Deception

by A. S. Fenichel

  His eyes, so like his daughter’s, stared back at her wide and surprised.

  “If another had found the cave, and I’m sure there would have been another, he might not have done the good you have done over the years. He might have run away and never said another word about it, leaving the world’s throat exposed with no Company to protect it.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “I do. And I will tell you something else. You are the father of the bravest and best person I know. Belinda is remarkable in every way.”

  “That is due to her mother. I had very little influence.”

  Lillian laughed. “You forget I have met your wife, my lord. While her ladyship is lovely and kind, I cannot imagine her wielding a sword or donning trousers in the defense of England. I’m quite certain the ferocity and determination that makes Belinda a great hunter has been passed down from her father.”

  His eyes shone with unshed tears. “Why are you telling me this? You have no love for me.”

  “True. I suppose because I admire what you did with your life in the face of utter failure. We need you now, David. All of Scotland, England, and perhaps the world needs for you to be strong. You have to remember every moment of the worst day of your life, and the pain of it is not lost on me.”

  He blinked away his emotion and sat up straight. “I see now why my daughter and her husband are so fond of you, Miss Dellacourt. I always thought it was because you are a great warrior and people bond when they fight together.”

  “And now?”

  “You must be a magnificent friend to have. I now see you are fair to a fault. You never let your hatred for me cloud your judgment.”

  She laughed. “I would not say never.”

  He chuckled as well. “I will go to Drake’s office and write down everything I can remember in as much detail as possible, and when your witch arrives, we can all go over it together.”

  “That is an excellent idea.” Lillian’s head spun. How had she gone from hating Shafton to admiration in such a short time?

  Chapter 13

  Dorian waited outside the castle for Abigail Higginbotham to arrive. They had sent The Company carriage to collect the witch.

  Tom had followed him out. He seemed determined to know all that was going on and see everything. It was better not to know some things at his young age.

  Tybee shooed Tom back inside the castle and attempted to keep him out of harm’s way.

  Dorian lost focus, staring down the empty lane. The hour was still quite early and not many people crowded Edinburgh’s streets. Regret knocked at him from the inside. How could he live with his failure? How would he face his brother? Brice expected him to look after their mother. As the oldest son, his duty was to protect their family. The idea of revenge eased some of his guilt. He would not be satisfied until the master lay dead at his feet.

  Lillian stepped out of the side door, slid her arm around his, and threaded their fingers. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please do not lie to me, Dorian.”

  “I am as good as I can be, Lilly. I need my mother’s death to have some purpose. At the moment, I cannot see any. I am not proud of the actions I am willing to take to find some solace.”

  She squeezed his arm. “I am so sorry.”

  “I did what had to be done and will do it again if the need arises.”

  “It is good for you to recognize that. The demons are the cause of our actions in this war. They have no place in our world.”

  “I pray we do not become like them in our efforts to eradicate them.”

  She stepped in front of him, facing him with her fists on her hips. “Is that what you think will happen?”

  He ran his finger along the soft skin of her jaw. “I hope not, my love.”

  “I am ashamed that after all I have done and seen, I still cannot stomach the violence of an interrogation. You are ashamed you can. In my opinion, these feelings are how we retain our humanity. I promise you the demons have no remorse when they torture a human for sport or sacrifice.”

  “I’m glad you were not there, but I should be stronger.”

  She wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her head on his shoulder. “I forbid you to change a thing about yourself.”

  Flowers and Lillian’s feminine scent filled his head, and her words eased his tension. He enfolded her in his arms and kissed her head. “Thank you.”

  “I am always on your side.”

  “That is remarkably good to know.”

  “I did agree to marry you.”

  “I may have bullied you into it.”

  She laughed. “As if anyone could bully me into doing something I do not want.”

  He squeezed her tighter and the breath he’d been holding released. This remarkable woman was his. It was a miracle. “I’m most impressed with how well you handled Shafton.”

  She stepped to his side again. With the brightening sky, more people filtered into the streets, and their embrace soon became a spectacle. “I surprise myself sometimes. He is not as arrogant as he pretends.”

  “I might not have been as kind as you. You handled him perfectly.”

  The Company carriage turned the corner and rolled toward them. The winged lion and sword gleamed gold upon its door in the first rays of morning.

  It stopped. Dorian opened the door and handed Abigail down. Sorrow swelled in her eyes. “I am so sorry, my lord. I wish there was something I could have done.”

  “It is not your fault. My mother’s death lies on the head of the master. I will have my revenge. I believe my mother already had hers.”

  Her eyes widened and her head cocked.

  Lillian said, “We have much to tell you, but first I think you must hear from Shafton.”

  “What new information does the earl bring?”

  “Old information, Mrs. Higginbotham. He brings the past, and we have high hopes you can help us use it to secure our future.”

  “I am beyond intrigued.” Abigail took Lillian’s arm.

  Dorian opened the side door for them and followed the ladies down the corridor.

