That was mad. Light didn’t move on its own. Then again, a man’s blood vessels didn’t glow either.
Gareth looked up. Simon’s room was rather pleasant as such things went, done in shades of blue and gold, with a fire already blazing in the fireplace. Painted lamps cast their own circles of light over the bed, and a small pile of books lay on the night table. It was all very civilized. Mrs. Grenville stalked through it as if it were a jungle. If she’d had a gun, he almost would have expected her to start shooting holes in the mantelpiece.
Sensing his gaze, she spun and glared at him. “Well?”
“What is it?” Gareth tried not to sound querulous. He did usually like to know the normal facts about a patient before viewing him in any other way. He wasn’t sure there were that many normal facts in this case, but the theory, notwithstanding, held.
“A curse. Or something.” Mrs. Grenville shrugged, the first desperate and uncertain movement Gareth had ever seen from her. “On a rose, of all the stupid things. It hit the first finger on his hand. Goddamn classic,” she spat.
He supposed it was, as curses went. Gareth picked up Simon’s hand and turned it over . It felt unnaturally cold, he noted, even while he screamed his own, rather less-effective curses in the back of his mind. There was a hole on the right forefinger. Not large. “How long ago?”
“Half an hour. We’d just gotten into the carriage when he collapsed.”
“Right. Give me a moment.” Gareth switched his vision and almost immediately felt his stomach turn over in revolt.
As bad as Simon’s arm looked in the normal world, it was far worse in the spiritual plane. The light that had clustered around his arteries was thicker, almost viscous, and a dark gray that brought to mind old bread dough. Gareth could almost smell the decay. That wasn’t the worst of it.
When he looked at the light through his aethereal vision, it did squirm, growing thicker in places before splitting up again and sliding farther along Simon’s arm. Gareth could see the dark blue shape that was Simon breaking apart before it, slowly but steadily. The rest of Simon was paler—energy expended to try and fight the intruder, Gareth assumed—but nothing like what was happening midway up his arm. Gareth suspected it wasn’t simply flesh and blood that crumbled.
No, dammit.
He flung power out without thinking, slamming it down into Simon’s arm in a wall between the rest of his friend’s body and the invading, rotting light. There was a blast of amber fire in the aether. From Mrs. Grenville’s startled curse, Gareth thought something had showed itself in the normal world as well.
The rotting light…retreated wasn’t a strong enough word. Gareth’s power blasted it backward, down the long paths it had climbed to get so far, and left it midway between Simon’s wrist and his elbow. Radial, Gareth thought absently, textbooks turning their own pages in his mind, ulnar, brachial. For the moment, the light’s restless writhing movement halted.
It wasn’t out yet. But Gareth had made a good start. He took a breath, feeling renewed confidence fill him along with the air…
Then the rotting light turned its attention on him.
***
Nobody was screaming this time. At first, Olivia found that a relief. Then, as she made her way up the stairs and down the hall, the silence became more ominous. There was carpet on the hallway floor and no way her footsteps should have echoed. They echoed in her mind anyway.
Mrs. Edgar opened the door to the master bedroom and stood back, farther back than simply letting Olivia inside would have required. There was no explosion, however, and nothing rushed out the door.
Olivia rushed in.
The room receded in her vision, its furnishings becoming faint and then almost translucent. None of them mattered except Joan, pacing the room like a caged beast, and her husband, lying on the bed and looking about three steps from a corpse.
Gareth was standing over him, holding out both of his hands. A faint golden glow had formed around them, contrasting with the rather leprous air Olivia could see around Mr. Grenville’s arm as she got closer. Closer still, she saw the pallor on Gareth’s face and the sweat on his forehead.
He was fighting something with all his strength. She had no idea whether he was winning.
On her way out the library door, Olivia had retained enough presence of mind to snatch up a candle and matches. She lit the wick now and made hasty gestures to the four directions, invoking all the elements to protect her in whatever happened thenceforth. It was a hasty compromise. She didn’t have time for a proper shield, but she wasn’t fool enough to go in without one. Not the way Mr. Grenville and Gareth both looked.
