The roof exploded around her and she found herself thrown into the air. She’d acted without quite realising what she was doing, or why. Master Jackson hadn’t just been evading her; he’d been infusing his magic into the roof, daring her to step on the charged slates. It was clever, all the more so as she’d never anticipated it even though Lombardi had taught her how to make grenades. She gritted her teeth as she fell back to the rooftop, uneasily aware that her clothing was torn and ripped. She’d have to make something more durable if she was to make a habit of fighting on rooftops, part of her mind insisted. And what would her mother say if she came back in rags, covered in soot?
She smiled as the thought led to a second thought. Catching hold of the debris with her magic, she threw it right at him – and followed up with a set of fireballs. She’d practiced enough with her own senses to know that they could be overwhelmed, or given too many problems to react to them all in time. One of the fireballs struck his magic and sent him flying backwards in a blaze of light; Gwen knew a moment’s exultation before she realised that he’d used her magic to aid his escape. The debris crashed down onto the ground far before, leaving her unable to see her foe. She looked, but there was no tell-tale shimmer...
...And yet she was sure that he hadn’t abandoned the fight. She stepped forward, bit-by-bit, watching carefully and trying to sense his presence. He had to be somewhere...she stopped, just before she reached the edge of the roof. She couldn’t sense him, but she knew where he was hiding. He was waiting for her to come close and then hit her before she could react. Grinning to herself, she directed her magic down into the rooftop, shattering it and sending the levitating Master down towards the ground. The building seemed to be coming apart around her, so she jumped up into the air, floating over the garden. Her enemy had caught himself just before he slammed into the ground. She saw an elderly gardener shaking his fist at her just before her enemy started to run. He was in the air, propelled by his own motion, seconds later. Gwen watched him fly almost naturally, and then gave chase. The next rooftop was only yards away. They landed on the building and stared at each other.
“Master Thomas chose well,” Master Jackson said. His voice was calm, yet intensely focused. He sounded, Gwen realised, like Master Thomas. There was none of the assumed superiority of Lord Blackburn, or the earnest shyness of Lombardi. “You’re not too bad at this.”
Gwen flushed. Praise always disarmed her, if only because she’d had so little in her life. “Thank you,” she said, seriously. “Please would you come with me...?”
“I’m afraid not,” Master Jackson said. His smile grew wider. Gwen wondered, just for a moment, if he was sane. Some magicians went mad, like the children Master Thomas had shown her. And Master Thomas had certainly implied that his former pupil was insane... “Things to see, people to do – you know how it is.”
He leapt into the air, over to the next mansion. Gwen followed him a second later, watching as he landed neatly on the roof, before leaping to the building after that. Scowling, Gwen leapt after him. He turned and half-bowed to her, before tossing a blast of magic that she had to duck. It would have burned through her magic if it had hit her. He hadn’t even used his hand to shape the magic, she realised, numbly. Even Master Thomas had to use his hands...unless he’d kept a few secrets to himself. Gwen knew that she was far from practiced enough to take his place. Master Jackson leapt to the next building, and then the next, daring her to follow him. Gwen could no more have stopped than she could have accepted her mother’s choice of husband; if she arrested the rogue Master herself, or killed him, no one would question her right to become the Royal Sorcerer. Or Royal Sorceress, in her case.
The city grew darker as they moved further and further into London. Gwen realised that the smog had stained the buildings, despite the best efforts of their inhabitants. A small bunch of children hiding on the roof – no, she realised; living on the roof – scattered as the two magicians passed through their territory. The next rooftop held a finely dressed woman carrying an umbrella and chatting to a chimney sweep. She nodded to Gwen and raised her hat to Master Jackson. Gwen had hardly any time to notice her before leaping onwards to the next building. Master Jackson was moving with terrifying speed.
