The Wolf Witch

by Kara Jorgensen

  Quiet descended over the room as her words settled in Emmeline’s mind. The exhilaration from the fire playing over her fingers still bloomed under her ribs, cradling her tether to Immanuel. She could speak to the dead; he could see their final moments. If she had fire, did that mean he had water, too?

  “How do I become stronger?”

  A small smile softened the edges of Madam Treves’ features. “I can teach you the basics, but the rest you must learn on your own.”

  Emmeline was no stranger to walking that path alone.

  Scuffing the snow at her feet, Emmeline felt around with the toe of her boot until it caught on the surface of a stone. She smoothed away the snow and dirt with her handkerchief, but when she reached for the gate, her legs locked. A measured breath seeped from her lips in a white plume. The iron gate whined loudly as she pushed inside and stood close enough to the grave that she couldn’t read the epitaph. Wife, mother, mystic. None of these things would answer her true question.

  Emmeline laid the stone beside the other. Who were you, Mama?

  ***

  “Miss, we’re here.”

  Emmeline awoke with a start and peeled her face off the backseat. Blinking slowly, she watched as the driver rushed around to open her door. Her brain hadn’t yet registered the country house on the other side of the glass. She had planned to reread the letter a few more times to see if she could decipher anything further about the identity of the sender, but apparently her resting her eyes to avoid steamer-sickness had ended in a nap. Groggily clamoring out the cab, Emmeline held her coat close as the wind lashed between the trees before thumping into the side of the house’s craggy stone face like an unseen wave. With her hand clamped on her hat, Emmeline spun to take in the unkempt gravel courtyard and the imposing gatehouse at the end of the drive. The house itself was positively Gothic. It was one of those country estates that was equally impressive and monstrous as it was a conglomeration of mullioned windows, turrets, and chimney stacks against a relatively flat face. Emmeline guessed the house ran back into the forest that had begun to reclaim the gardens. Through the dusting of snow, Emmeline could make out several tire tracks, and a fraction of tension loosened within her.

  Before Emmeline could ring the bell, a footman in green livery appeared to take her luggage and coat. Her eyes wandered over the portraits hanging over most of the plaster in the foyer. Dogs held pride of place alongside severe men and beautifully bland women. The house appeared to be an older manor that had been renovated to have modern molding and wallpaper, though the oddities of its past remained. Down a long corridor of shut doors, she was led to a room of her own. A silent brown-haired maid awaited inside to see to her clothes and help her change into a suitable dinner dress. Emmeline prickled at the thought of having anyone but Price handling her hair and things. The bedroom was larger than what she had in her flat, but it was dominated by an antiquated four-poster bed complete with heavy curtains. It was like something out of Carmilla, and she hated it, except that it felt like it was soft enough to swallow her.

  As the maid finished setting her hair, Emmeline met her eyes in the mirror. “After you unpack my clothes, I won’t need you to help me dress. I can manage on my own.”

  “Was something not to your liking, ma’am?”

  “No, but I’m accustomed to dressing on my own. I’ll ring if I need anything.”

  Emmeline carefully shut the door behind her and paused to collect herself. She straightened her head and back and pictured how she looked in her favorite purple gown trimmed in black lace. She didn’t know who waited downstairs, but she had to be ready. Walking down the grand staircase, voices rose in merry conversation. Men and women in dinner dress gathered on the heavy couches and chairs littering the long drawing room. At some point it must have been a dining room in the older tutor structure for the ceiling was steepled and lined with rough-hewn beams. What caught her eye first was the wall of glinting steel on either side of the massive hearth. Swords, helmets, and an assortment of cruder weaponry had been artfully tacked to the wall in fans and patterns like the bones had been arranged in the Paris catacombs. Briefly, Emmeline wondered if anyone else found the display a tad morbid.

  Emmeline’s eyes flickered to the side of the mantle where a man with a generous beard and an equally generous smile held court. He lacked the cool sophistication or hauteur of the nobility, and from the cut of his clothing, she took him for a man of business. But she didn’t recognize him, and that thump of anxiety began anew at the thought that she hadn’t been the intended invitee. Upon the footman announcing her arrival, the tall man trotted over and gave her an amiable bow.

