The Wolf Witch

by Kara Jorgensen

  “Like black magic?”

  Emmeline’s eyes darted to where her grimoire was hidden. It seemed to look back at her.

  “No. Black magic isn’t always bad magic. People call it black because we don’t understand it or don’t like it. Some say werewolves are a product of black magic because they’re afraid even though we can’t use magic. I don’t hold to Puritanical beliefs about magic.”

  “Well, you are Papists,” Emmeline said off-handedly, hoping it didn’t betray her relief.

  “Perhaps, but this is certainly only done with malicious intent. Weargs are warriors to the ones doing their bidding, monsters to their victims. It says they can only be created by powerful sorcerers and only on men who have the seed of the wolf in them, so those who are werewolves or have the potential to become so. The author describes them as cannibals willing to kill anything and becoming frenzied in battle. They were meant to be killing machines. You understand why kings would want them under their control or removed from play.”

  “Does it say anything about how to destroy them?”

  Wesley shook his head. “All it says is how they’re different from a werewolf. They’re larger, meaner, more unpredictable, less well formed. That would explain their mangy appearance according to your skinny friend at the Interceptors.”

  “Interceptors?” Nadir asked.

  “They’re like magic police. They locked me up for being a werewolf. That’s illegal here, apparently.”

  “They’re a miserable lot, Mr. Talbot. I’ll tell you more about it later. They’re partly to blame for my European tour.”

  “Then, I should thank them. Otherwise we may never have become acquainted,” he replied with a grin taut with lingering anxiety at odds with his blithe tone.

  “So we can agree that we’re probably up against weargs?”

  “It sounds close enough to heoruwearh for me.”

  At a sound in the hall, Wesley raised his hand for silence. Several people strolled past the room, boots scuffing on the carpet. Gernier, Bourgot, and Elsworth had evidently returned. Emmeline shot Nadir a look to keep him quiet. She could explain away Wesley in her room. They were related, and whoever had invited her had done so because of what she did for him. She had shown no interest in werewolves or creatures before that. But she couldn’t explain Nadir. More importantly, she couldn’t have anyone go after him. They had a few hours to get a plan together, and they would need every minute. When the men appeared to have passed, Emmeline motioned for Wesley and Nadir to come closer.

  “Wesley, thank you for all this. We’ll still need your help this evening,” Emmeline began.

  “Of course.”

  “But I think you should leave before someone overhears us.”

  “And it would be less suspicious if we didn’t all show up together. I understand.”

  With a nod, Wesley gathered the book and slid out into the hall. When she turned back to Nadir, he had slumped onto the side of her bed with his head in his hands. Emmeline stared at him, hoping she could parse out the feelings tumbling within her. She hated seeing him upset. Most of the time, he was obnoxiously upbeat, even when it was forced or tinged with spite. Now, he looked hopeless. Sadness churned with unadulterated rage. How dare someone threaten and try to take her best friend from her. She had lost so much already: Mama, her home, her life, her fiancé, but they sure as hell weren’t taking the one person who made her begrudgingly happy even in her worst moods. Rage wasn’t a strong enough word for how she felt. For a fleeting moment, she wished she could turn into a wearg and tear every last one of them limb from limb for thinking of Nadir as less than them.

  Mostly she had this sickening feeling that gummed everything up. It was the realization that most of Nadir’s friends probably didn’t feel this deep anger or the visceral pull she had when she saw his face light up that made her want to put her arms around him right now, even though she had barely touched a living soul in comfort since her mother died. The majority of her time had been spent in a rage and then in Mrs. Richmond’s bed, but they had felt the same. Building and releasing without feeling until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Willing her feet to move, Emmeline sat beside Nadir. She should take his hand, she should embrace him. Instead she stared at the side of his head until he finally looked up.

  “I’m not going to let them hurt you,” she said softly in case anyone lingered in the hall.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but I doubt you could stop them.”

  “Then, I guess they will have to kill me, too.”

  “Em, don’t say that.”

  “I mean it. We’re leaving together tomorrow morning no matter what. We just need to survive tonight.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Nadir said, his voice thick. His eyes moistened though his face betrayed nothing.

