by Robyn Bachar
Suddenly the shadow darted down an aisle, and Simon froze. “Where did he go?”
“To the left,” I said. “Didn’t you see him?”
Simon shook his head and set off where I had instructed. Michael and I followed, but there was no sign of Mr. Farrell. When we reached the end of the aisle Simon paused, peering in both directions. He turned back to face us, and I saw movement to the side.
“There! To the right,” I ordered. Simon looked to his right, and I pointed frantically in the other direction. “My right, my right!”
Mr. Farrell lunged at me and I screamed, but Michael shoved me behind him. Unbalanced, I tumbled to the floor as Michael took the blow intended for me, and he grunted with pain. Simon grabbed Farrell and threw him into the nearest wall, and their fight began again. Terror gripped my throat as I stood up, staring at the blood staining Michael’s shirt. It gleamed in the weak light as the lantern swung back and forth in his shaking hand. Claw marks tore through the fabric in a long swipe.
“I’m fine,” he assured me.
“You’re hurt.” I took the lantern from him. I tugged off my shawl and pressed it against the wound. “Hold this tight against it to slow the bleeding.”
“Emily!” Simon called out to me. He was alone again, and I hurried to help him. The area was empty and silent. I stood close behind him, holding the lantern as high as I could.
“We should get Michael to the doctor,” I said.
“I’m fine,” he repeated.
“Our task isn’t finished,” Simon pointed out. “Though your borrowed magic seems to be.”
“Lovely,” I muttered. “Lead on, I will point him out.”
We walked forward, passing row by empty row, until we reached the end of the room. A dark glow moved in the corner, and I shouted, “There!” Simon tore off after him, and I continued to direct him as we ran toward John. “To the right, he’s headed right.”
The chronicler was much faster than we were, and Michael and I were almost to the end of the row when we heard a terrific crash. I slowed, attempting to locate the source of the noise, but then Michael shouted, “Look out!” He pushed me hard and I flew forward, dropping the lantern as I fell. The light died as the lantern broke, and another crash sounded behind me, a deafening mix of breaking glass and splintering wood.
When I regained my breath I pushed myself to my feet and turned, only able to make out auras in the darkness. Michael lay still, pinned beneath the fallen rack, and I screamed.
“No! Lord and Lady, no,” I sobbed. I knelt beside him and took his hand. He was warm, and though his aura flickered, it remained bright, living energy. I drew a breath to call for Simon, but a hand clamped over my mouth as I was yanked to my feet. A small squeak was the only response I managed as I was dragged away.
“Be silent,” Mr. Farrell ordered, a harsh whisper beside my ear. “I need your aid. This is all a misunderstanding. Tell Willowbrook that St. Jerome was the killer. That he attacked us. I will pay you any reward. I can give you whatever you want.” I knew it wasn’t true, for what I wanted most at that moment was Michael. “Will you help me?”
I shook my head, and there was an irritated sigh, followed by fangs piercing the side of my neck. This time the bite was not polite or civilized, and a haze of drowsy pleasure coursed through me. I knew I should fight it, but I couldn’t. My thoughts slipped away as soon as they were formed, leaving me helpless.
A white light flared to life and blinded me, but when I blinked past it I saw Simon standing a few feet away. He held the sword in his hand, and the blade blazed with magic.
“Let her go,” he ordered. Mr. Farrell refused, continuing to drain my blood. “There is no escape for you. If you truly meant no harm to Amelia, let Emily go. She is innocent in this.”
Finally he stopped, and blood trickled down the side of my throat when he drew away. “Innocent? She helped you hunt me.”
“Because it is in her nature. Just as the need to feed is in yours. At least she can control herself,” Simon countered. I was surprised by the praise, and my senses began to sort themselves out, returning to normal.
“It was an accident!” Farrell howled.
“That will not buy you mercy. You will either die at my hand or at the guardian’s when he arrives.”
“I can’t surrender. You know what happens to our kind if we die.”
