by Anna, Vivi
“Well, you would know about disgracing the family name, Mr. Hawthorne, you do it just by being who you are.”
Darin set his tea on the prov [a ohe man vided able, then tapped the front of the carriage with his knuckle. “Let’s be off, Hemshaw. This area no longer agrees with me.”
He reached forward with the hook of his cane and pulled up the stair. It nearly hit Skylar on the way up. He pulled the door shut. “Do watch yourself, Miss Vanguard. London can be a very dangerous place for a woman like yourself.”
“I hope not to see you again soon, Mr. Hawthorne. Leave this business alone.”
“Always a pleasure, Miss Vanguard. Give the Davenports my best. As they most certainly need it to survive.”
Then his carriage lurched forward and she watched it drive down the street and turn the corner. Once he was gone, she made her way back across the street to where Jovan and Rhys had managed to wait patiently for her. A huge feat on Jovan’s part. He was not normally one for patience.
“Well?” Jovan inquired.
“Mr. Hawthorne was indeed spying on us. I spotted his looking glass on the seat beside him.”
“Damn it.”
“I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s harmless.”
“You are much too trusting, Skylar.”
“I have to agree with Jovan on this. Hawthorne is many things but harmless is not one of them.”
“Regardless, he won’t be bothering us anymore. At least not today.”
She handed Jovan his walking stick and took back her satchel. She gestured to the steps leading up to the door of the town house. “Shall we? I have a sudden thirst for tea.”
She had several things to do before nightfall. One was contacting the council. She had to inform them of Darin Hawthorne’s interference in their search for Sebastian. She had a feeling that he was going to be an enormous problem for them. Because he had e
verything to lose if they succeeded in bringing the eldest Davenport home. Without a doubt she knew the man would do anything to keep that from happening.
Chapter Eight
“Excito.”
The two-inch metal device sitting in Darin’s palm twitched to life. It flicked out its shiny silver wings and hummed just like the insect it was constructed to look like.
Just because he was caught spying on the Davenports and told to leave didn’t mean he couldn’t still spy on them. The metallic dragonfly in his hand would serve his purposes perfectly. A more clever listening device had never been invented. One of the Hawthornes’ metallurgists had designed it for him specifically.
“Volo.”
The bug lifted from his hand, flapped its four wings lightning-quick then zipped out the window of his carriage. It didn’t have far to go. He’d left the street in front of the Davenports’ town house but had his driver pull over a half block away. Skylar Vanguard was greatly mistaken if she thought she’d scared him off. Darin wasn’t afraid of anything, especially some pathetic Druid woman. Skilled tracker or no, she was no match for him. He could’ve knocked her unconscious with the flick of his hand if he so wished.
If they hadn’t been in a public place he might have done just that. With her unconscious, he could have done whatever he wished to her.
That tho ^a ohe haught tightened his groin and he had to shift in his seat to relieve the pressure in his trousers. He couldn’t deny the Druid enticed him. She radiated power and prestige, two traits he coveted greatly. She also exhibited a prime form, pert breasts and a firm, round derriere. Not for the first time, he imagined rutting behind her like an animal in heat, his hands around her neck to keep her in place. She would be spirited in the sack. Spirited but conquerable. Like a woman should be.
If it wasn’t for Jovan Davenport he was certain he’d have had her already. But he suspected there were still feelings between them despite the scandal Jovan had created in the past that had blighted both families. Darin had wanted Skylar to succumb to him freely, by her own accord. Now he’d be satisfied to have her however possible.
His father had demanded he stay focused on the task at hand, stopping the Davenports by any means from locating and bringing back the eldest. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun along the way. He’d been told not to openly kill Jovan and Rhys—they didn’t want the council to become suspicious—but his father hadn’t mentioned maiming or permanently crippling. Darin definitely had a creative imagination when it came to those things.
He checked his pocket watch. Fifteen minutes had passed, certainly enough time for his little gadget to find a way into the Davenport home. Darin picked up the metal funnel-like instrument from the seat across from him and held it up to his ear. The wireless telegraphy system the Italian inventor the Hawthornes had hired was perfect for his plans. Now he could listen to everything the Davenports were saying from two streets away. He’d know everything they were planning the second they planned it, and he wouldn’t
have to wait for the Druid’s reports to be filtered his way.
Which would make him one step ahead of his father as well.
Chapter Nine
Settled in one of the unused bedrooms of the Davenport town house, Skylar paced the room while rubbing her fingers together. The remnants of the memory she’d siphoned from Jovan’s walking stick lingered on her skin. She’d given the cane to Jovan as a gift. The memory of that day and many others since had been ingrained in the wood and chiseled into the Druidian crystal on top. Earlier she’d fought the urge to replay those memories out, but now alone she indulged herself. She ran her fingertips over her face, touching her eyes, and let go…
Jovan was there waiting for her in the gazebo as planned. She walked down the path to the pond, fidgeting with the gift she’d had made for him, nervous he wasn’t going to like it.
