Chapter Five

I stumbled through the darkness, drawn by the sound of a child crying, until I finally reached a long, shadowed hallway. At the end was a half-open door, a slash of light in the chill gloom, and I hurried through it. I was surprised to discover myself in a nursery, bright and lovely. Sunshine streamed through the open windows, and lace curtains blew lazily in the warm breeze.

“There now. See, no need to fret, your mother is here,” Michael said. Turning, I spotted him standing next to a crib holding a wailing bundle in his arms. He looked up at me and smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, dear. I tried to comfort her, but she’ll have none of it.”

Nodding, I stepped forward and took the baby from him. Her face was red and tear-streaked, and she continued to howl furiously, but my breath caught as I looked down at her—she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Michael put his arm around my shoulders and brushed an affectionate kiss against my hair. The baby began to quiet, and I smiled up at him, so happy I was sure that I glowed with it. This was the scene I had always wanted, that I dreamed of having for myself. A husband who loved me, a child of our own…

“Michael.” Simon stood in the shadows of the hallway I had left, just shy of the sunlight. His icy eyes were bright in the darkness as he watched us with annoyance. He held an hourglass, and the sand glinted as it relentlessly slipped away. “Don’t forget.”

 

“Are you all right?” Josephine asked.

Rubbing my eyes, I groaned softly. My head still ached dully, but I did feel better. “Did I fall asleep?”

“For nearly four hours,” she said, concerned. “You were whimpering. Are you in pain? You are very pale.”

“I am always pale,” I murmured in reply.

She laughed, smiling. “I suppose that is true.”

“Have they found the murderer?”

“No, they are still looking for him. Thomas says they think he is hiding somewhere on the grounds.”

“Has the guardian arrived?”

“No, he isn’t expected until morning. Well, now that you are awake, would you like me to send for some tea?”

“If you would like some, yes. Why are you still here? You should be resting yourself,” I scolded her.

“Mary promised she would sit with you next, if necessary, but I feel well. Though I noticed that you still snore.”

“I do not,” I protested.

She smiled, teasing, and I eased myself out of bed. Josephine poked her head into the hall and spoke to someone—probably Thomas, guarding my door—while I donned my dressing robe. When she returned to her chair, she regarded me thoughtfully.

“What has changed between you and Mr. Black?” she asked.

“Is it that obvious?”

“To me it is. Sarah noted it as well.”

“I wouldn’t say that anything has changed between us, but I did discover that he is my soul mate.”

Josephine’s eyes widened. “Really? What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. Well, perhaps I may cry a bit more, but I feel that is justified,” I said, weary of the subject. I clutched the garment tighter around me, feeling a chill.

“You should marry him.”

“Don’t be foolish. How happy would you be if Thomas decided to join the Order? Would you want to be a chronicler’s wife?”

“No, I suppose not. Still, there must be some way you can resolve that situation. Many wives struggle to understand their husband’s profession. The higher powers must have some plan in pairing you together,” she argued.

“Perhaps.” I couldn’t imagine what that plan could be, or how we could manage it. “Dr. Bennett offered me a position in the employ of an American guardian.”

Josephine coughed, appearing appalled by the idea. “You aren’t considering it, are you? We would never see you again!”

“I know. I would enjoy never seeing Sarah again, but I would miss your company. It is an excellent opportunity to use my magic to do more than matchmaking.”

“Couldn’t you do that if you married Michael? I’m sure the Order would be happy to have your aid.”

“I had not thought of that.” The Order was devoted to the pursuit of knowledge, and as a seer I would have a unique method of obtaining it. However, the idea of working with Simon was less than appealing. Would I be expected to feed him my blood like an apprentice did? The image of Amelia and her lover flitted through my mind, and I blushed, but it did remind me that I had a question to ask. Though our sister Mary was the gossip of our family, Josephine might know details of Miss Morgan’s associations. “Do you know if Miss Morgan had been doting on anyone in particular as of late?”