A word in Enochian brought her more knowledge, and she caught her breath with the terror of it. Now she could clearly see the writhing foulness inside Mr. Grenville’s arm, insidious and persistent and awfully aware, like nothing she’d encountered and only barely like anything she’d read about. It seethed in his hand and his forearm, but a wall of dark amber power blocked its further progress.
For the moment.
The light was throwing itself at the wall, a steady stream of gray rot that, at the moment, beat itself against the power to no effect, but that didn’t let the power progress any farther either. Stalemate, Olivia thought. In time, Gareth’s power would weaken and so would the wall, even if he fed it with his own life force.
That was if the light didn’t begin to attack him directly. Olivia could feel it in the air now. It was blind malice, but it wasn’t quite senseless, and it knew Gareth was there. If the light found the link between power and man…it would be very bad. And there was almost nothing she could do. The light was magical, but it was physical. It was part of Simon’s body now rather than a spell Olivia might lift.
She swallowed. “A healing spell might help,” she said, turning toward the door. “I’ll get the notes.” Olivia tried not to think of the time it would take or how she’d never had call to use that particular sort of magic. No need, when Gareth had been there. No need now, perhaps, if he’d had enough power.
Abruptly, she turned back. A few more steps carried her to Gareth’s side, just within arm’s reach of him. Olivia bent and traced symbols on the ground, calling on power, and saw the world shift again. It wasn’t as dramatic as it had been in the forest, but it was enough, and she bit back an oath at the roiling half shape the light took on in that view.
Warmth rose up from her feet and spread throughout her body. If working with power was enough to let her see the light’s true shape, hopefully the power itself would be enough to defeat it. Olivia remembered the way she’d grounded Elizabeth’s energy, fixed her mind on reversing the process…
…and placed a hand on Gareth’s shoulder.
***
For the first few seconds, Gareth wasn’t sure where the rush of energy came from, nor did he care.
The rotting light had been pressing forward relentlessly. He’d been holding his ground, pouring more and more of his power into the wall, and it had held under the assault. Only held, though. Gareth was no tactician, never had been, but he thought trying to gain ground might be disastrous for him and for Simon. As it was, he had started to feel the price in his own body as the light came onward.
The thought had occurred to him that he was in over his head.
Injuries didn’t fight back. Disease did, in its way, but any illness he’d ever faced had been a pale shadow of this, whatever it was, which coiled and gathered only to surge again. The sense of its hatred for him, for all normal life, had crept over Gareth like the faintest brush of the power itself. Balam might have killed them all, if he’d gotten out of the circle, but he had been straightforwardly predatory compared to the cold and slimy thing in Simon’s blood.
Gareth had been trying not to think much about that.
Then, like a drenching of cold water on a hot day—energy. It flowed over him and into him, and Gareth took it without thinking. The wall blossomed outward into amber flame, driving the rotting light off, b
ack, then out, destroying it on the way. Gareth’s head was full of a high buzzing he thought was the light screaming, and he felt himself smile at the sound. Hurt, did it? Good.
Somewhere nearby, Simon was breathing more deeply. His hand clenched and then relaxed, fingers spreading, and the last of the light vanished.
Gareth sent his power through Simon’s arm once more, scouring his veins for any trace of the curse-or-whatever, and smiled when he found none. Energy still lingered in his body. When he shifted his sight back to normal, he thought he probably looked slightly mad.
No matter. Mrs. Grenville was kneeling by Simon, her hands on his good shoulder, and talking urgently and intently in a way Gareth didn’t think he should watch. Instead, he turned to see who his rescuer had been.
Deep brown eyes met his, shining with the same energy and triumph Gareth felt.
Olivia.
Chapter 29
“We should go,” Olivia said quietly, glancing over Gareth’s shoulder to where the Grenvilles were talking. “They’ll tell us what happened later, and…”
Gareth turned his head to follow her gaze, looked back, and spoke quickly. “Right. Yes.”
