Witchfinder (Magical Empires Book 1)

by Sarah Hoyt

  And Seraphim realized that she was right. After thinking about what he hadn’t done and what he must do, out there, in the underground room, he’d come to believe he must indeed act as the Duke of Darkwater and the head of his family. He cleared his throat. “No, it’s just…” He took a deep breath. “I realized I’ve been a fool, letting myself get pushed around by circumstance, and never, never doing anything to find what is at the bottom of all this. I’m a witchfinder. That’s what my father called what we do. We find the witches and the shape shifters before those who would harm them do. And here, like an idiot, after all this time rescuing people from just the sort of thing that has been visited on me and my family, I’ve let myself be caught in a trap, and I never tried to fight it.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “To give you your due, Your Grace, you were wounded and only half conscious through most of it.” Then she smiled, taking the sting from the formal address. “Not that you’d ever accept it, would you? I think you’re one of those who drives yourself harder than anyone else could drive you.”

  He made his features impassive, because if he didn’t he was going to tell her just how hard it had been, just how early things had fallen on his shoulders. Instead he said, “Father was never truly reliable. I think I– No. perhaps I do him an injustice. At least half of his persona was to hide his work as witchfinder. But there might be more to it. I think his personality– He was very sociable, very… very joyful and full of life. The problem is that he was cut out neither to be duke nor to be a father. Oh, he was a good man, I think, in a way, in the sense he cared for those in the family, and he was forgiving of weakness, which he would be. But he was not… good at sustained effort. I think I took over the accounts at fourteen. Just watching the money flow out. And the loans Father took for carriages and horses and clothing…” He shook his head again. “And gifts for his mistresses. I remember being very puzzled at all the jewels he bought, when mother hardly ever wore jewels.” He shrugged. “So you see, someone has to drive me hard. I have to be reliable, and I have to be dependable, because there are people depending on me. If I let myself go, I could easily become like my father. I’ve let myself go in this whole matter, and look what a mess I made.”

  He saw her eyes turned to him, reflecting confusion and wistfulness, and he felt he could not let it stand that way. He’d never talked of this to anyone, not even Gabriel, but now he sighed. “Before… when I was at Cambridge… The reason Gabriel could get into that cursed coil was that I was distracted. You see, there was a young woman. At least I thought she was a woman, and young, the daughter of a healer.”

  Nell frowned at him, her eyes intent. “She wasn’t?”

  Seraphim shook his head and was glad that the dark hid the blush he was sure had formed on his cheeks. “No. She was a… You’d call her a siren, I suppose. Not a mermaid, but a magical being of the same ilk. We … I was very young and I thought I was in love. We became involved. I still don’t know how I escaped, except she must have angered a very powerful man, possibly a rejected suitor.

  “I was maddened, and she was feeding on my passion and my magic. I must have looked like someone in the last stages of consumption. If I’d had one more encounter with her, it would surely have been my last. Only when I went to our meeting, I… some magic hit… and I saw her as she was.”

  He remembered the blood red lips, the clawed hands, the thing that was more demon than human, and closed his eyes, trying to erase the sight. It would be with him to his last day. “When I recovered—” As well not tell her that recovery had taken the form of an uproarious drunk, and then days of recovery with Gabriel – how could he not have noticed how abstracted and… yes, and happy, Gabriel was those days – looking after him and force feeding him broth, before Seraphim’s mind cleared. “When I recovered I realized I was as susceptible to lust and the madness of it as my poor Papa. I was no better than he. And later, when I found that due to my infatuation I’d missed Gabriel’s own infatuation, his own danger, and that he’d gotten involved with someone as dangerous—” He hesitated. What he’d seen just now in the basement room made him not so sure his evaluation had been correct. “At any rate, someone I’d thought as dangerous as my own infatuation…. And I’d let him get involved in it, without noticing, without caring, I who had promised to my father to look after him! You understand? You understand I realized I have the potential to be just like Papa and let everything go to ruin. And that’s why I must not let go.”

