“Please, take a seat, Mr. Winter.”
Sitting stiffly in the sparse wooden chair at the end of her desk, Immanuel fidgeted. “Is everything all right? Miss Ashwood seemed upset.”
“We had a visitor last night who came bearing some alarming news.”
“I hope it wasn’t anything too serious.”
“Its gravity is yet to be seen. It does involve you, though, and what I wanted to speak with you about.”
Immanuel chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Miss Elliott, I don’t mean to be forward, but am I in trouble? If you’ve invited me to tell me I have broken some,” he hesitated saying the word, “magical law, please tell me.”
“No, Mr. Winter, you would have to do something very grave to end up on the wrong side of magical laws. You seem sensible enough and nervous enough to not trifle with dark magic. What I wanted to talk about has to do with our discussion yesterday. I sensed that you haven’t told your Mr. Fenice about your abilities.”
“Mr. Fenice is my friend, but—” The words caught in his throat at the sight of her cocked eyebrow and incredulous frown. His pulse quickened with silent panic. She knew. When she probed his mind to discover his abilities, she had found him and Adam interlaced, the sheets falling away as their bodies breathed as one. Had she invited him to discuss blackmail?
Upon seeing his wide eyes, she added, “Mr. Winter, you have nothing to fear here. Practioners have a different outlook on life than most. We have been a hunted group for hundreds—if not thousands—of years and only now are we beginning to gain acceptance again, at least in certain circles. We don’t tend to persecute others who are feared and hated by those who would happily see us burn. You may get some backhanded nastiness or the occasional disapproving look but even that is rare here. You would be surprised how easily the queen is willing to overlook a few eccentricities when it serves her interests. She did with me and Cassandra.”
Questions bubbled through his mind but the only one he could get out was “You and Cassandra are…?”
“Yes, just like you and Mr. Fenice. A Boston marriage, as they call it. Relationships like these are especially supported when the partner acts as an amplifier for a practioner. Much like your Adam, Cassandra isn’t a practioner herself. Her talents lie in amplifying my ability to see the truth, and I’m willing to bet your Adam probably does the same for you, whether you know it or not. But that isn’t what I wanted to speak to you about. I received a letter from Lord Sumner. Have you heard of him?”
Immanuel shook his head, his eyes wide. It was all so much to take in. “No.”
“Lord Sumner is a member of the gentry and a theoretical practioner, meaning he’s well-read on magical practices and abilities but does not perform any himself. Past incidents have cured his taste for actual magic, yet he enjoys the social aspect at a place called the Eidolon Club. You get it. Anyway, you must understand that covens are strictly forbidden in England to prevent a magical uprising. Over the last ten years, there has been a rise in magical groups that are reminiscent of a coven, such as the spiritualist societies, social clubs, secret orders, a few rather ambitious knitting circles, but they are disguised as religious or social organizations, which are perfectly legal. You would be amazed where they crop up. Her Majesty, in her absence, has allowed these societies to flourish, creating new issues for us to tackle.”
Leaning close, Immanuel whispered, “Who is us?”
“You needn’t whisper, Mr. Winter, you’re already here. I’m a member of Her Majesty’s Interceptors. We’re a bit like the Home Office or Scotland Yard, but our domain is the extranormal. We investigate strange species, locations with magical phenomenon, and stop practioners from getting involved in dark magic.”
“That— that sounds like a difficult job.” How could he even say that? He shouldn’t believe her. It couldn’t possibly be true.
“But it is,” Judith replied with a bright grin. “Even after all of your recent revelations, you still don’t believe? Well, we can discuss my employment later, but we have much more pressing matters.” Clearing her throat, she swept a blonde lock behind her eat and straightened. “Lord Sumner sent us a letter to warn us about a few members of his club getting into some… darker practices. Did you see the article in The Daily Telegraph a few weeks ago about the tomb that was broken into in Highgate?”
“I believe so. Scotland Yard said it was a grave robbery.”