  “Don’t. You’ll make your kohl run.”

  Bringing her thumb to his cheek, the idea hit her. Nadir Talbot was known for his theatrics and she for her gifts. If they were to survive, they would need to thwart and meet everyone’s expectations.

  “You have that look in your eye, like you want to eat someone. I don’t know if I like it.”

  “I think I’ve figured out what to do, but you may not like it.”

  ***

  “You were right. I hate it,” Nadir said, meeting his reflection in the mirror as he applied an exaggerated rim of kohl around his eyes. He equally resembled a raccoon and an opera villain, but his eyes did look luminous, intense even. “That was the most awkward dinner of my life. I swear some of their wives are in on it. Lady Bourgot looked at me the way a fox looks at a chicken.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. She was ruthless at cards, and the way she spoke to me after dinner was oddly intimate.” Emmeline shuddered. “Anyone who acts like they know me sets me on edge. She ignored me like I was beneath her this morning. Her husband must have said something about the meeting. Do you think that Lady Bourgot and Lady Verdun will be there?”

  “Bourgot, certainly. I’m not sure about Verdun. Her husband still doesn’t look well.”

  Emmeline didn’t know if she wanted the women there or not. She hoped their presence might temper their husbands’ baser impulses, but if Lady Bourgot was any indication, she doubted they would step in to stop them. What truly scared her was their judgment. For this scheme to work, she and Nadir would both have to debase themselves. She dressed in only her petticoats and one of Nadir’s silk dressing gowns. They had bunched it up and pinned it to stay in place, but the sleeves still drooped too low, revealing the pale caps of her shoulders. At least it made her neck appear long, especially with the length of black silk tied around it. Her hair had been set free and then teased into a puff by Nadir’s hand. She was meant to look seductive and otherworldly. While she didn’t care what the men thought, they were meant to see only the image she put forth, she feared the women would see past her. No matter how hard she tried to shut her ears to it, she noticed every mother’s sidelong glance or quick move to pull her daughters away from her at a party. Foolish men she expected, but a woman blind to the reasons for her dissent shook her confidence.

  She didn’t need that tonight.

  “How do I look? Am I sufficiently garish?”

  Twirling before her, Emmeline suppressed a laugh at Nadir’s choice of outfit. He wore his shirt open under a purple kaftan, revealing a triangle of brown skin and a hint of muscular contour beneath. Every ring he had brought had been artfully arranged on his fingers and one of Emmeline’s gold necklaces had been flipped upside down to look less feminine as it hung on his neck. He then layered it with two of his own and carefully wrapped his hair in fabric. The gold and silk contrasted beautifully with his kaftan, and for the first time, Emmeline hoped the others wouldn’t realize how quickly this had been thrown together. Thankfully, Nadir had over packed and brought enough clothing for a week-long stay.

  “You look like a sultan from a penny dreadful.”

  “Isn’t that
what you wanted?” he asked, watching her in the mirror with his arms folded.

  “Unfortunately.” Standing at his side, she met his gaze in the glass. They looked like caricatures of who they wanted to be. She hated it. It felt wrong to see her clothing askew and her hair wild when she felt no passion for it.

  “I know how hard you work to be taken seriously, to balance how to be just different enough to be special. I know you don’t want this, and I’m sorry.”

  A cloud lifted from his features as he waved her off. “It’s fine. It’s one night. To not be torn limb from limb, I’ll play the harem boy. But never again.”

  “I would never ask you to.” Her eyes flickered over his costume. “Besides, I like Nadir the writer better. I don’t really like a man with more jewelry than me.”

  “And I prefer a woman who has her own dresses and doesn’t have to steal my favorite robe.”

  Emmeline smiled back at him, her attention trailing to the clock at the base of the vanity mirror. By now they would soon realize Nadir was not coming to meet them. Would they come looking for him? Or would they wait until the meeting started to drag him from his bed? Emmeline shut her eyes and steadied her breathing. With her, he was safe, she reminded herself. If they came barging in, they would have to go through her first, and she would scorch and scream until Wesley came to help her. Taking a final look at her and Nadir’s reflections in the mirror, Emmeline schooled her features into something far more intense than she was accustomed to, something to match the magnitude of Nadir’s smoldering gaze.