  She gave him a worried look. “I don’t think you could become like your father,” she said, and her voice was soft, looking up at him. “Truly, I don’t. Not if you mean his being irresponsible and letting go of things enough to hurt his family and let his duty devolve on you. I do think you could be easier, and take more joy in life, but I think you’re also afraid of it. You shouldn’t be. The duke is well enough, and I’m sure he’s a fine man. But I rather liked Mr. Ainsling these few days, getting confused about how to use stoves, and struggling with safety razors.”

  “You like me incompetent?” he said, only half teasing.

  “No. I like that you can laugh at yourself when things go severely awry.”

  He’d never be able to justify it. There was no justification. He was the worst of cads, the lowest of rakes, the most profoundly dishonorable of men. But what was flesh and blood to do, when she stood on her tiptoes, and put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him?

  It would have been well enough, he thought, after all, if she’d just kissed his lips.

  Or just kissed his cheek. But the thing was, first she kissed his cheek, a hesitant peck and quite appropriate even between cousins as distant as they were. So he relaxed a little, as she looked up at him, her eyes dark and deep in the moonlight.

  She said, in a little raspy voice, “Don’t go indulging in any heroics, please? Not without me, at least.”

  He laughed a little at her rider, thinking that if he was going into danger, risking taking the princess royal along was like dragging a tasty lamb with him, while going to hunt wild wolves. He was still laughing when she said, “Oh, I like you like that,” and stood on tiptoes and kissed his lips.

  It was awkward. Odd, his lips still being parted in laughter and his being caught by surprise. He’d kissed women before, albeit not many. He’d kissed Honoria, very properly, when she’d accepted his proposal. This was all different and difficult. But when her lips touched his, his body had ideas of its own and before Seraphim could make use of his not inconsiderable will power, his arms had surrounded her gracious form, enveloping her, and pulling her against him so hard that she let out a little squeak. Even that didn’t stop him, nor hitting her nose by accident as he drew her closer. His lips still found hers, and her lips were warm, with just a little edge of cold from its having been colder in the basement room.

  She tasted of vanilla and coffee, and when their mouths met, it was not as though they were exploring, but as though they’d kissed already a thousand times, and now he’d come home, he’d found his proper place, and kissing Nell was where he was supposed to be, and what he was supposed to do, lifting her off her feet by the strength of his arms and feeling her heart beat frantic against him – or his heart beating madly against her. It was as though they were not separate anymore but one. More, it was as though they were always supposed to be one.

  And then the light came on, sudden and harsh.

  They jumped apart so quickly that it felt to Seraphim, much as being lifted out of a full dream into the awakening light of day. He stood where he’d been, or a few feet away, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, at the same time wanting to preserve the sensation of the kiss, and to hide it from other eyes, as though the kiss were a physical thing, there to be discovered, and turning in startled alarm to see… Nell’s grandmother in the doorway.

  “Are they settled?” she asked. “Did you solve the problem? Who are they?”

  And Nell, looking ruffled, her hair all on end, saying, “Yes, yes
. They’re the duke’s half-brother and… and a friend. I’ll tell you all about it,” and started to walk towards the door.

  Seraphim was going to burn in hell. He was going to burn in hell for taking advantage of an innocent, which she was. Oh, he had few illusions about her relationship with Antoine, but that had been different. She had thought herself a woman of Earth then, and the rules were different. The same could be said for her lack of shock at Gabriel’s and Marlon’s relationship. Seraphim hadn’t yet decided if he liked that or hated it. After all, a wife who didn’t swoon at the mention of the more carnal parts of existence might be very useful when it came to discussing things men dealt with every day. It might even keep a man from straying if his wife was his best friend, and if he could discuss everything with her.

