by Lynn Vieh
“Hosts, Charmian.” He popped a matchit and lit the lamp nearest my chair. The frosted glass diffused the flame into a soft amber glow that gilded every edge in the room. “Living bodies that could house and transport their spirits.”
“So when the soldiers came, these imprisoned spirits dragged them into the trees so they might use them like carris.” Did he even realize how ridiculous he sounded? “Is this when the white rabbit makes an appearance and leads them and a little gel into a garden of talking flowers?”
Instead of growing angry again, he smiled a little. “I said almost the very same thing to Jack. He told me that at first none of the soldiers who came out of the forest truly believed what had happened to them. It seemed like nothing but a long, bad dream, until they discovered exactly how much time had passed, and how greatly they had been changed.”
Dredmore setting me on fire suddenly didn’t seem as bad as before, and once I convinced him to release me from the chair I’d have to make a run for it. The window latches were the heavy, solid sort that were inclined to stick; it would have to be the door. “I suppose their feet had been turned into roots, their arms into branches, and their hair into bird’s nests.”
“The men found they could move objects, start fires, even see into the future,” he said, and touched a center spot on his brow. “From here, simply by thinking it.”
“Mind power.” I sighed. “Of course it would be that. Couldn’t exactly walk about with roots for feet, could they? Imagine the dirt they’d track everywhere. And the cobbler’s bills.”
“You agreed to listen,” he reminded me. “Some of the spirits—indeed, most of them—wanted to atone for the great damage they had inflicted on the mortal world during the mage war. They guided the soldiers they had taken to take up their normal lives again, and to use their mind powers discreetly and wisely. They formed a secret association so they might help and govern each other. The less benign spirits were not so benevolent, and wanted to kill the spirits of the men they had possessed so the bodies would be theirs alone. To avoid another war, the two groups agreed to go their separate ways.”
“After which they all lived blissfully ever onward,” I guessed, eyeing the high shine of the waxed cherrywood flooring. When I ran for it, I’d have to be careful to keep to the rugs or my slippers would have me skidding straight into a collection of botany books.
“The group of men who hosted the benevolent spirits went back to England and called themselves the Tillers,” he told me. “The others withdrew to Talia, and became known as the Reapers. Little is known about the Reapers except some rumors. It’s said that they still desire to settle old scores.”
It was incredible how much detail he’d worked into his delusion . . . or perhaps there was nothing wrong with his mind, and he’d employed this complicated farce in hopes of bringing me under his sway. I began to suspect the latter. “So which was it? Harry became a Tiller, and your father a Reaper? Is that why you despise each other so much?”
“Jack was a Tiller,” he said softly. “Harry’s spirit never did choose a side.”
I decided I’d indulged him long enough. “I must say, that was an excellent story, Lucien. Quite imaginative, having the moving pictures to add such a dramatic feel. You could perform this show daily in the park. I think you’d really clean up.”
“What you are disregarding is that the Tillers and the Reapers did go back to live normal lives,” he said. “They became men of business, politics, and importance. They all succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations. And they married and had families, because they never suspected hosting the Aramanthan spirits would change their physical bodies. Not until they realized that their offspring were not like other children.”
My nose itched and I couldn’t scratch it, and it was driving me insane. Just as he was. “Please, Lucien, stop. Just stop now. It was a good joke, a very good joke, but you’re taking it too far. It isn’t funny anymore.”
“The Tillers managed to hide what they were, but their children were born with abilities not so easily disguised.” His voice dropped low, as if he were confiding in me. “Some superstitious fools began calling their progeny names. Shade-born. Demonites.”
I went still. Hellchild.
“Some of the children had ordinary gifts, but others proved to be even more powerful than their sires.” He went to the panel to flip some switches and the cuffs round my wrists parted, and then the bars folded themselves away. “Your mother not only rejected her powers, Charmian, but I believe that she and your father used the nightstone to assure that you would never know yours.” He came over to take my cold hands in his. “Thanks to them, you’ve remained ignorant of the fact that you are spiritborn, and possess incredible—”
“Enough.” I pushed him away from me and got to my feet, wincing as my muscles went pins and needles. “My parents are dead. I don’t have any power—mind, magic, or otherwise. I am an ordinary person, just like you. I don’t even want to know what a nightstone is.”