  It would have to do.

  Act Three

  “I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine, and rage the likes of which you could not believe.”

  Mary Shelley

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Gathering

  From the other side of the hidden passage, Emmeline listened to the men gathered in the great hall. She could hear the insipid whine of Gernier’s voice beside Bourgot’s harsh laugh. Through the crack in the mortar, she thought she heard the murmur of Colonel Roulet’s baritone, and if he was there, she assumed Wesley must be, too.

  “The men are all here, I think,” Emmeline whispered. “But I don’t hear any women.”

  She wished they could simply camp out in the crypt until it was all over, but Nadir seemed to be growing more nervous the longer they waited. She caught his eyes straying to the far corners of the hall before fixing on the door as if willing it to open.

  “Once they start the meeting, we’ll go. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

  As Emmeline leaned forward to listen again, Nadir wrapped his hand around her arm and led her silently toward the stairs. The candle flame cast deep shadows over Nadir’s features, and Emmeline’s stomach clenched at the cut of his cheekbones and the way the kohl made the brown of his eyes almost metallic. God, he was striking. His hand came up to her cheek, steady and hot in the cool mausoleum. She wished they didn’t have to do this.

  “No matter how this turns out, I want you to know—”

  Emmeline caught Nadir’s hand in hers and held it tightly. “Don’t say it. Whatever it is, tell me later.”

  His hand trembled as he held her gaze and finally nodded. Nadir’s mouth tightened like he wanted to say more but didn’t. Returning to their place at the door, Emmeline heard a new voice rise above the others, commanding and triumphant. Her eyes widened at the memory of that voice cornering her at a party.

  Elsworth, Nadir mouthed, his brow knit.

  “Let’s go.”

  Nadir blew out the flame, and in that moment of darkness before the stone door swung open, Emmeline called to her mother and the spirits of her ancestors. She felt their specters lingering below, listening and waiting. She fortified herself with their presence and felt the crackle of waiting fire on her hands. Nadir found her palm in the darkness and pulled her closer until their bodies met. His presence was shockingly warm and alive against the draft of the ghosts at her back, but when she felt his lips on hers, power flared inside her. This time the kiss was fierce and hot. Their hands scrabbled to keep the other near as tongues and teeth clashed. She felt a smile on his lips and knew it wasn’t goodbye. Drawing in a deep breath, Emmeline pushed open the passage with Nadir at her side. As all heads turned to them, she focused on the energy flowing around her, between her and Nadir and the ghosts below. Past, present, and future all running through her.

  She was Madeline Jardine’s daughter, and she would not be afraid.

  ***

  Wesley sat stiffly in his chair. Only hours before, dinner in the great hall had been pleasant, even if below the surface, he knew monsters lurked. Where once there had been an undercurrent of excitement, now the room felt tinged with violence. Like a bowstring drawn taut, all it would take was one move for the room to erupt. His wolf shifted inside him. It was growing agitated, though after the run outside, it had calmed down considerably. As Wesley sat with the others, Bourgot walked past and gave him a nod. Wesley returned it mechanically. In a den of vipers, you did as the others bid. Drinks had been laid out on the sideboard, and when Verdun poured himself an overfilled glass of gin, Bourgot appeared at his side. Verdun flinched slightly as Bourgot whispered in his ear. Bourgot’s sharp brows drew together and his eyes flashed between Verdun and Roulet, who sat at Wesley’s elbow. When Bourgot strode away, Verdun looked pale and distant.

  “Do you think Lord Verdun is all right?” Colonel Roulet said under his breath. “He looks awful. I’m going to talk to him.”

