Waltz of the Crows

by L Rollins

  Leila held still; then why wasn’t the dark magic hurting him? How was it he could he wield the whip? She certainly didn’t know how. But then, maybe she didn’t need to know.

  A sliver of an idea came to her.

  It would be risky. And if it failed, she would probably kill herself. She thought through any other options.

  Yes, this idea was her and Samuel’s best chance at living.

  Leila moved toward a cluster of metal shards and kicked one.

  Claude jumped out of the way, then smirked. “That was your plan?”

  She ignored him as she kicked more shards toward the opposite wall, aiming for the space between Claude and the box on the wall.

  He watched her, lips pursed. “Honestly, I’d expected more of a fight from you. Or are you finally realizing that you can’t beat me? I am stronger and better armed.” He cracked the whip in her direction.

  Her lip twitched upward. “You are.” Yet, she would still outthink him.

  Time to sprint. With over a dozen metal pieces between Claude and the box, Leila reached for a large pot and hurled it directly at him.

  Claude crouched and flicked his whip.

  Not waiting for it to splinter at his magic, Leila surged forward, heading directly for the box. The pot exploded with a deafening crack. Pieces rained down on her as she sprinted across the cellar.

  She smacked into the wall and reached for the switches.

  Claude screamed as his whip cracked again. Heat and blue light pressed against Leila’s side. Hair hanging against her cheek curled. Leila pulled back just in time. The whip smacked into the wall beside her and then flew back toward Claude.

  She grabbed all five switches in both hands—there was no way of knowing which did what—and yanked them down.

  The blue light vanished. The cellar was pitch black.

  Claude let out a stream of curses and his heavy steps neared her.

  Metal clattered and he cried out, hitting the floor with a thunk. Leila pressed against the switches once more, flinging them fully upward.

  The room was filled with blue light. It shot down the walls in an intense roll.

  Claude lay among the many metal shards, bleeding.

  “Devil take your soul—”

  A flash of blue light jumped from the wall to a metal shard beside his hand. Claude cried out and tried to back away, but another streak of light pounced on him.

  One, then another slither of light encompassed his body. His eyes widened and then rolled back in his head. He convulsed, his teeth clattering against each other.

  Leila forced the switches back down.

  The room dropped into darkness.

  Claude was silent.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  SAMUEL AWOKE WITH a start.

  He breathed in deep and sat up. His head swam and he instantly had to lie back down.

  Samuel placed a hand to his head. There was a pillow beneath him, and a mattress under him as well. How did that happen?

  He’d been in the cellar with Leila.

  Was she all right?

  He opened his eyes again and looked around. He was in his own bedchamber. He looked past his feet and at the single window. What he wouldn’t give to see her climb through there just one more time.

  Grabbing tight to the head of the bed, Samuel willed his balance to come back to him. He swung first one foot, then the other over the edge. Someone had removed his boots, but his shirt was still blood stained.

  How long had he been out? He pushed himself to stand. Staggered. Righted himself once more.

  With uneven steps, he made his way to the door and flung it open.

  “Hello?” he called.

  “Samuel?” Amelia was beside him, her arms around his waist, nearly squeezing any needed breath he had out of him.

  “Not so tight.” He winced. His left side burned horribly. He’d had more than one broken rib in his day and it felt like he’d just gotten another.

  Amelia pulled back. “I am sorry.” She gave him a repentant grin. “I’m just so glad to see you awake.”

  “How did I get here?” He ran a hand down his face. It wouldn’t do to tell his sister just how wobbly he felt. He couldn’t remember a time, ever, when the walls around him seemed to sway quite so violently.

  “Monsieur Winstone and Leila brought you.”

  Samuel felt his whole frame relax. If Leila had been with Monsieur Winstone, she was all right. “She didn’t seem injured, did she?”

  Amelia shook her head as her face scrunched up with worry. “I don’t think so. They didn’t explain much, and they had to leave right away. You were out all yesterday.”

  Gads, that long? Samuel glanced back at the window—he hadn’t thought to note the time of day before. The sun shone, but judging by the color it was nearer sunset than sunrise.

  He leaned against the door frame, careful of his ribs. “Where’s Claude?”

  “How did you know about Monsieur Martin?” Color drained from her face. “You didn’t . . . You weren’t part of that, were you?”

  “Amelia,” he said, shutting his eyes. “Let’s just assume your brother has been through a lengthy ordeal and skip the mother-hen part. Please, just tell me what you know.”

  Her lips pursed in an irritated pout. “Well, ungrateful brother, it’s been going around town that Monsieur Martin was arrested and found guilty of poisoning the wells with mercury, causing the waltzing flu.”

  “Leila and the Winstones?” He needed to lay back down. And he would, once he knew more about how Leila was fairing.

  “They’re still staying at the castle, but I hear with both Monsieur Martin and his housekeeper gone, everything is little better than crazed chaos.”

  Samuel leaned forward. There were still dozens of victims sick and dying. “Leila will need help.” He couldn’t fathom trying to keep the castle running smoothly at a time like this.

  Amelia placed her hands against his chest. “Leila didn’t say much, but she did make it quite clear that you weren’t to leave this house until you were better.”

