Dead Magic

by Kara Jorgensen

  “Don’t fret about me.” Holding Emmeline’s hands in hers, she stared up at the glass ceiling where night chased the remaining colors of day. “I have something I must attend to. Besides, I am certain you would appreciate my dear nephew’s company over mine. He has been brushing up on his botany lately and will give you a tour I’m certain you won’t soon forget.” Leaning close, she kissed Emmeline’s cheek, sending a wave of cold through her that set her hair on end. “Don’t worry, we will see each other very soon.”

  Motioning for Cecil to follow her, Claudia sauntered toward the vestibule. Emmeline stood rooted in place, watching their lips move in a silent exchange. Cecil shook his head and his aunt rebuked him with a pointed finger, casting a quick glance toward Emmeline. With a final rough command, Cecil turned on heel as Claudia slipped out the door and into a waiting steamer. At Emmeline’s side, he stared ahead, the muscles of his jaw flexing and grinding as they trailed behind the guests flowing into the exhibit hall. Emmeline opened her mouth to speak but found she didn’t know what to say. Twirling the ring on her finger with her thumb, she bit back the urge to pry when her betrothed could scarcely look at her. She had never seen Cecil truly angry before, not at her, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “My aunt knows how to get under my skin.”

  “It’s all right. So does mine.”

  Cecil gave her a tired smile and brought her hand to his lips. Rubbing her palm between his, he said softly, “You remember what I said before about leaving? There’s still time. You can still get out.”

  “I told you, I want to be with you.”

  He nodded, cursing himself for letting it get so far. His aunt had been right, he had let his feelings get in the way and had dragged the one person he cared about so deep into the mire that she would surely drown with him. As they drew nearer to the entrance with only twenty people before them, Cecil closed his eyes. A wave of energy swept down his body and across the stone floor. One by one half a dozen columns of energy reverberated back, dissonant notes ringing in the darkness. Drawing in a deep breath, he let another wave flow, but this time, he listened closely for a familiar tone. Two bodies resounded at nearly the same pitch, one note longer than the other, but it was close enough that he could confirm that what Lady Rose said had been true. Cecil opened his eyes, searching for the source of the energy. In the crush of jostling bodies, it was too hard to tell.

  “Emmeline, I have been meaning to ask you a question,” he began slowly. When she looked at him expectantly with wide owlish eyes, he continued, “Have you ever heard of a blood bond?”

  She shook her head, the curls hanging on either cheek swinging in agreement. “What is it?”

  “It’s when someone uses their blood to fortify magic done on another person. Blood is our life force, so infusing magic with that life force ties it directly to their soul. It binds the practioner and the subject together for life. Have you ever experienced that?”

  Emmeline looked up to find him staring at her expectantly. Behind the nonchalance, she found a strange mixture of wariness and weariness, the prelude to jealousy she knew so well. “I believe I have.”

  His gaze sharpened with surprise.

  “Last summer I fell into the Thames and drowned. By the time a young man pulled me out, I was dead, but he used a potion of some sort that brought me back. He told me later he didn’t know how it worked or what it would do, but it worked. I guess we are tethered to each other whether we like it or not. Is there a way to dissolve it?”

  “Death.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think so. In case you’re wondering, there was and is nothing between us. He was merely a Good Samaritan. We run into each other occasionally, but trust me, the bond is all that holds us together.”

  “Good.” Cecil forced a chuckle and cleared his throat. “I don’t want to say I was worried, but blood bonds are often intimate.”

  “I can see that. Perhaps you can explain this, but after the accident, he gained some abilities from me.”

  “Really?”

  Emmeline ran her fingers along the fine fabric of her fiancé’s Saville Row suit. “He told me that if he touches the dead, he can see their final moments like a medium. Is that normal? Being able to pass something like that?”

  Cecil’s tongue felt too large in his mouth as he swallowed against the knot in his throat. “It is quite unusual. Have you,” he paused, trying to figure out how to put it into words that wouldn’t sound absurd, “ever reanimated anything?”

  Cocking a dark brow, Emmeline’s lip curled.