  Nodding silently, Wesley watched the colonel round the table. Sweat had formed on Verdun’s brow, but at the colonel’s words, he seemed to regain composure. He’s a murderer, Wesley reminded himself when he felt something too akin to sympathy toward the man. Some wore their victim’s blood like armor, others drowned in it. Wesley wondered if that was why Bourgot seemed in such high spirits. He noticed at dinner Mrs. March had not returned. Wesley doubted she had been safely deposited at the village doctor’s door as Mr. Elsworth had claimed. It rang as true as his assurances that Mr. Doughty was feeling better. Wesley should have stopped her from following that man, but he hadn’t known. Keeping his eyes on the muted world beyond the mullioned windows, Wesley pushed down his guilt. It was a lesson he had learned early with the Pinkertons, you couldn’t save everyone.

  Wesley turned at the sound of voices in the hall. Elsworth and Gernier appeared at the threshold; the smell of snow and pine drifted in with them as if they had been outside. Gernier’s face was blotched and pinched with anger as he muttered something under his breath. Elsworth whipped around to face him and pushed the other man back into the hall. If Wesley’s attention hadn’t been drawn to the smells of the not-wolves—weargs, he corrected—and the voices and the beat of the wind on the other side of the room, he may have heard them. Somewhere beneath all of the chatter, he thought he smelled Emmeline and Mr. Talbot, but he hadn’t seen them yet. A moment later, Elsworth swept back into the room all sharp smiles and confident grace. He greeted the colonel and Lord Bourgot before turning to Wesley with wary politeness.

  Rising to pour himself a small drink, Wesley brushed past Elsworth and inhaled deeply. Beneath the odor of the woods, the man smelled of death. The coppery tang of blood and the sweetness of decay mixed with the oily stench of tallow. Wesley’s wolf curled its lip at the man, but Elsworth didn’t notice. Roulet looked back at him, but Wesley raised his glass to him with a slight smile. The colonel lifted an eyebrow but went back to his conversation. If the rest of these men were wolves, they weren’t particularly good ones. No one else had even sensed him bristle.

  As he poured himself a finger of scotch, Wesley felt eyes boring into his back. He half-expected it to be his sister, but when he turned, he found Gernier glaring in his direction. His face had turned a shade of red that would have made him worry for his health if Gernier wasn’t as bad as the rest of them. From what Emmeline had said, he had been quite happy to be a party to a killing.

  �
�Shall we get started now that we’re all settled?” Elsworth asked, a smile quirking his mustache as he clasped his hands together.

  Wesley’s skin crawled at the excitement rippling off him. The rest of the men slowly returned to their seats as Elsworth took up his place at the head of the table. Wesley looked between Roulet and Elsworth. He could feel the colonel prickling at Elsworth usurping control. Roulet had been right to have reservations. For the second time since he arrived in the room, Wesley wondered if he had done the right thing keeping the man in the dark.

  “Gentlemen,” Elsworth called, his voice ringing in the wide, ancient hall, “we have gathered here tonight because a great injustice has been done to our people. For many years have we been disrespected—” He opened his mouth to continue but stopped, his eyes wide.

  “That is an understatement,” a decidedly feminine yet deep voice said from the back of the hall.

  Every gas lamp lining the walls flared into a small inferno as two figures emerged from the shadows. Flames licked at the top of the glass sconces as Emmeline strode toward the table. For a moment, Wesley didn’t recognize her with her hair flowing in wild curls and her dark eyes painted deep as a skull’s. Behind her, Nadir Talbot slunk from the darkness. His mouth curved into a sensual smirk as he eyed the other men at the table. Gold warmed his exposed skin. Between the jewelry and the swathes of silk, the pair could have stepped from another world, two fae come to make a deal with the humans. Wesley glanced at Bourgot to find him looking surprised but more focused on his sister while Gernier and Elsworth were caught between anger and surprise at seeing Nadir Talbot. Verdun’s gaze flickered toward them before returning listlessly to his drink. Roulet’s eyes trailed across both of them before he wrenched his gaze away, color heating his cheeks.

  “You speak of disrespect,” Emmeline said primly, her voice measured and deep as she surveyed the men with her chin raised, “yet I find you tried to blackmail my lover. If not worse.” She met Elsworth’s gaze and held it as the fire in the hearth behind him roared and danced. “I thought you wanted us as allies.”