by Robyn Bachar
“Opportunity itself appeals to me. Everyone treats me as though my life has ended because I haven’t married, or they pressure me to marry Mr. Farrell because I will not get another offer at my age.” The sweetness of the wine soured on my lips, and I set the glass on a nearby table. “We should finish our task,” I said brusquely.
“If you could have your perfect life, what would it be?”
I paused. No one had ever asked me that. Glancing at my sisters, I watched as they chatted with their spouses. They were not soul mates, but they were happy. I had matched each of them with their husbands, and though I knew they were quite compatible, it was not a guarantee for a successful marriage. The majority of the matches I made were based upon suitability of the couple and how harmonious their magic was, but problems were always possible. Yet each of them had managed thus far, persevering with determination and hard work. Both of which I assumed I would need to build a life with Michael. If that was what I wanted.
“I would like to travel. Even if it is only for a short while, as long as I could say that I had an adventure once and saw something marvelous. I want to do more with my magic than matchmaking, perhaps publish some of my writing. And I want a family of my own,” I said. Michael nodded, and I hesitated before taking his arm, afraid to hear his reaction, for I knew he didn’t want any of those things. “What would your perfect life be?” I asked, curious.
Michael looked away, avoiding my gaze. “I haven’t thought about it. I try to focus on practicalities instead of flights of fancy,” he replied dryly.
“Typical librarian. I’m sure your dreams are filled with books.” I turned away, focusing on the auras as the room bloomed with color once again. Each person I read stole a bit of my strength, and by the time we finished our slow journey through the room my entire body felt heavy, and it was difficult to move. I leaned on Michael for support as we stepped into the hallway, and I spotted Lord Willowbrook conversing with Simon, Mr. Gryphon and Dr. Bennett.
“Did you find anything?” Lord Willowbrook asked as we approached.
“All of the guests within are very much alive,” I informed him. “I was able to recognize the aura of each person. The necromancer must be elsewhere.”
“If it is a necromancer,” Mr. Gryphon muttered sullenly.
I turned to chastise him, and a wave of dizziness nearly stole the floor from under me. I gasped, my lashes fluttering as dark spots clouded my vision. Michael tried to steady me, and I clung to him for balance.
“Miss Wright? Are you ill?” Lord Willowbrook peered at me with concern.
Dr. Bennett stepped forward and placed his hand against my forehead. His touch was cool, and I wondered why I was suddenly so warm. “She’s exhausted,” he pronounced. It seemed an obvious diagnosis.
“As I understand it, reading that many individual auras in one evening is almost a herculean effort,” Simon spoke up. I glanced at him—had he just complimented me? “Miss Wright should be allowed rest before you ask anything further of her.”
“I’m sure I only need to rest my eyes for a bit,” I said weakly. “Perhaps I could return to my room.”
“You shouldn’t be alone,” Michael advised.
I shouldn’t be with you either, I thought sourly. “Josephine can sit with me. She shouldn’t be in that room in her condition.”
My eyelids heavy, I leaned against Michael while my family was fetched. In addition to Josephine and Thomas, I also acquired the aid of Mary and her husband, Charles, forming my own little parade back to my room. The men stood guard while my sisters helped me out of my gown, and I was immensely happy to be able to breathe and walk unencumbered. I intended to lie down for a short while, enough to regain my strength, but when my head hit the pillow, I drifted asleep to the sound of Jo’s knitting needles clicking as she sat in a chair next to my bed.
Chapter Five
I stumbled through the darkness, drawn by the sound of a child crying, until I finally reached a long, shadowed hallway. At the end was a half-open door, a slash of light in the chill gloom, and I hurried through it. I was surprised to discover myself in a nursery, bright and lovely. Sunshine streamed through the open windows, and lace curtains blew lazily in the warm breeze.
“There now. See, no need to fret, your mother is here,” Michael said. Turning, I spotted him standing next to a crib holding a wailing bundle in his arms. He looked up at me and smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, dear. I tried to comfort her, but she’ll have none of it.”