  But there he stopped short, because that was where he’d earned hell. He was thinking of Nell and wife in the same breath. But she was not his wife. She could not be his wife. She would not be his wife, even if he got his heart’s desire. Future queens don’t marry penniless dukes. They can’t, particularly not in days when the health of the kingdom is at stake. Particularly not when the queens have been raised abroad and therefore must be more perfect and unimpeachable than ever normal princesses were. Any idea of love between him and Nell was forlorn, and he should never have encouraged it – and to give him his due her kiss had taken him completely by surprise. She must already have perfected the princely art of showing nothing in her face of what she felt. Either that or, of course, she was quite oblivious to the arts of flirting in Britannia and therefore had neglected to give him the right signals. He considered that a moment, then nodded. Most of what she did, normally, would brand her a desperate hussy in Britannia. Only she had not behaved that way in Britannia. But one thing was knowing what to avoid, and another what to show, to ensnare someone. And that last, he’d bet, she knew not. And it was as well, since the marriage of future queens was not a matter of romancing, but a matter of state craft.

  All this crossed his mind as Nell went towards the door, up the creaking porch steps. He was ready when she turned back to look over her shoulder at him and said, hesitantly, “Seraphim? Are you–”

  “I need to go up to my room for a moment,” Seraphim said, and it was even true, curse Earth clothing. He needed time to compose his mind and calm his racing heart before he could face Nell and her grandmother and answer any questions the older lady might have – no, would have, if he had grown to know her inquisitive nature, and he had.

  He walked past them, up the stairs quickly, refusing to look and see whether Nell’s grandmother was staring narrowly at him, though he suspected she was. He tried not to hear their conversation either, though some of the words reached him. Fortunately they made next to no sense. He didn’t think that Marlon and Gabriel were particularly happy – and what did their state of euphoria have to do with anything? Or why be said with such a tone as though it explained anything.

  Down the hallway, into his room, and Seraphim closed the door, then took deep breaths. No, forget going back down and explaining things. If he saw Nell, he might lose control of himself yet again. It was the oddest thing. He’d never even felt like losing control with Honoria. No, perhaps that was not strange, since Honoria was an arranged match. A match he’d thought his father wanted. But he’d not felt like losing control with that opera dancer that he’d met while he was still at Eton, and whom he was sure was a prime article of virtue. Oh, he’d kissed her, and he’d have done more, if he’d had more money and not been a callow schoolboy whom she indulged in a kiss for a lark only. But he’d not felt as if he were plunging into the ocean, and over his head, and not in control of events. The only creature who’d made him lose control like this— Look what had come of that.

  Seeing Nell again might not be a good idea.

  And then there was the crazed Earth code. Nell would think she was supposed to go and brave danger alongside him, missing the fact that by being female she was more exposed, more vulnerable, and despite how much she might have worked for Sydell – Sydell was definitely on the list of people that Seraphim would like a long talk with – not as equipped for magical battle as she might think. And yet if Seraphim gave her half a chance, she’d insist on doing as much as he did. If not more.

  His breath was now calm, and his mind clearer. He looked around the room. He couldn’t take more appropriate clothes, because he had none. In a way, his very clothes would proclaim he’d been out of world, but he couldn’t go gallivanting around Britannia in a dressing gown, either. He’d take what he had on, and steal, beg, or borrow more appropriate attire once he got there. If he read the situation aright, he was already so deep in trouble that he would hardly get in more.

  He considered the pocket watch that had been his father’s and bit at the tip of his tongue. He was starting to think there was some spell or tracking attached to that watch. For a year it had told him whom to rescue – at least if he used other instruments for more precise tracking. But recently it had sent him on wild goose chases or led him to traps. He thought someone must have sneaked in a spell beneath the reliable shell of the watch. How anyone could do that, who didn’t have Darkwater blood – the watch being wrapped up in the family and the blood – he didn’t know. Then again, if the rumors about Papa were even half true, Gabriel was just the only half-brother who lived with the family – not the only one, or even an anomaly. No, Darkwater blood might not be an obstacle, and magic didn’t distinguish between legitimate and not. Only human law did that.