“You are not like anyone.” He also stood. “You are a spell-breaker, Charmian. Perhaps the most powerful in existence. Magic cannot work in your presence because your own instantly unravels it.”
“Brilliant.” I clapped my hands. “You’ve managed to invest me with the one power that explains why magic never works. Oh, in my presence, of course,” I added. “Once I leave the room, however, then it’s business as usual. Wardlings and potions. Enchantments. I’d like to leave now.”
“I can prove it.”
I whirled round. “How? By not performing magic in front of me—again? Yes, that should convince me. Go ahead.” I gestured. “Fail to conjure something.”
“There is only one power that can overcome yours, Charmian,” he said softly. “Happily, it is mine.”
I didn’t like the look in his eyes. “Yet somehow you’ve never thought to use it on me.”
“I did try, but your parents made sure no magic could ever touch you.” He took out my pendant and dangled it. “This is a nightstone, one of the last in existence. It was used by the old Druuds to imprison the mages in the Bréchéliant. Your parents somehow mechanized it to shield your spirit in a similar manner. From what I have gathered by observation, it releases your power while holding you oblivious to both it and the forces within the netherside.”
“So that’s the reason magic doesn’t work near me?” I nodded. “I wonder what my Da’s pocket watch does.”
“Allow me to demonstrate.” He curled his fingers over my pendant, opened them, and it was gone. “Now you are unshielded.”
“Let me guess.” I folded my arms. “You can to turn me into a great fat frog. Or, if my mind power is now working, you can’t.”
His eyes glittered as he came to me and dropped a small blue stone down the front of my bodice. As I tried to slap him, he said, “Take off the cloak.”
I looked down at my hand, which on its own had stopped and joined my other fingers to untie the strings under my chin. “This is ridicu—” I stopped when I realized I wanted to take off the cloak, more than anything in the world. “What is this? What are you doing?”
“I’ve told you, spell-breaker.” He smiled. “You’re mine.”
I pushed the cloak from my shoulders and straightened the dark blue gown I’d borrowed from Rina’s. Oddly, this gave me a distinct glow of pleasure. “Why does that feel better?”
“You want to please me,” he said. “In another moment you’ll do anything I ask.”
“Yes.” Something began pulsing deep inside me, as if I’d grown a second heart. “Of course I will. Should I take off the rest of my clothes?”
“My father became host to the immortals’ greatest enchanter,” Dredmore said as he went round me and encircled me from behind with his arms. “An Aramanthan who could bend anyone, even the most powerful spell-breaker, to his will. That was the gift Jack passed along when he sired me.”
“This is why Harry wanted me to leave you.” Poor Harry, he was a fool.
“He knew you’d try this.” Not that I was especially worried, not with this delicious contentment glowing inside me. “How long does it last?”
“If I choose,” he whispered against my ear, “for the remainder of your days.”
Delight sparkled inside me as I imagined it. “Yes, please, Lucien. I’d like that. I like you.” No, that wasn’t right. “I love you.”
“So you do, as long as I will it.” The air pressed in against me, and then I was turning to put my arms round his neck. “But this is not real love, Charmian. This is enchantment. Enslavement.”
“Nonsense. You know how much I fancy you. There will never be anyone else for me.” I beamed at him. “Lucien, all I’ve ever want to do is make you happy.”
“You’ve never wanted anything of the kind.” He kissed my brow before he plunged his hand down the front of my dress, removing the stone he’d dropped there. “And I’m sorry I’ve done this, but I had to show you.”
A heartbeat later my mind and body became my own again, and I drooped, as limp as an underdone crispie.
“Once I release you from the enchantment, there is a period of weakness. It will pass in a few moments.” He carried me over to the chair and sat down with me. “The longer I bespell you, the greater the weakness. With each hour that passes, more of you surrenders to my control, until I command the very beat of your heart. Then I can never release you, or you will die.”
