“I— I picked this up for you. I thought you could wear it in your buttonhole.” Adam reached into his dinner jacket and pulled out a sprig of miniature blue flowers with golden faces surrounded by blades of grass.
Immanuel smiled at the familiar flowers. “Myosotis scorpiodes.”
***
Alastair Rose hung at the edge of the drawing room, smiling when the other Spiritualists came to greet him, but he was far into his own mind. He hadn’t expected to see the German at the Hawthornes’ home. His escape with Emmeline and resilience had not been part of his plan. After the way he beat him without mercy day after day, he had expected the boy to be dead or at least afraid of him, yet he called his bluff. The terror had died right before his very eyes and what replaced it was something that struck fear into the nobleman’s heart. He knew who he was, and he acknowledged it in front of the others. Something had to be done. If not, the boy would be his undoing.
From across the room, Emmeline watched Lord Rose standing against the floral wallpaper. Seeing his handsome features set in a pensive frown in the midst of everyone else reveling brought her back to the Samhain party. She wasn’t dressed nearly as well since she only had half a dozen dresses now, but the music was the same, half of the people were those who had ventured to Oxford in October, and she thought she looked fetching in her red velvet dress. Glancing over her shoulder, she confirmed Aunt Eliza and Uncle James were deep in conversation with some doctor who had a handlebar mustache. He sounded like a bore, but at least he would give her the opportunity to dance with Lord Rose even if it was almost two months late.
“Miss Jardine!”
Emmeline turned and met the soft gazes of Mr. and Mrs. Raleigh. She smiled as the chubby, blonde couple fawned over her. Complimenting her complexion, how happy they were to see her alive and well, how their daughters missed her back in Oxford. She would be coming back to Oxford, wouldn’t she?
What could she say to them? After months away from home, she hadn’t even thought of the three girls who had practically been her sisters. Now that her mother was gone, there was nothing left for her in Oxford.
“The resemblance is uncanny. You are as beautiful as your mother,” Mrs. Raleigh said as she took in Emmeline’s purple dress. Her pale face was framed with curled, dark hair and pearl earrings like her mother wore to so many dinner parties.
As she opened her mouth to reply, her eyes trailed to Lord Rose. He cut through the crowds and turned down the hall toward the front door. She covered her mouth and with her tearless eyes cast down, she murmured, “Please excuse me.”
Keeping her head down, Emmeline wove between the chattering men and women in their finery. At the door, she waited to see if anyone would call her away, but no voice or hand came to stop her. A gust of cold, damp air bit into Emmeline’s arms and neck as she stepped onto the cobbles. Rubbing her arms, she drew closer to the figure standing in the shadows. If it hadn’t been for the faint glow at the end of the cigarette between its lips, she wouldn’t have seen him. Whorls of smoke streamed from his mouth and nose as he exhaled, the darkness cutting his face like a mask. Emmeline edged closer, pushing her arm into the side of her gown in hopes of creating a greater swell at her neckline, but as quickly as his eyes fell on her, they returned to the road ahead.
“The band is lovely this evening. I do hope they will play the Sleeping Beauty Waltz soon. No one has asked me to dance yet.”
Alastair took a long draw on his cigarette and retorted, “Not now, Emmeline. I am in no mood.”
She stared at him with her wide owl eyes, moving from his furrowed blonde brows to the tip of his cigarette. “Is it because of Katherine Waters?”
“Why would you bring her up?” he asked, his voice sharpening as he kept his eyes locked across the street.
“Lord Montagu is your brother, and he was very distressed about her death the other day. It must be upsetting to you to see your brother so sad, especially since she was your friend too, wasn’t she? You were always together at our parties.” She waited for an answer but was only greeted by a mouthful of smoke. “I know it was too soon to read the necklace, but I was hoping maybe in a week or two to try again. Mama said—”
Before she could get the words out, Lord Rose gripped her arms. He loomed over her, glaring at her with blazing saffron eyes as he growled, “What did you say?”