“Well, I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead…” she said hesitantly.

“Please. It may aid us in catching her killer.”

“Amelia has—had—spoken of several gentlemen lately, but before that she was quite taken with one in particular for several months. Mr. Farrell.”

“My Mr. Farrell?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes, but I’m sure matters ended between them before he began courting you,” Josephine assured me. I nodded in agreement, though I was unconvinced. Could he be Miss Morgan’s murderer? He was dark-haired like the man in my vision…but wouldn’t I have recognized the change in his condition? Shouldn’t it have been glaringly obvious to me, a seer, that he was no longer among the living? But I had never had cause to examine his aura closely, so I could not know that something was amiss with it.

Our tea arrived, and it proved an excellent distraction. I was surprised by how famished I was. It was all I could do to avoid greedily gobbling down the biscuits like a child left unattended with a plateful. To my credit, I had worked up quite an appetite. This was more magic than I had ever attempted before.

A knock interrupted us, and Josephine rose to open the door. She spoke with someone quietly, and then turned and frowned at me. “It’s Mr. Black. He wishes to speak with you.”

“Let him in then,” I said.

My sister gasped at the idea. “But you aren’t dressed!”

“I am not undressed, either. I doubt he’ll attempt to ravish me while you and I are having tea.”

She frowned in exasperation. “Mother would have a fit if she were here.”

“I suppose it is good that she stayed at home then.”

Shaking her head, Josephine opened the door and allowed Michael into the room. He paused after a few steps, blushing, though it seemed silly to me. The gown that I wore earlier showed far more skin than my current ensemble. He may have been embarrassed by my hair, which was a bit wild at the moment, having been let down from its pins.

“I apologize for the interruption. Are you recovered enough to rejoin the investigation?” he asked.

“I doubt I could read another roomful of people, but I could manage a few things. Why, has something happened?”

Michael waited until Josephine returned to her seat before continuing. “I am afraid there has been another murder. Mr. Gryphon was found dead.”

“That’s terrible! Though I doubt there will be trouble creating a list of suspects, considering his unpleasantness. They don’t suspect your mentor again, do they?” I asked, shivering.

“No, Simon and I were with Lord Willowbrook at the time.”

I doubt it would be a comfort to Mr. Gryphon, but I was glad to hear of it. Well, mildly glad, for in truth I would not be too grieved if something unfortunate happened to Simon. “Wait outside. I will join you in a moment.”

Nodding, Michael left the room, and I rose to search for something to wear. I had no intention of putting my ball gown back on, as the garment was dreadfully heavy, and instead settled on the simple dress I had intended to wear while returning home. I couldn’t wear my long gloves with that dress, however, and I was forced to go without. Without them I would need to be more cautious about what I touched, but I could manage that. I added a shawl, in case we stepped outside, and I frowned at my hair in the mirror. There wasn’t time to properly style it again, and I twisted it into a simple knot.

“You should go to bed,” I said to Josephine as she sipped her tea.

“You don’t want me to wait for your return?”

“I do not. I want you to rest. I will send for Mary if I need anything. Or Sarah, if I want to be miserable.” I smiled dryly.

“Then I will go to bed once I finish my tea. Please be careful, Emily.”

“I will do my best.” I stepped into the hallway and found Michael speaking with Thomas. “Jo has agreed to retire after finishing her tea. I expect you to hold her to that,” I informed her husband.

“Gladly.” Thomas turned to Michael and glared sternly at him. “You will look out for her.”

Michael nodded. “Of course. Shall we?” I fought the temptation to take Michael’s arm and folded my hands in front of me as we walked away. “Did you rest well?”

“I had strange dreams,” I admitted. “But that’s not unusual for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

We turned a corner into an empty hallway, and after a few steps I paused. “Don’t be.” I looked up at him, feeling that I should say something but without any idea of what.