He was grinning, and Olivia wasn’t sure he knew it. She wasn’t surprised. One never used just enough power to solve any problem. Dr. Gillespie had told her as much, and she’d found out through experience. Either one drew too heavily on reserves and ended up exhausted, or just enough remained to be energizing…and more than a little intoxicating. If Olivia was any judge, Gareth had just experienced the latter effect on top of the former.
Olivia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling. Poor man. In so very far over his head. And doing quite well for all of that, she had to admit.
Outside, Mrs. Edgar and a few of the other servants solemnly watched them emerge. Olivia fought the urge to laugh again. She realized she was not exactly at her soberest either. She managed a relieved smile instead. “Everything should be fine now,” she said. “Mr. Grenville’s…recovering. They’ll want privacy for a little while, but then some food and wine would probably be welcome.” She pulled her thoughts into order. “The students—”
“Violet’s sitting with the girls, ma’am, and Henry’s keeping an eye on the boys.” Mrs. Edgar looked between Olivia and Gareth. “Perhaps you and the doctor should sit down somewhere for a while as well, ma’am.”
They should, and should also probably try to talk about what had just happened. Certainly it wasn’t wise to leave Gareth alone just now. He seemed mostly in his right mind, but God knew what the remnants of outside power would do in someone with natural talent.
Now that Olivia thought about it, she realized she hadn’t really thought about it. Not before feeding Gareth the power. She swallowed and told herself whatever she might have done was certainly better than what the curse would have done to him and Mr. Grenville.
“We’ll be in the library,” she said. “Bring tea, please, when you’ve taken care of the Grenvilles.”
She smiled, turned, and walked down the hall. Walked straight, moreover, which was an excellent thing. Power wasn’t intoxicating in quite the same way alcohol was, but the euphoria could play havoc with motor control from time to time, just as it could do the opposite. Gareth was following her with a certain graceful speed, though he still limped somewhat.
Naturally, grace was a matter of perception. Power heightened that as well.
Olivia took a deep breath and headed for the library. Hopefully there’d be plenty of distraction there.
***
Sitting down didn’t suit Gareth. He tried it for a moment or two, long enough to fill his cup of tea, then stood up, teacup in hand, and walked to the window. It was raining outside, again. Pity: he could have done with a walk.
He could have done with a number of things.
Some of the electricity racing through his veins was mortal enough, he knew. He’d felt it on those few occasions when battle or a hard task hadn’t left him completely exhausted. He was alive, the foe was vanquished, and a very primitive impulse in him said: celebrate.
It had never been this powerful before. Gareth felt sixteen again, though with none of the nervous clumsiness that had been his portion as a youth. No, he felt like his hands could move with the speed of thought, that he could have taken the wind itself in a footrace, that—
“There is,” Olivia said, “a reason why many of us turn to opium eventually.” She was trying to be crisp and sober. Her voice held amusement, though, and deeper, more sensual notes.
Gareth gripped the windowsill and didn’t look at her. Power hadn’t done a damn thing to enhance his self-control. “I’d imagine so,” he said hoarsely.
Behind him, Olivia cleared her throat. “Do you know what—?”
“No.” Gareth swallowed, put his teacup down on the windowsill, and tried to collect his thoughts. “Mrs. Grenville said it might have been a curse, but she didn’t sound certain. I’ve certainly never seen anything like it,” he added. “My experience of such things is limited.”
“I’d imagine,” Olivia said. There was a faint rustle of cloth. She was moving, not entirely at ease. “But your own talent—”
“Started when I was fourteen.” This particular string of memories was relatively safe. “Old enough to know it wasn’t normal. I…tried to ask some questions, look things up, but didn’t get very far. Until I met Simon, I had no real idea how the unseen world worked, not beyond me.” Gareth laughed and shook his head. “And my own skills are…lacking. I taught myself. I’m bound to have missed a few points.”