  “I don’t necessarily mean on purpose.”

  “Don’t be vulgar, Lord Hale. I’m a medium, not a resurrectionist. Why would you even ask?”

  “Professional curiosity.” Cecil’s heart thundered in his ears as he scanned the crowd once more. “The man you’re bonded to, he’s here, isn’t he?”

  Emmeline released a derisive sigh and shook her head. “I never would have taken you for the jealous type, but yes, he’s by the entrance, the one with the scar.”

  Beside the stone arch that led to the exhibit, Immanuel Winter stood with his curly blonde hair and mismatched eyes, wringing his hands as he watched the other patrons file in. Releasing a quick pulse, their identical frequencies rang in Cecil’s ears and before his eyes appeared two columns of vacillating light that danced and arced until the tip of the flames nearly touched. Cecil blinked away the vision, replacing the shadowed room with stone and lustrous leaves. Life and death stood so near, never to unite. Cecil stared at Immanuel, committing the young man’s face to memory. If this was to work, he would have to forget he ever saw him.

  ***

  Looking over the crowd, Immanuel’s throat tightened. The sea of guests seemed endless, even if he knew there were less than four hundred including the museum staff. Sir William’s keen gaze swept between the crowd and the curators.

  “Quinn, gather up the dignitaries and donors. We will lead them in as the premiere group. Everyone else take two dozen guests each, except you, Winter. You will be with Nichols at the end of the line. You need to watch how a proper tour is given.”

  “Yes, sir,” Immanuel replied as Quinn’s stately form disappeared into the crowd toward the Sorrells who stood chatting with a Middle Eastern man in a paisley turban and purple suit.

  Immanuel eyed Peregrine. His mouth was set in a tense line, the only sign of his usual vigor in the flicker of his petulant stare. The crowd flowed forward, but three figures fought against the tide. Through glimpses between tuxedos and satin bodices, Immanuel could make out Emmeline’s inky ringlets and Lady Rose’s green and black lace. His body lurched to chase after them, but the press of the crowd and Peregrine’s pointed glances kept him in place. Craning his neck, he found they hadn’t left but merely stood at the edge of the crowd. Panic and relief washed over him. They would likely be part of his tour group, which meant he could keep an eye on them but then Adam would be trapped with them.

  As Peregrine led the remaining guests into the darkened hall lined with potted palms, Immanuel averted his gaze in time for Emmeline and Lord Hale to pass, resisting the urge to shift under the nobleman’s scrutiny. When he finally looked up, he found that Lady Rose wasn’t among the stragglers in the great hall.

  A flash of red appeared in the blurry part of Immanuel’s vision as fingertips grazed his hand. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes, but Lady Rose is gone.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” Adam whispered as they trailed after the rest of the group.

  “I don’t know.”

  Within a few steps, the cloistered hall rose into a soaring palace of greenery. Strange plants overflowed from pots, streaming across the floor in dendritic vines. Jurassic ferns hung across their path while poisonous plants stood behind iron fences or trapped in glass reliquaries to deter curious fingers. Each specimen was a chance for Peregrine to delineate their virtues and histories in his best sideshow bark. Whil
e the rest stood rapt, Immanuel watched Emmeline and Lord Hale. As the nobleman inspected the specimens or listened offhandedly to Peregrine’s tour, Emmeline watched him. In the fifteen minutes it took to get through the recreated monastery garden in the main thoroughfare of the wing, she had only looked away once to study the brass tiles of plants and animals that lined the ceiling.

  When they finally reached the bend where the silphium stood as the pinnacle of the collection, Immanuel released a silent sigh.

  “Perhaps we were mistaken,” Adam said as if reading his mind.

  “Even so, I still need to speak to her before dinner.”

  “But you heard what Miss Elliott said.”

  “I know, but I can’t let her go on with them without knowing what could happen.”

  “Maybe she already knows.”

  Immanuel bit his lip as Peregrine’s voice rose dramatically during his recitation of Rome’s use of the mysterious silphium. “Maybe, but I couldn’t live with myself if any harm came to her.”

