by Robyn Bachar
“Yes.” I glanced at the door and lowered my voice to a whisper. “I believe Mrs. Harding was having an illicit love affair. Do we know if she was displeased with the match that was made for her?”
“Not to my knowledge. I will ask about that as well,” she replied, and I winced.
“Perhaps you should allow me to handle that area of questioning. I could monitor his responses to see if he is being evasive in his answers.”
Miss Dubois considered the offer and then nodded. “Very well.”
“I should note that there is no sense of violence in this room, or in the areas of the house we’ve seen. She must have gone willingly with her abductor.”
“Or she was drugged. Any number of alchemist’s potions can dull the senses enough to allow someone to be led away without a fight.”
True, though I for one never dealt with alchemists, because they were an untrustworthy, mercenary lot. “Do you think the lover killed her?”
“Very likely. In many cases a victim is killed by a person that he or she knew. Murder is often a personal crime.”
I shuddered at the thought and assumed it was even more personal for a necromancer draining his victim, holding the woman close while he stole the lifeblood from her body. Surely Michael would never do such a terrible thing, but if the danger did not exist, then Simon would not be so concerned about him while he learned to control his bloodlust.
After a few more minutes of searching that did not yield any further results, I donned my gloves and we returned to the parlor where Dr. Bennett was consoling Mr. Harding. The poor man appeared so distraught that it seemed cruel to ask him if his wife had been unfaithful.
“Did you find anything?” Mr. Harding looked up at us with reddened eyes. I glanced at Miss Dubois, and she nodded at me to proceed.
I took a seat near them and folded my hands in my lap. “Perhaps a few things. May I ask, was Mrs. Harding faerie-blooded?”
“No, she wasn’t,” he replied.
“And you’re certain of that?” Miss Dubois asked.
“Well…no. I don’t believe that she has—had—any particular connection to a faerie family. If she did she never spoke of it. Perhaps you could speak with her parents,” he suggested, and Miss Dubois nodded.
Curious. Perhaps the mirror had a second purpose? Aside from Miss Dubois’s claims that it was a gateway to Faerie, there could be any number of other magical uses for a mirror. Dr. Bennett might know of a witch’s use for mirrors, and we could question him later.
“Did Mrs. Harding visit any friends or relations on a regular basis?” I asked. “It would aid us if we knew her daily routines.”
The husband nodded. “Yes, of course. She visited her Aunt Penny for tea on Wednesdays. And she was involved with a small circle who practice spellwork, and they meet during the full moon. Women’s magic, you understand.” Mr. Harding looked to Dr. Bennett, who seemed to know what he referred to. Admittedly I knew very little of the specifics of witch magic, and only encountered them when I needed the aid of a healer.
“No other hobbies?” I asked. Perhaps she could have been using her aunt as an excuse to meet her lover, but how had she met the man in the first place?
Mr. Harding frowned as he pondered the question, and then he sighed. “She had been attending these poetry salons. Her friend Miss Thistlegoode insisted that she go with her. I didn’t approve, but Clara had been a bit melancholy about not seeing her friends as much now that she was a married woman, and she seemed to enjoy attending them.”
Miss Dubois and I exchanged a meaningful look. That was a likely place for her to meet a lover, perhaps a poet. A lonely new bride could be swayed into an affair by such a romantic figure. Fortunately, as a poetess myself I had a plausible reason to attend such a gathering, which would allow us to investigate further.
We spoke a bit more with poor Mr. Harding before taking our leave and proceeding to Miss Dubois’s home near Hyde Park. I was impressed by the fashionable neighborhood and the stately exterior of the building. She must have quite a fortune to afford such a place, which might explain why Dr. Bennett had not acted upon his feelings for her. Judging by the worn and frayed state of his jacket, he could not claim the same. I wondered where he was living—surely not here, for that would be extremely scandalous—but I refrained from asking.
Dr. Bennett asked for permission to look something up in her library, and he left to pursue his research. Miss Dubois and I passed our time in the sitting room, waiting for dinner to be served.
“Your home is lovely. Is that painting American?” I gestured to a cityscape above the fireplace.
“It is, yes. It depicts the view of New York from the harbor,” she replied.
“Does your family still reside there?”
Her shoulders slumped slightly, and it was the first hint of emotion I had seen from her. “They do. It was difficult to leave them, but a guardian must go where ordered.”
“You have my sympathies. I am recently displaced myself, and quite homesick,” I admitted.
“I have never heard of a married chronicler before.”
“Neither had we, until now. But I am quite used to being unique, as the only seer in England.” I smiled as bravely as I could. “There were no seers near you in America?”
“No. I had heard rumors of one in San Francisco, but that is on the other side of the country.”
“I see.” During our tour of Europe after our wedding, Michael and I attempted to meet with the seer in Italy to satisfy my curiosity on what it would be like to meet another of my kind. Unfortunately we were not able to do so, due to a problem with the local trains, and we had been forced to move on.
“Did you leave behind any suitors in New York?” I asked.
Miss Dubois laughed. “A few, but none I cared for. Most were simply interested in the acclaim of marrying a guardian.”
