by Bee Ridgway
Arkady eyed him. “I see you struggling with your feelings, Nick. You can’t hide them from me. This is because you still love the girl?”
“I don’t love her,” Nick lied. “I am concerned for her, and for the Guild. And I’m thinking, damn it, so shut up.” Nick ground out the words to keep from shouting them. “We need to get her back. For the Guild.”
“Indeed we do.” Arkady put his cigarette to his lips, then lowered it without taking a drag. “And when you say the Guild, Nick, I hope that is what you mean. I hope your new girlfriend the lovely golden lioness and your old girlfriend the little brown mouse have not conspired together to make an Ofan out of you.”
“Just shut up and let me think.”
Arkady bowed. “Please, my lord. Think.”
Nick turned his back to Arkady and stared at the fire. Think. He concentrated on the leaping flames. Julia could manipulate time? Could this be true? And if it were true, would that keep her safe? But how could she have that power? Nick breathed through the fear and thought about his lover. She must have run from Arkady because she believed it was the safer course, and if she was Ofan then she had some defenses. Nick had to trust her choices and come up with a plan that left Arkady behind.
At his feet, Solvig snorted in her sleep. The huge dog lay on her side, her nose and paws twitching. She was hunting something in her dreams. Hunting . . . hunting! Solvig was a terrible guard dog . . . but perhaps she could hunt.
“Solvig,” he said out loud. She woke and her droopy eyes found his. She lumbered to her feet and pressed her nose into his hand. Nick turned to Arkady. “The dog,” he said. “She will find Julia.”
Arkady crossed his arms. “It is possible. We must give her something of the girl’s for scent. It could work. Let us go immediately.”
“Not you. You can’t come with me. For God’s sake, man, she’s terrified of you. She trusts me. I must go alone.”
Arkady scowled. “She trusts you, does she? But do I? How do I know you will bring her to me?”
“The girl’s life is in danger. Our first priority must be to find her. Then, I promise I will bring her to you. You can perform your Ofan tests on her. I think you’ll find that she is just a nice young lady from Devonshire, much like any other.”
“No. She is Ofan. Or worse. What she did to me at the dinner table . . . the way she made me trust her? It was like nothing I have ever experienced. It is true, I am susceptible to beautiful women. But this Julia Percy, I am not attracted to her. She is too young, too innocent—not like your lovely sister—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Nick snapped his fingers for Solvig. “Enough! Go to the Guild’s house in Fleet Street and wait. Once I find Julia I shall meet you there.”
“With the girl?”
Nick put his hand on Solvig’s head. “I’ll see you later, in Fleet Street.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
My dear.”
Julia looked up, startled. It seemed like hours since she’d seen those two people shot dead at close range, since she’d lost Jem Jemison in the crowds in Berkeley Square, since she had run blindly into the tangled web of Soho streets, hoping to find Soho Square on her own. At first she had moved with the crowds pouring back into Soho, but they had quickly dispersed to their homes, leaving the streets empty. Now the kindly-looking old man she had been following in hopes that he would lead her somewhere safe had turned and was facing her.
“Sir?” She drew herself up, trying to look self-assured.
He was small and thin and much older than she had thought, his skin wrinkled and his eyes sunken. “Why are you following me? I have walked the same circle through the streets twice, testing you. Do you plan to rob me? I assure you I have no money.” He smiled gently at her.
“Oh, no, sir. I am sorry. I am lost, you see. I was trying to appear confident, so I followed you, thinking no one would trouble me if I looked like I was with you.”
The old man tipped his head back and laughed, a young laugh, at odds with his fragile frame. “That’s rich. As if I could protect a flea. Well, my dear. Where is a well-dressed young lady like you trying to go this late at night? I shall do my best to help you.”
“Soho . . . Soho Square,” Julia stammered.
He regarded her soberly. “Indeed? Well, I shall guide you there. Come, take my arm.”
