Hexbound: Book 2 of The Dark Arts Series

by Bec McMaster

  Something like consideration twisted his mouth. Then he sighed. "I don't see how you're going to help."

  Verity said nothing. Her old life suddenly felt like a lifetime ago, though the wounds were still raw. She looked away. Where do I stand now?

  With a sigh, he crossed to pour himself another brandy. "Stop looking at me like that."

  "I'm not looking at you," she muttered into the silk that covered her knees.

  "Fine. Promise me you won't breathe a word of this to anyone?"

  Verity slowly looked up. "You have my word."

  "The Chalice needs to be recovered. That's a priority. But... there are a few problems in the Order at the moment."

  "Does it have anything to do with your father's resignation?"

  He looked at her.

  "I'm not stupid," she pointed out. "Agatha and Marie were dancing around the topic, and you get this constipated look on your face whenever it's mentioned. I would almost say you're worried about him."

  Sinking into the armchair again, he rested his brandy on the armrest, staring into space. "The Sicarii held a vote—that's the meeting you witnessed. They were deciding whether to assassinate Drake."

  Verity sucked in a sharp breath. No wonder he was out of sorts. "Why?"

  "Problems with the succession; fear of the future; concern that him staying alive while a new Prime is elected will split the Order in half." He shrugged, his face darkening. "A little bit of everything."

  "But the vote went against this idea, didn't it?" she asked, slipping off the sofa and crossing to sit in the chair opposite him. "You wouldn't be this calm if it didn't."

  "Three to two," he admitted. "For now. They're going to wait and see what happens. Ascension is on Sunday at the Winter Solstice, where the decision of who will sit in the Prime's chair will be answered. But I'm concerned the two Sicarii who voted against him might take matters into their own hands. Or...."

  "Or?" Verity whispered, reaching over to lay her hand on top of his.

  Bishop sucked in a sharp breath, looking down at her pale hand laid over his tanned one. Yet he didn't ask her to remove it. "I made it clear I would stand against it if the vote went the other way. If they decide they're going to remove him as a threat, then it's likely I won't be invited to that meeting. They'll make a move without me. I won't even bloody well know. I'm an idiot."

  "I might not know a great deal about sorcery in all of its forms, but even to me the Prime looked like he could handle himself."

  "His wards are ridiculously strong, but there are ways through them."

  "You tested them?"

  "It's the way my mind works. I like to solve problems, and I wasn't really paying attention one day, just opened my Sight up, and by the time the half hour was up, I'd managed to work out the flaws in his wards. If I can do it...."

  Well. She'd never been one for false comfort. Solve the problem, Murphy had always said. "Who else can you trust to protect him?"

  Bishop stared at her.

  "You cannot do it all alone," Verity pointed out. "You're only one man. Which means you must either turn your entire focus upon the Chalice, if we're to make headway there, or give up that quest to another and guard your father. Could Lady Eberhardt do either of the tasks?"

  Those dark eyes were dangerous when they were thinking. "Could she protect him? Yes. Perhaps. But that means she'll be standing between Drake and a Sicarii assassin or two, and we're good at what we do, Verity. Besides, she's getting older, and as much as I want to think she's invincible...."

  "She's not," Verity murmured, remembering the odd bond between this man and the older woman. "Even if I would hate to earn her wrath. So who else do you trust?"

  "And therein lies the problem."

  "Surely you have someone else whom you can turn to." After all, he was part of the Order, surrounded by sorcerers. Even the members of the Hex had a network of people they could turn to.

  Bishop shook his head. Then paused, his eyes firing with some thought, some light. They were so damned expressive at times. "There is someone."

  "Who?"

  "It's not so much someone I trust, so much as someone who Drake trusts. My brother, Lucien Devereaux, the Earl of Rathbourne, and his new wife, Ianthe. She served as Drake's seneschal throughout the last decade, until she married Lucien last month."

  "And they can protect the Prime?"

  "Ianthe can. Lucien's still recovering from the demon's psychic attack, but they are bound together by a soul-bond," he replied. "Ianthe can use Lucien's power as a well, from which to draw. And they both want him alive, just as much as I do."