“I— I thought I could try and—”
“Don’t you dare question my authority!” The heat from his cigarette radiated dangerously close to her skin as he squeezed the flesh of her arms harder. His lips curled back to reveal his saliva-shined canines and his sulfurous maw. Anything she found beautiful fled from his lupine fury. “You will do as you are told. I am the head of this society. Do you understand? You have no say in anything. You work for me.”
“You’re hurting me.”
“I don’t care.”
Emmeline stood paralyzed in his grasp as his jaw clenched and his eyes held hers. She could barely breathe with him holding her in so tight a grip, but as he bored into her sockets, an image flashed in front of her vision. Headington Hill burned while the man stood in the shadows of the trees with only his orange eyes catching the moonlight. No, it couldn’t possibly be him. It just couldn’t.
“Mention Kitty again, and you will never do another reading for as long as you live.”
With a shove, Lord Rose released Emmeline’s arms. She stumbled back into the damp masonry of the Spiritualist society. As he opened the door, light and laughter streamed out, yet she couldn’t move. Had he really been there, watching while her mother burned? And if he was holding her, then maybe he kidnapped her too, but why? Her throat thickened as she rubbed her arms where bruises rose from his steeled fingertips. She inhaled sharply, her breath devolving into stifled sobs before she could stop herself. He didn’t care.
***
The Royal English Opera House was one of the most beautiful buildings Immanuel had ever seen since arriving in England. From the outside, it reminded him of a mosque or a sandcastle with its red and tan stripes and minarets, but when he ventured inside, he determined that it reminded him of a layer cake. The entire opera house was comprised of stacked layers of grandeur coiling up from the stage. As they ascended the grand staircase to reach the level of their box, he could not help but marvel at the green marble columns and alabaster balusters that sat atop more venous marble. A Grecian temple couldn’t have contained more luxurious stone or honored the muses better than the Royal English Opera House. If there hadn’t been so many people crushing past him to reach their seats or companions, he would have touched the stone or studied the capillaries cutting through the massive slabs.
The moment they closed the door of their private box on the first circle, the bustle of the theatre melted away. The box was as fine as the rest of the theatre with wooden paneling and solid doors built to block out the sound of those in the corridor behind them. With a bow and a grin, Adam ushered him into the chair closest to the stage to ensure his good eye would catch the majority of the action below. Immanuel looked out over the balcony at the faceless people in the seats above and below them and those in the boxes on the other side of the stage. Did any of them feel as happy as he did tonight? His heart quickened as the lights dropped and the curtain opened on the Tavern du Plat d’Etain. After sitting in silence for an entire act, Immanuel’s study of Marot’s plight was interrupted by Adam nudging his arm.
“Aren’t the costumes superb?” Adam whispered, inadvertently tickling Immanuel’s ear with his mustache as he handed him a pair of opera glasses from inside his jacket.
Immanuel closed his left eye, but the player escaped out of the binoculars’ view before he could catch a glimpse of the costume’s detail. He smiled and handed the glasses back to him, but as Adam let his hand drop next to his lap, his companion reached for it. They were sitting only inches apart, and with the lip of the balcony in front of them, no one would see their small token of intimacy. A smile crept across Immanue
l’s face as he ran his gloved hand over Adam’s, catching the boney prominences of his knuckles and the sculptural smoothness of his fingers beneath the fabric. Intertwining their fingers, he let their hands rest between them and went back to watching the comedy play out below.
Swallowing hard, Adam resisted the urge to pull his hand out of Immanuel’s grasp as he stroked it and finally let it drop on the edge of his seat. The presence of the door behind them had never been so apparent until that moment. What if someone came in and saw them? No one was in the box beside them, but anyone could barge in. If it was someone he knew, he could be fired or brought up on charges. His life could be ruined. Their lives could be ruined. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to silence those fears, but as he raised his eyes, they came to rest on the boxes on the second circle. If they were to look down upon them, what would they see? Could they see their fingers intertwined, bridging the distance between their bodies? Immanuel was still contently watching the opera, and with a gentle tug, Adam dislodged his hand as if to scratch his wrist. When he put it down, his companion moved to return to their prior embrace, but Adam quickly tucked his hand across his stomach out of reach.
