Witchfinder (Magical Empires Book 1)

by Sarah Hoyt

  In his mind’s eye, he saw his room’s door smashed down. Now they’d be tracing him… now.

  There was only one place he could go, only one place he could hide. Marlon, curse him, had a tight enough lock on his lodgings that in ten years of living outside the law, no one had caught him, nothing had emerged about his whereabouts.

  And Marlon, curse him, would take Gabriel in, though the price would be more than Gabriel would ever pay for himself, by his own choice. But to save the only family he’d ever known? There was no price too high.

  He lifted his hand and, loathing himself, loathing his necessity, opened a portal to secret coordinates he’d promised himself he’d never use.

  A Rude Wakening

  Barbara Ainsling, Dowager Duchess of Darkwater, woke up without a sound. Before she woke, she knew that something was wrong – very wrong.

  Normally she woke with her personal abigail, Jane, bringing in a tea tray. It had become a ritual, and the Duchess’s first consciousness came with the sound of the tray being set on the little table by the bed, followed by the sound of calm footsteps across the floor, which in turn was followed by the sound of curtains being drawn back. Then light filtered gently past the sheers and the Duchess woke, composed and ready for her day.

  Today there was no light, no tray, no calm footsteps. Instead she had awakened to the sound of the door opening, then closing, stealthily. It was followed by the sound of someone panting rapidly, as though in a panic.

  Barbara Ainsling had for many years been a Duchess, surrounded by both comfort and propriety, hemmed in by the precise politeness of her position. But she’d not forgotten her years as a child in a vast wooded estate in Derbyshire; her years of climbing trees and fishing with the tenant sons.

  The much younger daughter of a large family, whose next youngest child was a full ten years her senior, she had learned to make her entertainment and had bid fair to become a hoyden, if not a tomboy, till the lure of her mirror, and how well she looked in ball gowns, and the effect she had on boys, had called her to more feminine pursuits and thence to marriage.

  But even at forty-four, inside she often felt she was still that same wild girl she’d been. So she sat up, instantly alert, and reached, silently, for anything she could use as a weapon without moving much. Unfortunately the only thing she could reach without getting up was the coverlet over herself. It would have to do. It was Barbara’s experience that very few people could be nefarious while trying to extricate themselves from a blanket.

  She clutched at the coverlet with both hands. And then the person panting in the shadows gulped and said, “Milady?”

  Barbara let go of the blanket, and, half careless, made the gesture for the spell that brought the mage light at her bedside to full power. By its unblinking light, she saw Jane by the closed door, both hands clutching at her apron, which, by the look of it, had been twisted between those clutching hands.

  Jane was a most superior servant, abigail to milady and about Barbara’s age. In fact, she’d been helping Barbara dress and arrange her hair since they’d both been fifteen or sixteen. Barbara trusted her so much that she had disdained to hire a dresser, as most ladies of her class were wont to do. No, for Barbara’s purpose, Jane must do very well. And normally she did. And normally, on demeanor alone, anyone looking at the two women would easily take Jane for the Duchess.

  But now Jane looked discomposed and ill, her face blotchy as from crying, her hair disarranged. She had dressed herself, and even put on her largely decorative lace apron. But she hadn’t combed her hair, and her cap was altogether missing. “Milady,” she said again, and gasped, her eyes full of tears.

  “What is it Jane?” Barbara said, trying not to sound as worried as she felt. The truth was that she’d never seen Jane this discomposed.

  Jane swallowed again, audibly, and let air out, slowly, between her half-parted lips. “There are constables in the house, Your Grace, and men from His Majesty’s magical enforcement force.” She swallowed again, convulsively.

  Barbara’s mind flew to Seraphim and, with only a little delay, to Gabriel, to Michael missing, and thence, in a moment, to her husband’s suicide, to that horrible moment they’d found him in his dressing room, his gun fallen from his nerveless right hand, his pocket watch clutched convulsively in his left, so hard that it had taken a wait for rigor mortis to pass and his fingers to let go. It clutched, aimlessly, at shadows and hints: at her sense that her husband had always been doing something far more complex, far worse, in a way, than mere affairs and infidelities – even if he’d done that too. And lately Seraphim had been secretive and Gabriel had, of course, been helping. And they were involved in something. And there had been a man killed by magic. And Michael was missing, perhaps kidnaped into Fairyland.