“Why, were you dreaming of me?” he asked, his tone teasing. I nodded, and he blinked in surprise. “Really? Something lascivious, I hope. Another flight of fancy?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Sorry to disappoint, but no. It was something quite ordinary, but lovely.” My face heated with a blush, and I looked away. “And unexpected.”

“Emily, I know this isn’t the right time, but I need to explain—”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me.”

“Yes, I do. I need you to know. I have always focused on my studies because my studies were all I had. I have no family or fortune to speak of, and nothing to offer a wife. Especially not a woman of a good family, like you. I knew I couldn’t offer you anything other than conversation, and that is why things have always remained as such between us.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked.

Michael grimaced. “Because that fact hasn’t changed. And because you might refuse to speak to me again after you see Mr. Gryphon’s body. It is much worse than Miss Morgan. I argued with Lord Willowbrook not to involve you, but he insisted that you examine the scene.”

I paled, but then I forced a brave smile. “Then I will count on you to catch me should I faint.”

“Of course.” He offered his arm and this time I took it, glad for the strength of his presence. There was a weariness about him, as though the air was heavier, weighing him down.

Lord Willowbrook was waiting for us, along with Simon and Dr. Bennett, two people I was not eager to see. They watched me closely, and I felt distinctly like a mouse being eyed by a group of hungry cats.

“Are you prepared to proceed?” Lord Willowbrook asked.

“As much as I can be.”

He motioned for us to follow him, and he led us around a corner. The smell hit me first—blood, an overwhelming amount of it. My visions are almost exclusively sight and sound, and because scents are never included I knew this was not part of one. It was real. My suspicions were confirmed when I spotted Mr. Gryphon’s body. For a horrified moment I stared at it, but then I stumbled and turned away, unable to continue. I tried to catch my breath, but the stench of blood overpowered me, and I fought back a dizzy wave of nausea. Michael held tightly to me, probably assuming I was about to faint as I warned I might, but I remained on my feet.

“Are you all right?” he asked. I nodded, afraid to trust that my voice wouldn’t crack if I replied aloud. “Do you want to return to your room?”

“No,” I whispered. A flicker of movement caught my attention, and I looked up to meet Simon’s gaze as he stood near me. Those calculating blue eyes studied me, and I straightened, imagining him belittling my skills and complaining of the inadequacies of female seers. “No,” I repeated, regaining my voice. “I am well. I will continue.” I patted Michael’s hand to reassure him, and then turned my focus to the investigation.

The scene was gruesome, the stuff of nightmares, but I could not allow myself to be distracted by that. Though the blood turned my stomach, I looked past the gore for any signs of magic or any detail that might be helpful. I stepped closer, clutching the skirt of my dress and lifting it to keep it out of the dark pool. There was so much of it…obviously the necromancer had not drained him as he had Miss Morgan. Her death might have been an accident, but this was brutal and deliberate. It almost appeared as though Mr. Gryphon had been mauled by an animal, his throat torn open and ravaged.

Mr. Gryphon’s body was as devoid of energy as Miss Morgan’s had been, but a cloud hovered above him. I stepped closer to examine it. The energy wasn’t familiar, not a spell or emotion. I hesitantly stretched out my hand to touch it, and I jumped at the indignant rage that burned my fingers. The cloud moved, as no residual energy should, and buzzed around me like a swarm of angry bees. I gasped and stepped back, and it followed as I bumped into Michael.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I think it may be Mr. Gryphon’s spirit,” I guessed.

“Can you speak with him?” Lord Willowbrook asked, and I frowned at him.

“Only a necromancer can speak with the dead,” I replied matter-of-factly.