  He pursed his lips, then thought that here, in this house, in the heart of a world most magicians couldn’t brave, the watch would be safe enough. He’d leave it here and come back for it.

  It was going to be hard enough to transport without taking a possible tracking device along with him.

  Carefully, he built his spell. It was doubly difficult because he was transporting from the madhouse, and because he must keep it from the notice of the other magic users in the house.

  Slowly, carefully, he stacked the symbols and the thoughts, the links and the power. Sometimes he felt as though he were trying to move a mountain.

  By the time it was ready, his shirt was glued to him with sweat.

  He closed his eyes and stepped into the portal. It seemed to him that at the same moment an explosion shook him, but when he stepped from Betweener, he was in a Britannia street – or rather in an alley that felt and smelled like London.

  Just ahead of him, someone turned to look at him, and for a moment he thought it was Honoria. Same pale blond hair, same oval face. But then he realized that the face facing him, in total astonishment, was male.

  And as the person tried to focus his eyes, with visible effort which – judging from the smell coming from him was due to gin – Seraphim recognized him.

  “Damme, Darkwater,” Honoria’s immediately older brother Jonathan said. “Where did you come from and scare a man like that? And why are you wearing such odd togs?”

  The Explosion, The Princess, and The Brother

  Two women stood over him moving their lips. That’s how Gabriel first thought of it. Two women. He could see a power signature around each of them, though one was markedly odd. The older one’s. Not from Avalon. Different. Not from any world he knew, not even the many he and Seraphim had visited. He stared at her, narrowing his eyes. She was moving her lips in a way that indicated she was talking, but he couldn’t hear anything at all. So she wasn’t talking. Perhaps it was a spell.

  It didn’t look like a spell.

  He looked at the other woman, still frowning. A small, slim, dark-haired woman, quite young and with that sort of bearing that people always said meant she had a lot of countenance. She had a large aura of power and there was something about her that he should remember.

  Her lips, too, were moving, insistently, and now she reached over and grabbed his shoulder in a way that seemed over-familiar and moved her lips exaggeratedly. The other woman caught at her hand and pulled it away
, but not before Gabriel had seen enough of her lip movements to have his mind piece them out. “Seraphim.”

  Like that it all rushed in on him. The girl was the long lost princess of Britannia, and she and Seraphim had come here, to the Madhouse, to seek refuge from attempts to kill them by sending them to hostile worlds. And Marlon….

  He sat up and said, quite loudly, “Marlon! Elfborn?” He didn’t hear himself, either. The explosion? His ears? He didn’t remember hearing a sound from the explosion at all, but sitting in the garden, he turned his head towards the room he’d just left, and his mouth gaped open. The entire room – the portion of the basement that was visible just beneath the bottom floor, seemed to have blown out. The little lowered area where the stairs to the basement door had been had been blown entirely out, and the basement itself must have been blown out, because the foundation of the house looked askew.

  The women were trying to call his attention, gesturing at him, but he had no idea at all what their gestures meant. He couldn’t remember any sound from the explosion. He had no idea why he couldn’t hear them. But his mind slowly assembled that the explosion had come from where Marlon was. Marlon!

  He felt as though he’d just screamed Marlon’s name, and it left his throat raw, but he didn’t hear it.

  He scrambled up to his feet, first at a shambling gait that involved his knees and his hands, before he found his balance, not so much walking as flinging himself forward, towards the little room, towards–

  He found himself, tottering, at the edge of what was, reasonably, a crater. A black-scorched crater that extended under the house. One of the foundation beams must have been sundered or perhaps made askew, because the house was tilting downward there. But– But all there was where the little basement room had been was a vast expanse, coated with what looked like black glittering dust, as though a great flame had gone by leaving it quite scorched, carbonized, and covered in ice.