“That would be the one. Apparently, they did break into the Duke of Dover’s tomb that night. The duke was known to us as a keeper of relics, and Lord Sumner suggests that the aforementioned members were the ones who broke in and desecrated the corpse in order to divine information.”
Immanuel swallowed against the growing knot in his throat. His mind lapsed to dark rooms where corpses bloat until their features are distorted to the point of mutilation. The odor of rot overpowered his senses until his body was overtaken. He stared at the umbrella stand, hoping the bit of bile would settle before he spoke.
“Desecrating how?”
“Bone-conjuring. You asked about darker magic, well that’s it. Bone-conjuring is a very old practice and one that is frowned upon. Anything that requires body parts isn’t held in high regard.”
“But why would he write to tell you about something like this? Wouldn’t he fear being implicated as well?”
“He could, but as with Scotland Yard cases, we tend to reward those who help us. He didn’t really turn to us to protect the world from dark witchcraft, it’s because he doesn’t like the grave-robbing riffraff that’s now involved with his club. The Eidolon Club has been around since King George. It was where men of science and magic could speak freely, but even back then, it was mostly alchemists and theoretical practioners of nobility, so their approach to magic was respectfully hands-off until now. Lord Sumner would like us to deal with this problem for him while he sips bourbon and reads Pseudo-Geber on his country estate.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“I will get to that in a moment. Cassandra discovered that what they sought was a book—a very powerful spell book—that allows the possessor to interact with certain realms in the spirit world and manipulate the body and soul. Cassandra thought it was safe with our mutual acquaintance Miss Emmeline Jardine, but we found out yesterday that she turned it over to some very questionable members of the Eidolon Club, namely Lady Claudia Leopold Rose and her nephew, Lord Cecil Hale.”
Immanuel’s heart thundered in his ears. He knew that name. He had seen it scrawled on a sliver of burnt paper sitting in Adam’s palm. They had found it months ago in the hell where he had been held captive, but he could never forget that day. His eyes trailed to the sun setting in the gardens behind Judith’s head. Her brassy hair glowed red and her cheekbones stood in stark shadows in the waning light, yet what caught his attention was the man crossing the lawns. He stood close enough to watch the front door but out of sight of most passersby. Feeling Immanuel’s gaze upon him, he looked up toward the upper windows, but Immanuel leaned back until he could no longer see him. What had Emmeline done?
“You know them?”
“Yes, I know Emmeline well, but no, not the others. The woman, I’ve heard her name before. I think she may have been married to the man who kidnapped and tortured me. Lord Rose is the man who—” Immanuel stopped, his voice trailing off as the man outside drew so close he disappeared out of view.
Watching his gaze, Judith turned. “What are you looking at?”
Immanuel reached into his bag and cradled the vivalabe in his palm. Pressing the button, the lid popped open to reveal a confused jumble of colored balls rushing in every direction while the white one sat perfectly still. A cracked grey ball steadily traveled along the brass curve before coming to rest a finger width from the white.
“That man, I think he’s a… I can’t remember what you called it.”
“A revenant?”
“That’s it. He can’t steal a body himself, can he? She must ha
ve helped him.” He swallowed hard, watching the grey ball pace around the perimeter. Gaols, filth, pain. It would never end. “He’s waiting for me to leave or he’s inside. I can’t tell. I don’t know what I’m going to do. He won’t stop until I’m dead or he gets the vivalabe or both. How did he even find me?”
He turned to Judith, his mismatched eyes wide. “Is there a way I can sneak out?”
“Not really. Even if we did, he will only follow you home. I’m surprised he hasn’t already broken in.”
Immanuel stared guiltily at his lap, watching the orb move from the corner of his eye. “I— I put protection symbols on the entrances and windows.”
“Really? What did you use?”
“This.”
