by Archer, CJ
Jacob moved away from the mantelpiece and stood before me. "You shouldn't have heard any of that," he said, his voice sounding like a roll of thunder, deep and low.
"Good lord, not you too," I muttered. Did everyone think I was an innocent in need of protection from the realities of the world?
"Pardon?" Celia asked, cup poised at her lips. "Is that ghost here again?"
Before I could answer her, Jacob said, "I'm going to pay the school a visit. Let's see what Mr. Blunt thinks when the devil appears to him tonight in the shape of one very angry ghost. With luck he'll turn to God instead of the girl's dormitory from now on."
His conviction made me feel marginally better. If anyone could punish Blunt and force him to change his ways it would be Jacob. I'm not sure I'd like to be on the end of his anger. Although he seemed to keep his emotions in check most of the time, I suspect once his temper was unleashed it would be like a terrible storm—destructive and unpredictable and anyone in it's path had better get out of the way or suffer the consequences.
CHAPTER 6
I knew someone was in my room even before I was fully awake. I don't know how I knew—I couldn't hear any movement or smell any scent and it was too dark to see more than shadows.
Then one of those shadows moved. It was man-sized and it was right by my bed. My heart leapt into my throat and I opened my mouth to scream but a hand clamped over it.
"It's me," came Jacob's voice. "If I take my hand away, will you be quiet?"
"Try it and find out," I mumbled into his palm.
He removed his hand, somewhat tentatively. "Sorry I scared you." He sat on the bed beside me, so close his thigh almost touched mine. I could just make out the whiteness of his eyes and the shape of his face in the darkness but little else. My heart, still in my throat, hammered so loudly I was sure he must be able to hear it.
"I could have woken the entire household if I'd screamed!" I hissed at him.
"But you didn't. I was waiting for the moment you registered my presence and opened your mouth."
"You can see in the dark?"
"Better than I could before I died."
I pulled the bedcovers up to my chin. "What if I'd been indecent?"
"It's all right, I checked and you weren't."
"Very amusing."
His low chuckle rippled through the darkness. "I give you my word as a gentleman that I won't ravish you."
Could ghosts ravish? Did his...masculine parts work the same as when he was alive? Now there was a question that had my curiosity piqued. Instead I said, "You're in fine form tonight. Is there a reason or are you just happiest when you're tormenting me?"
"I'm tormenting you?" There was a long silence in which I think he was staring at me. It was disconcerting knowing he could see me when I couldn't see him, particularly when my hair probably looked a mess and my eyes must be puffy.
"Yes," I said huffily, "you are. Please light the lamp so I'm no longer at a disadvantage."
He stood and I heard his footsteps cross the room followed by the scrape of a striking match. The single flame threw patterns of light and shadow over his face, highlighting his beautiful contours. He lit the gas lamp and set it down on the dressing table opposite the foot of the bed. He remained there, looking at the items on the table's surface. No, not quite at my things, but at me, in the mirror's reflection. His good humor of earlier seemed to have vanished and he was back to being brooding and unreadable, but that could have just been the lack of light cast by the lamp. It wasn't particularly effective in the thick darkness.
"What's brought this behavior on?" I asked, sitting up. I drew my legs up and rested my chin on my knees, making sure the covers still hid most of me. "Yesterday you knocked and turned your back when you entered my room. Tonight you just appeared with no warning."
"I didn't knock because I didn't want to wake anyone."
"You woke me!"
"Anyone else. I don't think your sister would forgive me if I got her out of bed in the middle of the night."
"I'm not sure I'll forgive you either," I said. I do like my sleep. If I get less than eight hours a night I'm generally not the nicest person the next day. Jacob would learn that the hard way if he wasn't careful. "So is this the real Jacob Beaufort I'm seeing now?"
"No, it's the dead one." He crossed his arms and challenged me with that glare of his in the mirror's reflection.
My own glare faltered. I looked away, mortified and at a loss for words. There was no suitable comeback to his response, let alone a witty one.
He sat on the foot of my bed with a sigh. "I didn't want all the fuss and formality of you and your sister meeting me in the drawing room and your new maid serving us tea as if this were a proper social call. There is nothing proper about my visits, Emily. Nothing at all." His voice faded towards the end, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to say it.
"It's just a little disconcerting," I said. "Most of the ghosts I see are ones I've summoned. Occasionally I come across a spirit haunting a building but I've never had one come and go in my house before. Besides which, I'm not used to male company in the drawing room let alone my bedroom."
He leaned back against one of the posts at the foot of my bed. "This is not how I envisaged our talk to go but somehow...somehow our conversations never do seem to head in the direction I want them to." I was trying to decipher his meaning when he tilted his head to the side and looked at me puppy-like, giving me his crooked smile. "I just wanted to speak to you."
Only speak? If he gave me that smile and that look I'd let him do almost anything.
The thought made my insides clench. Oh lord, was I the sort of woman my sister called a wanton?
"What did you want to talk to me about?" If I didn't rein in my wild thoughts I might find myself saying, and doing, something I regretted.
"I went to see Blunt."
"Ah. The master of the North London School for Domestic Service. Did you haunt him?"
