Of Fate and Phantoms (Ministry of Curiosities Book 7)

by C. J. Archer

  "Is there something else, your highness?" I asked.

  He returned to his chair, sighing as he settled down. He suddenly looked every bit middle-aged and weary, like a man with many burdens. Up until now, I'd thought him rather sprightly and reasonably handsome for a man nearing fifty. I wondered how he kept up with a wife, mistresses, children, a demanding mother and his duties as heir to the throne.

  "Sir?" I prompted. "Is there something else you wanted to ask me? Or something you wish me to pass on to Mr. Fitzroy?"

  "Fitzroy." He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "That's an interesting name."

  Ohhhh. So that's the direction his thoughts took. I sipped my tea, keen to see where this conversation led. Very keen.

  "Leisl's son," he mused. "And twenty-nine years of age."

  I pretended to study my cup but I kept my gaze on him through my lashes. He suddenly looked up, however, and my attempt at being subtle failed. My face flamed.

  "What's he like?" he asked.

  "Er, well, he's nice." I winced. "He's interesting. He's been kind to me." Most of the time, I might have added, if I were being honest. "He's extraordinarily clever, highly capable at everything, and not someone who should be crossed without good reason."

  What else should I tell him? That he'd been brought up by a cold man, who turned out to be a killer, and servants who didn't care for him? Should I tell Lincoln's father that his son had difficulty trusting and loving because of that upbringing? That he never cared for his own wellbeing until recently? That he would have turned out vastly different if only his mother had been allowed to keep him and love him? That he was chosen to lead the ministry because he was the son of the prince himself?

  "Is he a good leader?" he asked. "Do his mean respect him?"

  "Very much so." Except for the occasional jibe out of his hearing, but I didn't think the prince cared about that. "Perhaps you ought to visit him and get to know him better."

  "Why would I want to do that?"

  I blinked. "I—I don't know."

  "He's better off not knowing me beyond our current interactions. I can do nothing for him, be nothing to him." He spoke as if he knew I was aware he was Lincoln's father. He probably assumed Leisl had mentioned it. "Does he see his mother much?"

  The question surprised me. "No. He never met her until that night at the Hothfields’ ball."

  "He was brought up by English parents? Thought so. Explains his accent, his bearing, manners, what have you. Best thing Leisl could have done for him, giving him up. But he knew who she was at the ball?"

  "He did," I managed to say.

  "And has he seen her since?"

  "No."

  He nodded approval. "Very wise. It could damage his reputation if his relationship to her gets out."

  "It hasn't damaged your reputation," I spat before I could check myself. "Your highenss," I added in a vain hope to appease him.

  He bristled. His nostrils flared. I wished the chair would swallow me up.

  "I mean…that is…"

  His face softened. "She did announce it to the entire bloody world that night," he muttered. "Thank God it hasn't got into the papers. My mother would box my ears."

  "May I be so bold as to ask you something a little personal?"

  "My disapproval hasn't stopped you speaking up so far."

  My face heated again, but I forged on. "You must have cared for Leisl then. If I could tell Lincoln that his parents were in love, it might…" I shrugged, no longer sure what I wanted to achieve. Did Lincoln even care if his parents had feelings for one another?

  The prince shifted in his chair and studied his glass again. After a moment, he drank the contents to the last drop. He set the glass down on the table beside him with very deliberate, slow movements. "You are bold."

  "So Lincoln tells me."

  "You're close."

  "He's asked me to marry him."

  His eyes flared wide. "I see."

  I didn't think he was interested because he cared about Lincoln's life, or mine, but because he wanted to know how much he could trust me. A mere employee or casual friend shouldn't hear certain things, but a lover was a different matter.

