Lightning Unbound: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 1

by Lynne Connolly

  He turned back to the scene before him. “How could you do this to her?”

  Boscobel shrugged. “You gave me little choice. You’ve had your fun. Now it’s time to pay for it.”

  Gerard rose to his feet. “Release her.”

  Boscobel glanced at Manningtree, who walked slowly across the room. He stood in front of Gerard and reached into a pocket, bringing out a wicked-looking knife. Raising one eyebrow, he regarded it thoughtfully. “A shame I’ve agreed with Boscobel not to kill you. Yet.”

  “He’ll die soon enough.”

  Manningtree shrugged and sawed at Deborah’s bonds. When he lifted her skirt to cut the ties fastening her ankles to the chair, he raised the fabric higher than he needed to. Deborah still wore her ball gown, crumpled now and streaked with the dust and dirt of this place, her side hoops gone. She seemed out of place, a wilted fairy in a hovel.

  Gerard wanted to kick Manningtree where he knelt at his sister’s feet, but he had a shrewd idea Boscobel wouldn’t care if he did. His father might even enjoy it. So he desisted, contenting himself to listening to the creak of joints as the man got to his feet to walk around to free her hands.

  Deborah immediately brought her hands forward, rubbing them to restore the feeling. She glanced at Gerard. “They only tied me up today. Before that, they contented themselves with setting a man at the door.”

  “Where are the other inhabitants of this place?” Gerard asked suddenly, aware as he had not been before of the silence.

  Boscobel shrugged carelessly. “I bought them out. Believe me, it didn’t take much.”

  Gerard breathed out, relieved Boscobel hadn’t disposed of them in another way. Now he had Deborah free, it was time they removed themselves. He saw no difficulty. Boscobel’s powers had gone, for now. Even if he’d filled the rooms downstairs with his bullyboys, Gerard had learned a trick or two that should see him and Deborah safe outside before too long.

  “What was the point of all this?” He glanced down at Deborah, who still sat in the chair, waiting for his word. “Why did you do this to your own daughter?”

  “She’s not worth a great deal,” Boscobel said. Gerard caught his breath on the cruelty. Deborah firmed her chin and Gerard knew she was hurt. “Except for one thing, perhaps.”

  “All-seeing, all-knowing Kronos?” Gerard wanted to see the reaction of the others in the room. Manningtree shot a look at Boscobel when Gerard used his other name, but no one made a comment. “Your son has always been your downfall, and I always will be, at least in this life. It seems fated.”

  “Fate!” Boscobel spat. “I made my own.”

  “You did indeed, and now you are doing it again.” Gerard smiled sweetly, not in the least intimidated by Boscobel’s steely glare.

  Stretton’s voice came clearly to him, on the private path they had established. No. If you choose to do it, it will come naturally to you. Boscobel has chosen to feign it.

  At least he didn’t try to change Gerard’s mind. They wanted him to stay, but Stretton had confessed to Gerard that he’d loved and lost in the past. Gerard couldn’t face that happening. Another Jupiter would rise at his death, and he’d arrange it so they had a good chance of rearing the next person with the same attributes properly. “You will have to do without your Jupiter. All I want is peace, to live out a normal span of years and forget as much of this as I can.”

  “Coward!” Boscobel spat the word. “You could have become so much.”

  Before he could withdraw the words Gerard found himself saying them, asking the question that gnawed at his brain. “How could you do it, Father? Allow me to believe I was dying? How could you drive me, your own son, towards death?”

  Boscobel regarded him steadily. “You can’t guess?”

  “No.” Gerard didn’t want to guess. Manningtree stood by silently, watching. Gerard kept him in his sights. He didn’t want anyone creeping up behind him.

  Boscobel spread his hands. “Practicalities apart, that is, the fact that keeping you weak kept Jupiter crippled. I had other, more profound reasons. You will be the death of me, my son. You always are. Not everything in our histories is repeated, but some things remain constant, as if fate needs to work them through. I needed you, but only to sire the new race, the race that is to come.” Boscobel drew his hand out of his pocket. He held a pistol, the steel barrel gleaming wickedly in the weak sunlight that struggled through the windows. “You will father the next Jupiter, then you may live out your life where you will. The next Jupiter will not be my son. He will be no threat to me.”