It had been three months since she’d last seen him. During that time, she had to be content with his letters, and she had been, reading them twice, sometimes four or five times, absorbing every word, glorying in every compliment and term of endearment. But it was nothing compared to seeing his smile when he looked at her, his sly secret smile that made every bone and muscle in her body liquefy.
In their last letters they’d planned a rendezvous at Alainn, her family’s country estate, at the pond everyone neglected. She’d had to hide her letters from Jovan, as her father disapproved of him. He wanted her to marry another Druid to keep the line strong. What she desired beyond anything was to be free to love and marry whom she chose. And she chose Jovan.
He smiled at her now as she mounted the steps of the gazebo. Propriety and social graces would’ve had him b fa ohe
The kiss sent her head reeling and her heart thumping. When they parted, she could barely breathe.
He set his forehead against hers, but had yet to relinquish his hold on her. “I’ve missed you.”
“Three months is too long to be apart.”
He kissed her. “I’ve brought you a present.” He handed her a small brown leather-bound book.
Skylar thumbed through it. “Taronic’s poems. How did you get this? I thought he was in exile?”
“I have my ways.” His eyes glinted mischievously.
Laughing, she hugged him tight. Taronic, an elf, was her favorite poet. Elves were usually religious fanatics but Taronic had rebelled and became a romantic poet instead of a warrior of the Gods. Because of this he was also an outcast. A traitor to his race, some proclaimed. Skylar had met him once years ago and she’d been in love with his words ever since. It moved her beyond those words that Jovan had remembered and had somehow procured a rare copy of the elf’s work for her.
“I have a gift for you as well.” She thrust the walking stick she’d been clutching into his hand.
He ran his hand along the polished wood, studying its intricate carvings. His fingertips brushed against the crystal topper. He brought it up to his face and stared into the iridescent gem.
“It’s a Druidian heart stone.” She gnawed on her lower lip eage
r for his response.
He lowered the cane and tapped it against the wooden floor of the gazebo. Its ping echoed around them. He looked at her then.
“I love it.”
She smiled, relief washing over her.
“And I love you, Skylar Vanguard. You are the most beautiful creature to ever exist.”
The fluttering in her belly intensified and she fell into his arms to claim his mouth. “I love you too,” she murmured against his lips.
When she pulled back from the memory, she was sitting on the bed, her hands clenched tight at her sides. She stood, shaking out her arms, and set to her task of contacting the council. She couldn’t waste any more time on the past. They’d want to know everything that had transpired so far, and she was required to divulge it. This made her nervous, so she’d try hard to veer away from speaking directly about Jovan.
She unfastened the straps on her satchel and slid out her gilded mirror. It was an heirloom, passed down from her great-grandmother who had fled this plane when she’d been 212 years old. She’d been a great tracker, and Skylar had always aspired to follow in her footsteps.
Standing the mirror up on the dressing table, she sat before it and spoke the summoning words. She drew her finger along the edge of the mirror, tapping each of the four corners. It wasn’t long before an image materialized inside the glass. It was her father, of course, who answered the call.
He touched two fingers to his forehead. “Greetings, daughter.”
She did the same. “Greetings, Father.”
“You have a report for the council?”
and kze=.”I do.”
“Go ahead.”
The image changed in the mirror. It widened to include all twelve members of the council.
“I have come to London with Rhys and Jovan Davenport on bequest of the council. We were able to track down Sebastian’s last-known address, a little room over the theater where he performed his show.”
One of the councilmen rolled his eyes at that.
“Did you find something of use?” Lord Soren asked.
“Yes, I found a locket belonging to a woman named Evangeline who was acquainted with Sebastian Davenport. The locket told me many things.”
“Were you able to speak to this woman?” This from another councilman.
“No. She’s dead. We are going to visit her grave at Cross Bones Graveyard, and I will scry from there Sebastian’s last movements before he disappeared.”
“Cross Bones,” a portly councilman said. “The woman is a prostitute?”
“I don’t know, my lord. Does it matter?”
Her father’s eyebrows lifted.
The councilman sniffed derisively. “One Davenport son a thief, the other consorting with prostitutes. Maybe the Davenports should not be in charge of anything.”
Lord Soren glanced at the councilman. “That is not up for discussion, Lord Birmingham.”
Skylar wanted to remark, but bit her tongue. Her father wouldn’t appreciate her insolence. She didn’t want to anger the council in case they decided to take this away from her and give the job to another tracker.
“Keep proceeding with your duties,” Lord Soren addressed her. “Is there more?”
“Yes, Darin Hawthorne has been following us.”
A few eyebrows lifted that that. The same hefty councilman, Lord Birmingham, snickered. “Of course the Hawthornes have an interest in how this all plays out.”
“He seemed more than just curious, my lord. He was combative.”
“I’m sure you are mistaken. A woman’s interpretation perhaps of the events.”
“I spoke with him myself. His intentions were made clear.”
“His intentions to court you, perhaps.” The councilman smiled with a condescending look upon his moon face.
This caused a ripple of smiles and nods down the line of the council. Save for her father, who didn’t look pleased at all.