  "I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you, Miss Holloway. Love played no part in what occurred between Leisl and me. Not on my part, and I'd hazard a guess not on hers either. We came together for reasons I can't entirely put into words. She was very beautiful, certainly, but I see beautiful women every day." He studied his hands, clasped lightly in his lap. "I don't know why I stooped so low. A gypsy." He shook his head. "She worked at the fair, for God's sake. She told fortunes. I must have been mad." He looked at me, parted his hands, turning up the palms. "There you have it. It was madness that brought us together. How else to explain it? We were two people from very different worlds, with nothing in common, who probably couldn't think of two words to say to one another under normal circumstances. But something came over us that day. Something I cannot fully explain. I simply had to be with her. It was like a compulsion."

  Did he mean lust? Had Leisl used her beauty to lure him to her bed because she knew about the prophecy? Or had fate stepped in and thrown them together?

  "Thank you for your honesty, your highness."

  "Will you pass on what I said to Mr. Fitzroy?"

  "If he asks, yes. But if he does not…I'm not sure. It's hardly a comforting story. I'd like him to see his mother again, though. I'd like him to get to know a member of his family and she is the most…accessible to him."

  He inclined his head in a nod, but his lips flattened in disapproval. I held my breath, hoping he'd invite Lincoln to a private dinner, but he simply said, "There may be occasions when we have to meet. I'd like to see the ministry take on a more official role."

  "Official? Do you mean for the supernatural to be brought into the open?"

  He smiled. "I admire your curiosity, Miss Holloway, but I'm afraid I cannot answer that. Not until I've taken some advice on board."

  "Of course. If you need to discuss anything, I'm sure Lincoln would be happy to tell you more about what we do."

  He gave no indication if he would consult with Lincoln, and I grew concerned that he would speak with one of the lords on the committee instead. I was about to tell him not to approach anyone else, but he rose and peered down his nose at me.

  "My man will return you to Lichfield Towers when you're ready."

  It would seem he expected me to be ready now. I rose and performed another curtsy. "Good evening, your highness. I do apologize for my attire, and my attempted escape earlier."

  "It's quite all right. I understand why you were apprehensive."

  I doubted he truly did but refrained from saying so. He tugged on the bell pull and a moment later a footman collected me. The prince remained behind in the parlor and I returned to the carriage.

  "Take me to Rugby Street, Bloomsbury," I said to the coachman before climbing in.

  We rolled away through the puddles and picked up speed once we left the gates behind, so that we reached Bloomsbury quickly. The coachman left me at the top of the street and asked if I was sure I wanted to remain.

  Gus stepped out of the shadows nearby to see who'd arrived. He saw me and approached.

  "Yes, thank you," I told the driver. "My friends are here."

  "What're you doing?" Gus asked as the coach drove off.

  "I wanted to tell you something before you spoke with King. Has he not come back?"

  He shook his head.

  "You must all be freezing."

  "It ain't no picnic."

  "Where's Lincoln?"

  He nodded at the tree at the opposite end of Rugby Street. I couldn't see Lincoln. "He won't like that you've come back," Gus said.

  "I know."

  He melted back into the shadows and I ventured toward the tree. I couldn't make out anyone in the shadows, so when Lincoln called my name softly, I jumped.

  "Up here," he said.

  I tilted my head back. He sat in
the fork of two branches, high up. I climbed and settled on the branch beside him.

  "You're still wet," he said, touching my hair.

  "I haven't been home yet. The Prince of Wales's coach met me and took me to see him. He wanted an update on our progress and to tell us the imposter paid the queen another visit yesterday. She believed him to be the spirit of her dead husband."

  "How did he get into the palace?"

  "He slipped past the guards and servants somehow and spent time with her alone. They merely conversed. He didn't harm her. I wanted you to know before you spoke with King. Also, the prince thinks King wants the queen to influence something, perhaps a business or a political matter."

  "I'll ask him." He leaned against the tree trunk. "You sent the coach away."

  "I can get another hack."

  "Hmmm."

  "You disapprove of me returning?"

  "Does it matter if I do?"

  "I'm not sure." I considered my options and decided I ought to leave again and opened my mouth to tell him.