Dipping into his satchel, he pulled out his sketchpad and flipped to his pages of half-conceived symbols. She looked between Immanuel and the final symbol sketched in pencil, her brows furrowed in concentration. He fished around his bag for the slim leather journal and carefully turned to the page where he found the first sigil.
“My mother sent this to me. I decided to make my own. It’s exhausting, but I think it worked better than the original.”
“There’s one way to tell.” From the side drawer of her desk, she retrieved a silver lighter. With a quick flick, it sprung aflame. Carefully holding the page with the lone sigil, she applied the lighter. Flames danced and stretched across the page, but it remained unblemished. A satisfied grin spread across her face as she met his gaze. “Mr. Winter, you are just full of surprises. I have a proposition for you. I know how we can get rid of your revenant.”
“How? I’ll do anything.”
“We must fight.”
“Fight?” he coughed. “You didn’t see him at the museum. That thing wouldn’t die. If I kill him, won’t he come back to life again?”
Miss Elliott pulled a naginata from behind her door. The long bamboo pole came to the top of her head while the gleaming blade stood two feet above her. Easily swinging it across her shoulder, she reached into the umbrella stand. From the bottom, she fished a black sheathed dagger, which she carefully tethered to her waist with a silk ribbon.
“You misunderstand me. We aren’t going to merely kill him. We’re going to sever his soul.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Revenant
Immanuel’s heart pounded as he followed Miss Elliott down an endless series of corridors and locked rooms. His ears popped at the bottom of the sprawling stone stairs. High above him, the stone opened into wide barreled catacombs that must have once belonged to a Roman cistern. For a moment, he feared the sights and smells of his prison would rush upon him and chase away reality, but the basement walls were strung with bright electric bulbs and lined with tapestries of unicorns to hide the cold mortar behind them. Immanuel stayed a step behind her, watching the sheath of Judith’s dagger swing against her skirts and the blade of the naginata bob at her shoulder with each step. In his mind’s eye, he saw a flash of Peregrine with the crowbar raised high above his head. Was fighting merely a part of the job?
“Is Peregrine Nichols an interceptor, too?” he asked softly, his voice reverberating off the high walls.
“Yes, though his powers are closer to yours than mine.” As they neared a pair of metal doors carved with fantastical twisted and knotted beasts, she slowed her pace. “Here we are. The armory.”
“Miss Elliott, I know I said this before, but I’m not a fighter. I don’t know how to use a weapon other than a foil, and I haven’t used one in years.”
“Luckily, I can. You won’t fight him, but you will finish him. Do you understand?”
Biting his lip, Immanuel nodded. There would be no stopping her, it seemed.
As she touched the iron knob, a barely perceivable ripple of energy passed through the hall, pulling the hair on Immanuel’s arms on end. The castle-like tunnel fell away to reveal a vast steel and wood reinforced room complete with thick glass cabinets and locked drawers. A lanky man fit for a saloon sat on a stool behind the counter, carefully polishing a bulky crossbow inscribed with silver Chinese characters. His features reminded Immanuel of someone, yet they were wholly unremarkable. When he blinked, Immanuel swore that his irises had lightened from nearly black to a golden brown and his nose had narrowed. He shook off the strange sensation. It must have been a trick of the light.
“Caldwell, I need you to find the contraption they confiscated from Westminster a few months ago,” she called as she rested her weapon against one of the glass cases.
The man stared at her a moment as if waiting for more.
“You know the one I mean. The one in the box.”
He nodded before disappearing behind a swinging door without a word. Immanuel waited at her side, drawing in a slow breath to steady his heart. What had he gotten himself into?
The door swung open to reveal Caldwell hefting a wooden box. Placing it on the counter, he unlatched the lid and let it fall back with a clatter. Judith stood on tiptoe to peer into it. As she nodded that it was the correct item, the man pushed a ledger forward for her to sign.
“Take it but leave the box,” she said to Immanuel as she filled out a page of forms.