  “You would let me go?” Gerard doubted it.

  “If you relinquish your powers to your son, yes. I will even leave the dukedom clear for you, disappear for a generation, until your son has grown.”

  Manningtree frowned and opened his mouth.

  Boscobel turned to him, the full aristocratic demeanour showing. “Quiet.” He didn’t even raise his voice. Manningtree choked, his hand going to this throat.

  He shouldn’t have been able to do that if Stretton and d’Argento had removed his powers. Apprehension crept over Gerard.

  “Well? All I require of you is to put aside your wife for a month or two and breed a son on a woman of my choice. You may bring up the boy as your own, in your household if you wish. I will play the doting grandfather. Until it’s time.”

  “Cold. Heartless.”

  “Hardly.”

  “What if Faith is already pregnant?”

  Boscobel smiled, a cruel curl of his thin lips. “Then you will be the proud father of twins. Only my child will be the elder.”

  “And how can you ensure it will inherit the qualities you want?”

  By killing you at the moment of its birth. But you knew that, did you not? The voice came from deep down, where he’d allowed Stretton and d’Argento temporary access, in the place he usually reserved only for one other person.

  Gerard didn’t display by even the flicker of his eyelid that he’d heard d’Argento’s comment. It was for him alone. He alone knew where d’Argento was, a safeguard in case his father had another trick his sleeve. I knew it, he responded grimly.

  Do not allow your father to think you suspect. Accept his explanation.

  “I have someone,” Boscobel said. “I know what I want this time, and I won’t attempt an indiscriminate slaughter.”

  “Have you no heart?” It staggered Gerard, that the depth of this man was so hard, so uncaring. How could he not have known it?

  “I have a heart, perhaps more than you. I want to save mankind, not destroy it.”

  “By destroying mankind’s free will? It’s not the way, Boscobel, it never has been.” He would never call this man “father” again, he vowed.

  Manningtree interrupted, his voice hoarse with effort. “See here, I thought we had come to an arrangement. ”

  “I said silence.” Boscobel said. Gerard turned in time to see Manningtree’s mouth close and seal over.

  The gruesome sight was not the only reason for Gerard’s shock. Had his father overcome the binding? It seemed he had. If he’d ever been bound in the first place, that was. That made a bad situation ten, a hundred times worse.

  What the duke had done to Manningtree was a mental trick, but the unfortunate man might as well have had his lips sewn together for all the difference his efforts made. He did his best to prevent Deborah witnessing the sight. By her choked-off cry, he knew he’d failed. Manningtree made a strangled sound. Either not an Ancient, or a weak one that Boscobel could easily dominate.

  Gerard made a small sound of disgust. “Undo it.”

  “Later. I tire of the man. Petty minded, just like the rest of his kind.”

  “Then why do you seek to rule them? Why does it mean so much to you?”

  Boscobel dismissed his appalling cruelty with a careless wave of one hand. “I will remove his memories of all but the basic transactions later. That is nothing to do with our concerns, my son.”

  Gerard’s thoughts went to F
aith, mind panicked. What had he done? What were they walking into? Mentally he checked her and received her hasty reassurance. She was involved in something. Gerard’s concern rose. His vision shimmered, as if he were affected by heat, but that couldn’t be the case. Stress or shock, most probably. He tried to shake it off, but wasn’t entirely successful.

  “We will be leaving here soon, sir. I would appreciate a swift conclusion to our business.”

  Deborah cleared her throat gently and at once won Gerard’s attention. “It’s not Manningtree’s daughter. He wants you to make a child with me, Gerard.”

  Faith bravely went back into hell, this time with Stretton at her side. Stretton, unlike Faith, had dressed in town finery, a crimson cloth coat embroidered in silver, and a matching waistcoat with fine, insolently white breeches. He helped Faith down from the carriage with a flourish and turned to face the building with no qualm of unease either internally or externally.