  He suddenly went very still and gripped my hand. It was difficult to see his expression in the poor light, but his body tensed, alert and ready to spring. Then I heard it too. Yelping. Not barking, but certainly animal noises.

  They stopped and I craned my neck to see where. I didn't dare ask Lincoln if he could see them. Their hearing was far too good.

  A few moments later, a group of six wandered past the tree, all of them in human form. They must have changed back into their clothes in the lane again after their run.

  "I ought to go," I heard Harriet say. "Could you find me a hackney, Mr. King?"

  "Already?" drawled a man. "But it's early. My dear Lady Gillingham, we would very much enjoy your company a little longer."

  "Mr. King, I must insist. My husband will be worried."

  "From what you've told us, your husband won't be worried for your wellbeing, more for his reputation. He doesn't deserve your consideration. Stay," he purred. "We appreciate you and wish to get to know you better." King's rich, honeyed voice resonated through the dense air. There was no hint of the East End in his accent, but it wasn't as plummy as Harriet's.

  "I don't know." Harriet stopped and glanced behind her. "I do want to get to know you better too, but I've been gone quite a while."

  The group spread out and surrounded her, as if King had given them an order. But I'd heard none. He took her hands. "I insist. We'll drink wine and eat cake into the evening. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

  "Ye-es but—"

  "No buts! It's arranged. You'll come back to my place."

  "I really shouldn't."

  King didn't answer. Perhaps it was simply my imagination but I felt the air close in. Harriet glanced at the people surrounding her and tried to pull her hands free from King's, but he didn't let go.

  "You misunderstood." King's voice turned harsh, tight. "I insist you join us this evening. You're one of us now and your initiation is not yet over."

  "I—I don't understand."

  "It's simple. You've run with us. You're part of my pack now and that means there are rules to follow."

  "Can you not write them down and send them to my home?"

  His brittle chuckle held none of his earlier charm. "And risk them being intercepted? You are a sweet girl, but very naive. Let me blunt. One rule is that I, as pack leader, am entitled to call upon you."

  "By all means, do so. My husband will want to meet you, of course. I warn you, he won't like you, out of principle. He dislikes my—"

  "You misunderstand. I mean, I expect certain…privileges from you."

  "W—what kind of privileges?"

  He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek. "Can you not guess, my sweet?"

  She recoiled and stepped back, only to be caught by the two men. "What are you doing?" she screeched. "Unhand me!" She struggled against them but they held firm.

  King hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. The other men let go and he forced her to walk on. She resisted every step but he was too strong.

  "Stop!" she cried. "Stop at—"

  He placed a hand over her mouth, but I heard her muffled scream. The neighbors in their houses would not.

  Beside me, Lincoln whistled and Gus and Seth emerged from their hiding spots. "Stay here," he ordered me, then jumped down from the tree.

  The shifters halted and swung around. They sniffed the air. Some bared teeth in snarls.

  "Go away," King snapped at Lincoln then walked off again, forcing Harriet along.

  He must have loosened his grip enough for her to break free, however, because she tore away and screamed. In a flash, King caught her and lifted a hand to punch her.

  Lincoln rushed at him and grabbed his fist. He wrenched it back, unbalancing King, tackling him to the ground. Lincoln delivered a punch to King's jaw before the other two men leapt onto Lincoln's back.

  "Harriet, move!" Seth ordered as he ran up. He drew his pistol but Lincoln's attackers didn't stay still and he couldn't fire safely.

  Lincoln threw one of them off him but the other landed a punch to his stomach. He grunted and coughed but swung his fist and hit his target's cheek.

  Gus, too, had pulled out his pistol but couldn't fire. The fight was much too close, the risks too high. With a growl of frustration, he kicked one of Lincoln's attackers. But he too was soon overset by one of the females. In that instant, he could have shot her, but he did not—out of chivalry, knowing Gus. Then it was too late. She knocked the weapon out of his hand. It skidded away, out of reach.