Simon smiled slightly. “Chroniclers do not share your fate. If you feared burning in Hell, you should not have studied necromancy.”
My head cleared enough for me to act, and I stomped on Mr. Farrell’s foot as I elbowed him in the ribs. It was enough to distract him and allowed me to break free of his embrace.
“Get down!” Simon yelled. I dropped to the floor, and a wave of magic rushed over my head and knocked Mr. Farrell back. Simon leapt forward and stabbed the blade through Farrell’s chest, pinning him to the wall. After a moment he crumpled, and Simon withdrew the blade. “Don’t look.”
I considered arguing, for I wanted to see Mr. Farrell dead, but the bloodthirsty desire vanished at the sound of a pained groan from Michael. I scrambled to his side as Simon struck the final blow, severing his opponent’s head. Blood still flowed from the bite on my neck, but I ignored it, focused entirely on Michael. He moved weakly, and in the pale light cast by Simon’s sword I could see that the top of the rack had dragged along the wall, preventing it from crushing him completely beneath its weight. But he was pinned beneath it, and clearly injured.
“Go,” Simon ordered. “Tell them Farrell is dead and bring the doctor.”
“The lantern is broken, I can’t see the stairs.”
“Here.” He withdrew his pocket watch, and it burst into the same white glow that covered the sword. I wondered what manner of spell accomplished that as I took it from him, clutching the chain tightly, and then I rose and hurried away. The stairs whined in protest as I charged up them, and I banged on the door.
“Mr. Farrell is dead! Please, open up!” I shouted. The door swung open, and I squinted in the flood of light. “Dr. Bennett?”
“Let me help you.” The doctor reached toward the bite, and I batted his hand away.
“No! Help Michael,” I insisted. Ignoring my protest, he tried again, so I grabbed his hand and hauled him after me down the stairs. Healing energy travelled up my arm, a reminder that Bennett was a powerful witch.
“Miss Wright, slow down,” he warned. It was a sensible request, and I tried to comply. After all, Dr. Bennett wouldn’t do anyone good if he fell down the stairs and hurt himself. When he spotted Michael, he dropped my hand and hurried to his side.
“Doctor, I can lift the rack if you can pull him out from under it,” Simon said.
“Of course. Miss Wright, please hold my bag,” Bennett replied.
I nodded, and he handed me his leather satchel. Clutching the bag to my chest, I struggled to catch my breath. My heart pounded fast and anxious, and the pocket watch swung back and forth in my trembling hand, doing little to keep back the darkness. Simon took hold of the wine rack and lifted, and the wood groaned, popped and snapped as it moved. Dr. Bennett grabbed Michael’s shoulders and dragged him free, and I gasped at the sight of his bloodied body. He rolled Michael onto his back, and Michael groaned again, my shawl still clutched to his chest. The doctor took the bag from me, opened it and picked through it for spell components.
“No,” I sobbed. Had I been wrong? Was Michael meant to die tonight and not during the ritual to become a chronicler? Oh, why had I let him accompany us? If he had remained upstairs, he would be perfectly fine…though it might be me crushed beneath the fallen rack. Michael had saved my life.
I tried to kneel at his side, but Simon caught me and stopped me. “Let Bennett work.”
“But—”
“The doctor will heal him. Let him work,” Simon repeated. I struggled for a moment, but then I relented, unable to do anything other than watch as the witch cast his spells. My vision shifted, and while Bennett’s aura bla
zed with power, Michael’s fluctuated. It was as though I could see his struggle in the fitful sputtering of his energy, and he remained determined to live.
“He is stable enough to move. Can you carry him?” Dr. Bennett asked Simon.
“Yes.”
“We will take him back to his room for proper treatment.”
Simon bent and picked Michael up as easily as he would a child, and I blinked in surprise. I supposed it shouldn’t have been shocking, considering all the unusual abilities Simon had displayed, including the ability to grow claws like a shapeshifter. The doctor and I followed close behind as Simon walked away, and our arrival in the hallway caused quite a commotion.
“What happened?” Lord Willowbrook demanded.
