by Bec McMaster
"The demon."
"Technically. So, yes, he put me up to this, but no, I wasn't following you. I tracked you."
"Tracked me?"
She rolled her eyes. "All I need is a possession from somebody to be able to find them. It's a gift."
"From when you were a thief?"
"Touché, big brother." She grinned. "Mind you, utterly redeemed now."
He couldn't find it in him to remain angry with her. Verity's charm was often insufferable, but he liked her. Particularly when she was standing toe-to-toe with Bishop.
He also had her to thank for saving his life, when his assassin brother had thought he'd be better off dead. Instead, she'd made Bishop reconsider, and offer to teach him to control his dangerous powers.
"I don't think you'll ever be redeemed," Sebastian said dryly. He pulled his pocket watch out and looked at the time. He had two, but only this one worked, and the other... well, it wasn't as though he'd have thought himself sentimental, but it was the first gift his mother ever gave him. He really ought to destroy it. "We're going to be late."
Verity seemed in no mood to hurry. She kicked her heels slowly, staring at the ticketing office. "It's a long way to the Americas."
His gut twisted into knots. "Verity—"
"Of course, I suppose it seems easier to run away," she added. "No demon to contend with. No sign of your mother, or her murderous cronies. No more torturous lessons with Bishop. And not to mention your wife...."
"I'm not running away. And this has nothing to do with the demon, or my mother, or my wife."
"Does Cleo know you're leaving?"
"No."
"You would leave her in a bit of a quandary."
"If I left now, I could offer her an annulment. This marriage was only ever one in name. She would have the chance to remarry, and to create a family of her own.""And if you don't leave now?" Verity asked quietly.
Then it would be too late. The taste of Cleo's mouth had haunted him all night. "If I don't leave, I doubt I'll be able to offer her an annulment." Not on the grounds of nonconsummation anyway.
"Last night bothered you," she murmured, tucking her hand through his arm as if he'd offered, and settling into a stroll. "I could see it on your face when Gray kissed her."
"I don't have the right to feel that way."
"Some could say you have all the right."
"I can't give her what she needs," he countered.
"Have you ever asked her what she needs?"
To be loved. He rubbed at his mouth. "Verity...."
"All I ever wanted was a family, and a home, and perhaps a husband who cared for me," Verity said. "I never believed it would be possible. I was the best thief in the Dials. But I had nothing—no family, really—beyond the girl I was raised with. Who could have loved me—a girl who lied, and stole, and knew little more than how to watch her back? I owed the Crows money for the roof over my head, and the food they put on my table. And no matter how much I stole, I could never pay back that debt. There was always something to add to it." She looked up. "I know what it feels like to be trapped, Sebastian. And then your brother walked into my life, and told me I was owed more. I deserved to be loved, and treated with respect. I deserved the right to learn my magic. I deserved my freedom. And he took me away and offered me his heart, and suddenly I have everything I ever wanted." She took a deep breath. "But the transition was hard. It took me a long time to realize I could trust him, and my first instinct is always to watch my back. He's patient enough with me, but he doesn't understand you, or what you're going through."
She looked at him, her green eyes shining. She did, he realized.
"Give yourself time," she murmured. "You have a family here, if you could only open your eyes to it. And I've seen you with your wife. Your first instinct is always to protect her, did you realize?"
"How do I protect her from me?" He breathed the words. "She had a Vision—"
"I know." Verity patted his hand. "London's doom."
"Me," he said hoarsely. "She sees me in the middle of a hexagram, and the skies tear open above me, and I bring death and destruction to London. It's not the demon you should be worried about."
"She sees you, and she sees destruction, and it's somehow linked. It doesn't mean you're the cause of it."
"Is that what Bishop thinks too?" He'd seen the look on his brother's face whenever Cleo mentioned her particular Vision.