  He warmly clasped her hand in his. “Miss Jardine, it is an honor to make your acquaintance. Elsworth has talked so highly about you.”

  Emmeline smiled and strained to see where David Elsworth sat among the others. “It is a pleasure to be here, Sir…?”

  “My apologies, I’m Colonel Charles Roulet. I wish I had known of you earlier or I would have sent you a proper invitation. I hope you can forgive my informality.”

  “Think nothing of it. I’m just pleased to be here.”

  A petite woman in a dark blue dress laid her hand on his arm and his features lit anew. “My darling wife, this is Emmeline Jardine. Miss Jardine, this is my wife, Mrs. Roulet.”

  Emmeline noted the fatigue that passed over the woman’s features as she gave her a sweet but tight-lipped smile. Her chestnut hair had turned grey by the hank and her eyes gleamed with anxiety even if her voice held firm.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jardine.”

  “And I you. Your home is lovely.”

  “Thank you. We’ll have the grand tour after everyone has some food and rest. My husband will introduce you to the others.”

  Sitting together were three noblemen and two of their wives. Colonel Roulet introduced them as Lord Robert Bourgot, Lord Edwin Verdun, and the Honorable Arthur Gernier. Lord Bourgot had the cocky air she had come to abhor in the upper class. She tolerated it in Nadir because it was all a façade, but Bourgot could wield his position and probably did. Lady Bourgot was attractive and remote while Verdun’s wife beside her looked pale and robust. Her round, youthful face and nearly white hair spoke to the far reaches of Europe or even worse, Ireland. Verdun was the kind of man she would have been happy to dance with at a ball, clean and polite. Gernier, who was a bachelor, looked like a bored, petulant child as he glowered at the others who carried on their conversation as if he weren’t there. No wonder he’s still on the market, Emmeline thought before she was ushered to David Elsworth, who greeted her with a deep bow and questions about how she faired on the road. Emmeline stiffened at the keen way he looked at her. Only days earlier, he had cornered her at his party to tell her off, but this didn’t feel like the coolly polite passive aggression she was accustomed to. He looked at her like one looks at a ruby they had thought was a garnet, and she didn’t like it.

  Excusing herself, she turned to the man and woman beside him, neither of whom she knew.

  “Miss Jardine, this is Mr. Gerald Doughty. He’s a scientist based in London,” Colonel Roulet began.

  Mr. Doughty nodded, his ample, curling mustache wiggling in agreement. His features were heavy and at least ten years older than most of the guests, giving him the look of a great horned owl. The woman beside him had oversized spectacles and rocked slightly on her heels to the point that she looked as if she were wafting. Her ghostliness was compounded by her dull dun hair and nearly colorless cheeks.

  “And what do you study, Mr. Doughty?” Emmeline asked.

  “Paranormal phenomena.”

  “And where do you stand on the issue?”

  “I prefer to keep an open mind. You’re quite well known, Miss Jardine. I would love to study you while you give a reading.”

  “I would be happy to oblige, but don’t expect any spirits to tap or play instruments.”

  “That’s precisely why I would like to study you. This is m
y associate Mrs. Agatha March. She is a researcher at the same institution.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Mrs. March added, her voice low and flat. Her magnified black eyes lingered over Emmeline’s form before she abruptly turned back to their conversation.

  Stepping away from Emmeline, Roulet spoke briefly to one of the footmen before clapping his hands together loudly enough to curtail the chatter. “We are still waiting on two more visitors, but I don’t think they will mind joining us late. If you will proceed into the dining room, please.”

  Emmeline bit back the urge to cringe as Elsworth stuck out his arm for her to take. As they walked in, she kept her face impassive and hoped he couldn’t feel the pulse hammering in her hand that reminded her every second that she hated him. Luckily when he released her at the table, she ended up between Mr. Doughty and an empty chair. The first course was rich and flavorful rather than fussy. The conversation had turned to the tapestry of a boar hunt hanging by the stone hearth when the butler appeared shadowed by two men.