  He pushed past his sister. “I am better.” He stumbled a few steps forward, paused only long enough to regain his balance, then climbed down the stairs, holding tight to the handrail.

  His legs and arms felt strange and his ribs hurt like the devil himself had beaten Samuel, but none of that was going to stop him from getting to Leila. He needed to see her for himself and know that she was safe.

  Amelia didn’t stop him as he quickly cranked his motorcar and flung himself into the driver’s seat. He could walk to the castle, he’d done it most days since returning to Conques, but this would be faster. Sitting behind the wheel once more brought with it the sweet memories of when he’d first met Leila. Gads—he punched down on the pedals—if she wasn’t perfectly all right . . . Well, he didn’t know what he would do, but he was quite certain that whoever was responsible for Leila’s less than perfect condition was going to find themselves in need of a doctor by the time Samuel was done with them.

  Samuel sped through town, arriving at the castle a few minutes after leaving home. He threw the motorcar into park, climbed out, and began circling the large edifice.

  It certainly wasn’t as chaotic as Amelia made it sound. Nurses strode about the yard with patients, and more flowed in and out of doors, just as they had before catching Claude.

  Samuel hurried from one group to another. He couldn’t see Leila anywhere. Would she be working with patients? Or speaking with Monsieur Winstone somewhere? How was Madame Winstone doing?

  Lud, he had too many questions and none of them eased the burning in his chest.

  A figure, dressed as a nurse, but with her beautiful hair down, caught his eye. Leila.

  She stood inside beside a window. It looked like she was speaking to someone who was resting on a bed or in a chair nearby, since was she hunched over a bit.

  Samuel hurried forward, directly up to the window. Pulling it open, he swung one leg over the e
dge.

  Leila glanced up, surprise evident in her expression. Then it eased into a large smile.

  Gritting against the pain in his ribs, he pulled his other leg up and over.

  “Samuel, you’re awake!” She hurried over to him. “And you came in through the window,” she added with a chuckle.

  “Thought I’d repay you in kind.”

  He drew her in close, not caring about the stares they were getting from patients and other nurses alike.

  She smelled like his Leila. The way her hair tickled the side of his cheek, the feel of her pressed up against him, this was the only thing he wanted.

  Leila sighed against him, snuggling in closer.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “They’ve convicted and sentenced Claude to be hanged.” Leila made no move to step back; not that Samuel minded. “It isn’t the same as having found a cure. But clean water is being brought in from nearby towns. Without the constant addition of more mercury we’re hopeful most of the patients will see a reduction in symptoms.”

  He hugged her tighter. “You did it.” Gears above, but he was proud of her. Without Leila’s sharp wit and attentive intelligence, Conques would still be in the hands of a mad man. But that meant . . . Samuel’s heart squeezed. Now that her assignment was done. . .

  “Will you have to leave again?” he whispered.

  “Yes.” Disappointment hung heavily on the simple word. “I expect London has already sent another message demanding I return.”

  “Leila,” came a sharp voice. They both looked up to see Madame Hamon striding purposely toward them. “Your parents would no doubt be appalled to hear you were embracing a man in such a manner, in public, no less.”

  “Welcome back, Madame Hamon,” Samuel said. Leila dropped her arms, but he only looped his more firmly around her. “I heard you were away.”

  A thin eyebrow lifted so far as to nearly disappear within the woman’s tight bun. “I am back, sir. And I can assure you I am very much in control of my nurses at all times.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.”

  She only narrowed her glare at his pleasant response. Turning her nose upward, she spoke directly to Leila.

  “Monsieur and Madame Winstone wish to speak with you. They are in Madame’s room. There is a Monsieur Farley with them.”

  Leila stiffened in his arms. She looked up at him with uncertainty in her eyes.

  Madame Hamon spun on her heel and marched off.

  “Who is this Farley?” Samuel asked in a low voice.

  “Victor reports to him.”

  Gads, her face was losing color quick. “He’s here to reassign you?”

  She shook her head. “He doesn’t reassign people. He holds them accountable for treason.”

  Oh.

  Leila stepped away and toward the door. Samuel followed by her side. He wouldn’t let her face this alone. “Cheer up. This is France, not England. He doesn’t have any authority here.”

  They moved out of the door and up the large staircase. “He doesn’t need authority. He’ll do as he sees fit.”

  Samuel kept his tone upbeat, masking the unease brewing in his stomach. “Tell you what, if worse comes to worse, I’ll whisk you away and we’ll start our own little spy network somewhere else.”

  They paused just outside Madame Winstone’s room. Staring at the wooden door brought back memories of that first time he stepped into Madame’s room—that was when he learned the truth about Leila’s role in Conques. Now, that was going to end.

  “Our own spy network? Who would we spy on and why?”

  He shrugged, still hoping to ease her tension. “Whomever we want, for any reason we can dream up.”

  She gave him a half smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Then, Leila pushed her shoulders back and reached for the door handle.

  Samuel placed a hand over the top of hers. “Wait.” He couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice.

  Leila turned toward him.