  Oh, those boys, she thought, those careless boys, and surprised herself with thinking it, as though Gabriel and Seraphim, and perhaps Michael too, were about five and heedless, and not grown and almost grown men and playing with something very dangerous indeed.

  She became aware that Jane was speaking, in between gulps and sobs. “It is the man as was killed, madam, you see. They say as His Grace done him in on purpose because he was the lover of that woman as– Well, they say His Grace done it for jealousy and not in self-defense, and they are– ” she swallowed. “They’re demanding to take His Grace before King’s Justice, and Mr. Penn with him, as well as Lord Michael.”

  “I see,” Jane said. “And His Grace says?”

  “Well, that’s just it, Your Grace, as they say he’s run and that’s a sign of guilt.”

  “Run? Seraphim?” Barbara said. If there was one thing she couldn’t believe Seraphim would do was run. Charge ahead foolishly, perhaps. But run, never.

  Jane nodded. “I don’t see how it can be, Your Grace, but they said as he and the young– the young person, Miss Felix, transported from the room where she– that they transported to another world, Your Grace, as is forbidden under the law.”

  Yes, Barbara could see how that story would assemble itself, in the servants’ minds, and in the minds of the magistrates too. They’d think, of course, that Seraphim had been in the young woman’s room, when he heard the constables come in, and had transported them both to somewhere safe. And she could well imagine the construction placed on his being in that room, in the night.

  Barbara didn’t believe it. Not for a minute. Oh, it was possible that Seraphim was romantically involved with the woman, though Gabriel had claimed she was his fiancée. For that matter the strange liaisons that men engaged in with a certain sort of woman were not something she wanted to probe. But something sounded very wrong in all of this, including the fact that Barbara didn’t get the feeling Miss Felix was that sort of woman. Or not precisely. For that matter, though no one had ever told her exactly, she didn’t think Gabriel Penn was the sort of man to be engaged to any woman.

  The whole thing felt wrong, a sort of scene concocted to deceive the eye, but not very deeply thought out at all. A story to deceive onlookers. She heard herself say, hollowly, “Something is very wrong with that story.”

  Jane started, then nodded. “Yes. I thought so too,” she said, slowly. “Because it doesn’t explain how the corpse got to Miss Felix’s room.”

  “The corpse?”

  “The corpse of the man as the gardeners say attacked His Grace, the one His Grace … killed.”

  “Ah. Yes. He was in Miss Felix’s room? No. That is not explained at all. I don’t think that anyone would carry him there, would they?”

  “No, miss. And he looked like he had fallen there, after walking, you know.”

  Barbara didn’t know, but she could well imagine. “I see. And what does Gabriel say about all this?” Because if anyone knew anything, it would be Gabriel. Gabriel was and had always been Seraphim’s willing accomplice, his faithful dog’s body. Seraphim wouldn’t do or know anything that Gabriel either didn’t know or couldn’t guess.

  A deep breath from Jane foreto
ld that the news there wouldn’t be good, and Barbara felt a stab of foreboding. “He’s missing, isn’t he? Mr. Penn?”

  “He’s …” Jane swallowed. “Emma, you know, the kitchen help, well, her room is directly above Miss Felix’s guest room, and she says that she heard him… that she heard him say something very loudly from… from the area of Miss Felix’s room, just as the pounding first came on the door.”

  “What did he say?” Her Ladyship asked.

  Jane colored and opened her mouth. “I wouldn’t like to repeat it.”

  “I’m sure I’ve heard the word, whatever it is.”

  “Well… he said … shit.”

  “I see.” She didn’t in fact, see. She couldn’t imagine Gabriel shouting anything of the kind loudly enough to be heard through the floor into the upper story. But she was sure Jane wouldn’t repeat it, unless she were certain it had been correct and properly heard. “And what does he say to that?”

  “No one can find him,” Jane said. “His room… His traveling bag is missing, and his personal effects, at least some of them, and–”

  “And?”