So they set off through the streets together. As they walked, the old man told her of how the neighborhood had declined across his lifetime. His name was Roland LeCrue, he explained, and yes, his name gave him away—he was of French descent. A century and more ago his Huguenot grandfather had fled Catholic France and come to Protestant England, where he had bought a fine house in Soho, which was a French neighborhood in those days. Monsieur LeCrue could remember when French was the language most spoken in these streets, can you imagine? Now he was the only Frenchman left. The aristocrats who had lived on Soho Square in his childhood had all sold their grand houses and moved elsewhere, and now the neighborhood was squalid, filthy. He poked at a pile of rags with his stick and shook his head. “Times are hard. Now a young girl like you must fear for her life as she walks these streets. Everything changes,” he said, and fell silent.
Julia squeezed his arm. “I never feared for my life,” she assured him. “And you helped me. You are a true Cavalier. I thank you, monsieur. Merci.”
“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.” He patted Julia’s cheek. “May young ladies like yourself always find the help and respect that they desire. And look. Here we are. Soho Square.” He spread his thin arms. “Voilà.”
Julia turned and held out her hand. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Monsieur LeCrue took her hand, his eyes quizzical. “Ah, but you do not want me to show you to the door, do you? You do not want me to see which house you enter?” He nodded. “Never mind, my dear. I understand. I do not judge you. God bless you.” He sketched a funny little antique bow, and she turned away.
Julia faced the square. Which house had it been? She looked along the row of mismatched mansions and saw the yellow façade. Yes. There was a big, old-fashioned traveling coach and steaming team of horses stopped in front. Those horses must have made a long, arduous journey. But now they had arrived, and were finally able to rest. She hoped her story had a similarly happy ending.
Julia took a deep breath and prepared to beg her lover’s lover for shelter.
* * *
Nick and Solvig were deep in Soho, and Solvig was dragging him down every tiny street. The dog was on the trail of something, but Nick was beginning to despair of its actually leading to Julia. She could be anywhere. The city, which had looked so small and quaint from Highgate Hill last night, now felt like an endless rabbit warren. Julia could be in any room in any house, down any noisome street. She could be alive, dead, dying—she could be in pain, frightened. . . .
Nick shoved the thoughts away and concentrated on Solvig. Her nose was pushing through the filth, and she was grunting softly, giving herself encouragement. Every once in a while she turned a confident, grinning face back at Nick, then resumed her quest. And yet hadn’t they passed this intersection once already?
“My lord.” A hand touched his shoulder, and Nick wheeled around, pulling Solvig to a reluctant stop.
“Jemison!”
The man looked haggard. “You are seeking Miss Percy,” he said.
“However do you know that?”
Jemison eyed Nick up and down. “How did you vote, my lord?”
“Against.”
“Ah.” He frowned, nodding. “Your sister will be pleased.”
Nick grabbed his arm. “If you bear me any love as a fellow soldier, please—what do you know of Julia?”
“I saw her. In Berkeley Square. She was out in the crowd, in nothing but a flimsy black gown. She told me a tarradiddle about needing to run away. I told her to stay by me and I would help her, but just then the shooting started—”
“Yes, the two dead.”
>
“Shot dead by men in scarlet,” Jemison said. “After the first shot I stepped in front of Miss Percy and shouted for her to hang on to my belt; the crowd was turning and pushing back against us. Then another shot was fired and I felt the crowd pull us apart. I turned, and I saw that she was running—she could not help but run—pushed away on the breast of the crowd. I tried to follow, but she disappeared out of the square, heading in the direction of Soho. I have been searching for her since the crowd dispersed.”
Nick couldn’t help it. He grabbed Jemison’s hand and shook it. “Thank you!”
Jemison pulled away and stepped back. “I do not do it for you. And now that you are here to look for her, it is best we part. I can go back to others who need me more.” He turned away.
“No, Jemison!” Nick’s words came without thought. “The two in Berkeley Square are dead. I . . . Julia needs you more.”
For a long moment it seemed that Jemison would simply stand there, his back to Nick. But then he turned. “I wonder if you know what else died tonight in your gracious square, with those two.”
