the Adair family graveyard, sunset had come and gone.
When the others returned to the ship, Greyston remained behind in the walled plot. A full moon lit behind tumultuous clouds, ringing them with an eerie glow.
Propped against the Rowan tree, his gaze lingered on the three gravestones in front of him. This would be his final goodbye. He wouldn’t be back. The weeds could choke every foot of Adair land for all he cared.
Jean had only told him a little before the fire cracks had sent him running up the stairs last night, but he had enough to build a ragged picture.
His mother had come up from Edinburgh to work with Duncan McAllister. She was a scientist of sorts and probably involved in the celludrone technology. His father was a regular visitor there too, that was how they’d met.
Then, some four or five months before Greyston was born, there’d been a falling out at Cragloden. Greyston assumed that must have been when his father had learned of the existence of demons.
All those rants about demon blood and curses made a lot more sense now. Either his mother had known all along, or she’d been more accepting of the revelation. She continued to attend McAllister and Forleough became a constant battleground for his parents. Relations had been so strained between the two, his mother had moved into Cragloden for the final month of her confinement. And there she’d died giving birth to him.
Greyston was the reason his father hadn’t been able to beg forgiveness over her last breath.
No wonder his
father’s hatred had been so intense, so all consuming.
But Greyston no longer took all the blame upon himself. As he looked over their graves, he made a space for his father’s guilt, for the mess his parents had made of their own marriage.
The rest of the story he was less sure about. Were his abilities somehow linked to Neco? Had his mother and Duncan created a supernatural connection between him and the celludrone? Between Lily and Ana? He may never know, but he believed he had the most important answers.
His gaze settled on Aragon’s gravestone and his throat thickened. Perhaps it had been okay to love his brother too much to sever all ties. Perhaps that wasn’t all his fault either. He took a deep breath and pulled up a grin for Aragon. It wasn’t one of his best, but Aragon would understand. He always had.
He shifted against the tree trunk. He should be getting back to the ship. They were vulnerable on the ground, in the open. He sucked in another deep breath. Took a moment more. And found what he’d been looking for. Perhaps he didn’t have to run in order to love Lily.
Perhaps it would be okay for him to stay and love her.
EIGHTEEN
Lily had been cooped up inside the castle for days and she was going crazy. Three days to be exact. She’d read everything she could get her hands on about demons and the McAllister history thereof. She’d studied, she’d practiced, studied some more, and she’d worried. What if Greyston wasn’t coming back?
He’d been running for so long, why would he stop now?
Would he even know how to?
She sighed and returned her attention to the book folded open upon her knee. Her finger traced the flowing lines of the rune mindlessly. She’d practised this particular one so often, she could draw it with her eyes closed and in less than twenty seconds.
Kelan wasn’t happy with the timing yet. If you can’t get it down to five, Lily, you’d be better off using those extra seconds to run as if the hounds of hell are after you. Because, as he’d often finish such advice with, they probably were.
The Dark Matters Quartet Page 22
