“The Order doesn’t take kindly to anything.”
“Why do you hate them?” he asked quietly. “Surely after the disastrous ball, you can see we’re only trying to protect the witches of London.”
“From us?”
“From warlocks, from each other, from themselves.”
She tilted her head. “Sounds exhausting. No wonder you look so cross all the time.”
“You don’t exactly make it easy.”
Her smile was crooked and wry. “I know.”
He was looking at her mouth. She had the strangest notion that he wanted to kiss her again. On purpose this time and not just to break a spell.
And that she might want him to.
His hair tumbled into his eyes. She lifted her hand to brush it back, then stopped herself. He tensed, his blue eyes snapping onto hers and flaring before he glanced at her lips again. She could feel the warmth of him. Their mouths were so near, even a shadow couldn’t have fallen between them. Her lips tingled expectantly.
He dragged himself away, releasing her abruptly. “Go home, Gretchen,” he said hoarsely. “Go home.”
Chapter 8
Morning in Hyde Park made London bearable. Gretchen could ride her horse over the hills as fast as she liked with no one to scold her. In the afternoon, she was relegated to Rotten Row and hundreds of fashionable people riding at a snail’s pace to show off their new hats; but when the sun was burning off the mists and only children and nursemaids were wandering about, she could gobble up the sky. It was a fine warm day already, with a sky as pink as the inside of a peony.
It would have been even better if there weren’t a handful of Keepers thundering past her toward the Serpentine. Hearing the faintest of whispers, Gretchen nudged her horse into a trot. She wasn’t surprised to find Tobias already there. She’d assumed he was following her but was vexed to discover she couldn’t spot him. It was becoming a game to test herself with. Even this early in the morning, he was so put together he could have been on his way to a ball. She wondered if he even knew how to wrinkle.
Or if he thought about their moment last night in the garden.
She slid out of her saddle and approached him. She’d barely tapped him on the shoulder when his hand was around her throat. She froze, breath strangling. His teeth looked suddenly very sharp.
It took him a long moment to recognize her.
He released her abruptly, shame chasing away the light of battle in his face. “I’m sorry. That was inexcusable,” he added with a stiff bow.
She swallowed, still feeling the imprint of his fingers on her skin. He looked as though he was going into war, not strolling through Hyde Park just after dawn. His pupils were so dilated, they made his pale eyes nearly black. Blue shadows traced his lower lids as if he’d slept as badly as she had. Worse, actually. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” he said hoarsely.
She closed one eye against the sudden swell of sound in her head. “Tobias, please don’t lie to me,” she said. “It hurts.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said abruptly.
“What’s going on?” She peered around him as a vicious stab of sound seared her ears. She flinched, grabbing her temples. There were two Keepers wading into the Serpentine, holding lengths of iron chains. The water bubbled and boiled, like a giant kettle.
The petticoats of a woman’s skirt floated to the roiling surface.
She must have been a nursemaid, judging by the two young boys being pushed away from the shore. A toy sailboat bobbed wildly near the woman’s body. One of the boys began to scream.
Gretchen had no idea what was lurking in the waters of the Serpentine; she only knew that the magical chains wouldn’t hold it.
“They’re doing it wrong,” she said through clenched teeth. She couldn’t stand the poor boys’ wailing, or the knowledge that the Keepers were walking into a fate similar to the nursemaid’s. She lifted the hem of her riding habit and broke into a run.
“Gretchen, no!” Tobias lunged for her but missed. She’d been outrunning Godric since she was seven years old. By the time Tobias reached the edge of the water, she was already wading up to her ankles.
“Those chains won’t work,” she told the other Keepers. She struggled to pick out the words in her head and they came a little easier. The words, however, were not comforting: hungry, run, drown.
“Of course they’ll work,” one of the Keepers scoffed, an iron chain wrapped around his wrist. “These were soaked in salt water under three nights of the full moon. After being buried in rowan berries and grave dirt. We know what we’re doing.”