Verity hesitated. "One thing at a time. Let's deal with the tangible. The demon. Your mother. The enemies we can see. Cleo sees a lot of things, but she's only just learning to dream-walk. Now she's claiming this black queen is the true threat. Maybe you're not the one who causes the destruction? Maybe you're the key to stopping it? We don't truly know what is going to happen."
He looked away. "Can we take that chance? If I'm not here, then perhaps the Vision doesn't come true."
"If you're not here, what happens to all of us if it does come true? What happens to Cleo?" Verity asked quietly.
His mouth twisted. "I haven't even decided if I'm going yet. It was just a whim."
"But you have a ticket...."
"I.... Yes."
"And an annulment doesn't happen overnight."
"Verity," he said, more of a warning than anything else.
"When do you leave?"
"Ten days. If I choose to go." He could feel power welling within him, sending a chill through the air around them. Expression. He was letting his emotions overpower him, and drive his sorcery. Exactly what Bishop warned him against, and was trying to teach him not to do.
With limited success.
Verity bit into her apple, chewing thoughtfully, as if she couldn't feel the air chilling. "I suppose that's a decision you'll have to make," she said, and then tossed the apple core in the gutter. A hungry rat slipped out of a pile of crates and darted toward it, whisking the core away.
Verity held her hands out to him. "Coming?"
He looked down. Verity's gift of translocation was a little unnerving. He didn't know how it worked—by all rights it shouldn't have—but Bishop had muttered something along the lines of "she doesn't know enough about the rules of sorcery to be able to comprehend the illogic of what she can do." As long as Verity believed in her magic, then she'd be able to pop in and out of midair, no matter where.
"Aren't we catching a hack?" he asked cautiously. "And what do you mean by 'that's a decision I'll have to make?' You're not going to tell my brother?"
"Do you want me to?"
Hell, no. "He'll think I'm reneging on the bargain we made."
"Yes, he'll be disappointed. I know this month hasn't been an easy one for either of you." She nodded slowly. "But it's your secret, Sebastian. Your choice. I hope you change your mind before your ship leaves."
"He'll probably be relieved," he muttered under his breath.
Verity smiled sadly. "I wish you could both trust each other. Sometimes I see so many similarities between the two of you that it makes my heart ache to see you both stubbornly butting heads, purely because neither of you will yield. He's not your enemy, Sebastian."
Similarities? She had to be joking. "Bishop wanted me dead."
"You're right," she said, holding out her hands. "He was afraid of your power, and how uncontrolled it was. The same way you once wanted your father dead, because you thought he'd abandoned you. But he changed his mind, as it seems you have too."
His father had abandoned him. And then he'd turned around and sacrificed his body to the demon in place of Sebastian's. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and he stared down at Verity's gloved hands. "How on earth can you look so optimistically on the world, when you know what it's like? You're a fool."
"Maybe. But if I don't have hope the world will turn out to be a better place, then what is the point in going on?"
The words struck him, right to the heart. And he put his hands in hers before he could consider just what exactly it meant.
He hadn't made a decision yet.
/>
He had ten days to make it.
* * *
"Do you have something to tell me?" Bishop murmured, as he followed his wife inside the carriage that would take them to Seven Dials.
Verity blinked at him, her green eyes guileless. "Do I?"
He tested the soul-bond between them, coming up against the small hard shield that blocked him from a certain section of her thoughts. The shield hadn't been there before he sent her to find Sebastian.
She'd never locked him out before.
"You're hiding something, and it has to do with Sebastian." And he didn't like it one bit. "What did he do? What did he say?"
"Why don't you ask him?"
Bishop flexed his fingers inside his leather gloves. She had to be jesting. She, better than anyone, knew how poorly the past month had gone. He could teach Sebastian how to attack with sorcery. He could teach him how to defend himself. But he couldn't reach him. "Because he won't tell me."
"If you push the issue, then I daresay I will reveal it. My loyalties lie with you, after all," Verity said, then pursed her lips. "But I would prefer not to. Your brother needs to know he can trust someone."
Words Agatha had been drilling into him for weeks now. He knew she was right.
"He doesn't trust me," he said.
"No."
Bishop looked at her. Then away. "Then I won't ask. And I won't push." He reached for her hand, stroking her fingers. "I trust your judgment."
Verity let out a long sigh as she crossed the carriage and slid onto his lap. "I hate keeping secrets from you."
Bishop pressed his face against her neck, squeezing her tight. Verity brought so much lightness to his life. He couldn't remember what it had been like before she tried to steal the Chalice from him.
"I just hope I'm right in keeping it," she whispered.
Chapter 11
THE DEMON COULD sense the thinning of worlds. It kept its eyes closed, channeling enormous amounts of raw power into its great spell works, feeling every little rune and charm it had cast in the past two weeks wake up as it tested the pattern.
Perfect. This body had so much potential, so much power. All was nearly ready. All it needed was—
A door slammed shut, breaking its concentration.
"They have the Wand," said a strident female voice. "That piece of filth betrayed me. And you."
Morgana.
The demon opened its eyes, the golden patterns across the lawn winking out of existence as he withdrew his power. He looked toward the back door of the manor he was currently residing at, and saw her striding across the back lawn, her red skirts swishing about her legs.
"I know they have the Wand," it said.
Morgana drew up shortly, as if surprised by its lack of emotion. "That makes two of the Relics Infernal, Great Lord." She lowered her eyes as if suddenly realizing how much she dared when she confronted him. "They could destroy you if they get their hands on all three of them."
"That is why the remaining Relic is safely in your hands." He turned and gestured toward the two women kneeling nearby.
Both women rose, shivering slightly. He noted the small signs of weakness.
It's not weakness, Drake whispered inside him. You've had them kneeling in the snow for three hours.
The demon sometimes forgot about human foibles. What it did not forget was how often Drake seemed to be speaking to it these days, and it crushed the former Prime down deep.
He's stronger than I thought.
Morgana wrapped her cloak around her. "Well, what are we going to do about it?"
Nothing. I am going to do nothing. "Drake's hold on this body is remarkable for a vessel," he said. "I dare not risk a direct confrontation with his sons. I swore I would not harm them when he allowed me to take this body. I will not engage them until I need to."
"You can't just allow such a challenge to go unmarked." Bitterness flashed in her green eyes.
He repressed the urge to simply slit her throat here and now. She still has some use. "I am not ready for a confrontation." It gestured to the lawn. "I still have days of preparation ahead of me."
And the Relics are unimportant. For now.
"You don't have to confront them," Morgana said, peering across the lawns, though she didn't understand what he was trying to do. "I could do it. Let me do it for you, great lord."
He stared at her. "Kneel."
Confusion flickered across her face, and then she went to her knees before him. The demon captured her chin, tilting it up. Seeing it in this body caused her some pain. This body had memories for her. An ex-husband she'd never quite forgiven. Or forgotten.
"I will allow you to make a strike in return," it said. "I need time. I need them distracted. If they focus on the remaining Relic, then they are not focused upon what I do here. How do you intend to do it?"
Her mind raced behind her green eyes. "They'll all be gathering for the Ascension Ball. They'll never expect an attack there. Only a madman would attack an assembly of nearly four hundred sorcerers."
"Perfect."
Morgana smiled.
"I have only one rule: You shall do no harm to your son's wife."
"Cleo Sinclair?" she said incredulously.
"I want her alive. And well."It looked toward one of the other women. "Lady Beaumont."
Lady Beaumont stepped forward, her dark curls shining in the afternoon sunlight. "Your faithful servant, Great Lord."
"Work with Morgana. Create a distraction. Make it bloody." He turned toward the remaining woman, eyeing her up and down. "And you will share my bed. I need to replenish my strength."
The woman's dark eyes flickered toward the others, and she sucked in a sharp horrified breath. "Yes, Great Lord."
* * *
After two days of fruitless hunting through Seven Dials, Sebastian and Bishop were forced to concede defeat. There was no sign of the demon in the Dials. Nobody knew anything about the Relics, and the One-Eyed Crows claimed the men who'd attacked them at Malachi Gray's were outcasts from their hex gang.
The day of the Ascension Ball arrived, bringing with it Ianthe's first act of command as Prime of the Order, and they were all forced to set aside the hunt for a moment.
Though Sebastian questioned the necessity of the occasion—a ball, right now?—he'd been assured by Lady Eberhardt that such an act was more necessary than he could ever guess. The Order had been shaken by Drake's resignation, and the demon's assault at the Rite of Ascension. It needed to see its new Prime and be assured of her strength, and the cohesion of her allies.
And they needed the Order behind them.
Sebastian watched from the base of the staircase to the ballroom at the Earl of Rathbourne's manor as guest upon guest arrived. Ianthe and Lucien greeted them all politely, with Lady Eberhardt scowling mercilessly at anyone who was less than effusive in their greetings.
Eleanor Ross—his father's lover—leaned on a cane in the corner. Sebastian tried not to catch her eye. The left side of her body was still stricken, and his fingers flexed as if remembering the moment he'd flung a wave of force at his mother, and she deflected it.
Directly into Eleanor.
She'd be able to stand straight if it weren't for him. And he'd overheard Bishop murmuring that Eleanor still couldn't use her magic.
He'd cost her everything.
Including Drake.
Dozens of guests were arriving, and the crunch of wheels on the gravel of the driveway heralded more. Sebastian helped himself to a glass of champagne as one of the waiters went past. He'd never been to a ball like this. All the ones Morgana made him attend descended into orgies, and he'd been the centerpiece in most of the auctions. The memories made him sweat a little bit, and he felt somewhat on edge.
One of the musicians began to tune his instrument. The jagged saw of the violin thrummed through him. He gulped a mouthful of champagne. These people would recognize him as the instigator of the melee at the night of the Ascension, despite the fact the demon had
worn his skin and he'd been merely a passenger. There was no hiding here, though Lady E had dared him to look them in the eye and arch a cool brow.
"You're your father's son," she had said, straightening his collar, and patting it tenderly as though for a second she thought she stood in front of his father, many years ago. "Don't ever forget that."
He wouldn't. But he also couldn't forget that these people knew him as his mother's son as well.
The music broke into a quiet little riff. Sebastian glanced at his pocket watch. Cleo should be down at any moment. She'd been locked away all day with Verity and Eleanor Ross, and he'd only caught the odd snatch of her thoughts—enough to realize she was terribly excited about such goings-on.
He'd barely seen her in the past two days. Cleo had spent that time reading some sort of book she'd called Sidestep Through Time. The sudden anticipation in his chest surprised him, though perhaps it shouldn't have.
He'd kissed her.
And not just sweetly. He could still feel the ghostly imprint of her mouth upon his, and at night, when he had nothing else to distract his mind, he'd let himself imagine what might have happened if they hadn't been interrupted by the imp attacks.
Almost as if the thought of her brought her to call, the bond swelled, and he blinked back to reality, realizing his wife was approaching.
Turning toward the stairs, he looked up, just as a swish of silk skirts whispered over the carpets up there. A crown of blonde hair caught his attention. Cleo paused at the top of the stairs, and his breath caught in his lungs.
She was—
Jesus.
She wore a ball gown of the palest pink, more of a blush of color than a full wash, and it emphasized the creaminess of her skin. It was beaded with what looked like pure starlight, gilded by the warmth of the light from the wall sconces. The skirts bunched around her waist in swags of wispy fabric before falling to the floor, and tiny little cap sleeves sat just off her shoulders, though the bodice was not virginal. No. Heat stirred in his groin as his gaze traced the slopes of her breasts. He'd never seen her wear such a daring neckline, and some part of him wanted to take his coat and cover her up, to shield her from every other man there in a protective burst of instinct he'd not felt before.