“It must be nice to be acclaimed. Before Michael proposed, I only had one suitor, who turned out to be a murderous vampire. Most people consider marrying a seer to be quite undesirable.”
“Men are odd creatures. As a guardian I would think it marvelous to have a seer as a spouse, for a seer’s abilities would be remarkably useful to aid in investigations.”
“It’s more of an issue that magicians prefer that their children inherit the same magic. A librarian wants librarian sons. I imagine guardians are much the same,” I said, and she nodded.
“I still find it odd that no one has sought your aid before. It seems as though you would be very useful in political matters.”
“It’s…a complex issue,” I replied with a slight wince.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to offend.”
“Not at all. Politics are at the very heart of my circumstances. We have reached a sort of peace among the different magician factions at the moment, and there are those who would see my involvement in politics as an unfair advantage. My magic would tip the scales in favor of whichever side I shared my visions with.”
“I hope my request for your aid doesn’t cause you too much trouble.”
“I’m sure any sensible magician would not begrudge a guardian the aid of a seer.” I held my tongue on the subject of whether or not my husband and his mentor could be considered sensible judges on this topic. Instead, I turned the conversation to Dr. Bennett in hope of gauging her feelings toward him. “Dr. Bennett seems to be quite helpful to your investigations.”
Miss Dubois coughed, appearing startled by my statement. “Yes, he often is. He has remarkable skill in determining the cause of a victim’s death, and it is always helpful to have a healer present after a difficult battle.”
“The two of you have worked together for several years?”
“Yes, we have.” This time I thought a spied the slight pink stain of a blush. “Dr. Bennett has been instrumental in solving many troublesome mysteries. I am grateful for his aid.”
“He must be quite devoted to your cause to relocate here with you,” I commented with my m
ost convincing expression of innocence. Miss Dubois coughed again, and I doubted that it was due to a sudden onset of consumption.
She smiled. “Yes, he is a true friend.”
A true friend? Poor Dr. Bennett. “It seems as though the two of you would make a smart match. Have you never considered making your partnership permanent through marriage?”
There was no mistaking the blush now. “Our partnership is purely professional, Mrs. Black. And, as you said, magician men want their sons to follow in their footsteps. I can’t imagine that a witch would be eager for guardian offspring.”
“True.” Though judging by the depth of Dr. Bennett’s affection for her, I doubted he would mind at all. It was encouraging that she didn’t seem averse to him, but she didn’t appear to harbor any romantic feelings toward him. Yet. “He once offered me employment in your service. It was quite tempting at the time.”
“The offer still stands, if you are interested. I think the aid of a seer would be invaluable in my work,” she replied.
“I couldn’t possibly. My children need looking after, and soon we will return home. Very soon, should my husband and his mentor get their way. I only wished to aid in this investigation due to the extreme circumstances of it. Could you tell me more of the other victims now?”
“Yes, of course. Each victim has been a young woman, either newly married or soon to be. Three were witches, one was a sorceress, one an alchemist, and the other a summoner.”
“That seems an odd assortment.”
Miss Dubois nodded. “It is. With such a wide range of magicians I would normally conclude that the murderers were hunters, not focused on any particular breed of magician but on magicians in general. However, the fact that the killer had ample opportunity to attack other members of the household and did not suggests otherwise. The draining of the blood points to a chronicler or master necromancer, but perhaps that is too obvious. An alchemist might have use for magician blood, or a summoner.”
“Could a demon have caused this sort of damage?” I asked.
“Perhaps. I still believe the necromancers are involved. I am hopeful that you will be able to confirm that when we speak with them later.”
I nodded. “I will do my best. Oh, I may also have an advantage in speaking with Mrs. Harding’s poetry group. I recently published a collection of poetry under a nom de plume.” It was something I was very proud of, though my librarian family didn’t understand why I didn’t focus on more practical writing, such as an essay on the theory of something or other. I was of the opinion that as a seer I had a poetess’s soul, for I could see both the truth and beauty in things in a way that was unique from the rest of the world.
Miss Dubois nodded. “That may come in useful when the time comes. First we will deal with the necromancers and see where that leads us.”
Chapter Four
Though I had lived for several years under the same roof as a blood drinker, I rarely gave the matter of blood much thought. Simon only required sustenance from me on the very rare occasions when no one else was available to donate. Like a living librarian, he spent most of his time in his library, engrossed in his studies, and kept normal hours. Daylight never seemed to bother him. He avoided it, but if he needed to enter a well-lit room or step out of doors he never hesitated to do so.
The majority of my problems with Simon revolved around his plans for Michael and not his preferred source of food. Blood might be essential to his existence, but said existence was focused on study, not feeding.
Therefore, I was not at all prepared for the experience of a necromancer gathering.
The Order of St. Jerome has little patience for necromancers, because though both chroniclers and master necromancers share the benefits of immortality, the Order is very particular about whom they choose for that fate. Chroniclers have a purpose—they record magician history and keep it safe from the prying eyes of those who would harm us. Necromancers have no purpose. They simply wish to live forever, and anyone who can find a mentor, complete the training and survive the ritual is allowed to become a master. It attracts an undesirable element of magician. The very worst of our society, as was evident when Miss Dubois informed me that the necromancer gathering was being held at a brothel—a “blood whore” brothel, to be specific, where willing magicians sold not only sexual favors but their blood as well.