He settled on a rooftop and dived into a hatch leading down into the building. Gwen followed him through the hatch, pausing long enough to generate and throw down a grenade ahead of her. The explosion illuminated a dark interior, a building that had been consumed by fire and abandoned by its inhabitants. Master Jackson, half-hidden in the shadows, threw a burst of magic at the roof. Gwen raised her magic to cover her head as the roof came tumbling in, giving Master Jackson just enough time to catch himself and fly out of the building, heading up into the cloud of smog. Muttering a word her mother would have been appalled to think Gwen knew, Gwen followed him. By the time she pulled herself into the open, he was several buildings away and heading towards the Thames.
Heedless of the dangers, Gwen followed him, drawing on her magic to the limit. She flew through the air, giving chase and hoping that he wouldn’t sense her presence until it was too late. It was a vain hope; he turned, pointed his finger at her – and, a second later, she felt him attempting to disrupt her magic. She fell towards the ground and only caught herself moments before she would have crashed into hard stone and died. Master Jackson hovered in the air above her, his bright eyes mocking. Gwen reached up with her own magic and tried to pull him down to the ground, but nothing happened. His control was far finer than hers. But then, he’d had years to study under Master Thomas and more years just to practice. Gwen had had barely two months. It wasn’t anything like enough time.
A hand caught onto her dress and yanked her backwards. She gasped in shock as she saw a ruffian wearing rags pulling her backwards, one hand grasping towards her breast. Pure rage ran through her and she shoved with her magic, sending the street thug flying into the nearest building. Gwen heard the sound of bones breaking and saw blood splashing out where he’d hit the building, feeling sick as she saw her would-be rapist fall to the ground. Dear God in Heaven – had she killed him? She had never even seen a dead body in her entire life. The thought of killing someone, no matter how unpleasant...she found herself being violently sick, throwing up everything she’d eaten at David’s dinner party. How could she have killed a man? She’d killed a man...
She looked up sharply as Master Jackson landed near her. “It gets easier,” he said, seriously. Gwen stared at him, wondering why he hadn’t taken advantage of her weakness to end her life. “You’ll find that there are those who deserve death – and so you give it to them. I assure you that that man would not have been merciful to you, had you been helpless and powerless. He would have forced himself into you and spent his lusts on your body. You would have been lucky if he left you alive afterwards.”
He sounded...regretful. Gwen gritted her teeth, spitting out the remains of the vomit from her mouth. It tasted awful, mingled with the bitter awareness that she’d killed a man. Surely, there had been a better way to handle him...but her body felt dirty where his hands had touched her and part of her knew that it would have been far worse. There were whispered rumours shared among young girls, rumours that Gwen had heard despite being a social pariah. Rumours about what happened to girls who fell into the wrong hands.
“Damn you,” Gwen growled, although in truth she wasn’t sure who she was damning. Master Jackson...or herself. “Why?”
Master Jackson shrugged. He didn’t sound concerned. “Why not?”
Gwen felt hot rage billowing through her and she launched herself at him. For a moment, their magic collided on a dozen different levels, and then he jumped backwards and up into the air. Gwen followed him, too angry to care about the dangers any longer. She’d killed a man...what would become of her now? Master Jackson jumped to the next rooftop, then casually ripped it apart and threw the debris at her. Gwen ducked and dodged desperately, feeling the blows as several pieces of debris struck
her body. Her arm hurt where one of them had caught her a glancing blow, but she was still able to hurl a fireball at his position. He dodged it, almost effortlessly, only to run into the second. His form flashed with light as he fell off the roof and down towards the ground. Gwen, who remembered what had happened last time, dropped to the ground and ran around the house, only to see him lying on the ground, a broken man. She ran towards him, wondering if she’d killed a second man, only to realise her mistake an instant too late. He’d been pretending to be dead, merely to lure her into a trap.
Magic flared around her, as if she’d run right into a wall. Pain slammed into her a moment later; just for a second, she was completely – and helplessly – aware of her body. Her bones were breaking apart inside her flesh, shattering to dust. She had a moment to think of Master Thomas – and how she had failed him – before darkness fell over her mind. And she knew, with absolute certainty, that she was dead.