“It’s not enough,” Gretchen insisted, even as Tobias reached her. “It won’t work.”
“You’d best listen to her,” Tobias said sharply. “She’s the reason all of London didn’t fall asleep this past week.”
Something began to fight its way out of the water.
A large muscular horse’s head broke the surface, green eyes rolling furiously. It was sleek and vicious, with sharp teeth made for grinding bones. Gretchen had never seen anything like it. Even though it looked like a horse, it was clearly something else entirely.
“What is that?” She stared.
“A kelpie,” Tobias said.
She took a step back, slipping slightly. “A what?”
“Water horse,” he explained shortly. “They pull people under and drown them.”
“If you don’t even know a kelpie when you see one,” the Keeper said, blood dripping from his chafed hands as water around his legs frothed pink, “how are we supposed to believe you know anything about the chains?”
“Get out of there!” Tobias snapped at him suddenly, hauling Gretchen out of the pond. “Your blood is making it hungrier.”
The pond heaved, water slapping at the shores and turning over the body of the woman so she could stare unseeing at the sky.
Still, Gretchen found the kelpie strangely beautiful. Daisies, cornflowers, and wild violets were scattered through its glossy black mane. Its eyes were the exact color of new oak leaves, delicate and mournful. She reached out a hand to touch it, wondering if it was as smooth and velvety as it looked. The nursemaid hadn’t understood, she hadn’t shown this wondrous creature the proper respect. Anyone could see it only needed a gentle touch.
She stepped closer, the pond lapping at her toes.
“Don’t.” Tobias’s hand clamped around her arm.
Denied another victim, the water horse thrashed resentfully.
Gretchen was suddenly aware of the cold water in her boots and the sodden weight of her riding habit. The material was heavy and cumbersome. It would have been like going swimming with stones in her pockets. She exhaled slowly. “What’s a kelpie doing in the Serpentine?”
“A very good question,” he replied. “They’re only allowed in the Thames, under the goblin markets bridge,” he added.
“Like the White Lady?” she murmured, remembering her hungry white birds. “That seems to be happening a lot, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes,” he agreed grimly. “I would.”
The Keepers flung their chains out. The kelpie lashed back with deadly hooves. The whispering in Gretchen’s head turned to the sound of knives being sharpened against each other. The vibration made her feel awful. She thought she caught the fragment of a new word, then nothing. She locked her knees so she wouldn’t sway.
“Gretchen, stop,” Tobias said in her ear. It took her a moment to realize this voice was coming from outside her own body. “Your eyes.” They were bloodshot, irises rimmed with pink, whites veined with tiny burst rivers of red.
“Nearly have it,” she insisted, doubling over with her hands over her ears. “Kelpie,” she muttered. “Kelpie. Kelpie.”
She straightened abruptly. She’d have smiled, if she hadn’t also been trying not to be sick. “Ivy,” she said finally. “We need to wrap the chains in ivy.”
“I’ll take your horse and fetch some,” Tobias said.
>
“Not a chance,” she shot back, running and vaulting into the saddle. Her stomach tilted unkindly. Tobias swore, going for one of the Keepers’ horses. He had to pause to lay out a young man in a puce cravat who wouldn’t stop trying to wade into the churning waters. The kelpie screamed and whinnied piteously.
Ivy grew in long vines from the trees and wound around a stone wall left to crumble artistically. Gretchen grabbed fistfuls of it, winding it around her pommel, her waist, and her neck. Tobias worked silently beside her, hacking at the vines with one of his knives. When Gretchen could barely see through the ivy piled in front of her, she turned her horse around, nudging him with her heels. She felt rather than saw Tobias do the same behind her. They pressed their mounts into a gallop, trailing ivy and clods of dirt kicked up by hooves slamming into the ground.
Gretchen leaned forward, the wind pressing against her. She reached the pond a scant moment before Tobias and slid out of the saddle, shoving ivy at the Keepers. They wound the vines as quickly as they could, evading the deadly kicks of the angry kelpie.