Nodding, I stepped forward and took the baby from him. Her face was red and tear-streaked, and she continued to howl furiously, but my breath caught as I looked down at her—she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Michael put his arm around my shoulders and brushed an affectionate kiss against my hair. The baby began to quiet, and I smiled up at him, so happy I was sure that I glowed with it. This was the scene I had always wanted, that I dreamed of having for myself. A husband who loved me, a child of our own…
“Michael.” Simon stood in the shadows of the hallway I had left, just shy of the sunlight. His icy eyes were bright in the darkness as he watched us with annoyance. He held an hourglass, and the sand glinted as it relentlessly slipped away. “Don’t forget.”
“Are you all right?” Josephine asked.
Rubbing my eyes, I groaned softly. My head still ached dully, but I did feel better. “Did I fall asleep?”
“For nearly four hours,” she said, concerned. “You were whimpering. Are you in pain? You are very pale.”
“I am always pale,” I murmured in reply.
She laughed, smiling. “I suppose that is true.”
“Have they found the murderer?”
“No, they are still looking for him. Thomas says they think he is hiding somewhere on the grounds.”
“Has the guardian arrived?”
“No, he isn’t expected until morning. Well, now that you are awake, would you like me to send for some tea?”
“If you would like some, yes. Why are you still here? You should be resting yourself,” I scolded her.
“Mary promised she would sit with you next, if necessary, but I feel well. Though I noticed that you still snore.”
“I do not,” I protested.
She smiled, teasing, and I eased myself out of bed. Josephine poked her head into the hall and spoke to someone—probably Thomas, guarding my door—while I donned my dressing robe. When she returned to her chair, she regarded me thoughtfully.
“What has changed between you and Mr. Black?” she asked.
“Is it that obvious?”
“To me it is. Sarah noted it as well.”
“I wouldn’t say that anything has changed between us, but I did discover that he is my soul mate.”
Josephine’s eyes widened. “Really? What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing. Well, perhaps I may cry a bit more, but I feel that is justified,” I said, weary of the subject. I clutched the garment tighter around me, feeling a chill.
“You should marry him.”
“Don’t be foolish. How happy would you be if Thomas decided to join the Order? Would you want to be a chronicler’s wife?”
“No, I suppose not. Still, there must be some way you can resolve that situation. Many wives struggle to understand their husband’s profession. The higher powers must have some plan in pairing you together,” she argued.
“Perhaps.” I couldn’t imagine what that plan could be, or how we could manage it. “Dr. Bennett offered me a position in the employ of an American guardian.”
Josephine coughed, appearing appalled by the idea. “You aren’t considering it, are you? We would never see you again!”
“I know. I would enjoy never seeing Sarah again, but I would miss your company. It is an excellent opportunity to use my magic to do more than matchmaking.”
“Couldn’t you do that if you married Michael? I’m sure the Order would be happy to have your aid.”
“I had not thought of that
.” The Order was devoted to the pursuit of knowledge, and as a seer I would have a unique method of obtaining it. However, the idea of working with Simon was less than appealing. Would I be expected to feed him my blood like an apprentice did? The image of Amelia and her lover flitted through my mind, and I blushed, but it did remind me that I had a question to ask. Though our sister Mary was the gossip of our family, Josephine might know details of Miss Morgan’s associations. “Do you know if Miss Morgan had been doting on anyone in particular as of late?”
“Well, I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead…” she said hesitantly.
“Please. It may aid us in catching her killer.”
“Amelia has—had—spoken of several gentlemen lately, but before that she was quite taken with one in particular for several months. Mr. Farrell.”
“My Mr. Farrell?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yes, but I’m sure matters ended between them before he began courting you,” Josephine assured me. I nodded in agreement, though I was unconvinced. Could he be Miss Morgan’s murderer? He was dark-haired like the man in my vision…but wouldn’t I have recognized the change in his condition? Shouldn’t it have been glaringly obvious to me, a seer, that he was no longer among the living? But I had never had cause to examine his aura closely, so I could not know that something was amiss with it.