  Verity offered him a smile. "There. Problem solved."

  "Thank you," he murmured.

  "You're welcome," Verity replied, just as softly, and with that, he turned back to the map table.

  * * *

  She was snoring.

  Slightly.

  Bishop looked up from the chisel that he was using to remove the defective rune, and cursed under his breath. He needed all of his concentration for this delicate work, but somehow she stole every wit he owned, even it was simply by breathing.

  Across the room, Verity had gradually slumped into the armchair, her chin resting uncomfortably on her shoulder.

  He stared at her for three long seconds, then looked away. Christ, he shouldn't even have allowed her in here tonight, not with him so on edge, but something about what she'd said had struck a chord with him. He was lonely. And her company was both pleasant, and disruptive.

  "Verity?" he whispered, crossing on cat-silent feet toward her.

  Nothing.

  Dragging a blanket over her, he sat down beside her, pressing his hand against his head. So bloody tired. But the map needed work, and he had too many things on his mind. Still, it was pleasant to sit here beside her. Even asleep, somehow she made him feel not so alone.

  Bishop blinked, and realized that his head had nodded.

  How many nights had passed since he'd slept properly?

  Two... three... four?

  He couldn't... remember.

  Chapter 14

  "TO WHAT DO we owe this pleasure?"

  Lady Rathbourne was refreshingly direct, pouring both him and Verity a cup of tea as they sat in her and her husband's home.

  "A concern we both share," Bishop told her.

  "Oh?" Ianthe Devereaux arched one delicate black brow as she dunked lemon in all four cups of tea. "Last time we met, you wanted nothing to do with my husband. Or myself." That last was added with a discreet glance to his left to where Verity sat, but he knew what she meant.

  My husband. It might as well have meant "your brother." Bishop was still coming to terms with the shock of discovering that he and Lord Rathbourne shared the same father. Both of them were bastards, but Rathbourne had only recently discovered he was no true Rathbourne, after all.

  "I have nothing against Lucien," he argued mildly. "But Drake saw us kept separate for a reason. Prophecy dictates trouble should we cross paths."

  "I believe in regards to the prophecy there's also an old saying, something about spilled milk."

  How careful they were being. "You may speak plainly in front of Miss Hawkins. She's aware of a great deal of the subtler nuances of the Order."

  "Now who's speaking obliquely?" Ianthe challenged, taking her cup and sitting back in her seat with those witchy eyes locked on him.

  "Fine." Damn her. "Verity is helping me recover the Chalice. She knows Lucien and I are related, and she knows about the prophecy, and the demon and Morgana."

  "In short, everything," Ianthe replied.

  Verity sipped her tea, then her face brightened. "Oh, this is lovely."

  Ianthe's face warmed. "A special brew I purchase, all the way from India."

  As if he couldn't taste the familiar leaves, a ghost of memory that momentarily took him back to darker times. "Lady Rathbourne, is he coming or not?"

  Both women looked at him and he cursed his blunt manners, but time was of
the essence and he didn't particularly want to stir those memories.

  "See for yourself." Ianthe tilted her head behind him.

  Lord Rathbourne was strolling up to the French doors from the outside, his breath steaming in the cold morning air and his hand curled around a little girl's hand as she pointed birds out to him excitedly. Lady Rathbourne had sent a servant for him, but it was clear from the way his eyes locked on Bishop's through the glass that he knew exactly who was sitting in his parlor.

  After all, the second Bishop had set foot in the house, he'd felt the quiver of prophetic warning shiver down his spine as he and Lord Rathbourne came in close proximity. The first time they'd walked into the same room, the sensation had nearly knocked him off his feet.

  "Bishop," Rathbourne greeted, dusting his feet off on the rug. Curious eyes flickered to Verity, but the little girl stole Bishop's attention as she peered at them from around her father's leg.

  Not that Rathbourne was officially the girl's father—not on her birth certificate anyway—but anyone with eyes could see that she bore his resemblance, and Bishop could feel the affinity in both their auras. He'd known Ianthe for years, but clearly she'd been keeping secrets.