The buzzing in Gretchen’s head returned. It was more insistent than ever. She concentrated hard, until she tasted copper.
“Stop!” she yelled. “It has to be wrapped around counterclockwise!”
Cursing, the Keepers pulled the chains back, working the ivy with cold, wet fingers. The kelpie came closer and closer.
The chains lashed through the water. The kelpie gnashed its powerful teeth, biting at the waves, the air, a wayward water beetle. The chains tightened and tightened, until finally exhausted, the kelpie went still. It sank slowly down until only its flower-strewn mane was visible. Tears burned Gretchen’s eyes.
The whispering slammed into such sudden silence that she flinched. Her entire head felt like a rusted bell. She swayed on her feet. Tobias scooped her up before she could fall. The wet folds of her riding habit draped over his arm.
“Blast,” she said blearily. There were three Tobiases, all wavering in front of her, disapproving faces blurring. “All anyone is going to remember now is that you carried me. They’ll forget the important part.”
“That you helped chain a kelpie?”
“No, that I beat you in a horse race.”
Gretchen had fainted.
Fainted. She’d never swooned in her entire life. Not when the Sisters had cornered her and her cousins, not even when she’d fallen out of a tree and right onto her head. She didn’t believe in it.
And Tobias had caught her.
That just made it so much worse.
She woke up cradled in his arms, just as the carriage rolled into motion. Mortified, she stayed very still. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t notice she was awake and she could pretend none of this was happening.
She was sitting across his thighs, her legs dangling over his knees, water dripping from her wet boots. Her head was tucked against his shoulder, and his arm was warm against her back, coming around to rest on her hip. She lifted her eyelids infinitesimally. She could see the white of his cravat and the fine weave of his coat. He’d removed his ruined gloves, and his skin was tanned, as if he spent more time out of doors than his demeanour suggested. It was intriguing.
The carriage jostled over a bump in the road, and his arms tightened around her, securing her against his chest. He smelled like earth and soap.
She could have sworn she heard one of the dead witches sigh a little.
As if their incessant chatter wasn’t bad enough.
The footman opened the carriage door and let down the steps. He made a sound of surprise. “I’ll take her, my lord.”
“I’ve got her,” Tobias said, his voice rumbling his chest under her ear. He didn’t relinquish her, instead contorted himself in what must have been an uncomfortable angle for his neck, in order to step outside while holding her.
The butler hurried to let him in and footmen came rushing to help, dashing any hope of staying discrete.
“My lord Killingsworth!” Gretchen didn’t recognize the voice, but she instantly despised the simpering sigh it barely concealed. “How chivalrous you are.”
“She’s quite ruining your coat.” That was Clarissa. “She must be dreadfully heavy being so tall.” Gretchen had to remind herself not to bare her teeth. She was supposed to be unconscious.
Tobias carried her into the drawing room, settling her gently down onto the settee. She must have winced at the fevered pitch of girlish giggling because she felt him smile. “I saw that,” he whispered against her ear. His breath was warm and tickled the nape of her neck. An expectant silence throbbed behind them. “I’d play dead if I were you,” he added.
She couldn’t stop an answering smile. “It wouldn’t be enough,” she returned, barely breathing the words. She cracked her eyes open, not realizing he was still so close. She could see the flecks of silvery gray in the impossible blue of his irises and the faint scar along his cheekbone.
“Ladies,” Tobias said, pulling away sharply and turning to bow. “I leave her to your tender care.”
“Coward,” she muttered.
“I have smelling salts!”
“No, try my vinaigrette!”
The same girls who looked down their noses at her and her cousins rushed forward to show how very helpful and compassionate they were. She didn’t open her eyes until she was sure Tobias was gone and the stench of someone’s vinaigrette burned her nostrils. Her wolfhound hid under the settee, equally distressed, paws over its nose.
“What the hell is that?” she snapped, glowering at the offending smell. “Demon blood?”
“It’s hartshorn and pickling vinegar. My mother swears by it when she’s feeling faint.”
“It’s vile.”