  “Well, then, Mr. Penn locked the door on his room and… transported out. They are trying to sense where he went, but they haven’t traced him beyond London and– ” Jane stopped. She looked like she was holding back tears by an effort of will.

  So. Seraphim was gone. And Gabriel had followed. She didn’t know how or why Seraphim had left, but she was sure it wasn’t because he had run. Not in any sense of the word. The only reason she could imagine for Seraphim to have left, at all, would be if his staying could only make things worse for his family. In that, he was like his father, who, despite his multiple sins against matrimony, had always tried to protect his family and his estates.

  And Gabriel too, for all his sins, would never have left – would certainly not have left without leaving them word of where he was going – without good reason. The reason being that his staying would make things worse for all of them.

  Michael was missing.

  That left the family house, the servants, and Barbara and Caroline to look after themselves.

  Without Barbara knowing, the decision had made itself in the back of Barbara’s mind. The constables and for that matter the magical enforcers would do nothing to the servants and the house. Nothing, that is, beyond ransacking the house and having the servants stay on to guard it. At worst, if judgment were brought in against Seraphim, the house would be confiscated. The risk was to Seraphim, who would be beheaded, but not to the house or the servants. She shook her head. That part she didn’t need to worry about. So, what was there to fear?

  The only thing she could think of was that she and Caroline could be used as bait to bring Seraphim and Gabriel back. And to lead to their being executed. No. That couldn’t be allowed. And so Barbara Ainsling, who, like her son, would not run from danger to herself, must put herself and Caroline away from danger.

  She’d go to her brother. No one would dare penetrate her brother’s estate in Derbyshire. “Jane, can you go to the stables? Are there… are there law… people, there?”

  Jane’s eyes grew large. “As of yet, no, Your Grace.”

  “Very well. Then go there, and wake Johnson, in secret if possible. Ask him to get the small traveling carriage together, with the match black horses, and to arrange for escorts for me and Miss Ainsling. As quietly as possible. Tell him… yes, tell him to get the carriage ready in the alley outside the walls. Without, if at all possible, arousing our… ah… illustrious visitors. Tell him – in the greatest secrecy of course – that Miss Ainsling and I will be going to Lord Hartwitt’s in Derbyshire. Can you, Jane, and keep it quiet?”

  “Well, of course,” Jane said, and bobbed a courtesy. “What shall I pack for you?”

  “Nothing. I shall travel as swiftly and as quietly as possible, and I’ll acquire whatever I need on the way.”

  Jane blinked. “Oh, no. I must go with you. And, Your Grace– ”

  “No, Jane. This is likely to be very dangerous. I can’t allow you to risk yourself. Go, and tell Johnson to have the carriage ready. I’ll take a carpetbag with my absolute necessities.” As she spoke, Barbara got up and started to brush her still mostly black hair and pin it back.

  “Your Grace!” Jane said again, in a tone of shock. But Barbara was Barbara again and not just the Duchess of Darkwater. For years now, since she’d married the Duke, the bright, sparkling woman who’d been Barbara Hartwitt had been subsumed in the Duchess, the mother, the wife. Now….

  “Leave it, Jane,” she said. “I can take care of myself. And send Miss Ainsling to me, as quietly as you can.”

  “Your Grace,” Jane said again, in the tone of one who doesn’t quite believe what she’s being told to do. She apparently, from her expression, could also not quite believe what she was seeing, as Barbara selected her most plain and sturdiest traveling dress and, with nimble fingers and hands still quite capable of reaching behind herself, started lacing herself into it.

  “Now, Jane, there’s not a minute to be lost, if we’re to save something from this debacle. And should the magical… ah… gentlemen ask, you know nothing of where I went.”

  Jane moved then, bobbing another courtesy, and heading for the door. Before she opened it, though, the door opened, and Caroline came in, fully dressed. “Mama,” she said. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re up.”

  Jane hesitated, looking at Barbara, but at Barbara’s quiet, “Go then, Jane, take care of that matter,” she nodded and scurried out.