  Nodding, Adam whispered, “Just be careful.”

  Inside the gallery, the silphium plant sprung from a massive Grecian urn decorated with red and black figures embroiled in a static battle. As tall as a sunflower, its daisy heads clumped together to form one massive sun atop thick green stalks of tiered leaves. Protruding from the sides were drooped heads laden with heart-shaped seeds. On the opposite wall stood its nearest relatives, fennel and prairie flowers from the Americas. Sounds of surprise and whispers of its mundanity came from the guests’ lips. Leaving Emmeline at the perimeter, Cecil Hale stepped closer until he stood beneath a pod of seeds, his forehead nearly brushing it. Unlike the others who circled it and disappeared into the great hall where the aroma of roasts and puddings wafted, he stared up at it with the reverence of one who understood the value of what lay beneath its weed exterior. With Lord Hale’s attention elsewhere, Immanuel inched nearer to Emmeline until he stood at her shoulder.

  “Emmeline, I need to speak with you.”

  The girl jumped, whirling around to face him. Her surprise quickly faded to annoyance when she realized who had spoken. “What do you want?”

  Ignoring her attitude, he kept his voice low and asked, “Do you know the name of the woman you spoke to earlier? The one in green.”

  “Of course I do. It’s Claudia…” Emmeline strained, surely she had heard her surname before. “Claudia Hale. Why?”

  “That may be what she calls herself now, but her real name is Claudia Leopold Rose, Lady Rose.”

  Emmeline’s body tensed at the name and all the memories tied to it that she had buried in the back of her mind. Silencing the fear, she straightened her back and picked a ball of imaginary lint from her gown. Her voice edged with anger as she replied, “This again? You’re obsessed with that man. He’s dead. Move on with your life.”

  “I know, but anyone who would marry him—”

  Glaring at him, she took a step toward Lord Hale but stopped when Immanuel’s hand closed on her wrist.

  “Please listen to me,” he pleaded, following her as she shook off his hand.

  “You say her surname is Rose. That is a common name, and even if she were married to him, they were obviously estranged. He could be charming when he wanted to be, and we both know the reason she might want to be away from him,” she replied, keeping her voice low while casting a glance at her companion who remained rooted before the silphium. “Now leave me be. I neither need nor want your advice about the company I keep.”

  With one long stride, Immanuel cut her off before she could reach Lord Hale, blocking her from his sight. She glared up at him, her hands balled at her sides and her chestnut eyes aflame.

  “Do you plan on accosting me all night or should I scream for help now and be done with you?”

  “Just think about it, Emmeline. Why would she suddenly make your acquaintance? Another Rose tied to us can’t be a coincidence. She’s planning something. I don’t know what it is, but it has to do with the grimoire. You may be in grave danger.”

  “You’re insane.” But was he? Her mind flickered to Cecil’s strange behavior, his pleadings for her to believe he didn’t want to do something, and Claudia’s early departure. Claudia… Banishing the thought, Emmeline stuck her finger in his face and growled, “Mind your own business and leave me alone. I have moved on with my life, and I suggest you do the same.”

  Shoving past him, Emmeline hooked onto Lord Hale’s arm and urged him into the great hall. Immanuel deflated. You’re insane. It had felt that way for months, but he had been right before and was sure he was now. Adam stood beside him, laying a hand on his back when everyone was out of sight. His companion met his gaze with an apologetic smile and a half shrug. You tried, he could hear Adam say. If only that were enough.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Path to Hell

  Stepping into the main gallery, Adam and Immanuel were surprised to find the hired servants lighting the candelabras lining the walls. Music reverberated off the museum’s soaring vaults as night swept in, reducing the ceiling’s glass panels to inky mirrors. Guests mingled between the cabinets of curiosities until the gong rang once again for dinner. Sir William’s urbane chuckle set Immanuel’s nerves on edge as he motioned for Adam to follow him down the hall Emmeline and Lord Hale had hidden in earlier. Adam’s gaze swept over Immanuel’s shifting eyes before coming to rest on his hands as they fumbled to open the vivalabe.

  “You’re going to use it now?” Adam asked, standing in front of Immanuel to block him from sight.

  “I need to know if Lady Rose is still in the museum.”

  Clicking the latch, the minute stones scattered across the brass plane, fanning out from the white ball, which stood as still as north. Cassandra’s blue stone stood beside an amber stone that moved slightly as if pacing while the green one he knew to belong to Peregrine had taken up position at the other end of the room near Sir William and the museum staff. Emmeline’s black stone froze beside a cat’s eye near the exhibit. A bit of garnet gleamed so far from the rest of them that it nearly fell off the edge of the plate.

  “She’s gone,” Immanuel said, snapping the vivalabe shut. “I hope to god I’m wrong about this. Emmeline thinks I’ve gone mad.”

  “She isn’t your responsibility.”

  “Isn’t she? We share a soul, Adam. You wouldn’t understand what someone like Lord Rose is capable of, and if Lady Rose is even a fraction—”

  The words died in Immanuel’s throat. Something coiled and rolled in the shadows of the entrance behind his companion.

  “Adam— Adam, what is that?” His companion turned, but before Adam could move, Immanuel darted ahead of him. “Stay here.”

  Immanuel walked to the end of the hall and disappeared around the bend with Adam at his heels. Between the wisps of candle smoke and the smell of dinner, a biting sensation sent tears to his eyes. In his blurred vision, he caught a flash of purple crepe and black linen while the exhibit hall stood empty. As Immanuel followed the strange smell deeper into the exhibit, it grew stronger. With a gasp, he ran past the monk’s garden and into the room that housed the silphium.

  “Adam, get help!”

  Sprinting into the smoke-filled room, Immanuel’s eyes widened at the tapestried walls alight with the prairie plants before them charring to columns of ash. He coughed, staggering back from the crackling blaze and raging heat. His back collided with the urn of silphium, knocking it onto its side with a crack. He paused, his eyes locked onto an empty stalk where the daisy heads had once been. As he struggled to right the shattered vase through coughs and wheezed breaths, Adam grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the great hall.

  “It’s been cut! This wasn’t an accident,” he said breathlessly as they entered the great hall.

  “Fire! Someone get the fire brigade! Fire!” Adam cried at the top of his voice.

  In an instant, the entire party was in motion. Chairs overturned and glass shattered as the guests scattered
and condensed into a stampede of silk at the entrance. Over the cries and clatter, Sir William called for someone to fetch buckets of water from the basement. As Adam and Immanuel reached the murky night air, Judith and Cassandra appeared through the crowd.

  “Are you all right?” Cassandra asked, watching Immanuel draw in a constrained breath. “Did you see what happened? We were too far to get a good look.”

  “Someone set the tapestries on fire in the exhibit. They stole some silphium, too. The crown of flowers at the top was broken off.”

  “Arson? I should have anticipated a distraction,” Judith added, eying Peregrine as he arrived a moment later.

  “Lady Rose is gone. I have been through the whole crowd and can’t find any of them.” Peregrine craned his neck, catching the distant boom of Sir William’s voice over the whirring siren of the fire steamers. “I need to get back in. My apologies that I won’t be able to help you tonight, Elliott, but I would like to keep my job. Come on, Winter, I’m sure he will want you, too.”

  “Wait,” Immanuel said, “Lady Rose left before the fire. I checked the vivalabe not long before, and she wasn’t in the museum.”

  “They must have gone back to the Eidolon Club to perform the ritual. Let’s go, Cassie. We still might be able to catch them in time.”

  Cassandra gave Immanuel and Adam a sympathetic look before following Judith to the waiting row of cabs. When Immanuel turned back, he found Peregrine glaring at him from under furrowed brows.

  “Don’t even consider it. We need you here, Winter. Besides, you have no business getting involved.”

  Immanuel’s mind sputtered with half a dozen reasons why it was his business, but instead, he forced an agreeable smile and replied, “Let me just make sure the earl and countess are all right, and I promise I’ll meet you in the hall. It should only take a moment.”