“His intentions are to stop us from finding Sebastian Davenport.”
Smiles soon faded.
Lord Soren put his hand up to stop the grumblings, then he looked hard at Skylar. His gaze was fierce even through the glass. “You were not assigned this case to make assumptions but to do what you were trained to do. Track Sebastian Davenport.”
She nodded. “I’ll do my job.”
“Good. Do you have anything else to tell us?”
She considered mentioning Jovan’s plan to perform a necromancy spell but after her father’s admonition of not making assumptions, she decided against it. It wasn’t like she truly knew he was going to perform it. He might change his mind. Technically, there was no crime to confess to.
“No, that is all.”
“Report again in twelve hours.”
“Yes, my Lord Father.”
Lord Soren ended the transmission.
Skylar sat an
d stared into the mirror a little while longer, wondering if she’d done the right thing. Whether she did or not, she knew one thing—the council was not working in anyone’s best interests but its own.
Chapter Ten
The hours leading up to dusk seemed hellishly long for Jovan. Skylar had locked herself away in one of the rooms so she could privately contact the council, and so she could also meditate. Druids meditated a lot.
Rhys had holed up in the library. The man constantly had his nose in a book—whatever good it did him, Jovan never understood.
Jovan roamed the halls and other rooms restlessly. He stopped several times at the closed door where Skylar kept herself, pressing his hand to the wood. He considered knocking, with thoughts of other ways to pass the time and relieve the tension, but he knew Skylar would toss him out on his arse if he ever expressed those notions. Instead he wore paths in the carpets from his constant pacing.
When they finally did reconvene in the parlor for a meal the house cook put together, Jovan was as taut as a piano string and just as liable to snap if handled indelicately.
“Did you mention Hawthorne’s visit?” Rhys asked. He sat on the edge of his seat while Skylar informed them of her contact with the council.
“Of course.”
“And what did they say?”
“I don’t think they were surprised.”
“Of course they weren’t,” Jovan burst out. “The Hawthornes likely have a spy or two on the council.”
Skylar set down her tea carefully. “Are you trying to imply that the council’s corrupt?”
Jovan stood, no longer feeling hungry, and paced the room. “Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying. The council is an archaic organization with no real purpose but to meddle and dictate antiquated rules and regulations.”
Rhys sat up straight. “Well, naturally you would think that. Because their antiquated rules stop you from using your magic so recklessly.”
Jovan stopped to glare at him. “Are we really going back to that, dear brother? Still pricks your tight arse that I am and always will be better at it than you.”
Rhys set his knife and fork down on the table, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and stood. There was real menace in the way he regarded Jovan. “Father’s not here to interfere this time.”
“No, but I am.” Skylar sprang to her feet. “As it seems we are done with our meal, it’s time we made our way to Cross Bones to continue our search. Let’s remember, gentlemen, we have a job to do, and the sooner it’s done the sooner we can all part ways. I for one would be glad for that.” She set her napkin on the table, pushed back her chair, and left the room.
Without another word, Rhys followed her out.
Sooner or later, he and Rhys were going to have it out. It was inevitable. For seven years they’d endured a cold war, not speaking to each other, leaving when the other arrived, b n t,ut now they were being forced together. Two opposing forces in the same cramped container. An explosion was imminent. The problem was, years ago Jovan would have bet without hesitation that he’d be the victor but now he wasn’t so sure. Rhys was a cold
, unyielding man but Jovan could see the storms swirling in the gray depths of his eyes. And storms could be unpredictable and unyielding.
The ride to the Cross Bones burial grounds took them across London. Jovan chose to dismiss the driver and drive the coach himself so he could spend the entire ride up top and not have to be near either Rhys or Skylar. They both set his teeth on edge, although in very different ways. He didn’t know which was worse.
By the time they reached the cemetery gates, it was past dusk and the sun had sunk deeply in the west. The imposing, twisted iron gates were closed and locked, naturally, as no self-respecting mourner would visit a grave at night. But there were no mourners and a lock meant nothing to any of them.
He jumped down from the driver’s seat and opened the door for Skylar. She slid out, her leather satchel held tightly in her hand. He knew she carried her tools of the trade inside it. Jovan carried his own leather pouch slung across his chest, his tools inside.
“So, now that we’re here, how do we find this Evangeline?” Rhys asked as he surveyed the consecrated grounds from between the iron bars of the fence.
“With this.” Skylar held up the locket. “You just take care of the lock on the gate, I’ll take care of the rest.”
With a nod, Jovan raised his hand toward the chain lock on the gate, but before he could incant any spell, Rhys was there with a heavy iron bolt cutter, snapping the lock with the vise. He pulled the chain through the bars.
Chuckling, Jovan lowered his hand. “I could’ve done it with less effort, brother.”
Rhys refused to respond, just pushed open one side of the gate so they could enter. It creaked as if it hadn’t been opened in years. Skylar went through first, then Rhys, then Jovan at the last.
Skylar handed Jovan her satchel and held up her arm, letting the locket hang down freely. “We’ll need some light.”