Kelan brought his attention from the carriage window to the velvet bunk opposite him. His gaze narrowed on the shadows beneath Lily’s eyes. He hoped that was due to the early hour and not the demon glass. She wasn’t a morning person, as he’d learnt when he’d attempted to rouse her. He rubbed the spot underside his chin where her elbow had connected, a grin reshaping his jaw as he recalled the feline routine before the startled jerk that had chased the slumber from her eyes.
Lily sucked in her cheeks as she watched him. “I can’t imagine what there is to grin about.”
“The prospect of not one demon, but two, darkens the horizon,” Armand pointed out from his position on the bunk beside her.
“Precisely!” She rolled a look his way.
Armand raised a long-suffering brow at her. “Precisely.”
Her eyes returned to Kelan, sharpening. “Pray tell me you’ve decided to banish them on sight. Then I’ll have something to grin about, too.”
“Take a deep breath, Lily.”
“I gave you my word, I won’t touch your demons. I want to know their origins and, unfortunately, I’m not familiar with the proper banishing rituals.” She threw a hand out at him. “Which means the honour falls to you.”
“One day,” he said, promising with his sincere gaze as well as his words, “I’ll teach you.”
She chose to ignore both.
“But if you do that,” she said tartly, “how on earth will you control me?”
“I have no wish to control you.” He held eye contact on that blatant lie—well, not all lie in the given context. Withholding life-saving knowledge and skill in exchange for the upper hand wasn’t his style. He watched the tendrils of doubt flutter her lashes. She’d been so sure, now she wavered.
The carriage drew to a halt beneath the capacious awning that fronted the Southern entrance of Euston Station. Kelan stepped out first so he could hand Lily down. When her gloved hand would have slipped from his light grasp, his grip tightened to keep her close a minute more.
He tipped his head to look at her, measuring her composure. “Remember what we spoke of.”
The demons had ridden into Edinburgh yesterday at sunset, abandoned their half-dead mounts in a field and boarded the last London-bound train of the night. The dedicated high-speed Edinburgh-London link would deposit them on Platform Three with no tertiary stops along the route. A unique opportunity for Lily to identify the demons as they disembarked.
She stared at him. Her teeth dragged down the corner of her bottom lip.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said.
Green flashed in her eyes. “I’m not afraid.”
“Don’t look directly at them,” he repeated. One wrong move or look, and the demons would be identifying them. Agares may recognise him, but their presence could be a complete coincidence so long as the demon didn’t suspect the recognition went both ways. “Act natural and disengaged. If you feel yourself start to panic, take my arm and squeeze twice.”
“That’s me covered.” Her hand tugged in his, and he released her. “What about the rest of London?” Worry edged her flippant tone. The flash of anger in her eyes turned to accusation. “Whose arm do they squeeze?”
Kelan’s gaze softened on her. He’d accused her of defying him for the sheer hell of it, but he knew that wasn’t true. He had no glib reassurances to offer, no guarantees. He wasn’t a god. He was only a man trying to save the whole world, and he’d already made peace with the fact that he’d lose individuals along the way. That was the face of war and he didn’t expect Lily to understand. How could she? The compromises he made were of the kind that had to be ripped from a person’s soul. His mouth flattened. Witnessing an entire village reduced to smoke and ashes would do that every time. The charred husks of a mother folded over her babe. The tangled bones of lovers draped in drabs of melted flesh. The stench of burning hair and roasted meat.
The McAllister motto was Per mare, per terras. By sea, by land. Kelan’s personal motto was less poetic and wasn’t watched over by a vigilant eagle. Whatever it takes.
He moved aside so Armand could descend the carriage steps and addressed Brinn, who stood waiting. “Keep the carriage parked here in the slipway. We may need to depart in a hurry.”
Brinn nodded without a twitch of curiosity, accustomed to the Earl’s unusual orders. “If traffic forces me along, I’ll circle around and join the queue from behind, m’lord.”