Chapter Twenty-Four
She felt...odd. Her head was swimming, as if it was a dream, yet she couldn’t wake up. Thoughts seemed to flicker across her mind, only to vanish before she could quite grasp their importance. Something bad had happened, she knew, and yet...what? And who was she?
A voice echoed through her mind. You’ve been badly hurt, it said. She couldn’t tell whose voice it was, or where it was coming from. It might have been an angel’s voice, an angel carrying her to Heaven. Or maybe it was a delusion brought on by her injuries. Relax and let me take care of you. You’re going to be fine.
Gwen’s mind swam again and she plunged back down into darkness.
***
Lucy removed her hands from Gwen’s temples and looked up at Jack. “She’s going to be fine,” she said, briskly. She hadn’t appreciated the call to leave her brothel and come to a building Jack had hired for his plans, but she’d come. If she hadn’t...well, Jack knew that magicians were often tougher than mundane people, yet Gwen had been badly injured. She might not have survived the night. “You do realise that you’re taking one hell of a risk?”
Jack nodded, shortly. Lucy’s talent was rare; indeed, she was the only Healer Jack knew to exist. The Royal College had heard rumours of her abilities, enough to make them suspect that the talent existed, but they had never come close to finding Lucy or another Healer. Jack had heard a story that a French girl in Southern France had developed the talent, yet she’d been burned to death by a mob of priests, after being formally accused of witchcraft. No wonder most magicians in France kept their talents to themselves. And Jack, who should have shared the talent, had never been able to master it for himself. Healing was rather more tricky than Changing or Infusing.
“It’s a worthwhile risk,” he said. He hadn’t expected Master Thomas’s apprentice to give chase so enthusiastically and he’d had to hold back, just to avoid harming her before she fell into his trap. He’d also expected bodyguards and it had taken nearly an hour before he’d concluded that no one had been sent to escort her. Master Thomas was slipping – or, perhaps, he hadn’t realised that Gwen would need a bodyguard; he would certainly have been profoundly insulted at the suggestion that he might need such protection himself. “She might come over to our side.”
Lucy quirked an eyebrow. She was no Talker, able to read minds, but she was expert at reading people. Whores learned quickly on the streets, or they died when one of their clients turned out to have nasty tastes and no respect for limits. And Lucy had known Jack for over a decade. They’d never been lovers, but they had been close friends and allies. She knew that there was more involved than his cause. Gwen was attractive and she was clearly more skilled than anyone, even Master Thomas, had realised. Masters tended to develop instinctive understandings of their powers, something that rarely happened to magicians with only one talent. Or so the Royal College believed.
“I still think it’s too big a risk,” Lucy said, flatly. She looked down at Gwen as the girl’s breathing grew stronger. “You should have left her to die.”
“We would never have a better opportunity,” Jack said, calmly. “Can you wake her up?”
“Yes,” Lucy said, after a moment. “If you are sure you want her awake, I can wake her. Or we could leave her here and she’d recover on her own.”
Jack shook his head. “Wake her,” he ordered. Lucy touched her fingers to Gwen’s forehead and there was a brief sparkle of magic. Healing was a very complex talent, but Lucy was skilled; after all, she’d had lots of practice. Few people in the Rookery could afford a doctor; Lucy was all they had, which was why they kept her talent to themselves. “And then leave her to me.”
Lucy gave him a sharp look, and then withdraw her hand. “She’s awakening,” she said, coldly. “Good luck.”
***
Gwen was suddenly very aware of her own body. It ached, reminding her of the last moments before she’d blacked out. Her memories were hazy, but she remembered feeling her bones breaking – and knowing that she was dead. And yet...she hurt too much to be dead, surely. She had never taken religion too seriously, but surely that wasn’t enough to condemn her to Hell. Her eyes, she realised, suddenly, were closed, so she opened them. Bright yellow light flared down and she gasped in pain, squeezing her eyes shut until she felt that she could take the light. When she opened her eyes for the second time, the light had faded slightly. She found herself lying on a bed, her tattered clothes around her.