  Which meant he had a niece. He didn't quite know what to think of that.

  "Rathbourne," he replied solemnly, gesturing to Verity. "This is Miss Hawkins, who is assisting me with the Chalice's recovery."

  Rathbourne perused them curiously. "Louisa, this is Mr. Bishop, and his friend. Say how do you do."

  "How do you do?" Louisa peered directly at Bishop. "What is wrong with his aura?"

  Both Ianthe and her husband looked sharply at the little girl. "Louisa," Ianthe admonished, crossing to her and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Remember your manners," she whispered, then gestured to the door. "And why don't you run upstairs and see what Thea is doing?"

  Louisa's shoulders slumped. "But Father promised we could have tea."

  "Tea, and all the biscuits you can eat," Ianthe murmured, ruffling her hair. "But upstairs. Your father and I have business with Mr. Bishop."

  Verity picked up a biscuit, as the little girl darted upstairs. "Aura?" she mouthed.

  He shook his head. Not something he wanted to discuss. Ever.

  "Louisa didn't mean anything by it," Lucien assured him, sinking into the chair directly opposite him. "She experienced her Awakening last month, and since then her powers have been coming in."

  "I understand." Bishop stared at his brother, at the way they both sat with their hands curled over the ends of the armchair. "Let us cut to the chase; I'm here because I have a problem, and I need help."

  "And you helped us last month when Louisa was kidnapped," Lucien murmured, tipping his chin up with a steely gleam in his eyes. "So you want the favor returned."

  "It's not a favor for me, so much as...." He looked toward Ianthe, who was the more receptive of the two. Lucien had been working with Drake in the last month on healing some aspects of his sorcery-scarred soul, but they'd had their problems before then. There was no reason to believe his brother would care if Drake died or not. "It's Drake. I have reason to believe that one of the Sicarii might make an attempt on his life."

  Ianthe paled, and her teacup chinked as she set it on its saucer. "Might? Or will?"

  "Might," he emphasized, because as Drake's seneschal and right hand all these years, she knew what he was. "They've decided to let him live. For now."

  "But nothing is certain," Lucien said, in his soft, gravelly voice. "You know them. I presume you could fend off an attack?"

  "I could," Bishop replied, feeling the tension ease out of him. At least he had some allies in this. "But I need to find the Chalice. Whoever stole it is using it to raise flesh constructs, and I cannot afford to split my concentration."

  "Constructs?" Ianthe's voice hardened. "Bloody hell, what kind of fool thinks they can control them forever? They might be able to raise them with the Chalice, but London doesn't exactly need another case of flesh constructs running amok. The Vigilance Against Sorcery Committee would have a field day with such a disaster, and relationships with the Queen and the government are already tentative."

  "Hence my concern," he agreed. It wasn't the first time a necromancer had lost control. It would be the last, however, if the VASC had anything to do with it. The last of sorcery and the Order, too. "Can you protect him?"

  The pair of them shared a look, and for a moment it felt as though he and Verity existed outside a bubble, looking in. Something was communicated, because Ianthe arched a brow, but let her husband speak. Clearly telepathy was at play.

  "Ianthe can," Lucien said. "As Drake's apprentice, she's more than a match for one of the Sicarii. We'll go visit with Drake, and I can look after Louisa and Thea should an attack appear."

  "I assume, since you're here, that Drake is unaware of what's going on?" Ianthe took up her teacup again.

  "Aware, but unconcerned," Bishop replied, and this time he let his frustration show. "He's still grieving the loss of Sebastian."

  Silence fell. Rathbourne looked ill, but then it had been his life that Drake had spared at the cost of Sebastian's. "One brother down," Rathbourne murmured.

  "Two to go," Bishop replied, feeling the shivering grasp of prophecy lock its chill fingers around his spine.

  Their eyes met.

  "That's enough of such talk," Ianthe said with a scowl. "Prophecy predicted disaster might befall the Order and Drake, not that it will. Prophecies are twisty words. And if you think"—Ianthe met his gaze with a firm tilt of her chin—"for one second that I'm going to let my husband go so easily, then you might think again. The demon will have to go through me first. The prophecy will have to go through me first. Hell and ashes, I will deal with the plague itself if it rears a head."