Nick stepped forward. He was taller than Jemison, and broader, but he knew that the man had a will as strong and as supple as a whip, and a fierce, unflinching ability to do what must be done. “I need you, Jemison,” Nick said. “We must find Julia. Not only because she is in danger . . .” How to explain? Nick stared at the man who had seen him disappear from under the dragoon’s sword. “Jemison,” he said. “I want—” He stopped.
Jemison said nothing, and his eyes glittered in the darkness.
“I want to tell you what happened to me at Salamanca,” Nick said, pushing on, “and I need you to believe me.”
“I am a rational man. I do not believe in demons.”
“When the dragoon reared above me, I jumped forward in time,” Nick said, his voice a whisper. “Two hundred years. A group of . . .” Nick paused, searching for words. “A group of aristocrats from throughout history control the flow of time just as if it were money. They control who can travel, who can even know that time is malleable. Are you following me?”
Jemison blinked. His expression had not changed even one iota since Nick began his incredible confession.
“History itself is now threatened by an unknown power emanating from the future. And Julia . . .” Here Nick ground to a halt.
Jemison let his gaze soar up, above the rooftops, to where the moon rode silver in the sky. “Julia,” he said. “Julia is what?” The black eyes met his again, and Nick could read nothing in them.
“Julia is also able to manipulate time,” Nick said. “But she is alone; she does not even know that I have the gift, or that I know she has the gift. Now she is running from a man who hopes to find her and perhaps kill her. That is why she could not go home again. And why it was the hand of God that swept her from you tonight, and kept you from dragging her back to my house, where that man was waiting for her. Perhaps that is a sign that she is lucky. Perhaps she has come to no harm.”
Jemison was silent, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jacket. His face was expressionless, neither friendly nor hostile.
Solvig snorted, eager to continue her search.
Nick sighed. “You do not believe me,” he said. “You think me war-addled.”
Jemison smiled as calmly as if Nick had been describing the theory of gravity. “On the contrary, my lord. I believe you completely.”
CHAPTER FORTY
I tell you, Nick, she is not here.”
“Your godforsaken dog thinks she’s here.” Nick yanked at Solvig’s lead; the dog was pulling away from him, straining down the front steps of Alva’s house. She was fascinated by some spot in the street.
Solvig turned resentful eyes on Nick and barked, then with one strong yank of her lead she broke free and bounded down the stairs, to stand over that spot on the pavement, her nose pushing back and forth in the dirt.
Alva was wearing a silver wrap over not very much, and her hair was piled on top of her head in a complicated confection of loops and curls. Now she watched her former pet, a furrow between her brows. “Perhaps she didn’t follow the trail at all. Perhaps she just led you home to me.”
“She was following some sort of scent,” Nick said. “She dragged us up and down every street in Soho, her nose down and her tail up like a flag.”
Alva pursed her lips, then turned to Jemison. “Who is your friend, Nick? Are you going to introduce us?”
“Miss Blomgren, Mr. Jemison,” Nick said, gesturing impatiently from one to the other. “I’ve told him about the Ofan and the Guild, Alva, so you’ve no need to be secretive.”
“Oh, have you.” Alva tipped her head on one side and gave her full attention to Jemison. “And you believe his lordship, Mr. Jemison?”
Jemison bowed. “I have reason to trust what he says.”
Alva nodded, once. “That is high praise, indeed.” She turned back to Nick, who was almost quivering with impatience. “That was a remarkable decision you made, Nick, to tell a Natural about the River of Time. You must trust Mr. Jemison, in return.”
“Obviously.” Nick punched his fist into his open palm. “Now can we stop caring and sharing and get on with finding a young woman who might well be in mortal danger? Why, for instance, would Julia come here of all places?”
Alva glanced down and fingered the fine texture of her garment. “I’m not sure.”
“That is not the truth,” Jemison said.
Alva’s gaze flew up and Nick watched as the courtesan and the ex-soldier locked eyes.