Our tea arrived, and it proved an excellent distraction. I was surprised by how famished I was. It was all I could do to avoid greedily gobbling down the biscuits like a child left unattended with a plateful. To my credit, I had worked up quite an appetite. This was more magic than I had ever attempted before.
A knock interrupted us, and Josephine rose to open the door. She spoke with someone quietly, and then turned and frowned at me. “It’s Mr. Black. He wishes to speak with you.”
“Let him in then,” I said.
My sister gasped at the idea. “But you aren’t dressed!”
“I am not undressed, either. I doubt he’ll attempt to ravish me while you and I are having tea.”
She frowned in exasperation. “Mother would have a fit if she were here.”
“I suppose it is good that she stayed at home then.”
Shaking her head, Josephine opened the door and allowed Michael into the room. He paused after a few steps, blushing, though it seemed silly to me. The gown that I wore earlier showed far more skin than my current ensemble. He may have been embarrassed by my hair, which was a bit wild at the moment, having been let down from its pins.
“I apologize for the interruption. Are you recovered enough to rejoin the investigation?” he asked.
“I doubt I could read another roomful of people, but I could manage a few things. Why, has something happened?”
Michael waited until Josephine returned to her seat before continuing. “I am afraid there has been another murder. Mr. Gryphon was found dead.”
“That’s terrible! Though I doubt there will be trouble creating a list of suspects, considering his unpleasantness. They don’t suspect your mentor again, do they?” I asked, shivering.
“No, Simon and I were with Lord Willowbrook at the time.”
I doubt it would be a comfort to Mr. Gryphon, but I was glad to hear of it. Well, mildly glad, for in truth I would not be too grieved if something unfortunate happened to Simon. “Wait outside. I will join you in a moment.”
Nodding, Michael left the room, and I rose to search for something to wear. I had no intention of putting my ball gown back on, as the garment was dreadfully heavy, and instead settled on the simple dress I had intended to wear while returning home. I couldn’t wear my long gloves with that dress, however, and I was forced to go without. Without them I would need to be more cautious about what I touched, but I could manage that. I added a shawl, in case we stepped outside, and I frowned at my hair in the mirror. There wasn’t time to properly style it again, and I twisted it into a simple knot.
“You should go to bed,” I said to Josephine as she sipped her tea.
“You don’t want me to wait for your return?”
“I do not. I want you to rest. I will send for Mary if I need anything. Or Sarah, if I want to be miserable.” I smiled dryly.
“Then I will go to bed once I finish my tea. Please be careful, Emily.”
“I will do my best.” I stepped into the hallway and found Michael speaking with Thomas. “Jo has agreed to retire after finishing her tea. I expect you to hold her to that,” I informed her husband.
“Gladly.” Thomas turned to Michael and glared sternly at him. “You will look out for her.”
Michael nodded. “Of course. Shall we?” I fought the temptation to take Michael’s arm and folded my hands in front of me as we walked away. “Did you rest well?”
“I had strange dreams,” I admitted. “But that’s not unusual for me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
We turned a corner into an empty hallway, and after a few steps I paused. “Don’t be.” I looked up at him, feeling that I should say something but without any idea of what.
“Why, were you dreaming of me?” he asked, his tone teasing. I nodded, and he blinked in surprise. “Really? Something lascivious, I hope. Another flight of fancy?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Sorry to disappoint, but no. It was something quite ordinary, but lovely.” My face heated with a blush, and I looked away. “And unexpected.”
“Emily, I know this isn’t the right time, but I need to explain—”
“You don’t need to explain anything to me.”
“Yes, I do. I need you to know. I have always focused on my studies because my studies were all I had. I have no family or fortune to speak of, and nothing to offer a wife. Especially not a woman of a good family, like you. I knew I couldn’t offer you anything other than conversation, and that is why things have always remained as such between us.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked.