“What is the matter?”
“Nothing, I just—” Adam sighed. “Not here.”
Immanuel glanced at those sitting across from them and above them, but all eyes were locked on the stage. “But no one will see. We are only holding hands.”
“I know, but we can’t, not here.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but the words dissolved into nothingness as Adam’s attention returned to the intermingling voices of the bass and soprano. Immanuel bit his lip and shifted his mouth into a stiff, crooked frown. Turning his body toward the stage, he tightly crossed his legs and barred his arms across his chest. Adam disappeared behind him, but the sting of undue dismissal remained. With one gesture, his night was ruined and he was reminded of the limitless impossibilities of their relationship.
Chapter Twenty-Two:
No More Tomorrows
The pavement glistened with the fog’s sickly yellow dew as Immanuel Winter marched down the street with his head down. Holding his arms close to his chest, he fought against the chill of the damp winter wind seeping further through his tailcoat and trousers with each gust. He cursed himself for not taking a scarf or a coat with him. Somehow, he had not felt the cold when they left together. His blue and copper eyes burned, yet he pressed on, all the while ignoring the man hanging at his elbow. In the gloom and with his gaze locked on the cobbles, he could scarcely make out where he was going, but if he began to stray, he knew Adam would put him back on the path to Wimpole Street.
“Immanuel, can’t we talk about this?”
He held his arms tighter and quickened his pace as he turned the corner. “What is there to talk about? You ruined a perfectly good dinner and night on the town.”
“Cousin Eliza’s house is the other way,” Adam called. When Immanuel did a downcast about-face, he continued in a harsh whisper, “Please be reasonable. You must understand how much risk is involved. We could be arrested for simply holding hands. Aren’t you afraid of ending up like your uncle?”
Immanuel turned on heel, stopping only inches from Adam. Even with the sheen of moisture across his eyes, they steeled and held his companion’s shrinking gaze. “Don’t you dare bring up Johannes and Theodor! You know nothing about them, Adam. Have you forgotten that I nearly went to jail for the same thing?”
“All the more reason for us to be cautious.”
“If you knew what I went through, you would understand why I am tired of hiding. I am done letting the world push me.” Number thirty-six’s windows glowed brightly only a hundred yards down the street. “Thank you for taking me to the opera. Good night, Adam.”
The accountant caught his narrow wrist before he could escape his reach. “I’m sorry I upset you, but please, Immanuel, let’s talk about this.”
“Not tonight.” He drew in a constrained breath. “Tomorrow we can discuss it. Tonight, I just want to go to bed.”
Storming past the last five houses, he sighed, knowing Adam hadn’t left. Even without looking, Immanuel knew he was lingering at the corner where he left him. He resisted the urge to go back and apologize. It could be done tomorrow. Immanuel searched his pockets for his house key, but as a black mass vaulted over the railing and landed on the step behind him, he froze. A plume of hot, ashy breath blew against his shattered eye socket. The smell of the demon’s breath had haunted him for months, and with his eyes shut, he could feel the cigarette sear into the flesh of his back again. There was nothing left to do but face Lord Rose.
***
Adam Fenice sighed and hung his head as he walked back toward the corner of Wimpole Street. How could he have been so harsh to him? Immanuel needed to know how risky it was to do anything in public, but he could have explained himself with a little more tact. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, he would make it right. Maybe he could make him breakfast since Hadley was supposed to go visit her future mother-in-law in the morning. Taking a step into the road, he allowed two women to pass, but as they swept past them in their red and grey gowns, a pale hand jumped from a fur muff and grasped his arm.
“Cousin!” the taller woman cried, but when he glanced up, Eliza Hawthorne was grinning at him. “Did you and Immanuel enjoy the opera? He was so excited to be going.”