Simon and Dr. Bennett ignored him, leaving me with the awkward task of explaining. “Michael was injured during the fight. Dr. Bennett is going to treat him in Michael’s room,” I said over my shoulder.
“You are also injured,” Lord Willowbrook pointed out.
Raising my hand to my neck, I felt a warm trickle of blood. “Oh. Yes. I suppose the doctor will see to that too. You may wish to send someone to see to Mr. Farrell’s remains. Someone with a strong constitution.”
Lord Willowbrook blustered a bit, but he was soon left behind as Simon unerringly continued onward. We reached the rooms that Simon and Michael shared, and I hurried to open the doors. I followed them into Michael’s room, ignoring the sensible voice that scolded me for so boldly entering a gentleman’s bedroom, and watched as Simon laid him atop the bed.
“Out, both of you,” Bennett ordered. “I’ll yell if I need assistance.”
“I don’t want to leave him,” I argued.
“Michael will be fine. We will wait outside.” Simon took my arm and led me away, leaving no room for argument.
In the sitting room again, I stood frozen, unsure of what to do. I stared at the closed door, oblivious to Simon’s presence until he touched the bite and I flinched.
“I can heal that,” he said.
“Oh. Please do.”
The skin tingled as he ran his fingers over it, and the wound stopped bleeding. “We should clean up as well,” he suggested. “Michael will be quite upset if he sees you like this.”
Nodding, I followed him into his room. I glanced into the dressing mirror and was startled by the amount of blood that coated my skin and stained my dress. There was nothing I could do about the dress at the moment, but I cleaned what I could in the washbasin. Simon looked politely away as I did, and I watched his reflection in the mirror.
“There must be some way we can share him,” I blurted.
“Pardon?” Simon turned to me, seeming surprised by my outburst.
“I meant, there must be some way that Michael can be both your student and my husband. I won’t ask him to give up his studies or his work with the Order. I can’t deny that I would like to, but I know he would not be happy. Though I do not share the obsession, I understand a librarian’s need for his studies. I have been surrounded by them all of my life.”
“I see. You do realize that if he remains with the Order, there will come a time where you will be parted from each other. Michael will surely outlive you, and losing one’s soul mate…he may die from the grief of it.”
“Soul mates or not, many people are overcome with grief at losing a spouse. What matters is having someone to aid in overcoming that grief. You will help him, won’t you? You are his mentor.”
Simon nodded slowly. “That I am.”
“Then it is settled.” I rose, squaring my shoulders. “I understand that you do not care for me, but I am willing to be civil if you will do the same.” I extended my hand to shake his, something I would never do under normal circumstances, and after a moment’s pause he clasped my hand.
“Very well.” When he released my hand he peered at me, and then crossed to his wardrobe and produced a jacket. “Here. I believe your shawl may be beyond repair, and you look cold. We should also send for something for you to eat. You may feel some ill effects from your blood loss.”
“Thank you.” Surprised by his concern, I slipped the jacket on. I returned to the sitting room while he cleaned up as well. My fingers were numb as I folded my hands in my lap, and I watched Michael’s door. The mumbling chant of spellwork sounded within, but there was little other sign of activity. Witches relied upon spoken spells, a little like summoners did, but with more variety—and less dangerous consequences, of course.
A knock sounded at the door, and since Simon was still within his room I decided to answer it. I discovered my father in the hallway. Stepping aside, I allowed him to enter. “Dr. Bennett is seeing to Michael—Mr. Black,” I corrected, my face flushing slightly. “Mr. St. Jerome is currently seeing to his wounds.”
“What are you doing here?” Father asked.
“I am waiting to hear of Mr. Black’s condition.”
“Is that blood?”
I glanced down and noticed that though the majority of the stain was hidden beneath my borrowed jacket, a bit of it peeked from between the lapels. “Yes, it is. I was bitten by Mr. Farrell, but I feel quite well now.”
“Why would Mr. Farrell bite you?”
“Because he was the master necromancer. But Mr. St. Jerome killed him, and everyone is safe now.”