Michael grimaced. “Because that fact hasn’t changed. And because you might refuse to speak to me again after you see Mr. Gryphon’s body. It is much worse than Miss Morgan. I argued with Lord Willowbrook not to involve you, but he insisted that you examine the scene.”
I paled, but then I forced a brave smile. “Then I will count on you to catch me should I faint.”
“Of course.” He offered his arm and this time I took it, glad for the strength of his presence. There was a weariness about him, as though the air was heavier, weighing him down.
Lord Willowbrook was waiting for us, along with Simon and Dr. Bennett, two people I was not eager to see. They watched me closely, and I felt distinctly like a mouse being eyed by a group of hungry cats.
“Are you prepared to proceed?” Lord Willowbrook asked.
“As much as I can be.”
He motioned for us to follow him, and he led us around a corner. The smell hit me first—blood, an overwhelming amount of it. My visions are almost exclusively sight and sound, and because scents are never included I knew this was not part of one. It was real. My suspicions were confirmed when I spotted Mr. Gryphon’s body. For a horrified moment I stared at it, but then I stumbled and turned away, unable to continue. I tried to catch my breath, but the stench of blood overpowered me, and I fought back a dizzy wave of nausea. Michael held tightly to me, probably assuming I was about to faint as I warned I might, but I remained on my feet.
“Are you all right?” he asked. I nodded, afraid to trust that my voice wouldn’t crack if I replied aloud. “Do you want to return to your room?”
“No,” I whispered. A flicker of movement caught my attention, and I looked up to meet Simon’s gaze as he stood near me. Those calculating blue eyes studied me, and I straightened, imagining him belittling my skills and complaining of the inadequacies of female seers. “No,” I repeated, regaining my voice. “I am well. I will continue.” I patted Michael’s hand to reassure him, and then turned my focus to the investigation.
The scene was gruesome, the stuff of nightmare
s, but I could not allow myself to be distracted by that. Though the blood turned my stomach, I looked past the gore for any signs of magic or any detail that might be helpful. I stepped closer, clutching the skirt of my dress and lifting it to keep it out of the dark pool. There was so much of it…obviously the necromancer had not drained him as he had Miss Morgan. Her death might have been an accident, but this was brutal and deliberate. It almost appeared as though Mr. Gryphon had been mauled by an animal, his throat torn open and ravaged.
Mr. Gryphon’s body was as devoid of energy as Miss Morgan’s had been, but a cloud hovered above him. I stepped closer to examine it. The energy wasn’t familiar, not a spell or emotion. I hesitantly stretched out my hand to touch it, and I jumped at the indignant rage that burned my fingers. The cloud moved, as no residual energy should, and buzzed around me like a swarm of angry bees. I gasped and stepped back, and it followed as I bumped into Michael.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I think it may be Mr. Gryphon’s spirit,” I guessed.
“Can you speak with him?” Lord Willowbrook asked, and I frowned at him.
“Only a necromancer can speak with the dead,” I replied matter-of-factly.
The cloud moved again, this time rolling away toward a nearby door. I followed as it disappeared through it, and I opened the door. In retrospect, that was probably foolish of me, for the master necromancer could have been waiting on the other side. Thankfully all I found was a servants’ stairwell, narrow and dimly lit. The spirit—if that’s what it was—hovered near the wall. There was the glimmer of a spell there, and I touched it. My hand was burned, and I snatched it away with a hiss of pain. I caught the impression of what had happened. The door had been open, the creature waiting within the shadows for Mr. Gryphon. It was afraid…afraid that he knew something, a damning piece of information. It sprang forth as Mr. Gryphon passed, and he tried to defend himself with a fire spell, but it went wide and splashed against the wall.
I returned to the hallway and relayed the information to Lord Willowbrook, and when I glanced back the spirit was gone. Hopefully it moved on to what lies beyond, though I had no way of knowing its fate.