Two people were standing next to the bed, looking down at her. One was a proud confident woman, wearing a simple dress that drew attention towards her heart-shaped face and long red hair. The other...Gwen started as she recognised the rogue Master. She’d been captured by the enemy! She was astonished to discover that she wasn’t tied down, but the moment she reached for her powers her head started to hurt badly. Gwen groaned aloud and saw them both looking down at her, concerned. The woman picked up a glass of water and pressed it to Gwen’s lips. She drank gratefully, realising a moment too late that she hadn’t asked if it had been boiled. Only a fool in London drank water without knowing if it had been boiled first.
“Don’t worry,” the woman said, softly. “I purified it myself.”
Gwen coughed as the glass was removed from her lips. The woman had known what she was thinking, which meant that she might be a capable Talker. Gwen didn’t recognise her, but there were hundreds of magicians she’d never encountered – and quite a few unregistered magicians in the underground. Or she might have simply made a lucky guess. Few in London would not share the same thought, ever since Doctor John Watson had proved the existence of bacteria and viruses in water. Boiling water before it was drunk, she’d learned, had saved thousands of lives. London no longer had to fear the outbreaks of Cholera that had once terrorised the city.
“You’re not in any danger,” Master Jackson said. “We will return you to Cavendish Hall, if that is what you want. However, we must ask for your word of honour that you won’t fight us now.”
His voice was smooth and reasonable; too reasonable. Gwen’s head still hurt every time she thought about using her powers, but she was sure that there was some Charm within his words. Without her own powers, she was almost defenceless – but Charm wasn’t all-powerful, or Lord Blackburn and his friends would be ruling the world. The thought crossed her mind that she might have lost her own powers completely – some magicians had lost their talents after taking blows to the head – but she pushed it away before it could linger. She didn’t even want to think about the possibility.
“I...” She said. Her voice felt rusty from disuse. How long had she been unconscious? Was Master Thomas searching for her? What had happened to her brother’s guests? “I...won’t fight you for now, as long as you don’t try to harm me.”
The woman chuckled. “She knows you, Jack,” she said, not unkindly. “He won’t threaten your body, my dear. He might just threaten your mind.”
Master Jackson scowled at his companion. “We won’t try to harm you,” he promised. He held out a hand and Gwen took it gi
ngerly. It felt warm, almost too warm. Her hand, when she pulled it back, was mottled with oddly coloured skin. It felt almost as if she had been burned. “We mean you no harm.”
Gwen flushed, remembering the chase across London’s rooftops. She’d made a dreadful mistake. She should have held back and waited for Master Thomas, or a squad of trained combat magicians, rather than giving chase herself. And now she was a prisoner of the underground. God alone knew what they had in mind for her, but she was sure that it wouldn’t be pleasant, no matter what they said. She looked down at her arm and saw that the reddish skin was fading away. What had they done to her?
“I’m going to turn my back,” Master Jackson – Jack – informed her. “Lucy will help you to get out of those rags and into something more comfortable. Please don’t try anything stupid – take it from me, you’re in no condition for a fight.”
Oddly, he sounded as if he genuinely cared about her. Gwen reminded herself that he was probably using Charm and watched him carefully as he turned his back. Lucy helped her out of bed and held her upright as her head started to spin, almost as if she was recovering from a cold or the flu. She’d been ill as a child, Gwen remembered, and had been bedridden for nearly a week. The doctors had promised that she would recover, but Lady Mary hadn’t believed them. She genuinely did love Gwen, in her way. The thought made tears prickle at the corner of Gwen’s eyes. Would she ever see her mother again?
The dress she’d worn to her brother’s dinner party had cost nearly two hundred pounds. It was lucky that Master Thomas had given her a clothing budget, or else she would have been dependent upon her mother’s tastes in clothing. The dress was now a wreck, with much of the fancy embroidery ripped apart and great slits reaching up her legs. She flushed as she realised that she must have shown parts of London her underclothes, even her bare skin. No wonder the man she’d killed – and she shuddered at the thought – had taken her for a whore.
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