My husband would be livid indeed when he learned of this. To be honest, I was dismayed myself, but Miss Dubois was steadfast as ever. She changed into a smart dress of navy blue with silver piping that reminded me a bit of a military uniform—again with a matching parasol. Her shoulders were squared and her chin held high as the carriage brought us to our indecent destination. Dr. Bennett continued to be flustered and displeased with the state of the lenses in his spectacles, but I was proud of him for remaining at Miss Dubois’s side. He was loyal enough to follow her into hell and back, and I found I envied her that.
I concentrated on keeping myself centered as we traveled. The many layers of spells pulled at me in every direction like tiny hooks set in my skin. How did anyone accomplish anything in this city? One might be headed to the market, blissfully unaware, and walk into the wall of a ward.
To the naked eye the exterior of the building was unremarkable, but to my enhanced seer’s vision it oozed clouds of crimson lust and black death. I did not encounter necromancy often, and I was glad of it, for it was horrid to behold. Endless shades of darkness stretched thin over the walls of the building like the last bit of marmalade scraped over a piece of toast. Magicians had never been meant to live forever, and master necromancers cheated death by prolonging their lives. As I understood it, Death did not appreciate their efforts, and unspeakable torments awaited masters in the afterlife.
“Do not speak without my express permission,” Miss Dubois warned before we exited the carriage. I nodded in silent agreement.
“I would like to reiterate that this is not a good idea,” Dr. Bennett grumbled.
“It’s a terrible idea. Unfortunately it is our only option. Now, chins up, everyone. Never let a predator believe that you are afraid.”
With her head held high Miss Dubois preceded us into the vampires’ den of iniquity. I held tight to Dr. Bennett’s arm as I split my concentration between walking and blocking out the combination of emotion and magic that blared at me the moment we stepped through the doors. It was a bit like sitting in the front row of a concert hall during a particularly bombastic symphony, but I was determined to block it out. I would need all of my abilities at their strongest when we spoke with the members of the necromancer council, for reading the undead was difficult. Simon’s aura was faint, and I suspected it had something to do with the ritual that created chroniclers and master necromancers, freezing their bodies in time at the moment of their death. My heart ached at the memory of seeing Michael’s aura trapped within a glacier of his own, but then I was distracted by the sight of the vampires’ parlor and nearly tripped over my own skirts.
My eyes widened to an owlish extreme at the sight of a young woman naked from the waist up seated atop a gentleman’s lap—though “gentleman” was certainly not an accurate term, considering the indecent things he was doing with his hands while his mouth was fastened to her neck, drinking her blood. In theory I understood that a bite could be erotic, but I had never experienced that, for Simon would never behave in such a shocking manner with me. And even if by some madness he did attempt to misbehave, I was certain he would have the good sense to do it behind closed doors and not in a room filled with people. Not that anyone else appeared to be watching this display, for at a further glance they all appeared to be similarly occupied.
“Courage,” Dr. Bennett murmured.
I tried to take a steadying breath, but the air was thick with the scents of cloying floral perfume, the tang of blood and the musk of sex. Instead I swallowed hard and stared at the back of Miss Dubois’s navy gown. This kept me from seeing any of the other carnal activities happening around
us as we passed through several other rooms, but I could hear them quite well, and my face burned with the heat of a bonfire. Apparently the necromancers were in good spirits. If I had ever had any doubts as to the reason why necromancers were not invited to other magician gatherings, this explained why. The moans and sighs of ecstasy did, however, remind me that I had not intimate relations with my husband in many long, lonely months, and depending on the details of his newfound condition I might well never have them with him again.
The noise and activity quieted as we moved deeper and lower into the building, traveling down a winding set of stairs. The air cooled, and I was glad of it as the burn faded from my cheeks. Our group paused at a large set of doors in what I assumed must be the cellar. Two masters stood guard, and one stepped into the room beyond, presumably to announce our presence. The other master sidled closer to me, eyeing me with a hungry expression, and Miss Dubois whapped him on the leg with her parasol.
“My associates are not to be interfered with,” she warned.
The vampire hissed and grumbled something unflattering about guardians, but he returned to his post. We were ushered into the room, and I was both surprised and relieved to find it plain and quiet. A round wooden table took up the center of the room, with three individuals seated in a semicircle on the far side: two men and one woman. They were dressed richly yet conservatively, though each held to a different style that was out of fashion. Simon suffered from that ailment as well, considering himself too busy to learn and adhere to the latest trends. I had been the first positive influence on his wardrobe in years, possibly even centuries.
“Greetings, guardian,” the woman said. “I see that you have brought reinforcements to aid in your accusations.” Her pale face was framed with curls of shockingly red hair that seemed too bright to be natural. Like me she wore all black, complete with a veil that fell forward to cover her eyes. I wondered if she had lost someone recently, or was still mourning the loss of an ancient romance. “Why don’t you introduce your pretty companion?”