  Faith couldn’t imagine how he could do it. I’ve been in worse places, Stretton told her.

  Faith was glad that she had not. They climbed the flight of stairs to the front door and Faith couldn’t repress a shudder. Stretton smiled at her, warmer than usual. “Courage. We’ll collect your brother and leave. In half an hour it will all be over and you will never see this place again.”

  “Oh, I do hope so.” Faith touched Gerard’s mind and received his reassurance. “They are planning something, aren’t they?”

  “Naturally. But we have to spring the traps to discover what they have in mind. I suspect it is your husband who is walking into a trap, but we will see. Don’t let go of me.”

  Faith nodded. They had to stay together. Now she was back here it seemed that the intervening time had been nothing, her marriage to Gerard a strange dream that had interrupted her normal life. She was even back in her old clothes, a dull brown gown over a petticoat of darker brown, drab and serviceable.

  An amused voice echoed in her head. Oh no, my dear, it’s all real.

  They climbed the steps and pushed open the door. As always, a large bully stood inside in the guise of a footman, ready to greet visitors. He stared at the oddly matched couple but listened when Stretton explained their desire to visit the Incurables ward and pocketed the generous vail. “Through there, sir. I ’ope you and the lady enjoy your visit.”

  Enjoy? Though some fashionable members of society visited the institution to amuse themselves, Faith couldn’t imagine much worse. She lowered her head, letting the brim of her large straw hat cover her expression.

  Up the corridor she remembered so well, echoing with the cries of the mad and the damned. Stretton caught her thoughts. You’re the wrong sex for Virgil. Chin up, my dear, we’re supposed to be here for casual amusement.

  Faith obeyed, lifting her chin and pinning a vacuous smile to her face. However, she couldn’t put a spring in her step, and her feet dragged as she approached the large room at the end. In his grand clothes, even if someone from his previous visit saw Stretton they wouldn’t recognize him, but they’d know her. Hence the hat and the bowed head.

  They were allowed in on the production of another large bribe. She stood in the doorway with Stretton, letting her eyes grow accustomed to the gloom. This room was the bottom of hell, straight out of the Inferno, echoing with the despairing cries of the damned. Faith wouldn’t have been surprised to find several Judas Iscariots here. The room stank of humanity, its leavings and an underlying noxious tang of black mould and decay.

  She wanted nothing more than to turn around and run. The place filled her with dread. So how much worse was it for George?

  She saw him, a small, huddled figure by the wall. Although the other inmates seemed determined to make as much noise with their chains as they could, George crouched and stood on the chains that bound him to the ring in the wall.

  Forgetting everything else, Faith set forth, but Stretton restrained her with a hand on her shoulder. “Wait. Take your time.”

  He stood close behind her. “There’s a problem,” he murmured. “This guard isn’t susceptible. He’s not so easy to persuade. We’ll have to hope he’s bribable.”

  At his urging Faith moved forward, but slower. George didn’t hear their approach, but the man standing next to him did. Faith faced him. “Good day, Father.” She was pleased to hear her voice came out without a tremor.

  “Good day, daughter. I thought you were busy with your husband.” He sneered the last word and then stared at Stretton. “Or perhaps you’re following the fashionable world and taking a lover.”

  Faith didn’t need Stretton’s hand on her arm to restrain herself from responding to the obvious taunt. She showed her father a face of bland indifference. “You know why we’re here, Father. We’ve come to take George home.”

  At the sound of her voice the huddled figure on the floor looked up. Faith saw his eyes first, wide and desperate, but dulled over. She knew at once what was wrong. They’ve given him laudanum. Just enough to confuse him.

  I see that. Stretton sounded grimmer than she had ever known. It was the first sign she had of exasperation, even anger. So some things did get to his inner self, the self he had set high walls around.

  She felt Stretton spread his thoughts around the room, gathering information about the mass of humanity tethered here. Had he done this when he was incarcerated here?