"I did." The smile was back but it lacked the sense of fun of earlier.
"And?"
"And sometimes I like being a ghost. I gave him the full spiritual experience—flying objects, knocking, emptying the bedpan, and my personal favorite, writing a note ordering him to cease his visits to the girl's dormitory.
"Do you think he'll comply?"
"The note told him that if he did not, the hauntings will continue. If his begging for mercy is anything to go by, I think he has seen the error of his ways."
I clapped my hands. "On behalf of all the poor children at the school who'll never know what you did for them, thank you, Jacob. You're a true hero."
His fingers plucked at my quilt. "Don't, Emily."
"Why not? What you did tonight was a wonderful, selfless act. It'll bring about a change in Blunt's behavior, I'm sure of it."
He shook his head. "That may be, but don't call me a hero. It's easy to do what's right when there are no consequences like grave injury, a ruined reputation or death."
The sad edge to his voice pierced my heart. I wanted to see his face but his gaze was downcast so I crept out of the covers to the foot of the bed where he sat. I no longer cared if he saw me in my nightgown. It covered me from neck to toe anyway.
His fingers stilled and he glanced up at me without lifting his head. "Don't come any closer," he said.
I ignored him and sat knee to knee with him. He shifted his leg away. "Why not?" I asked.
"Your sister—."
"Forget about Celia. This isn't about her, or me, this is about what's troubling you."
He shook his head. "Just don’t come any closer to me. It...disturbs me."
"What about it disturbs you?"
He stood and paced the room, going from one side to the other in five easy strides. My bedroom wasn't large but nor was it small. He had very long legs. "I didn't just come here to discuss Blunt." The conversation was leaping back and forth like a skittish hare. I had no choice but to try and follow.
"Then what else did y
ou want to talk about?"
"There was a death tonight."
I sat back on my haunches. "Who died?"
He stopped pacing and finally looked at me. "A footman on his night off. He'd had a few drinks at The Lion's Head in Holborn and fell into a drunken sleep in a nearby alley. I don't know his name." He started pacing again. "Bloody hell, I should have found out his name!"
I shivered. I knew where this was going. "It was the demon, wasn't it?" I whispered.
He stopped again, nodded, and rubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired, which was absurd given he no longer required sleep. "This is the second victim."
"Second?"
"The first, a woman, didn't die. Yet."
I breathed deeply in an attempt to calm my churning stomach but it did nothing. I still felt like throwing up. "Do you think...?" Oh God, it was too horrible to even say it but I had to. "Do you think someone directed the demon to attack these two people? These two specifically, I mean?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. The Administrators are giving me as much information as they have and so far there seems to be nothing linking the two incidents. The victims aren't known to each other and the attacks occurred in separate parts of the city. The first one, the woman, happened in Whitechapel. She's a prostitute, no family, lived alone in a single room she used for her work."
The poorest of the poor then.
"The footman died in a better part of town. If he had any money on him, it was gone when his body was found the next morning."
"So the attacks were completely random?"
"Possibly. If the demon is out of control then it would attack the easiest target—a woman alone, a man asleep in the alley. Shape-shifting demons may have a large appetite but they don't like to work too hard for their food if they don't have to. But there's more to it that makes me think the second attack at least wasn’t random."
"What?"
"The house where the footman worked was burgled soon after his death."
"Burgled! You don't think it's simply a coincidence?"
"There doesn't appear to be any broken windows or doors, no sign of forced entry."
It took a few moments for his words to sink in. Then it hit me like a punch to the chest. "The demon took on the form of the footman it killed and someone unwittingly let it in thinking it was the real servant."
Jacob nodded grimly. "It probably wandered up to the service entrance and was let in by one of the staff."
I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.
"You're cold." Jacob was beside me in a heartbeat, my shawl in his hands. He came up behind me and placed it around my shoulders but instead of letting go, he kept a hold of the edges. He was very close. I could feel his strength, his essence, pulsing between us, as alive and real to me as my own. Without thinking, I leaned into him. His body was hard, solid, a comfort despite the lack of a heartbeat or warmth. If I turned around, tilted my head, I could kiss him...
He suddenly stood and moved away.
"I shouldn't have come here," he said. And then he was gone. Just like that. No warning, no discussion, just gone.
"No! Jacob, come back!" I scrambled off the bed and stood on the spot where he'd been. "Come back, I want to talk to you. I have something important I need to ask you. Please, Jacob." My voice was a whine but I didn't care. I just wanted him to return. Partly for me—because I selfishly wanted him there—but partly because I suspect he needed to speak about what had happened. Not to the Administrators or anyone else in the Waiting Area but to me.
"I know you can hear me," I said, knowing nothing of the sort. "Listen. I want to stop this demon from hurting anyone else. Help me decide what to do next." I waited but he didn't reappear. "Talk to me Jacob. Tell me how to proceed." Still no answer. "Very well, I'll tell you what I think I should do. I'll wait for the peddler to come but I have a suspicion she won't." If she'd been the one to curse the amulet then she'd be a fool to show up again. "So I'll simply have to find out more about the two victims, see if there is indeed no link between them."