“You are an observant man,” Alva said.
Jemison bowed his head.
“Your friend is correct.” Alva turned to Nick with a half smile. “Or at least, he is not wrong. I don’t know why Julia would come to me. But she was here yesterday. She came with your sister.”
“They visited you? A prostitute?”
Alva put her hand on Nick’s arm. “Please do not play the marquess with me, Nick. I met your sister on a harmless walk a week or so ago. She did not inform me of her rank, and we chatted quite naturally. Then she and Julia turned up yesterday hoping to extend the friendship. When I learned who they were, I sent them on their way with a flea in their ear.”
“I find that not at all comforting.”
“The young lady is missing,” Jemison said, “and the dog led us to you, Miss Blomgren. You know her, Nick knows you. There must be some reason she came here.”
“The only reason I can think of is no reason at all,” Alva said in answer. “The poor child thinks I am Nick’s mistress.”
“And how,” Nick said with contempt, “did she come to think that?”
Alva’s eyes warmed. “The icy resolve of a man in love,” she said. “How lovely for Julia. But I’m afraid you can’t blame me. She arrived fully aware that you had a mistress and what she looked like. When she saw me, she put two and two together.”
“This was yesterday? Yesterday morning?”
“Yes.”
The icy resolve melted like a snowflake. Nick sat down on the step, not caring if it cost him his dignity. So Julia had come directly from Alva’s house, called for him, and then she had simply . . . made him her lover. What must she have thought when he told her he loved her? No wonder that strange expression had flitted across her face. No wonder her reply had been so flat.
Alva stepped out of her doorway and sat down next to him, her garment shimmering in the light of the flambeaux that flanked her steps. “I felt I couldn’t explain,” she said gently. “Given everything.”
“No, you couldn’t.” Nick propped his elbows on his knees and pushed his fingers into his hair. “But it seems so unlikely that she would run to you, knowing what she thinks she knows.”
“Especially since I stood on this very step and told them in no uncertain terms that they were never welcome here again.” Alva shook her head. “It was hard. Your sister feels trapped by her sex and her class, she is hungry for knowledge, and she wa
sn’t wrong to think that I have found a way to be free. But it is not a way that she can emulate.” She stretched her arms down between her knees and clasped her hands. “I had to freeze them while they were here. I hate doing that—it is such a violation of human dignity. But Peter came back. You remember, the girl who wasn’t on duty? She jumped right into the midst of us without warning and I had to freeze your sister and Julia in order to deal with Peter. She was full of some crazy theory about the Talisman. She . . . why are you looking at me like that?”
Nick held up a hand, his thoughts tumbling over one another. “Wait . . . I’m thinking.” He counted to three in his head, and when he was done, he knew. “She heard everything you said.”
“What?”
“Julia is one of us, Alva!” Nick felt something like hope unfurl in his chest. “I’ve only just learned it, from Arkady of all people.”
“Arkady! How does he know?”
“Oh, God, he’s figured everything out, Alva. He even knows about Ignatz.”
Alva raised her eyebrows. “He does?”
“Yes. And he’s convinced that Julia is Ofan, or at least that she has the talent. It must be true, because the only reason she would know to come to you is if she knew you were Ofan as well. She wasn’t frozen at all while you were talking to Peter—she was pretending. Thank God, because it means she knows you can help her, knows that you are safe.”
“Except,” Alva said gently, “that she is not here.”
At that moment Solvig’s bark broke the night’s stillness like cannon fire. Nick shot to his feet and went down to her. She was scrabbling in the dust at the edge of the road, trying to pick something up in her teeth. Nick dragged her away by the collar and bent to pick it up himself. It was dirty and it was wet with Solvig’s slobber, but he could see the badly stitched J.P. even in the flickering light.
It was Julia’s hussif.
He charged back up the stairs. Jemison and Alva bent over the sorry little bag. “Is it hers?” Alva asked.
“Yes. I saw her with it just the other day. It was in the gutter . . . why?”