“Tobias carried you inside,” Emma explained, handing her a cup of hot tea. “After which they all promptly lost their minds.”
“He was very dashing,” Penelope put in.
“Is he courting you?” A girl sighed, her eyes shining hopefully. Gretchen hoped it wasn’t contagious.
“No,” she said very firmly. “He most certainly is not courting me.”
“He carried you out of the carriage and all the way up the path,” someone else put in. “He wouldn’t even let the butler help. He took you right to that very couch himself!”
“He was ever so handsome!”
“Do you think he’ll call on you?”
“Pity you look so dreadful, Gretchen.” Clarissa sniffed. “You’ve got mud all over your hem!”
Gretchen let her head fall back onto the cushion, sloshing tea into the saucer. “It’s not bad enough I had to fight off a kelpie? I have to be gossiped and giggled to death as well?”
“You’d prefer the kelpie, wouldn’t you,” Emma said with a sympathetic smile.
“Every time.”
“You’re soaked!”
“Did he rescue you from drowning? How romantic.”
The chatter increased to a frenzied pitch. They were like winter sparrows swarming on a single crumb. Her evil-eye ring cracked in half.
“A woman did drown,” she interrupted. “And I can assure you, it wasn’t the least bit romantic.”
A hush fell. It didn’t last.
“We’re safe at the academy, surely.”
“And he did save you then?” someone else asked tentatively. “Did you kiss him?”
Gretchen threw the cushion at her.
“Oh, go on.” Penelope stood up to shoo the girls out. “Before she starts throwing furniture.”
Clarissa sniffed. “You don’t own the drawing room, Penelope Chadwick.”
A sudden clap of thunder rattled the chandelier. One of the girls shrieked in surprise. Clarissa jumped but refused to otherwise react. She glared at Emma. “Don’t be childish,” she said.
Emma just smiled as a burst of rain flung itself sideways through the open window behind Clarissa. Cold water spattered her, and she stomped away, trailing the others, who were suddenly more eager to stay dry than to hear gossip.
>
Gretchen grinned at Emma. “I love your magic,” she said. She tried to sit up gingerly. When her head didn’t fall off, she reached for a biscuit.
Penelope waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Tobias was very solicitous.”
“You’re as bad as the other girls.” Remembering the soft touch of his breath on her ear, Gretchen’s cheeks were suddenly and strangely hot. She must be weak from the embarrassing swooning. She ate another almond biscuit. “I’m sure he was just worried he’d get in trouble with the Order.” She made a face. “Or my mother.”
“Your mother is rather fearsome,” Emma allowed. “But I don’t think that’s it.”
Gretchen refused to look at them. “Stop it, both of you. You’re being silly. And we have more important things to worry about.”
Penelope did not look convinced.
• • •
Try as she might, Gretchen could not beat her brother at billiards.
Ever since she was twelve, Gretchen had snuck down to the billiards room regularly in the middle of the night to practice. For years. Faithfully. And yet Godric still trounced her game after game and with apparently little effort.
Gretchen circled the table once more, eyeing it as a hunter might eye a peevish lion.
She muttered to herself about angles and mathematics and vexing twin brothers. Godric leaned on his pool cue, bored but cheerful. The wall behind him was papered in dark blue silk and bristled with spears and swords that were purely decorative, as they’d discovered the afternoon of their infamous duel. The blades had snapped in half, brittle as stale bread. Marble busts of Classical philosophers no one knew lined the walls on either side of the fireplace, as well as gilt-framed painting of horses and hunting dogs and a door that led out to the terrace. Gretchen and Godric’s familiars curled up together under the table, watching her pace back and forth.
“If you hit the ball from that angle it will ricochet off the side there and will very likely bounce right off the table. Again,” Godric commented. Gretchen had a habit of using too much force and not enough forethought.
She shot him a look. “Don’t help me,” she ordered. “When I finally flatten you utterly, it will be a delicious revenge entirely of my own making.”
Whisper the Dead Page 14