Lily walked ahead, her skirts trailing on the inlaid stone as she passed through the outer vestibule into the grandeur of the Grand Hall. An elbow bobbed in and out of view as she fiddled endlessly with her gloves. Her hat bounced jauntily on the top of her head, as agitated as the rest of her.
Following a few paces behind with Armand, Kelan saw little to reassure himself. Her rigid back and straight shoulders contradicted her fidgeting nerves. Her head cautioned restraint while her heart itched to dispatch and banish. Add to that her impulsive nature and the mix was a potent combustive waiting to be ignited by a rogue demon or two.
Armand nudged him, detracting Kelan from his furrowed study. “Lady Lily will do fine.”
Kelan cleared his brow. “I know.”
“Then why do you look as if you want to leash and lead her like one of your sniffer dogs?”
“That would solve one of my problems,” Kelan said. He recalled the waspish sting of her retort and the flash of green fire in her eyes. But if you do that, how on earth will you control me? “And create ten new ones,” he muttered beneath his breath.
Lily joined the small crowd gathered at the edge of the platform that dissected the triple-volume vestibule, all eyes trained on the massive billboard strung between two marble-based granite pillars.
Beside one pillar stood a man, a ledger in one hand and a brass horn pressed to his mouth. As he spoke, black letters and numbers crawled over the white-washed magnetic board, rearranging the train arrival and departure times. The mechanism was derivative of the celludrone technology, invented by Duncan McAllister more than a decade ago, the patent sold to a manufacturer in Manchester for mass production to hide the creation of his advanced celludrones. In this instance, the auditory instructions were fed into a machine that controlled a web of hinged arms and tiny magnetic palms behind the billboard, sweeping the numbers and letters into place.
The billboard settled to show the Edinburgh train running ten minutes ahead of schedule.
Kelan cupped a hand under Lily’s elbow. “We have a few minutes to spare.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “I can’t decide if I want time to hurry up or slow down.”
“Come.” He steered her in the direction of the merchant stalls that dotted the wall, grey cement painted to resemble granite stone.
They approached a table presided over by a beefy man with bushy mutton chops cropping beet-red jowls. Lily slowed, then drew to a complete halt, mesmerised by the exotic snake slithering up his arm and around the back of his shoulders. The colours of copper, bronze and tin rippled through the undulating body of the exquisitely crafted automaton.
“This is where Evelyn got Puppy,” Lily said.
“Would that be the broken puppy?”
“Puppy isn’t broken,” she informed him with the barest hint of a smile. “He’s free-spirited.”
“Twenty pounds!” The man’s jowls quivered as his greedy eyes appraised his customers. “Thirty pounds for two an’ that’s a steal. Nuffin’ but the best for fine folks as you.”
Three further snakes slid over a laden table, winding shimmering bodies amongst the tortoises, dogs, a leopard cub pawing air in an endless loop, kittens, caged parakeets, a pair of lovebirds jolted apart sporadically by an occasional twitch.
Puppy wasn’t the only free-spirited automaton in this mechanical menagerie. The merchant’s supplier had a dodgy hand.
Kelan dipped his head and led Lily away. Her smile had turned mischievous and his household already had its quota of free-spirited creatures.
The crowd on the platform had thickened with family members and friends, liveried servants and porters pushing empty trolleys, each set bringing their own level of human noise and metallic clatter. And then all sound drowned beneath the pneumatic hiss of pressurised steam and the telltale nasal whistle. Armand strolled a little closer as a magnificent green and red engine rumbled into the station, lest they get separated at a crucial moment.
Kelan held Lily back amongst the stragglers when she tried to press deeper into the throng. “Our vantage point here is better.”
Her hands twisted in front of her, her eyes glued to the belching engine. “What if I lose them?”
He placed a reassuring hand on her rigid spine and angled his head to speak near her ear. “Then your demon glass will find them again.”
A shiver rippled down her spine.
“Release some of that anxious steam,” he said, lightening his words with a chuckle, “before you burst a valve.”
“This is no time for silly jokes.” She shrugged out of his space and folded her arms. No doubt she would have glared daggers at him, if she weren’t afraid the train and all its passengers would disappear into thin air the second she forgot to look.