"You'll do no such thing," Jacob said, reappearing in front of me, hands on his hips. He looked very big, very powerful, and very dangerous.
I smiled. "Good. Now please stop popping out like that. I find it more disturbing than your sudden appearances."
"You will not go into Whitechapel on your own, and you will not ask questions about either victim." He held up his hands, warding me off. "Let me rephrase that. You will not go into Whitechapel at all. Ever. With or without me, and with or without the entire British Army at your disposal. Disregard everything you've ever heard about that place, it's ten times worse. Do you understand?"
I nodded. "Of course."
He eyed me closely. "You won't go venturing into that part of London?"
"I won't."
His eyes narrowed to slits. Clearly he didn't believe me. "You don't strike me as a stupid female."
"Thank you, I think." It was probably unwise to tell him I'd only said I'd follow up on the victims in order to get him to return to my room. I had no intention of investigating on my own. "Now that we've established that, do you think you could stay awhile. Sit." I indicated the stool at my dressing table. "Talk to me."
He crossed his arms and remained standing. "You should go back to sleep. Dawn's still an hour away."
"I won't get any more sleep tonight."
He gave an apologetic grimace. "I shouldn't have woken you and burdened you with the gruesome events of the evening. There's nothing you can do about them."
"I'm glad you did wake me. I'm one link in the chain that led to the demon being summoned and I want to be kept informed of everything it does." I sighed. "At least we now know why the demon was summoned here."
"To kill a servant from a rich household, take their form then burgle the master's house." He scrubbed a hand over his chin. "Unfortunately there are hundreds of houses that could be targeted next and thousands of servants."
Which meant we were no better off than before. We couldn't anticipate where the next attack would be, couldn't alert potential victims.
"Good night, Emily."
"Wait, don't go yet." I searched for something to keep him in my room and said the first thing that popped into my head. It happened to be the most honest thing. "I'm also glad you came here tonight because I...I wanted to see you."
"Why?"
Ah. Well. I could tell him I just liked gazing at his handsome face or that I enjoyed his company, but I wasn't a fool. Jacob was used to girls noticing him. George Culvert told me so. Even his mother had admired Jacob. So why would he want yet another girl—and a middle-class oddity of dubious parentage at that—staring at him? I might be the only person who could see him now that he was a ghost but he'd had a lifetime of people staring at him. He must be heartily sick of it. Indeed, that's probably why he'd tuned most people out when he was alive. Too many admirers must make one immune after a while.
So instead of telling him that, I made up something else. "I tried once before to summon my mother's ghost but she never came. I was wondering...if...perhaps you could ask the Administrators in the Waiting Area about her." I had wanted to ask him about Mama ever since he'd arrived in our drawing room, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity. "Perhaps they can tell you if she's already crossed. I've tried to summon her but...she hasn't answered."
He reached out and I thought he was going to touch my face or my hair but instead he fingered the fringe of my shawl. "I'm sorry. She's gone. I already asked the Administrators after I met you the first time and they told me your mother had crossed quickly into her assigned section of the Otherworld."
"But that means she had nothing to tie her here." No outstanding business, nothing to say to anyone. Nothing to say to me. How could she not want to tell me about my father when she knew how important it was to me?
"There is an aunt in the Waiting Area though. Do you want to summon her?"
"An aunt? You mean my aunt?"
H
e smiled. "Yes, your aunt. Your mother's sister, a Mrs. Catherine Sloane. She died about a month ago and hasn't yet crossed."
"I have an aunt? Had," I corrected myself. Catherine Sloane was dead.
He nodded. "She might know...something about your mother." He was too much of a gentleman to mention the unmentionable—the question of my father's identity. "Do you want to summon her?"
I caught his fingers and squeezed. He stared at our linked hands, a look of alarm on his face. Then he squeezed back. "Yes," I said. "Yes I do."
He separated our hands. "Then I'll leave you alone to talk."
"No! I want you to stay." At his puzzled expression, I added, "Unless you've got something better to do."
He barked a short, harsh laugh. "Not really." He stood by the mantelpiece and held out his hand in a go-on gesture.
I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I summon Catherine Sloane from the Waiting Area. Do you hear me, Catherine Sloane? Someone in this realm needs to talk to you." To call a ghost to this world, a medium simply needs to phrase the request and use the ghost's name. The portal to the Waiting Area is always opened for us—or for me. As far as I knew, I was the only legitimate medium in the world.
A woman of about sixty appeared between Jacob and I. She faded in and out two or three times until she finally maintained a presence, albeit a flimsy one. I'd seen gauze curtains with more strength than her.
She was a taller version of my mother. Mama had been short like me with soft brown hair and curves. Aunt Catherine had the same nose, same mouth, same eyes as her older sister but they were somehow more masculine. The nose was a little longer, the eyes set deeper, the mouth firmer. She wore an ankle-length nightgown and her long gray hair hung loose.
Aunt Catherine stared at me for a long time, her gaze assessing. If her lack of a smile was any indication, she didn't approve of what she saw.
"Aunt Catherine?" I asked, just to be sure.