  Yes. The tone of fashionable bored amusement was back. I need to know how to release him and get out of here with the minimum of fuss. This is my place and soon I’ll be king here. They know me at a level the mere sane cannot reach.

  Faith concentrated on her father. “Why did you do this?”

  The old man regarded his daughter in silence. All around them the wails and groans of the insane, or those someone considered insane, echoed like a parody of a heavenly choir. Faith kept her attention fixed. Stretton would do what was needed when it was needed.

  Pendford unclosed his lips. “I told you I wouldn’t give up. I want my son back. I may have lost you, but I will not lose all influence. For some reason your new fatherin-law wants Fordhouse’s vote in the Commons.”

  Faith made a sound of disgust. “Paying to have him elected was one of the most disgusting things you’ve ever considered doing.”

  Her father shrugged. “One must use what cards one has. When Simon is of age he can take over. He’s only required to make a vote or two, and Boscobel wants this one. I will make him pay for it. If he needed my vote in the Lords it would be even better, but he has that House in his pocket.”

  We’ll see about that. So Stretton was listening. “You won’t take George back.”

  “I don’t wish to. It’s likely he won’t live long enough to inherit the title, and in any case, Simon will hold the power of attorney.”

  Faith felt sick. How could he speak so of his own son, in front of him? George was slow but not completely without reason. Faith would do all she could to prevent her father’s plan coming to fruition. “I wish to take him away and give him a comfortable life.” Faith felt George’s hand nudge hers, where it was fisted over her gown. Immediately she opened her hand and took his into it, dirty as it was.

  “He’s mine.”

  “No more. He’s of age and not insane. The highest echelons of Society have seen him and vouched for his sanity.”

  “I’ll wager he’s not the only simpleton there.”

  Faith snarled at her father. “At least they are decently clothed and fed and treated like human beings.”

  “Enough.” The single word came quietly from Stretton, but enough to prevent Faith’s anger spilling over into the tirade she had long wished to give her father. “Let’s release the boy and get him home. I have a bad feeling. I don’t like it.”

  “So how will you get my son away from his father? The turnkeys are not as amenable as the ones you dealt with before, I saw to that.”

  “We can obtain depositions from various prominent public citizens that Fordhouse is sane. Your daughter and her new fami
ly can attest to his sanity.”

  Pendford’s smile was both cruel and sinister. “You and I know that by the time you get those depositions, I will have taken my son away. You must find him before you can free him. This is a temporary measure, to get him under my control before I move him.”

  Stretton changed the subject, refusing to answer the taunt, putting his lordship off balance. “Did you know we were coming here today? Did Boscobel tell you?”

  “Of course.” The smile degenerated into a sneer.

  Faith had taken advantage of her father’s switch in attention by crouching to comfort George. All he would do was repeat, “Faith, Faith,” and clutch her. Faith’s heart broke. George was drugged to make him docile, and waking in this place must have brought all his nightmares back. He would have felt the intervening time to be a pleasant dream, a deep affirmation of the faint feeling Faith had undergone when entering the building after the short drive from Vinegar Yard. This was reality.

  No more. Faith was determined to save her brother from this place. They would get away, somehow, it would happen. D’Argento was outside the building. His task was to act as a go-between, to bring help to whichever of them needed it, as they weren’t sure which place was Boscobel’s main site of attack. D’Argento could move faster than the eye could see, if he wished it. It was his talent, the swift traverse of streets and even cities in the blink of an eye. He was a healer too. Faith wished for talents, humbled that these beings should befriend her, a mere mortal.

  We’re all mortal, Stretton reminded her. It’s a matter of degree, that’s all. We are all from the same root, but the branches are sometimes different. Different does not equal better.

  Faith sent him a brief note of thanks and returned to George.

  Stretton spoke aloud. “Is he well enough to travel?”

  “Yes. I want him away from here as soon as possible.”

  Pendford laughed, a short bark that had nothing of mirth in it, only derision. “And how do you propose to accomplish that? Have you the key to the padlock that secures him to the wall?”