  He cupped her face in his hands. “You are a brilliant spy, and I won’t ask you to give that up. But, if I were any more of a cad this is what I would say: I love you, Leila. Please marry me.”

  She sighed and leaned against his hand. “I love you too, Samuel Rowley.”

  Leaning forward, he kissed her lightly. “How are we going to solve this problem?”

  “I don’t know.” She went up on tip toe and kissed him again. “But I’m not done thinking.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  LEILA PUSHED THE door open and strode into Inez’s room, Samuel beside her.

  “Good evening, sir.” She gave Mr. Farley a polite curtsy.

  Inez lay in her bed, though her face had more color than it did earlier that morning. Her many bandages appeared to have been recently attended to.

  Leila was glad of it. What a relief she’d felt when, night before last, after she’d tied up Claude and run to the castle for Victor, she’d learned that Inez would live.

  She gave both her dear friends a polite bow as well. “Sir. Madame.” It wasn’t something she did in private, but when others were present, she preferred to show her respect for the Winstones.

  Mr. Farley didn’t return her greeting. “Leila Bartel, you have deliberately disobeyed direct orders. Explain yourself.”

  He didn’t offer her a chair, but sat himself in the center of the room. She looked like a perpetrator standing before a judge. He undoubtedly wanted her to feel so.

  “Sir,” she began, careful to keep her voice from shaking. Samuel reached out and took hold of her hand. Confidence and reassurance rushed up her arm at his touch. He loved her. She loved him. Together, they would figure this out.

  “I began my return as ordered, but felt I had to return once I realized the Constable had arrested the wrong individual. So, I returned—”

  “I’ve heard the story from the Winstones.”

  Thankfully, it sounded as though Inez had put in her two cents as well as Victor. Leila held Victor in high esteem; truth be told, she very much wanted to be like him someday. But that didn't mean she was blind to the fact that he wasn’t always Samuel’s biggest advocate. Nor was he fond of her doing things her own way.

  Which was ironic, because he always did things his own way.

  “I’m not here to listen to your excuses,” Mr. Farley continued. “I’m here to determine what London should do with you.”

  “Sir,” Samuel spoke for the first time. “If you’ll pardon—”

  “No, I won’t.” Farley spoke over him. “You must be Rowley. I’ve heard mixed accounts regarding you. Some say you are impulsive and thoughtless. Others say you are hard working. Others still, dependable.”

  Farley waved a hand at them, then leaned forward, resting his forearms against his legs. “Knowing everything about everyone is my job.”

  “Then you would know this.” Samuel took his turn speaking over the top of others. “Leila is far too good a spy to be married off to some German snob. If you place her in a position where her days are spent doing nothing but listening to gossip, you will be wasting a talented and brilliant individual.”

  The room was quiet.

  Leila felt warm to her toes at Samuel’s praise. Even if Farley disagreed, it was wonderful knowing he thought so of her. And it gave her an idea. A man like Farley needed to feel he was maneuvering the spy network reporting to him to the utmost advantage.

  It seemed it was time for some old-fashioned brown-nosing.

  “I am sure you know best,” she began, keeping her tone submissive. “If you feel I can be of the most service married to the Count, I will do it. I returned to Conques, not as an act of rebellion, but to finish my original mission.”

  His thumb slowly stroked his short beard. But he appeared to be listening to her. That was a good sign.

  Leila continued. “I believe I have proved I can be of better aid to you and London if placed in a more . . . demanding capacity.”

  He leaned back i
n his chair, which creaked as he adjusted his weight. “Consider what you are asking. If I send you to Germany, you will be able to keep in closer contact with your family and friends in England.”

  “I understand. Only,” she squeezed Samuel’s hand, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Grant me one thing.”

  Farley shook his head. “We can’t have a Frenchman be a British spy.”

  “It seems to me,” Victor spoke for the first time, “That trustworthy individuals from other countries have aided England before. We are not at war with France anymore.”

  Leila looked over at the Winstones. Was Victor standing up for Samuel? Well, there was a first for everything.

  Inez smiled back at her, then spoke to Farley. “I would add, that Leila isn’t the only one who has proved their mettle during this ordeal.”

  Farley ran a hand down his face. “Is that so, Inez?” He threw his hands up. “Fine. Since Leila hasn’t officially finished her training, I have a small amount of wiggle room. She is free to attach herself to whatever blackguard she desires, so long as it’s before she returns to London.”

  He stood, checking off the details one finger at a time: it would have to be a small wedding, not largely talked about, and it would have to happen almost immediately.

  Leila stopped listening. Instead, she turned to Samuel, who wrapped her in his arms. When Farley tried to gather her attention again, Inez spoke up and they carried on with the plans.

  They had done it. She didn’t have to leave him, after all.

  “Want to follow me across the wild globe, spying and catching perpetrators?” she asked Samuel.

  He kissed her neck. “Sounds exciting. Only promise me it won’t require any more window lurking.”

  She tilted her head. A short engagement sounded just about right. “You didn’t like that?”

  “I liked it far too much.” He kissed her softly. “Marry me, dearest?” he asked, all teasing gone.

  “Yes.” She ran her fingers up through his hair. “Absolutely, yes.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE