The Last Necromancer

by C. J. Archer

  "Where's that little peach of yours, eh?" His hot breath stank. I choked down the bile in my throat and wished I hadn't. Throwing up over him might get him off me.

  But I doubted it. The light caught the determined gleam in his eyes, the glisten of saliva on his beard.

  I shut my eyes and willed myself to be calm, to empty my head and think of nothing. To not feel. But it was impossible. I felt every pinch of his dirty fingernails on my inner thighs, every scratch of his beard on my throat, every tear that slid down my cheek. It was hopeless. All I could do now was endure. Endure and survive.

  And try not to regret my decision to leave Lichfield Towers and Lincoln Fitzroy.

  CHAPTER 10

  The weight of the body pressed down on me, grinding my bony hip and shoulder into the greasy ground. He tried to kiss my mouth, and I did the only thing I was capable of doing in that position. I bit his cheek. My teeth sank into flesh. I gagged as the tang of blood filled my mouth. The brute reared back, screaming and clutching his face. But he didn't get off me. He raised his massive paw to strike me.

  Then suddenly he was gone, ripped off me by someone dressed in a dark hood. The newcomer punched my assailant in the stomach then shoved him away. My attacker crumpled like a doll and lay entirely still except for the blood oozing from the wound in his stomach.

  He hadn't been punched, he'd been stabbed. And he was dead.

  The wisp of smoky haze rising from the body told me that. It formed the man's shape, right down to the abundance of whiskers and broad hands. It was the man's spirit, yet I hadn't touched the body in order to see it. Either that had been the situation all along, or my power had grown stronger.

  The spirit didn't look at me but at his murderer. He bared his teeth. "Damn you! You tricked me!" The smoky essence thinned and floated past me as if on a breeze. I leaned away from him, but he didn't touch me.

  I blinked and he was gone. Only the body remained, and my rescuer. Or the man I had to fight off next.

  He pushed his hood back and I gasped. "Fitzroy!" I choked on the name, relief bringing fresh tears and tightening my throat.

  He crouched at my side and helped me to sit. The corset made it difficult to do on my own. He stroked my hair off my face and checked me over by the miserly light of the streetlamp. His touch was entirely clinical.

  "Are you harmed?" His voice quavered ever so slightly.

  I had some bruises on my thighs, but I wouldn't tell him about those. I couldn't anyway. Speaking had suddenly become the most difficult thing to do. I simply shook my head and fought hard to not let my tears overwhelm me.

  But when his face softened and he picked me up, it all became too much. I pressed my cheek to his chest and sobbed. It was pathetic but cathartic too. My fear flowed away along with my tears until there was nothing left but a sense of wellbeing. It was wrong to feel grateful to be in the arms of my captor, yet I couldn't bring myself to hate him. My relief was too great, the strength of his arms too comforting. He was keeping me safe, just like he'd promised.

  He did not set me down. We walked for some time through the dark streets, not speaking. His arms didn't loosen around me. If anything, they seemed to tighten. I couldn't see his face, tucked under his chin as I was, but I could hear his heartbeat. It had been erratic at first, but was now steady.

  "Where are you taking me?" I asked. We seemed to have left the slums. The houses we walked past were larger, the streets emptier. It was late.

  "Home."

  I don't have a home. I closed my eyes and listened to his heartbeat again. The rhythm lulled me and chased away the memory of that brute's fingers, his stench and my fear. I felt more like myself again, with a clearer head and a sense of dignity that had been absent since I'd realized what he'd intended to do.

  "You can put me down now," I told Fitzroy. "I won't run off." I needed to stand on my own two feet again, no matter how much I liked being in his arms. That was entirely the problem—I liked it too much.

  He didn't respond immediately, but walked several more paces before finally setting me on my feet. We were between streetlamps so I couldn't make out anything more than his silhouette.

  "It's not far," he said and set off again.

  "How did you know where to find me?" I asked. He shortened his strides so that I could keep up easily.

  "I followed you."

  I frowned. "You've been watching me?"

  "Yes."

  "All day? Ever since dropping me off in Whitechapel?"

  "Yes."

  His words slowly, slowly sank in. My God. I'd been right when I thought he was trying to make a point. Only I hadn't expected him to go so far as to leave me behind. When he had, I'd assumed I'd gotten him wrong and he'd decided to let me go after all. But this…this was beyond comprehension.

  I stopped. He stopped too and his gaze met mine. "You never had any intention of setting me free," I murmured. I shook my head, over and over, no longer certain of this man. He'd been so kind as he picked me up—only because he felt guilty at leaving me there dressed as a woman with no weapons or money.

  I went to punch him in the chest where my tears dampened his coat, but he caught my fist.

  "I needed you to help me," he said. "I needed you to see that you're better off at Lichfield."

  I backed away from him, but was stopped by the low brick fence of the church behind me. "That is a horrible thing to do to a woman. To anyone!"

  "Your stubbornness only makes you suffer, Charlie."

  "I am not doing it from stubbornness. I'm trying to stay alive."

  "And look how that worked out."

  I pressed my lips together and crossed my arms. I could try running away, but he would catch me. Or he might let me leave entirely, and I would once again be vulnerable and alone, and I was so tired of feeling that way.

  "You may be alive out here," he said, "but it's not a good life. You know that."

  "Stop pretending to know what I think. And anyway, how can I trust you after that little test?"

  "I give you my word. It's all I have to offer, but I hope you know me well enough to believe me."

  "Ha!"

  "You have to trust me, Charlie. The alternative is…that."

  Tears burned my eyes again as the memory of that brute came crashing back. It had been as bad as my first night alone, taken by the man who'd tried to sell me to the highest bidder. Worse, perhaps, because now I was aware of what could happen. Five years ago, I'd been naive.

  I sniffed and inclined my head in a nod. "Congratulations. You win. I give in." I marched off in the same direction we'd been heading.

  He quickly caught up and we walked side by side in silence. I'd hoped for an apology but none came. At least he didn't gloat.

  "Your heart is made of ice," I hissed at him.

  "It was for your own good."

  "If I were you, I'd keep quiet. Say the wrong thing and I might change my mind, and you are not very good at saying the right thing, in my opinion."

  Mercifully, he remained silent. It was too dark to see what he thought of my snippy response, and I was too tired to care.

  We strode through the Lichfield Towers gate and I sighed, not out of frustration, but contentment. I was moments away from food and a soft bed. I wanted a bath too, to wash away the grit of the street, the stink of that man. Lights blazed from every window in the house, even from the tallest room in the central tower. I wondered if I would find myself back up there, or if I were to remain in Fitzroy's rooms.

  The front door was thrown open before we reached it. Seth and Gus tumbled out, grins splitting their faces. Were they happy to see me again? How odd. I smiled back. To my surprise, I was glad to see them, but I wouldn't tell them that.

  They both looked me over, then with satisfied nods, stepped aside to let us through.

  "Good," Seth said for no apparent reason.

  "Welcome back, Miss Charlotte," Gus said, tugging on his forelock as a working man would do as a lady passed.

&nb
sp; "Call me Charlie or I'm leaving immediately."

  His gulp was audible. He shot a startled glance Fitzroy's way. "I, er…"

  "It was a joke." I patted the poor man's arm. He blushed brightly in response.

  "Ignore him," Seth said. He offered me his arm. "Cook has some treats lined up for you—jellies, candied fruit, even ice cream. Shall I bring it up to your room?"

  "Yes, thank you. That's very kind of you to organize sweets for me."

  His smile faded. "It wasn't me that ordered them." His gaze flicked to Fitzroy then away.

  I frowned at Fitzroy, but he was already moving off. "Draw a bath for her," he told Gus. "And show her to her new room. There's no need to set a guard on the door. We'll talk in the morning, Charlie." He took the stairs two at a time and disappeared from sight.

  We three let out a collective sigh, the tension having left with him. "Was it much of an ordeal?" Seth asked me.

  "I'd rather not talk about it."

  Gus smacked his friend's arm. "Idiot. Leave her be."

  "Go and draw the bath," Seth told him. To me he said, "We're glad you're back, Miss— Charlie. You might not know it, but your presence has livened this place up."

  I couldn't help laughing. "It must have been terribly dull beforehand."

  "Aye," Gus said, casting a glance at the stairs.

  I took his arm, surprising him into another blush. "Will you show me to my room now, please?"

  "Right you are, ma'am. Miss. Charlie."

  Seth wandered off toward the kitchens, chuckling, and I walked with Gus up the stairs. Now that I'd made the decision to stay, I felt more at ease. I would keep my promise and not try to escape.

  Yet I would also try to keep my feelings in check. Fitzroy had proved he was ruthless in getting his own way; he was not to be trusted. I'd be a fool to put myself at his mercy, physically or emotionally. I'd not made the mistake of trusting someone in a long time, and I wasn't about to begin now.

  ***

  Lady Harcourt came to my new room the following morning. She was dressed in a steel gray gown that would look grim on anyone else, but looked elegant on her, with its slender fit, large bustle and white frills at cuff and collar.

  She was followed by Fitzroy. I hadn't seen him since our return the night before. His eyes seemed a little tight as he regarded me from beneath half-lowered lashes. If he was annoyed, I doubted it could be because of me this time. I'd done exactly as he'd asked.

  Lady Harcourt also seemed somewhat provoked as she greeted me with a brief smile. I suspected they'd argued about something. Me? Or perhaps Fitzroy's methods?

  "It's a little warm for a fire," she said, glancing at the fireplace. She gasped when she saw what was burning in the grate. "Oh, Charlie! You didn't."

  "It accidentally caught fire."

  "How?"

  "It somehow found itself in the grate among the kindling with a flame put to it."

  She gave me a withering glare. "If you didn't want to wear the corset, you could have simply left it off when you dressed this morning. There was no need to burn it."

  I begged to differ. I felt a very strong need to destroy the damned thing.

  Fitzroy added a scoop of coal to the fire. "How do you find your new rooms?" he asked, straightening.

  "Very nice. Thank you." While the bedroom and adjoining sitting room were better than the tower chamber, they weren't as spacious as his suite. My new abode was located down the hall from his and was comfortably furnished. It was better than I expected.

  "Do you have everything you need?"

  "Seth delivered the books earlier."

  "You ought to sew," Lady Harcourt said. "Do you remember how?"

  "I think so." I'd never been very good at sewing, always rushing my stitches, frustrating my mother. Her needlepoint had been particularly fine, but she'd had far more patience than me.

  "When you come to live with me, I'll see that you're given something simple to begin with."

  "Live with you! But I thought I was to remain here?" I glared at Fitzroy, but he was looking at Lady Harcourt.

  "Julia," he intoned. "That's not how we agreed to approach this."

  Lady Harcourt sighed and swanned further into the room. The sitting room was small enough that the presence of three people filled it. Fitzroy, in particular, looked much too large for the room. He stood near me, making me very aware of the power contained within his tall frame. For the first time since it happened, I thought of how he'd killed the man who'd accosted me beneath the bridge. Fitzroy had not given him a chance to beg forgiveness. He'd stabbed him as he would a sack of grain, and left his body there to be picked over by thieves and rats.

  As glad as I'd been at the time, today I was struck by the brutality of it—the coldness. Yet, only moments later, he'd carried me gently away from the scene.

  Lady Harcourt pressed a flat palm to her stomach and seemed to be gathering herself. "Very well," she said. "Charlie, I've come to ask you, once again, to live with me. Now that you have agreed to help, there is no need to lock you up."

  "No, thank you. I have no desire to wear corsets and scrub your floors."

  Her fingers splayed. "You don't have to be a servant. You may be my companion."

  "What does a companion do?"

  She shrugged. "We sit together, talk and walk together. You can pay calls with me."

  "On who?"

  "My friends."

  It didn't sound like something I'd like to do, but I didn't want to offend her. "I prefer to remain here."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but Fitzroy cut in. "Charlie has given her decision. You promised to abide by it."

  "Yes, but I'm not sure she's thoroughly thought it through." Lady Harcourt turned a winning smile onto me. "What is there for a girl to do here?"

  "Gamble and play cards," I told her.

  She clicked her tongue.

  "Drink whiskey and smoke cigars."

  "Charlie, really, now you're just being stubborn."

  "Apparently I make a habit of it," I said, ignoring Fitzroy as best as I could.

  "She won't come to any harm here," he assured her. "You know that, Julia. Indeed, you also know that this is the safest place for her, while we try to draw V.F. out. I won't expose her to danger because you believe she needs feminine company."

  It was quite the speech, and I was surprised at his vehemence. It would seem he took my safety seriously.

  "Very well," she huffed. "I'll have some embroidery sent around. And you are to keep Gus and Seth on a tight leash. If anything happens to her—"

  "Nothing will happen," I said. "They're not going to…compromise me under Fitzroy's nose. He'll skin them alive."

  He lifted his brows at Lady Harcourt in what I suspected was triumph, but I wasn't entirely sure.

  She sighed. "Then that is that. I'll retreat. I must dash anyway, but I'd like a word with Charlie alone before I go."

  Fitzroy bowed then left us. Once the door was shut, Lady Harcourt picked up the fire iron and stabbed at the burnt corset. Her vigorous thrusts quickly made her breathless. I could have told her she'd be able to breathe better if she threw her own corset into the fire, but I didn't think the suggestion would be welcomed.

  "Do you have your courses?" she asked.

  "Pardon?"

  "Your monthly woman's courses."

  "I…no. It stopped some time ago."

  She eyed me up and down. "That can occur with underweight girls. I expect, now that you're eating, it will return. I'll have linens sent to you along with the sewing."

  "Thank you, my lady. You're very kind." I meant it. She had thought of difficulties that hadn't even occurred to me. "I know you're worried about how a girl who doesn't like to wear corsets will behave around the men, but I can assure you, I am not interested in…those sorts of activities."

  She stabbed at the ruined corset again. "Not yet."

  I sighed. "Fitzroy won't allow it under his roof anyway. He'll make sure the men treat me with
respect."

  Stab, stab, stab.

  "And I won't tempt them." I laughed. It sounded ridiculous. "As if I could, anyway."

  She stopped and placed the fire iron in the stand. "You underestimate yourself, Charlie. And I think you underestimate men, too." She lifted a finger when I opened my mouth to protest. "Men, not boys. They are not the same. Well, some are, but many are not. Now, tell me something."

  "What?" I mumbled, unsure if I'd been chastised or advised.

  "How did Fitzroy convince you to stay and help us?"

  "He didn't tell you?"

  She smiled sweetly and hooked her arm through mine. "I thought I'd ask you."

  "Perhaps you ought to ask him." I extricated myself, but not before I felt her fingers tense on my arm.

  I headed for the door and opened it. Fitzroy wasn't there, and nor were any of the men. It took me a moment to remember that I was no longer a prisoner. I walked down the stairs with Lady Harcourt. We found Fitzroy in the library, propped against the windowsill, a book in hand.

  He looked up as we came in and closed the book. "We need to talk."

  I wasn't sure if he spoke to me or Lady Harcourt and whether his announcement meant the other should leave. Lady Harcourt, however, seemed to know. She gave him her hand and he bowed over it.

  "I look forward to your report," she said.

  "I'll be in touch with the committee soon."

  He walked her out, leaving me alone in the library. I picked up the book he'd been reading—A Guide To The Spirit World. How curious. I flipped it open and began to read, but didn't get very far before he returned. Outside, Lady Harcourt's carriage rolled away.

  "Tea and cake?" he asked. "Cook has been baking."

  "I'm not hungry."

  "You need to eat."

  "Breakfast wasn't that long ago."

  He tugged on the bell pull in the corner of the library. The house was so vast that I couldn't hear the corresponding bell ringing in the service area.

  He stood by the table while we waited, hands behind his back, and nodded at the book. "You should read that. It might help you understand your necromancy."