  I hope they seat Mr. Talbot next to me, she thought before she registered what she had said.

  Nadir Talbot stood in the doorway in a sleek black dinner jacket. The only pop of color was his warm brown skin and the purple orchid he wore in his lapel. He narrowed his kohl-rimmed eyes and raised his chin, looking every inch the debonair prince of decadence. The effect was oddly jarring. At most parties, either Emmeline entered with him and she purposely ignored his grand entrance out of spite, but seeing the full effect of his charms was like watching a stranger. Alone he had an introspective awkwardness that made him human, a little gangly even. Somehow when he entered a party, he became sultry, powerful, untouchable. Emmeline glanced at the other guests and caught every eye on her side of the table on him. Most were caught in something between awe and surprise while Elsworth tried to smother a look of distain. Oh how she envied Nadir Talbot. His gaze skimmed the table before coming to rest on her. His eyes widened a fraction, but as he was led to his seat further down the table, he gave her a wink. Heat flooded Emmeline’s cheeks against her will as she stared down at her plate.

  Emmeline had been so busy watching Nadir that she had missed the other man slink around the table until he pulled out the chair beside her. “Emmeline, what the hell are you doing here?”

  At the sound of Wesley Bisclavret’s voice hissing in her ear, Emmeline clenched her jaw to keep from turning her head. What was he doing there? What were both of them doing there? She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and nearly choked. His hair had been trimmed and pomaded into a respectable shape, and he had come in a grey suit rather than evening wear. She had heard Americans dressed down for dinner, but she hadn’t imagined this. She hoped to god no one knew they were related.

  They met each other’s hardened gazes the same moment Colonel Roulet rose. “May I introduce the esteemed writer, Nadir Talbot, and detective Wesley Bisclavret, who has come all the way from America to join us.”

  With everyone’s eyes upon them, Emmeline hoped they couldn’t see the resemblance between them and pry. He was supposed to have left the country by now, and if her brother was here, then her father was probably still in England. Anger climbed Emmeline’s throat. This was supposed to be her chance to get her ahead of her aunt, and no parent or sibling was going to stand in her way. When she looked up, she found Wesley pointedly staring, still waiting for an answer. At least he seemed as thrilled to see her as she was to see him. Mutual animosity might work in her favor.

  “Later,” she replied between clenched teeth and a polite smile as the colonel began to introduce everyone at the table in turn.

  ***

  The conversation at dinner had never touched on magic but wound its way from the best types of birds to kill and eat, thanks to Miss March complimenting the meat, to the latest styles in men’s waistcoats in which Mr. Talbot vexed Elsworth by being incredibly contrary while giving Emmeline side-eye from across the table. In the end, they touched upon every civil subject, yet somehow managed to dodge all talk of magic or the occult or why they were all there. At times, Emmeline caught the others trying to lead the conversation toward discussing a purpose, but Roulet or one of the noblemen steered it deftly back to the mundane. Taking a sip of her wine as dessert was carried in, Emmeline tried to figure out who knew each other. She obviously knew Nadir, Elsworth, and Wesley. Wesley knew her and Nadir, and everyone else he eyed with guarded suspicion. Miss March and Mr. Doughty were associates, but from the way he and Mr. Talbot conversed, she wondered if they were acquainted. The lordlings were of a similar age and seemed comfortable with each other even if they ignored Gernier. Emmeline couldn’t make sense of it. Parties often were made of disparate groups who didn’t know each other, but they all radiated from one person. There didn’t seem to be one person who knew everyone.

  As dinner ended and the women were heading for the drawing room, Wesley bent to pull out Emmeline’s chair.

  “Did our father send you?” she said the same time as he asked, “Did Pa send you?”

  They hoped their words were drowned over the squeal of chairs and movement, but they scowled at each other and replied, “No.”

  “I was invited, Miss Jardine.”

  “Me too. Do you know who sent the invitation?” she whispered.