  Caroline closed the door behind Jane, and turned to Barbara. “We must leave, Mama. And quickly too. You see, Gabriel sent me a message through a compulsion on a maid, and he said that Seraphim was pulled by a trap into another world, and Gabriel himself was leaving as fast as possible, so he couldn’t be used to bring an accusation of magic malfeasance against Seraphim.”

  “Yes,” Barbara said, gratified she’d reconstructed the situation properly and trying not to think of the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, because of what the boys were risking, and because of the trouble coming down on all of them. “I realize that. And I thought it best if we left too, and could not be used against them. I’ve given orders to have the small traveling carriage prepared, in secret, so that you and I can go to my brother, in Derbyshire.”

  Caroline’s eyes widened. “Mama! You must be all about in your head.” And then, realizing how improper what she’d said was. “I beg your pardon, but you see it must be so. How can you think we’ll escape in the carriage? Mama! They’ll find the carriage easy enough. All they have to do is send a fast rider. And no matter how much you tell Jane or the coachman to keep the secret, they have magical compulsion and the right to use it by royal decree, and they– ”

  “Caroline, credit me with some thought. We shall leave, in the carriage, and then transport from it while it’s moving. They will not be able to trace the transport spell, unless they can pinpoint exactly the place in space from which we transported.”

  “To your brother’s? In Derbyshire?”

  “No, of course not. I confess that was my first thought, but then I realized…”

  “You realized?”

  “While we might be safe at my brother’s, it’s too much like running away, and the Ainslings do not run away. It’s obvious someone is trying to entrap your brother– your brothers, and bring this house down. And Fairyland is involved, which is .… We must find Michael. And Seraphim. And there’s only one person who can help us.”

  She looked at Caroline’s blank expression and almost laughed. “We shall go pay a visit to Mrs. Penn,” she said. And by way of explanation, “Gabriel’s mother.”

  A World of Hurt

  They were in deep trouble. That much Seraphim knew, and he wished he didn’t feel as though he’d very much like to sleep for the next several months.

  He felt weak and vaguely ill, not to mention nauseated, as though he’d swallowed a good portion of this particular alternate of
the Thames, which might not have as many houses around it, but probably was none too wholesome to drink. And they were going to be pursued. There was not the slightest doubt about that.

  As though cued by his thoughts, he sensed magic groping towards them, the feel and gentle probing of the magical police in this world – he didn’t know much about them, but he and Gabriel had once had a brush with them, and – he seemed to remember they were called the Imperial Pures. He allowed himself to mutter a word between his teeth and was amused to see Miss Felix’s eyes open very wide and her cheeks tinge a dark pink color. So she was female and delicate enough to be shocked, was she? And what kind of insanity had possessed him that made her look devilishly alluring in soaked night clothes and with her hair plastered to her face?

  On the other hand, the soaked nightgown was terribly revealing of her curves, and he almost wanted to laugh at the thought that perhaps he was his father’s son after all: he couldn’t be ill or tired enough not to react. But he tried to keep it from showing on his face, and instead he said, all propriety, “I beg your pardon, Miss Felix, but they are looking for us, and we must escape. I’m not absolutely sure what we can do, but I can think of only one place I can take us. Only one place they won’t dare follow us. It’s terribly dangerous, as it is a world where magic is absolutely disbelieved and, in fact, where only a very strange kind of magic works. I will be utterly helpless there, but the chances of anyone trying to find us there are close to none, and even if they try, there is a good chance they will not be able to find us, because the world is choked with iron, and therefore it is hard to find anyone there. In fact, it is dangerous to any magical pattern but the strongest.”

  Her eyes looked into his, and a small frown was forming, making a vertical wrinkle between her dark, arched eyebrows. “But–” she said.

  “No,” he said. “Do listen to me. I don’t know how long I have, and I would have you understand what I’m trying to do. If I transport us there, it will use the last of my magical strength. If I should die–” He watched her opening her mouth and put his hand up to stop her talking. “No. If I should die, which is possible, though not probable, or not merely from the spell, I wish you to keep track of how I transported us, and use those coordinates, in reverse fashion, to take you back to Avalon. There you are to evade capture, and procure…”