He smiled stiffly. “He seemed to. Actually, I just walked him home.” Adam looked down the street and over his cousin’s head, but one person was still missing. “Where is James?”
“Some of the queen’s men came looking for him and Lord Rose at the party. They always keep him late, so Emmeline and I decided to leave soon after.”
“Aunt Eliza, who is that on the steps?” Emmeline asked, her eyes wider than he had ever seen them.
Adam turned as a towering, bat-like creature wrapped his hand around Immanuel’s neck, hoisting him off his feet. Where had he come from? His friend stared directly into the assailant’s face, never wavering as the tips of his fingers dug in. No one was going to hurt Immanuel on his watch. As he poised to rush the man, Eliza caught his arm.
“Don’t move,” she whispered, her green eyes gleaming with fear. Without removing her gaze from the men on the steps, she pulled her niece closer until she was behind her cousin. “Keep Emmeline safe while I get a constable.” Eliza dropped her voice, “It is imperative that no matter what happens, you stay out of sight.”
***
Immanuel turned, expecting to see the nobleman in tails, but instead, his eyes met a set of gleaming metal ribs and clawed fingers. His gaze inched up the creature’s unnaturally tall form until it came to rest on the familiar horned leather mask looming over him. Just behind it lurked the man with the yellow eyes that never showed a hint of mercy no matter how hard he cried. As he returned to the creature’s ribs and glass lungs, he knew he had seen that costume before.
“We have already met, have we?” Alastair Rose growled as seized the younger man by the throat and slammed him into the door, digging his metal talons into the delicate flesh. “For months you refused to say a word, but tonight, in front of everyone, you decided to be brave.”
Immanuel’s throat burned as the man tightened his grip. He struggled to kick at his attacker but met only the senseless metal of climbing stilts. Beneath the anger of the nobleman’s gaze was that same smug satisfaction. Locking eyes with the madman, he breathlessly spat, “You’re Jack.”
“You stupid boy.” Pulling him higher, he slammed his back and head into the black door. Blood trickled from the points of his claws as he locked eyes with the insolent man who stared back defiantly with his blotted eye. “And to think, I almost let you live.”
With a sneer, Lord Rose pulled the trigger.
***
The cry caught in Adam’s throat as Immanuel’s form buckled and writhed in the beast’s grasp. His blue eyes disappeared into his skull and his long legs kicked and snapped. After a final convulsion,
his body fell silent. With a flick of his wrist, Immanuel slid off the end of the man’s glove and crumpled in a heap at his feet. There would be no more tomorrows. No more chances to apologize or explain himself. As the creature stared down at his victim, a toothy grin crossed his lips. Anger exploded in Adam’s chest, thundering in his ears and deadening his fear. The man would pay dearly for what he had done. Fury compelled him forward, but when he took a step toward the next house, a hand latched onto his sleeve.
“Help— me,” Emmeline choked, grabbing at her breast with her free hand.
Her heart writhed against her sternum, wringing the air from her lungs. The muscles of her legs gave out as she stumbled forward, nearly pulling the red-haired man down with her. Landing on her knees with her fingers still loosely coiled in the fabric of his coat, her vision tunneled in until only a sovereign of light remained.
Adam halted at her side as his eyes ran from the still girl to Immanuel’s corpse. For a second, he thought of ripping his arm from her grasp and running to him when a gasp broke her paling lips. Her body lurched forward, and as she slammed her gloved palms onto the wet cobbles, the energy broke free from her body. It flew from her flesh to the prone man on the porch, reanimating his body with a shudder.
***
Lord Rose smiled to himself as he stared at the broken body of Immanuel Winter. This time didn’t have the same charm as Kitty’s death, but he had to give it to Edison and Tesla, electricity had its appeal. With a twitch of his fingers, the ribcage swung open, revealing the glass jars nestled over his lungs. He gingerly dislodged the quartz canister and watched as a blue opalescent shadow floated within. The soul bobbed, blindly bumping into the sides before drifting into the center. Now, he had the German boy right where he wanted him.
The Winter Garden Page 16