  "Ianthe." Rathbourne rested his hand on her knee.

  "No," she replied, peering down her nose at her husband. "We are not discussing this. I will not just stand aside if danger comes lurking. No matter what happens."

  The room fell into a strained silence.

  Ianthe broke it, pouring herself another cup of tea. "Well. Now that we've shelved that discussion, we should move on to other matters. Bishop, concentrate on the Chalice. The Order cannot afford to have Britain—or the Queen—turn against it, and who knows just what precisely the Chalice is capable of. Lucien and I will handle Drake, and perhaps pull him out of this melancholy. Ascension is coming and like it or not, someone has to deal with this mess that Drake has left us in. We cannot just allow anyone to become Prime."

  "Any potential candidates we could back?" Bishop was grateful for the change in topic, though fully aware that Verity remained all ears.

  Rathbourne exchanged a glance with his wife, who stared back at him over the top of the teacup. Another conversation that Bishop felt like he was on the verge of understanding.

  "Perhaps Lady Eberhardt?" Ianthe turned to him.

  Rathbourne smiled faintly into his cup

  "I doubt it." Bishop watched his half brother. Something was going on. "She claims she's too old, and dealing with that rabble will drive her into an early grave."

  "She's a Triad Councilor," Ianthe pointed out, "one step below Drake directly. If anyone has the experience to step into his shoes and adequately fill them, she would be the one. Everybody's already half afraid of her."

  "I can't imagine why," Verity muttered.

  "I doubt it will happen." Agatha wouldn't volunteer, not with the level of scrutiny into her private life that such a position would bring.

  "Mmm, what a shame," Rathbourne murmured. "Whomever could we turn to?"

  "You're not helping," Ianthe shot back.

  "Is there something I should be aware of?" Bishop asked.

  "Absolutely not," Ianthe replied.

  "Yes," Rathbourne added. "I couldn't imagine who would have the power to deal with Drake's position, or who has the experience, what with running the day-to-day minutiae and handling unruly sorcerers?"


  Bishop was starting to understand. His gaze slid to Ianthe and the seven rings she wore on her hands. She'd recently passed her seventh level tests and could face down practically any sorcerer in the Order. "You know that's not a bad—"

  "Not another word," she said crisply. "I hear enough of it from your father."

  So this was Drake's solution? That was interesting and, the more he thought of it, the more he liked the idea. Ianthe had been Drake's right hand for nearly seven years. She'd taken care of more than enough dirty business, stood at his side, held her own in the rare Solstice meetings that drew the entire Order together....

  "You'd have my vote," he replied.

  Ianthe rolled her eyes, a sigh escaping her. "I don't know which one of you is worse. I have enough on my plate." She turned to Rathbourne, her gaze turning pleading. "I've only just brought my daughter into my home after all of these years and found you. Can we not have a moment to enjoy that? I have Thea to teach, and my responsibilities are already numerous. And you know what people think...."

  Rathbourne shrugged. "I'm the mad, bad Earl of Rathbourne, darling. I've long grown weary of worrying what people think."

  Bishop was struck anew by the camaraderie they shared. He glanced toward Verity, who seemed just as out of place as he did.

  "Well," he said, as he stood to leave. "Now that is settled, I think Verity and I had best be on our way."

  "If you need anything else, let us know," Rathbourne murmured, seeing them to the door. "We both share the same interests."

  "Do we?" Bishop asked, accepting his coat and hat from the butler. "I didn't think you cared for the Prime."

  The other man was of the same height, but considerably broader through the shoulders, and wore the power of an earl well. Their eyes met. "We are making peace," Rathbourne finally admitted. "And Drake's passing would shatter Ianthe. That's enough for me."

  That, at least, he could understand.

  Chapter 15

  NO SIGN OF Grave sorcerers the next day, or any clue that might lead to Elijah Horroway. Just mud and filth, and when the heavens opened up, Bishop had been forced to retreat home as curtains of rain blanketed the city.