“I can’t believe it.” I didn’t try to fight him off or argue; I was too stunned. “I really wanted . . . I would have happily . . .” I stopped and stared at him. “And you can do this to anyone, whenever you wish, just by thinking it and popping a stone down their dress?”
“Anyone like us.” His mouth curled at one corner. “To my everlasting regret, the power I inherited from Jack doesn’t work on ordinary mortals. Only the spiritborn.”
“Bloody hell.” I rested my cheek against his shoulder. “How do you live with something like this?”
“I avoid the temptation to use it.” He stroked my cheek. “When I first encountered you at that merchant’s house I knew you were like me; I sensed it at once—but my power had no effect on you. I tried everything, even planting spell stones in your garments, but nothing worked. I believed it to be a miracle.”
“You’ve actually tried to do this before to me?” I sat up and remembered all the odd times I’d found blue pebbles in my pockets. “How could you?”
“I wanted you.”
“You want to be beaten senseless.” I pushed away his hand. “Is there anyone more powerful than you? Do they hire out?”
“We all have our weaknesses.” His expression became shuttered. “You needn’t worry. I’d never use my power on you unless you were in danger.”
“That’s what you say now. Next week you might decide to have me shine your boots with my tongue.” I grimaced. “Not that I mean to suggest you do.” Something occurred to me, and I sat straight up. “That night in the maze, you didn’t use your mind magic on me, did you?” I hadn’t seen any blue stone then, but it might have fallen out of my pocket while I’d ridden back to the city on George.
He ran his thumb along my jawline. “You were wearing the pendant, remember? It’s always protected you.”
I glanced about. “Where is my pendant?”
“You’ll have it back, in time.” He turned my face toward his. “Charmian. You can’t keep wearing it. Your parents meant well, but nightstone is very dangerous and unpredictable. The manner in which they’ve mechanized it blinds you to the netherside. If the mechanism were to fail at the wrong moment—”
I wasn’t convinced I wanted to see the real world anymore, much less the netherside of specters and mages and only sweet Mary knew what else. “Perhaps it’s better that I not know such things.”
“You can’t hide forever from what you are, love.” He sounded weary now. “No more than I could.”
I tucked my head against his neck, my eyes drooping. “Lucien.” I yawned. “Why am I falling asleep on your lap?”
“You’ve had a long day.” He sounded peevish now, as if talking were too much effort.
The air seemed to be turning pink, and very hot, and with all my strength I pushed myself off him. My limbs turned to noodles and I landed heavily on the floor.
“Charm.” He tried to reach out to me, but his hand fell against the cushions. “Fire.”
I gritted my teeth and began crawling toward it, the pink smoke coming from the logs making my eyes burn, but halfway to the hearth I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. Nor could I turn over to see who had come into the room and was walking toward us.
A hard boot kicked me over onto my back, and I looked up to see Montrose Walsh standing over me, a noz over his mouth.
“Poor Cousin Kit,” he said through the mask. “You and your lover might be impervious to magic, but you’re still obliged to breathe, now, aren’t you?”
Chapter Seven
The next hour came to me in blurry flashes as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I glimpsed Dredmore’s body being dragged past me and dropped onto the dirty boards of a cart, and snow falling into my eyes. The cold roused me even as it chilled my limbs; the flashes grew closer together until they merged into a veil of snowy lace above my head. By the time my wits were restored they had moved us to another place and put me on a bed. Beside me Dredmore lay unmoving, but I shifted my arm to press against his side, and felt his ribs expanding and contracting.
Lucien still breathed. They hadn’t killed him.
Men’s voices spoke in low, ugly tones all about us; I could hear Lord Walsh, his diseased son, and someone with a faint Talian accent. They were arguing over something. Montrose spoke insistently, his father responded harshly, and the Talian seemed to be trying to placate both of them.