Father was not comforted by my calm demeanor. His eyes widened in horror, and he shook his head. Exasperated, he ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Emily…I cannot believe that you involved yourself in this. You recklessly risked your life. How could you do such a thing?”
“I had to. I was the only one who could see him.”
He shook his head again. “Well, now the matter is finished, and you should return to your room. Your sisters are worried. Let us go.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I am staying here until I know that Michael is safe,” I insisted.
“We can see to it that a messenger updates you on his condition. It isn’t appropriate for you to remain here.”
“I don’t care. I’m not leaving.” To emphasize my point, I returned to my chair and sat down. “You’re welcome to join me, if you wish.”
“You would risk your reputation—”
“I love him,” I said simply.
The admission startled my father, but it settled in my heart with bittersweet contentment. I loved Michael. I had grown fond of him while we sat together discussing silly things like the finer points of properly storing spell books, and that fondness turned to desire at the first brush of his lips against mine. But knowing that he would fight for me—that he would put himself in harm’s way to save me—made me love Michael. I wanted to fight for him in return. For a chance at a future with him, even if that future could only be a few short years in the sun before I lost him to the night.
I took a deep breath, and then smiled bravely. “Honestly, Father, Michael is the only one interested in marrying me now. I doubt he will be scandalized that I demanded to wait to hear his condition.”
He blinked. “Marrying you?”
Simon’s door opened, and he stepped into the room. “Indeed. I believe Mr. Black will be asking for your blessing to marry Emily as soon as he recovers. You’re welcome to wait with us now, or if you would prefer it, he can speak with you in the morning.”
“This is quite a development. You have no objection to your apprentice marrying my daughter?”
“None at all,” Simon replied. I resisted the urge to see if he told the truth and decided to trust his words. “They are soul mates. It would be wrong to separate them.”
Father rubbed his eyes wearily. “I think I will wait to speak with him in the morning, and you can explain the entire story then. I fear I am too tired to comprehend it now.”
“Thank you, Father.” I smiled.
“Just please return to your room when you can, before Josephine sends Thomas to hunt you down, throw you over his shoulder and carry you back.”
“I will
do my best to avoid that,” I assured him. Father kissed my hair affectionately and retreated from the room.
Simon and I sat in silence that was strained but amiable—we were both concerned about Michael’s welfare. I almost wished for something to occupy my hands like knitting or needlework, but I hoped that I wouldn’t wait long enough to need it. When Dr. Bennett finally emerged from Michael’s room, I tried not to pounce on him for answers.
“Mr. Black will be fine. He endured a number of cuts and bruises and broke several ribs, but thankfully no organs were punctured. He is resting now, and should rest tomorrow as well,” Dr. Bennett proclaimed. I sighed in relief, and Simon nodded. “Do either of you need attending to?”
“No, thank you,” I replied.
“I am well. I assume that I will not be able to feed from him while my apprentice is recovering,” Simon commented.
“I would advise against it.”
The chronicler frowned slightly, but he nodded. “Very well.”
“You may speak with him now, but not for too long. He needs as much rest as possible. I will return and check on him in a few hours. Please send for me if you feel his condition is changing for the worse.”
“Of course. Thank you, Doctor,” Simon said.
“A quick word, Miss Wright?” Dr. Bennett asked. I nodded, watching Simon leave. The doctor glanced in the direction of Michael’s room and quirked an eyebrow. “Am I correct in assuming that you will not take me up on my offer?”
“Yes. I thank you for it, but it appears I have other plans.”
“I will wish you good luck then.” Dr. Bennett bowed, and then left, freeing me to rush to Michael’s side.
He looked pale against the mountain of pillows, as did his hands where they were folded atop his chest. I assumed he wore a nightshirt, for it was a different color than the shirt he wore earlier. Most of his body was concealed beneath the coverlet, but his eyes were bright when he spotted me, and he smiled. I hurried to his side and sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand over his. Michael moved so that my hand was between his, resting above his heart.