A piercing whistle blew and the coach doors popped open on steam-propelled hinges. The first few passengers had just alighted when the platform erupted into chaos, started off by a single, shrill scream. Shouts and cries followed, the clang of a trolley knocked onto its side and the furious bellow of a porter.
Drawing Lily to his side with a firm arm, he caught Armand’s eye and nodded. The man slipped off, weaving into the thick of it.
Lily wriggled, straining to be free. “It’s them! It has to be.”
“I very much doubt it.” His arm clamped tighter, his gaze piercing the crush of hot bodies between him and the confusion of half the passengers attempting to bolt from the train and the other half trying to cram themselves back inside.
“If the demons were on a path of random destruction,” he told her, “they would have started in Edinburgh.”
A hand shot into the air, clasping a shimmering rope of copper, bronze and tin. “It’s not real,” rose a deep voice with an Italian flavour. “The snake is mechanical. An automaton toy.”
“The merchant,” Lily exclaimed, springing free as he loosened his grip. “It’s only the merchant’s blasted snake.”
Kelan swung her out of the way as a wave of stampeding boots, clapping heels, crinoline petticoats and shoving elbows almost winged them.
She spun about on a frustrated breath, bobbing up onto her tiptoes as her gaze skimmed the tail end of the mass exodus. “Of all the rotten luck.”
A lone body moved against the tide. Red-faced, eyes narrowed to slits, a man wearing the uniform of the stationmaster marched a path between the hardy souls who hadn’t fled.
He took one look at the snake writhing in Armand’s hand and changed direction. “That was your last mistake!”
The purple veins running through the beefy merchant’s face blanched to white. “Come now, guv, that one wasna even broke.”
“You’ve been a menace to my station since day one,” the stationmaster shouted as he stomped up to grab the edge of the table, threatening to tip it. “Pack up your farmyard and scoot.”
Kelan returned his attention to Lily. The scowl on her face told him all he needed to know. They’d missed the demons. He flicked his fingers in an almost imperceptible gesture and two McAllisters separated from the panelled woodwork near a refreshment booth. Plain dark waistcoats and jackets, white shirts and neckties, unremarkable hats and even less remarkable expressions, the lads blended seamlessly into the scenery.
A hand fastened on his arm.
He glanced at Lily. “What are you doing?”
“Not panicking,” she snorted. “I’m going to take a look in the demon glass.”
“Not yet,” he said. “Seeing them bunched into a hackney cab won’t tell us anything.”
Any further argument speared into a look of surprise as his men joined them.
Kelan introduced Archibald and Liam, then explained further as they walked. “In general, the McAllister clan look to me as their chief. But there’s a branch of direct descendants born and bred into the family secret and serve me in the role of guardian.”
“Direct descendants to whom?” Lily queried.
“Kenleith McAllister,” he said, well aware that told her nothing.
She threw a glance over her shoulder at the men trailing behind. “So, they know…?”
“Enough to perform their duties and a whole lot more,” Kelan said. “You may speak as freely as you wish in front of them. There’s little left in this world that could shock or even surprise them.”
They passed through the Great Hall to the tearoom tucked into the shadow of the grand central staircase. Startled passengers loitered, having regained their senses sufficiently to wait for their luggage to be brought around. Lily searched each face as they walked, but neither of them expected much. The demons carried one sackcloth bag each, and nothing to go into the baggage car.
Only once Lily had finished two pots of tea and a warm bun, did Kelan allow her to search her demon glass.
Archibald came back from the brink of death-by-boredom and sat forward in his chair. The brown eyes beneath his bushy brows came alive on Lily’s bowed head.
Forgetting he cradled a dainty cup in his paws, Liam nudged Armand and spilled half of the cold, untouched tea. “This it, then?”
Armand wiped his sleeve with a napkin. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Liam grumbled. “There’s no enough sugar in the world ta sweeten the vile brew ta my taste.”