  They found Shafton in the large salon. He busied himself with spreading torn pieces of foolscap over the top of a low table and sat in front of them. “Come in. I have most of it, maybe all of it. I’m still thinking it through. I am sure these are the symbols they made me paint on the walls.”

  Abigail stepped forward and examined the papers. She walked around the table. “You say you painted these on the cave walls.”

  The earl stood.

  Dorian stepped forward. “Mrs. Abigail Higginbotham, may I introduce the Earl of Shafton. My lord, Mrs. Abigail Higginbotham.”

  Shafton bowed. “Though it has been many years, I am sure these were the symbols.”

  “The symbols are still there, though they now appear to have been burned into the stone,” Dorian said.

  Abigail closed her eyes. “Each symbol will need a counter. For every evil there must be good. The demon thrives on chaos. We must create balance.”

  Shafton picked up another piece of Foolscap and handed it to Abigail. “I wrote down everything I can remember. Speaking these words aloud turned my stomach, and I do not think I could do it again.”

  She took the page from his shaking hand and made a short incantation in Latin. Dorian understood the words, but the meaning was a mystery to him.

  “There are phrases that should never be spoken, and even in thinking them we take a risk. You did the right thing.”

  Lillian sat while Abigail read the page.

  The witch paced, read it again, and paced some more before sitting on a small wooden chair and placing the paper on the table. “It will take me some time to devise a spell to counteract something of this sort.”

  Dorian’s gut tightened. “How long?”

  “A day or two at least. I also need to decipher the symbols and find their opposite.”

  “Are there opposites for these?�
� Lillian asked.

  “The symbols have meanings. This one denotes anarchy.” She picked one up. On the page was a circle with three lines forming an “A,” though the crossing line went beyond the other two.

  “How do you counter anarchy?” Lillian asked.

  Abigail turned the paper over and took up the quill in the middle of the table. She dipped it in ink and drew a strange knot of three petals and a loop. “This is the Triquetra of Harmony. It is a powerful force against mayhem. You will need to paint this symbol over the anarchy symbol in the cave. It will take me some time to decipher and counter the rest.

  Standing near the table, Dorian examined the strange symbols. “Where is the symbol of the master?”

  “I did not paint one?” the earl said.

  “The serpent around a distorted fleur-de-lis is definitely scorched into the wall. When we entered, a durgot stood before the symbol with a sword.”

  Abigail took a quill and a piece of scrap from the table and sketched the symbol. She added it to the pile. “I will give it some thought.”

  Dorian sat. His mouth went dry. “I managed to get some information from a demon this morning. The master is too weak to travel in our world. He survives in what the demons call the space between worlds.”

  “Purgatory.” Abigail’s whisper filled the room with dread.

  Lillian said, “I assume from your tone, Miss Higginbotham, this is not a good thing.”

  “He can gather strength in a place filled with so much torment. It will be enough to sustain him until he finds a way to heal himself.”

  A shiver ran up Dorian’s spine. All the lost souls waiting in purgatory must be the perfect fuel for the master. “He still needs noble blood. He said as much. My mother was not from a noble family. It was a miscalculation on the master’s part. He looked worse when he returned to the vortex.”

  Abigail said, “He expends energy to become corporeal and take in the blood of kings. When he didn’t receive the infusion, it makes sense he would wither.”

  “I stabbed him and he bled.”

  “A setback for the master, but it will take more than one knife wound from an ordinary blade to kill him.”

  “He can be killed though?” Dorian asked.

  “I believe so. Though, we dare not attempt that until the gates are all closed. With the gates open, he will escape and return in time.”

  “How much time?” Hope sparked in the earl’s voice.

  Abigail shrugged. “A year, a hundred years, I don’t know.”

  “I could live with a hundred years.”

  “But your great grandchildren might not be able to.” Dorian shook his head.

  Understanding spread across Shafton’s face. “I suppose that is true.”

  “The goal will be to keep demons from invading our world in the long term.” Dorian looked each of them in the eye, looking for any sign of disagreement.

  Lillian took hold of the paper with the master’s symbol. “What does it mean, Abigail?”

  “A fleur-de-lis or lily is the symbol of purity.”

  “And the snake?” she asked.

  “The serpent is poison. It defiles, strangles, and ruins what was once pure.”

  * * * *

  Lillian stood by Dorian’s side throughout the funeral the next morning. Hundreds of people spilled through St. Andrews Church to pay their respects to her ladyship’s sons.

  She was out of place in such a setting. These people were above her station. On several occasions she stepped away, hoping to find a quiet place to wait, but each time Dorian caught hold of her hand or wrist and guided her back to his side.

  She had to check twice to confirm Angus Fletcher was indeed walking past the casket at the front of the church. He did not stop and speak to Dorian or Brice. He knelt in front of her ladyship and bowed his head. Then he got up and blended into the crowd.

  Dorian drew her attention away. He introduced her to the clergyman as his fiancée.

  The short, round man looked her up and down, and grinned, baring yellowed teeth. If it had been any other occasion, she was sure he’d have dug for information. As it was, he promised to read the announcement in the banns starting the following Sunday.

  Her heart tripped. This was really happening. She was going to marry Dorian.

  As the casket came through, she wondered what his mother thought of her son’s choice of bride. Would she have approved, as Dorian seemed to think? Brice had congratulated her and told her how happy he was she’d soon be his sister.

  A low carriage drew the casket. Dorian, Brice, and Lillian walked slowly behind, and a procession of over a hundred people followed. A light drizzle echoed the somberness of the day and left the streets muddy.

  She’d cut a slit in her skirts so she could access the short sword she’d strapped to her boot. The fact that the master was weak from their last encounter gave her hope he’d not disrupt the day.

  At the graveside, Dorian gripped her hand while his mother’s casket was lowered into the ground. Brice stood on her other side. I have a family. Her chest tightened with grief for the mother she would never know and joy for the husband and brother she found. It was too much. Tears rolled down her face.

  Brice pressed a handkerchief into her hand. She met his gaze and saw admiration in his dark eyes.

  Maybe it would be all right.

  While the diggers filled the grave, the crowd dwindled. Dorian insisted upon staying until the ground covered his mother. In the end, it was only she and Brice who remained with him.

  The men who’d shoveled soil walked off and out of sight. Continual drizzle further marred the terrible day.

  Finally, they turned and walked to the carriage waiting outside the cemetery.

  Dorian and she sat on one side with Brice facing them. “You can come and stay with us at my house, Brice.”

  Brice shook his head. “If it is the same to you, I will stay at mother’s. I think the staff looked quite lost today.”

  “What will happen to them?” Lillian couldn’t imagine he might keep both townhouses in Edinburgh.

  “I will reopen the house in London. Most of my mother’s staff came from there. If only she had stayed there, we might not have buried her today.”

  Lillian gripped his hand. “You cannot second guess decisions made years ago.”

  “Besides, you did not make the decision, Dorian. Mother chose to be in Edinburgh. She knew the risk and she was proud of what we were doing.”

  “If we had been a few minutes earlier, we might have saved her.”

  Lillian bristled. “If we had not gone to speak with Abigail that morning, we might have waited until after luncheon to see her ladyship. We would have been messaged by the butler of the events and the results the same, or we might have arrived too late to injure the master.”

  “I cannot help replaying the events over in my mind.”

  Brice said, “Good. Then at some point you will see that you did all you could. This is not your fault, Dorian. You and I made choices that put us in harm’s way. Mother could have chosen to stay in London, but she did not. That fact will not change. That the master tried to use her is something we will both have to live with. Do not ruin your life for the sake of hers. I promise you, it is not what she would have wanted.”

  The brothers locked gazes.

  Lillian was intruding on a private moment. She stared at her hands, out the window, anywhere but at them.

  Dorian’s grip tightened, and Brice took hold of her other hand. “We will get through this together. We will have revenge for our mother and you two will marry. The master will not ruin this family.”

  Brice sounded so certain it would all work out as it should. But that was typical of the teacher. He was optimistic, hopeful, and inspiring.

  Once they dropped Brice off, she and Dorian continued to his townhouse. Lillian was glad to be back. She didn’t know when she’d begun to think of his house as her home, nor could she remember considering any residence home
since she was seventeen years old.

  That place where her mother had raised her had been torn away. A ripple of terror shook her. Nothing this good can last. Do not get too comfortable. She pushed away the doubt surrounding her.

  Exhaustion rolled over her as if the ocean had let loose and covered the earth, yet Dorian’s arms around her infused her with hope for the future. It was a new notion and she had yet to get used to it.

  The entire day weighed down on her. It was not very late when they tromped up the stairs and fell into bed.

  “Do you think it is odd that my name and the symbol of the master are so similar?”

  “If you mean it is a strange coincidence, then yes. If you are trying to infer something else, you will have to elaborate.”

  “I am Lilly and he is the lily defiled.”

  “But you are all that is good in the world, mon trésor.”

  “You know that is not true, and calling me that will not change who I am.”

  He grabbed her by the hips and manhandled her onto her back. Trapping her under his thighs and leaning his weight on her shoulders, he stared down into her eyes. His mouth was set in a firm line, and fire burned in his expression. “I know it is true. You are good through and through.”

  “I am far from the purity my name implies, Dorian. Look at where I am at this second.”

  “You are exactly where you should be, in my arms. It is where I intend for you to be for the rest of our lives. Purity of body is irrelevant, my love. Your heart is pure and your soul is the most beautiful I have known. You are unblemished and cannot be sullied.”

  “Your faith in me is very touching. I am far from perfect, though. If you place me too high on the pedestal you are building, you will not be able to reach me.”

  He grinned and pressed his lips to hers for a brief kiss. “I will climb higher.”

  She shook her head, but joy bubbled inside her. “If you are up to it, I think we should talk about what was in Shafton’s account of the gate opening.”

  “I would rather make love to you.”

  His eyes were haunted, and she understood his need to forget if only for a little while. She ran her hand along his cheek to his jaw. “I am yours.”