The voices came closer, and I played dead. Through my lashes I could see Lord Walsh taking polished stones from a pouch, which he rolled in his hand like coins he was reluctant to part with, until he held them out and a black-gloved hand chose one. More words were spoken, none of which I understood, and the glove lowered a white stone to Dredmore’s face.
I felt a movement of air over me, terrible and cold, which rushed at Dredmore. When I saw a wide, red streak of light shoot past my face, and felt Dredmore’s body jerk, I almost screamed. Although I held my tongue I must have moved, for someone grabbed my hair and lifted my head, giving it a shake.
“She’s come to,” Montrose said, and my head dropped onto the pillow again. “Can I have her, Dad?”
“No.” That was the Talian. “He took great trouble to protect her. She must know something of value to us.”
“I’ll get it out of her,” Montrose offered. “Come on, Dad. I did everything you asked. I haven’t had a fighter in ages.”
“Shut up, Monty.” Walsh came to stand over me, his cologne filling my nostrils, and then he slapped me, hard. Through the ringing in my ears I heard him say, “Enough stage play, Miss Kittredge.”
I surged up and drove my elbow into his diaphragm. As Walsh doubled over, I shoved him aside and ran. A short man with oily dark hair and a very sharp-looking dagger pointed at my belly brought me to a stop.
“Dredmore,” I said, never taking my eyes off the blade, “Now would be a very good time to demonstrate your deathmage magic.”
“I would be delighted, Charmian,” Dredmore’s voice rasped, “if you would first remove this boulder from my brow.”
“Can’t get to you just now.” I regarded the oily-headed one. “I don’t suppose you’d oblige him.”
“No, miss,” he told me in a Talian-accented voice, and glanced down. “Master?”
“Kill the stupid bitch, Celestino,” Walsh groaned from the floor.
“We will let her choose.” The Talian gestured, and Montrose appeared with a length of rope. “I can do as his lordship wishes, miss, and cut your throat. Or you can sit down and hold out your wrists. How will it be?”
I backed up against the bed. “Screami
ng and running away not an option? How disappointing.” As the villains converged on me, I jumped up on the bed, tumbling backward across Dredmore’s form and in the process knocking away the small white stone they had placed in the center of his forehead. Montrose uttered some vile words, while the Talian dove at the bed. Dredmore came out of his paralyzed state, grabbed me, and dragged me from the bed, thrusting me behind him as he assessed the two men.
“I thought magic didn’t work near me,” I whispered as I glanced over his shoulder.
“They’re not using it on you,” he muttered back. “And I have no power against Aramanthan-charmed icestone.”
“You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?” We were cornered, and the Talian and Montrose were coming round the bed after us. I thought of what the diseased little sod wanted to do to me and shuddered. “I’d like to be killed first, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“No one has to die,” Celestino said to Dredmore. “Zarath will see to it that you live for a very long time, my lord.”
Dredmore’s hand nearly crushed mine before he spoke to the Talian. “I will give you what you want, as soon as you release Miss Kittredge.”
Montrose giggled. “That’ll be a snow day in Hades.”
“She’s nothing but a stupid, nameless skirt,” Dredmore continued, making me want to kick him in a few sensitive places. “You don’t need her.”
“True, but you seem to care for her, my lord.” Celestino flipped his dagger over his hand in a flashy, useless show of dexterity. “Cooperate with us, and I will spare her life.” He smirked. “Perhaps Zarath will choose to make her your body servant.”
Dredmore turned his back on them and grabbed me by the arms, kissing me hard on the mouth before hauling me through an adjoining door, slamming it shut in the Talian’s face.
I glanced round us but saw no other door or window to provide an avenue of escape. “Lucien, we cannot stay in here forever.” Indeed, the men on the other side of the door were hammering on it.
“I know. I am about to be possessed by one of the Aramanthan, Charmian,” he said as he braced his shoulders against the door panel. “A Reaper warlord, who means to eat my spirit in order to own my body and use my power for his own purposes. I am too weakened by the drugs to fight him off, and he can control mortals the way I control the spiritborn. With my power added to his, no one will be able to resist him, not even you.”