  He opened his mouth a moment too long, and Emmeline knew he didn’t know either.

  “Does our father know you’re here?”

  “I sure as hell hope not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Without a second look, Wesley headed for the decanter where the other men had gathered for a drink. Emmeline took a step to follow when a hand gently but firmly clamped onto her arm. Mrs. Roulet held her a moment too long before stepping back and giving her a nervous, flickering smile. With her features ashen and drawn, she looked far older than she had before dinner and Emmeline resisted the urge to ask if she was well.

  “Come, Miss Jardine. This is no place for us. Leave the men to their work.”

  Emmeline hesitated, but the silent pleading in their hostess’s eyes sent her feet into motion. A bolt of instinctual panic coursed through her. It reminded her of when her mother would pull her away from an unkind spirit as a child. That grave edge in her voice counterbalanced by placating sweetness, her eyes darting to the unseen monster as she held Emmeline’s attention on her. Glancing over her shoulder as she followed Mrs. Roulet into the drawing room, Emmeline expected to see something sinister in the men’s features, and though nothing had changed, Emmeline couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being prey.

  Chapter Ten

  Visitations

  The aftermath of dinner had been anticlimactic to say the least. With a clandestine invitation that included a book with the potential to summon an otherworldly creature, Emmeline had expected something a little more… dangerous. Black masses and human sacrifices didn’t feel out of the question on the drive up, but upon seeing the banality of the guests, Emmeline had to concede that she wasn’t in a tawdry dime novel. Lady Bourgot had been invited to play something on the piano and sang a sweet trilling song while Lady Verdun, Anna, as she had insisted Emmeline call her, and Mrs. Roulet chatted with Emmeline about their journey to St. Herve. Emmeline envied Mrs. March who had somehow managed to smuggle a book on her person. She tucked into the furthest corner of the couch and read in stony silence. It may have been rude, but it was better than prattling uselessly about the weather. Emmeline shook herself. Last year, she would have been desperate to come off as pleasant to these people in hopes they would introduce her to someone like Cecil Hale, yet she found she longed for the raucous arguments of her artist and writer friends. At least they weren’t a cure-all for insomnia. When Mrs. Roulet finished a story about a vase, Emmeline pretended to stifle a loud yawn. Lady Verdun’s light brows shot up as Emmeline shuddered and blinked heavily.

  “My apologies, but it has been a long day for me. I think I’m off to bed,” Emmeline said again, pretending to yawn agai
n.

  Bidding the others a good night, she slipped out of the room and was about to head for the dining room to eavesdrop when she ran straight into something solid and warm. Staggering back, a familiar touch steadied her, and she looked up to find Nadir Talbot waiting with a smirk. Emmeline released an exasperated sigh and crossed her arms.

  “How are you always in my way?”

  “Well, I have been waiting in the hall for some time. How do women keep up conversations on precipitation for so long? At least the men discuss politics and sports. Not that either is particularly thrilling but at least it’s a semblance of variety.”

  “What is it you want, Mr. Talbot?”

  “I thought you might—”

  He stopped, tightening his grip on her arm slightly to keep her silent as he led her into a windowed alcove. Even in the dark, Mrs. March spotted them as she crossed the hall toward the stairs. Her eyes met Nadir’s for a moment before he shook his head, and she continued on her way. Emmeline turned back to him with narrowed eyes.

  “Do you know her?” Emmeline asked, watching his face.

  “Know is a strong word. I’ve seen her several times at the Society for Psychical Research.”

  “You believe in that?”

  “You don’t? You’re a medium.”

  “Just because I am doesn’t mean I believe other people are.”

  Nadir waved the conversation away. “That is beside the point. If you must know it was research for a book. I came to tell you that you may want to keep an eye on your brother. He appears to have a meeting tonight at two-thirty with the colonel in his study.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because no one was supposed to hear, and I doubt you want more trouble.” Lowering his voice, he ran his thumb over her sleeve and said, “I know what it’s like to be dragged into chaos by family.”