Stepping up to the counter, Immanuel’s throat tightened and his body reeled. Every nerve screamed for him to stay away, to bolt out of the room and get as far away from the box as possible. Inside sat a pair of familiar brass and glass lungs that were connected to an electric cord wired with sharp metal fangs. He looked from Judith to Caldwell only to find the latter watching with a curious eye. He had to take it out. He couldn’t let them see the fear eating him hollow. Pulling the device from the crate, he tried not to look at it. If he wanted to stay strong, he would have to pretend the metal talons hadn’t been thrust into his neck and the trigger pulled.
“Well, put it on.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean? Of course you can. Just slip it on your back. The other part goes over your hand like so.”
He drew in a trembling breath, his hands shaking as he laid the leather handguard beside the body of the device. “This was his. He murdered people with this. He tried to kill me with it? How can you expect me to use it?”
“There is a certain poetry in killing him with his own device, isn’t there, Caldwell?”
The silent man nodded with a faint smile bristling beneath his mustache. Immanuel did a double-take, had that been there the whole time?
Turning to Immanuel, she rested her hands on his arms. He stiffened beneath her grasp, but she didn’t let go. “Mr. Winter, we all must do things that scare us, and sometimes we must stoop to the level of our demons in order to destroy them.”
Immanuel swallowed hard. What choice did he have? It was either fight Lord Rose or live in fear forever, and there was no way he would give up Adam and the promise of a good life for that wretch. Slipping his arms into the leather straps, he hefted the machine onto his back. He was surprised to find that it was much lighter than he expected. As he flexed his hand, Judith reached behind him and flipped the switch that sent the machine humming to life. It was him or Lord Rose, and he wasn’t going to lose.
***
Holding the vivalabe ahead of him, Immanuel watched the grey orb grow closer until it came to rest only a sliver from his. His heart pounded in his ears as he clicked it shut and stuffed it deep into his pocket. Lord Rose was on the other side of the wall waiting for him.
Judith stepped closer, laying her hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready? Do you understand the plan?”
I’ll never be ready. “I think so. I just hope you’re better with a sword than Peregrine was with a crowbar.”
A wry smile crossed her lips. “Don’t worry about my swordsmanship; I was trained by the best. Now, go, before it gets too dark. Just remember, I’ll be right behind you.”
Keeping his hand on the doorknob, Immanuel closed his eyes and traced the protection symbol in his mind. If only he had told Adam where he was going before he left.
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Immanuel inched open the door to the courtyard, the humid air hitting him like a wet blanket. Gas lamps burned through the thin fog, coating the brick façades in dark shadows while painting the cobbles with a bright sheen. His eyes roamed over the wide arches and sculpted topiaries but saw no one, yet something about the courtyard felt wrong. It was impossibly big. From the outside, there seemed to be barely enough space for a narrow garden, but here, in this bubble in space, a plaza had appeared.
His footsteps echoed as he crossed the stones and waited beneath the lamp. From his vantage point, he could make out the gleam of Judith’s naginata where she waited in an arch. As he stepped forward, a boot scuffed in the darkness. Immanuel’s breath quickened at the man emerging from the mist. A different beggar, a new body, but the same soul. He would recognize Lord Rose anywhere. Alastair raised his gaze, a crooked grin sluggishly crossing his features as he drew closer. He’s already dead, he reminded himself.
“What are you doing here?” Immanuel called, surprised at his own boldness. “Why don’t you go back to hell where you belong?”
A low chuckle erupted from Lord Rose’s shambling form. “Because even the devil didn’t want me.”
He stopped at the edge of the light, but through the dim fog, Immanuel could make out mottled skin that had already begun to die and how the corner of his mouth hung ineffectively. A scratched machete glinted at his side.
“Did you think you could keep me out forever with your stupid little pictures, boy? Did you really think I wouldn’t find—” Alastair’s gaze swept over the cords and metal talons wrapped around Immanuel’s arm. “You really are a fool.”
Dead Magic Page 21