“Or found a few nobody would think to look for.”
Gareth wondered if she’d used the same calm tone of encouragement on her marks back in London, and then if she used it on the students now. “You don’t have to be kind,” he said sharply. “Not to me. Lord knows I’ve never…”
Been kind to you were going to be the next words, but Gareth stopped himself. That sounded like apology, and he had nothing to apologize for.
A few seconds passed without a response. He could picture Olivia but wasn’t certain how she looked. Had his temper stung her? Amused her? Was she wearing that carefully blank expression now, the one that spoke of being a grown woman and a professional, and so above reacting to him?
He was on the verge of saying something else when she spoke.
“I suppose you’d call healing my leg medical obligation. And my wrist. So let’s assume I was speaking from professional obligation as well, shall we?” Her voice was low, firm, and closer. Not in his ear, but nearby. “I’ve never said anything to you out of charity, Dr. St. John. But I have no wish to insult you either.” She paused for a second, did not say most of the time, and then went on. “Or to withhold praise where it’s due.”
She placed one hand on his shoulder. “You did good work up there.”
Olivia’s touch was light. She had probably meant only to make glancing contact, as one colleague to another. Her body was close to Gareth’s, her scent light and sweet, and the energy had been building in his body for what seemed like ages. The feel of her hand simply lit the fuse.
Before she could pull away, Gareth reached up to catch her hand in his. Her skin was warm beneath his palm. He could feel her pulse racing against his fingertips.
He turned in a quick motion that felt like it took days, and pulled her to him.
***
In the second before Gareth’s lips met hers, Olivia knew she’d been expecting that to happen.
Oh, not consciously. She hadn’t planned it. Retreating to the library really had seemed the most sensible thing to do at the time, and it would have been unwise to leave the man alone. But given what had already happened between them? With the aftereffects of magic further eroding their self-control? Some part of her had known what would result.
Just then, nothing could have made her object.
Gareth’s tongue slid into her mouth, stroking hers. One hand roamed down to the base of her spine, while t
he other cupped the back of her head. He held Olivia against him firmly, but there was no haste to his movements. Even through the layers of their clothing, she could feel the heat and hardness of his body very well.
No hesitance either. Deliberation, rather…and challenge.
Olivia welcomed it.
She let herself laugh, low in her throat, letting Gareth know she was on to his game. Then she broke the kiss, reluctantly at first, and then less so when she trailed her lips up Gareth’s neck. He caught his breath, and his grip tightened.
Then he started unbuttoning her blouse.
That was a bold enough move to make Olivia pause, not in reluctance, but in surprise mixed with pleasure at his touch. Gareth’s fingers had just grazed her breasts as he brought his hand down, but even that brief contact was enough to make her ache for more.
Not that she would ask for it.
Instead, Olivia traced the outline of Gareth’s ear with her tongue, nibbled on his earlobe for a second—definitely a stifled gasp there, which she counted as a point to her score—and began undoing Gareth’s buttons. The coat and vest parted easily enough, but she had to lean up to unfasten his necktie. That movement pressed her body very closely against his. Through her skirts, she felt his erection pushing against the juncture of her thighs.
Her own response was instant: wetness and heat and the urge to moan. Not yet, though. Not before he did. Olivia bit her lip. Acting on instinct and on the memory of their earlier encounter on the couch, she rocked her hips slowly back and forth, once and then again.
She thought Gareth gasped aloud. She couldn’t be sure, because at the same time she heard fabric tear and the sound of buttons hitting the floor. Cloth slipped down her shoulders, and the air was cool against her skin, a pleasant relief in her current aroused state.
Somewhere along the line, Olivia had lost track of what she’d been doing. Gareth’s tie hung open, and the first few of his shirt buttons were undone as well, but that was as far as she’d gotten. Now she moved to continue her work, but he stepped back, making a low sound in his throat that both gratified and further aroused Olivia.
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