Kelan reached out lazily to cuff the lad’s ear. “The lady’s trying to concentrate.”
Lily’s head came up.
“Did you see them?” Archibald pounced.
“They’re in Seven Dials,” she said breathlessly, her eyes coming to Kelan. “They’ve just entered a pub called the Cock and Pye.”
He raised a brow at her. “Of all the places they’ve been, Seven Dials is the one you recognise?”
“I’ve never been there.” A blush lit her cheekbones. “I once saw a cartoon of the sundial in the Daily.”
“I’m teasing,” Kelan said softly. The irregular square was iconic; seven streets radiating from the tall white column positioned at the apex. “But your claim to genteel innocence ends today. Seems we’re due a visit to Seven Dials.”
Kelan and Armand were no strangers to the rookery of St. Giles and they kept a pair of corduroy pants and a blue jacket crumpled at the bottom of the wardrobe for the occasion. Lily made do with her simplest gown, using one of Kelan’s neck cloths to tie her hair back in place of combs or a hat.
A short while later, an anonymous hackney cab deposited them within walking distance of the square. Archibald and Liam, who’d briefly gone their own way to change into their rookery attire, were already there, lounging in the doorway of a gin-shop. As soon as they spotted Kelan and his party, they pushed away and ambled closer.
Kelan placed himself between Lily and a wall, sheltering her as well as her wide-eyed fascination from the regular Seven Dial occupants. Armand and the lads formed a loose semi-circle around them, loitering and blending in. Groups of men cuddled the doorways and leant against the walls, many sucking from brown bottles. Ladies gathered in the middle of the road, calling up to others hanging out of windows.
Tenements tottered on each side of every alley and courtyard converging on the square that housed five pubs, one of which was the Cock and Pye. The green of the painted timber faded to a shade of green-grey, a dilapidated sign dangling from a rotted wooden spike, the pub was the smartest establishment in an area that languished in neglect.
“I should check again,” Lily said, her darting gaze settling on him. “They took a room above the pub, but I doubt they intend to spend much time in it.”
Kelan searched her face for signs of fatigue or illnes
s. He found none, but even if he had, he would still have agreed. He slid his arm through hers, pulling her into his side for support, and nodded. “Find them.”
He felt her slip inside the demon glass. With her attention elsewhere, all barriers of resistance fell away and she softened against him. Their forearms pressed from elbow to wrist, his hand closed over hers, palms together and fingers linked. Her skin was warm, warm satin; rookery ladies didn’t wear gloves. The sensation of holding her hand, of holding any lady’s bare hand outside the throes of passion, was an intimacy he’d never indulged in before.
Suddenly she was less soft and his fingers flexed, unlocking her. What in hell’s name am I doing?
Her eyes blinked open on him. “They’re downstairs in the pub.”
“We can’t go in,” Kelan said. “I met Eliza Winterberry a number of times. If Agares is the Winterberry demon, it will know me on sight.”
“Let me go with Archibald and Liam.”
“No,” he said firmly.
“Don’t do this, Kelan.”
“Do what?”
Her lips pursed. “Don’t pad me in cotton. I don’t need protecting; I need to be useful.”
“I’m not protecting you.” He turned, folding her flat against the wall with his body as he braced one hand above her head. “Your dress and manner are too refined. You’d stand out in a rookery pub like a match girl at the Queen’s ball.”
She wet her lips. “Oh.”
“Do you want to be useful?” His other hand nudged her chin up so he had her full attention. “Truly useful?”
“Of course.”
“Then stop fighting me at every turn and start trusting me,” he said quietly. “You were right. I don’t have any right to your blind obedience, but when it comes to demons, I need it. There won’t always be a chance for me to explain.”
She stared into his eyes, sorting through the truth and lies. He opened himself up to her, allowing her to see into his soul.
No lies. I don’t want to control you. I don’t want to tame you. I want you to walk at my side, never a step behind. When a demon is involved, take my hand and follow, trust my guidance. For all the rest, fly as high as your heart desires.
The Dark Matters Quartet Page 58