  I remained in the tree, waiting for the right moment. But what moment? What could I do? Even the women were too strong and fast for me. Gus could only shield his body from the blows of the one attacking him, and he only occasionally got in a punch or kick. Seth fared no better with the other woman, and with two men attacking him, Lincoln had fallen to the road. They kicked him in the ribs, stomach and legs. He curled in on himself, but they showed no mercy.

  Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision. My stomach knotted with revulsion and fear and hopelessness. I prayed to a God I hardly even believed in as tears rolled down my cheeks.

  "You brought them here, didn't you?" King growled at Harriet. "You led them to me!"

  Harriet had descended into hysteria, crying and whimpering on her knees. King hauled her to her feet and half-dragged her toward his house. She didn't resist. She couldn't.

  The blows kept coming. Lincoln, Seth and Gus could hardly even defend themselves anymore. Seth tried to retrieve his gun, but his hand was kicked away. He cried out and cradled it to his chest.

  "Kill them," King said over his shoulder to his pack. "Then dispose of their bodies. Do it quickly before the neighbors see."

  Chapter 15

  I had one weapon in my arsenal; the same weapon I'd had my entire life, only I'd not treated it as such until last summer—my necromancy. And with time against me, there was only one way in which to use it.

  My gut protested at the what I must do, but I ignored its churning, ignored my conscience. I had to save my friends, no matter the cost.

  I climbed down from the tree as silently as possible. It wasn't silent enough. One of the men attacking Lincoln looked up. His lips peeled back in a snarl and he prepared to spring at me.

  I dove for Gus's gun at the same moment the man leapt at me. I rolled out of the way, as Lincoln had taught me in training, and the man landed on the road with a sickening thud and a yelp of surprise. In that blink of a moment, I rose on one bruised knee, steadied my aim, and fired.

  The bullet hit him in the shoulder. He jerked back and cried out. His friends paused, looked up. They stood as one, and spread out to circle me. They would risk their lives to capture me, or perhaps they didn't think I would kill.

  "Don't come any closer," I said, aiming at the injured man.

  They did not stop. They stepped in, tightening the circle around me. The injured man joined them, his shoulder damp with blood. They snarled
deep in their throats. I'd heard stray, hungry dogs snarl like that, right before attacking their prey.

  I clutched the gun in both hands. It shook. "Get back!"

  But instead of stopping or retreating, I heard a noise behind me. I swiveled in time to see one of the women leaping at me. I fired.

  The bullet hit her square in the chest and she fell to the ground. She did not get up.

  Oh God.

  I lowered the weapon and stared at the body. Blood seeped out from under it and pooled on the road. A white mist rose and hovered in the air. It formed the shape of the dead woman, in human form, and wailed.

  "You killed her," the other woman said, her eyes huge. "You killed Maggie."

  "You attacked me," I said. "You attacked my friends."

  She continued to stare, but her face hardened, her nostrils flared. "You bloody killed her!" She ran at me.

  "Get into your body!" I managed to shout at the spirit. "Lie on your body now and—"

  The woman tackled me and we hit the ground together. My head smacked the road and the air left my lungs. Everything went black. I couldn't see if the spirit had done as I ordered. I couldn't even move. The woman sat on me, pinning me. I braced myself, expecting her fist to smash into my face.

  But it did not. My vision returned. I blinked up at her, but she wasn't looking at me. She stared at the corpse, now lurching to its feet. The other pack members didn't move. All gaped at the dead woman standing on unsteady feet, inspecting herself with eyes that couldn't really see. It was her spirit eyes that saw, not her human ones, and what she saw amazed her.

  "I…I am alive." Her voice came out thin, brittle, struggling as it did through muscle, flesh and sinew that had to learn how to work again in dead form.

  The two men approached her, touched her, checked her wound. The one who looked into her eyes suddenly recoiled with a yelp.

  "Not alive," I told her and the others. "You're dead. I've brought you back to occupy your body."

  They all stared at me. The woman who'd attacked me scampered back, falling over in her haste to get away from me. "What are you?" she whispered.