The cloud moved again, this time rolling away toward a nearby door. I followed as it disappeared through it, and I opened the door. In retrospect, that was probably foolish of me, for the master necromancer could have been waiting on the other side. Thankfully all I found was a servants’ stairwell, narrow and dimly lit. The spirit—if that’s what it was—hovered near the wall. There was the glimmer of a spell there, and I touched it. My hand was burned, and I snatched it away with a hiss of pain. I caught the impression of what had happened. The door had been open, the creature waiting within the shadows for Mr. Gryphon. It was afraid…afraid that he knew something, a damning piece of information. It sprang forth as Mr. Gryphon passed, and he tried to defend himself with a fire spell, but it went wide and splashed against the wall.

I returned to the hallway and relayed the information to Lord Willowbrook, and when I glanced back the spirit was gone. Hopefully it moved on to what lies beyond, though I had no way of knowing its fate.

“Did Mr. Gryphon say anything to you before he parted your company?” I asked.

“No, unfortunately.” Lord Willowbrook frowned.

“I hesitate to mention this, for I don’t wish to make any accusations, but until recently Miss Morgan was fond of Mr. John Farrell. He was not in the ballroom during the time of her murder, and he was not in attendance when I read the auras of the guests there. Perhaps if we spoke with him I could read his aura and confirm whether he remains a sorcerer.”

“I will see that he is brought to you,” Lord Willowbrook said. “First I need to make arrangements for Mr. Gryphon’s body, now that we have determined what befell him.”

“Our rooms are near here,” Simon spoke up. “Mr. Black and I will keep Miss Wright company while you see to that.”

“Is that acceptable?” Lord Willowbrook asked me.

“Yes, that’s fine.” I was not thrilled at the idea of more time spent in Simon’s company, but I trusted that I would be safe with him. Something pricked at my curiosity, and I peered at Willowbrook. “Where did you move Miss Morgan’s body to?”

His bushy white brows rose at the question. “The wine cellar, for the time being.”

I chewed my bottom lip—it seemed a logical place to store a body, but it also seemed a good place for a master necromancer to hide. “Has the wine cellar been searched for the killer since then?”

“I’m sure it has been.”

“Would your men have been able to spot him, if he was hidden in the shadows?” I asked.

“Don’t worry, Miss Wright. I can assure you that they are very thorough.”

I nodded, but unease settled in my mind, and I was plagued with the feeling that there was something I should be doing or had forgotten to do. I took Michael’s arm and let him lead me away, and my distraction continued as I entered Simon’s room. The suite had a small sitting room, and I fidgeted with my shawl as I perched on the edge of a chair.

“You seem unsettled, Miss Wright,” Simon commented.

“It feels…wrong somehow. It is difficult to put into words.”

“The wine cellar concerns you?” he asked.

“Yes. The impression that I had was that the necromancer was not merely lying in wait for Mr. Gryphon, but that he was actually within the shadows, as though concealed by magic. If that is true, how could anyone see him without unraveling the spell first?”

The chronicler nodded. “It is within a necromancer’s power to do so. That would explain why no one has had success in locating him… You might be able to do it.”

“Me?” I repeated.

“Yes. You may be able to see the energy of the spell or his aura beneath it.”

“You can’t be suggesting that she search for the murderer,” Michael said, his tone incredulous.

“Miss Wright may be the only one able to see him,” he countered. “But we will wait to hear from Lord Willowbrook. Perhaps we will be fortunate and find that Farrell is the master necromancer, and he is asleep in his room.” Simon smiled dryly, and it was not a comforting expression. “If you wish, I will leave you for a moment. I’m sure you must have matters to discuss.”

“Yes, please,” Michael replied. I frowned up at him, for it was not at all appropriate—though that seemed to be a theme for the evening—and Simon left the room.

I rose, my anxiety demanding that I pace and wring my hands, but I was distracted by Michael’s nearness. I took a deep breath to say something brave and encouraging, but instead I gave in to a need for comfort and wrapped my arms around him, burying my face against his chest.

“That was awful,” I said, my voice muffled.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I feel most sorry for Mr. Gryphon and Miss Morgan. Their deaths were senseless.”

He stroked my hair, and I closed my eyes and tried to banish all thoughts of blood and murder from my mind. Unsuccessfully. I looked up at him, morbidly curious. “I realize that a master necromancer is quite different from a chronicler, but does it bother you? The thought of drinking blood? It seems so…distasteful.”

“I suppose I have gotten used to the idea. I have never had a problem with giving my blood. It’s quick, simple and painless. Just a bite at the wrist.”

At least it sounded civilized. I glanced in the direction of Simon’s door, feeling a bit better. “Why would they have suspected Simon of killing Miss Morgan, then? There was nothing quick or simple about it.”

Michael blushed. “I have never experienced it myself, but as I understand it a bite can be intimate, under the right circumstances. But as you noticed, Simon isn’t very social. He isn’t the sort to make love to a woman he’s just met at a gathering. That’s more the style of a master necromancer. They are reckless with their immortality. They have no purpose.”

“And purpose is important to the Order.” I smiled weakly. “I know that only librarians can become chroniclers, but do you think the Order would be interested in my aid?”

“Perhaps. It hasn’t been done before that I know of.” He brushed a lock of hair from my face. “I don’t know what to do, Emily.”

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

His answer was to kiss me, and it was a reply I approved of. My worries slipped away, replaced by contemplation of the taste of his lips and the feel of his fingers caressing my hair. I shivered—not from a chill but from the sheer delicious wickedness of it all. It suddenly made sense to me why so many young women risked their reputations for a few moments spent alone with their lovers. If only our situation was less dire, and we had more time…

Time. Don’t forget.

I drew away, intending to tell Michael of my dream. I knew it had been more than wishful thinking, for it had the feel of a vision about it, and I felt he had a right to know. Perhaps we could convince Simon to postpone the ritual, and we could have a short while together. Even if I couldn’t keep him, the shining happiness of that one moment in the nursery would be worth it.

“I need to tell you something,” I began, but before I could continue we were interrupted by a knock at the door. We parted, both looking guilty, and Michael crossed to open it. Simon rejoined us before the door opened, and from the quickness of his response I wondered if he had been listening to our conversation.

Lord Willowbrook entered, frowning darkly. “Mr. Farrell was not in his room.”

“And there was no sign of him?” Simon asked.

“None.”

My heart sank. It had to be Mr. Farrell…or perhaps the necromancer had killed him on the way back to his room after leaving due to his headache. It was less likely, but easier to accept. Less painful than believing that the only men who had ever expressed interest in me were both ambitious to become the living dead.

“Miss Wright thinks that the master necromancer may be concealing himself with magic. If so, she may be the only one who can find him,” Simon replied. All eyes turned to me, and I resisted the urge to hide behind Michael.

“I’m sure the guardian could. When he arrives,” I pointed out.

“Are you willing to risk the possibility of another death in the meantime?” Simon asked.

“No. However, I would like to avoid my own as well. I have no defensive magic.”

“Which is why we would ensure that you are well guarded,” he replied. “I think I may also have a way to aid you in spotting Farrell, but I would prefer to discuss the details of the spell privately.”

I grimaced, not liking the sound of that, and I turned to Lord Willowbrook, expecting him to reject the idea. Instead he nodded slowly, and I wondered if Simon had some sort of mind-control magic I wasn’t aware of. Surely Lord Willowbrook could not be agreeing to endanger my life.

“Where do you wish to begin searching?” Willowbrook asked.

“The wine cellar,” Simon said.

“We will wait for you there.”

I watched in shock as he left the room, and then I turned to Simon. “I did not agree to lead the search for the killer.”

“You are uniquely qualified to do so. We can see that you are protected.”

“How? Does Lord Willowbrook have a spare suit of armor lying about?” Anxious, I stroked my throat and shivered.

Michael touched my shoulder. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you either.” His mentor, on the other hand, I might not mind falling victim to an unfortunate demise, though Michael would be upset by it.

“Then I suggest we resolve the situation quickly so that everyone is safe,” Simon said.

I sighed in defeat. “What did you wish to discuss?”

“I think I may be able to aid you in spotting the master necromancer, or at the very least be able to view him as well, with your help.”

“What sort of help?” I asked.

“Your blood.”

“No,” Michael and I said at the same time.

“If you’ll allow me to explain—”

“No.” I stepped away for emphasis, and Michael placed himself between us.

“A small amount,” Simon continued, undaunted. “Chroniclers feed upon the magic within blood, not the blood itself. As such it is possible for a chronicler to borrow the abilities of the magician they feed upon. Temporarily. I have had some success with it in the past.”

“A small amount?” Michael repeated.

“Yes, of course.”

Michael turned to me, and I knew he was about to convince me to allow it. I hid my face against his chest and held out my arm awkwardly to the side. “Fine, but do it quickly before I come to my senses.”

He patted my hair, but this time I felt little comfort, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I tensed as cold fingers brushed my wrist, pushing my sleeve back.

“It’s all right. It only takes a moment,” Michael assured me, but I flinched when the fangs pierced my skin.

To be honest, it did not hurt. In fact it didn’t feel like much of anything at all, as though my wrist had been numbed. There was a bit of an odd sensation as his mouth pulled at my skin, but it wasn’t bothersome, and it was over quickly, as promised. But before it was, a tingle of energy traveled up my arm—not Simon’s doing, but instead it was an impression of him. He was terribly lonely, more than anyone I had ever met before, and I saw that Michael was the first friend that Simon had had in decades. I was struck by the realization that Simon was just as afraid of losing Michael to me as I was of losing Michael to him, only for different reasons. I felt quite sorry for him. It explained why he was unpleasant toward me.

When my wrist was free again, I pulled away from Michael to examine it. There were no marks, not even a hint of a bruise, and I was surprised by that.

“Do you feel well?” Michael asked.

“I feel fine.” I glanced at Simon, but he was quiet and expressionless.

“See, nothing to worry about.” Michael smiled. Only a murderous master necromancer hidden somewhere within the house, a vision of Michael’s death hanging over me and the impossibility of a future with my soul mate. No, nothing to worry about at all.

“How do you feel?” I asked Simon.

He frowned. “I was expecting a stronger reaction.”

“Reading auras is quite complicated. Unlike most magicians I did not have the luxury of a teacher and learned how to control my abilities on my own. The best advice I can give you is to look past your target and allow your eyes to relax. After a few moments you should catch a soft glow around everything. Living things, mainly, though some objects or areas can hold the aftereffects of energy for a time. Like a teacup, or a chair,” I said. The chronicler nodded, and I explained further. “Auras don’t extend very far. Perhaps an inch or two, depending on how powerful the magician is.” I held my palm just above the sleeve of Michael’s coat to demonstrate. He smiled at me, and I blushed and turned to watch Simon as he stared at his hand.

“I don’t see anything,” Simon murmured.

“I wouldn’t begin with your aura. You’re very dim,” I replied. He looked up and scowled at me, and I winced. “I meant your aura isn’t as bright as a living magician’s.” To confirm this I examined his aura again, and to my surprise it was brighter than it had been before. Still not as bright as mine or Michael’s, but its strength had improved.

“You are more vibrant now than you were earlier,” I commented. “I suppose the difference has something to do with feeding.”

“Vibrant enough to pass for a living magician?” he asked.

“No. Even if it was, you’re…unrecognizable. You don’t have a librarian’s aura, yours is something else entirely. Remarkable. Mr. Farrell’s aura should be similarly so—it may not match yours, but it will not match anyone else’s either.”

Simon stared in our direction, and then he nodded briskly. “Ah. Yes, I see it now.”

“How long will the borrowed magic last?” Michael asked.

“Not very. We should hurry.”