The Wisdom of Madness: The Ministry of Curiosities, Book #10

by C. J. Archer

  I chewed the inside of my lower lip and shrugged one shoulder.

  "Bloody hell, Emily, do you know what you've done?" He stood and paced across the rug to the hearth and back. He completed the short distance in two strides. "Shape-shifting demons are dangerous. They roam at night, searching for food. And I'm not referring to the pies and boiled potatoes variety. I mean living flesh and blood."

  I gulped down the bile rising up my throat. "Oh God," I whispered. I pressed a hand to my stomach to settle it, but to no avail. It continued roiling beneath my corset. What had we done?

  He suddenly stopped pacing and blinked at me. "Sorry," he said softly, "I shouldn't have gone into detail." He crouched in front of me and went to touch my hands, still holding my stomach, but drew back before making contact. "Are you all right? You've gone pale."

  "That's quite a feat considering my skin tone," I said, attempting to smile. I reached out to press his arm in reassurance but he stood suddenly. All the softness in his eyes vanished and I bristled in response to the coldness in them. Obviously physical contact was not something he wanted.

  I wondered when he'd last touched a live person. Unless he'd stumbled across someone else who could see spirits—and therefore touch him—it would have been before he died.

  "If that incantation is what released the demon," I said, "then it's not a very fool proof system your Administrators have to keep them in check." I couldn't help the sarcasm dripping off the words like rain drops off leaves. His sudden changes of mood had me confused and bothered which in turn threw up my own defenses. I couldn't tell if he was friend or foe yet.

  "I think we've already demonstrated that," he said.

  I shot him a withering look. "They ought to have better mechanisms for controlling their demons."

  "It's not just a matter of repeating the incantation. It must be done when the portals between this world and the Waiting Area are opened as they are during your séances." He held up the amulet. "And while touching a cursed object."

  "Cursed? Someone has cursed that?"

  He nodded.

  "It really shouldn't have been given away then."

  "Very observant of you."

  Another withering look would have been excessive but I gave him one anyway.

  He shot me a small smile in return which I found most disconcerting. But then the smile vanished and he was all seriousness again. "The amulet acts as a talisman," he said, "linking the wearer to the demon."

  He dangled the amulet from its leather strap and dropped it into my palm. "We need to find the person who gave it to your sister. When does the peddler return?"

  "Not until Thursday."

  He rubbed his hand over his chin. "Damnation." He glanced at me and bowed his head. "Sorry for my language, it was inappropriate." Despite the bow, he didn't seem sorry at all. There wasn't a hint of regret on his face, just that smile again, as if he was amused at shocking me. Not that I was shocked. I'd heard worse at the markets.

  "But you must understand," he went on, "that we need to locate this peddler as soon as possible."

  "We need to?"

  "You are the one who released the demon so it's only fair you bear some of the responsibility for returning it."

  I bristled and bit the inside of my lip to stop myself telling him what had really happened. Celia had better appreciate my covering for her.

  My sister took that moment to enter the drawing room and promptly sat on the sofa and poured herself a cup of tea. She seemed completely oblivious to the tension in the room, even though it was so dense I felt like I couldn't breathe.

  "Is the ghost gone?" she asked me.

  "No."

  "Well Bella is. Packed her bags and almost ran out the door. I couldn't get a sensible word out of her." She lifted her teacup to her lips then lowered it without taking a sip. "I'd no idea she was such a flighty girl. The next one should have a sturdier constitution. Have you still got a copy of the last advertisement we used, Em? No need to write it all out again."

  "Jacob suggested we try a school in Clerkenwell. The children learn the art of domestic service there."

  Celia scoffed into her teacup. "Hardly an art, my dear, if Bella's efforts at cooking were anything to go by. Very well, I shall go in the morning." She nodded at the framed daguerreotype of her father now back on the mantelpiece. "I see you've put the portrait of Father down." Her voice rose a little, the way it always did when she spoke directly to a spirit. As if it was hard of hearing. Not that she spoke to them very often. She usually left that part of the séance to me. It's why I was the one who received the strange looks from the guests. That way Celia managed to avoid the worst of the Freak label. "Do you mind very much picking it up again so I can see where you are?" she asked him.

  Jacob crossed his arms over his chest. "Rather demanding, isn't she?"

  I took two steps toward him, bringing me within arm's distance. "You may be ethereal but you are still a guest in our home, Mr. Beaufort, and I would suggest you behave as a gentleman would and do as my sister requests." His eyes grew wider with every word. I squared up to him, and although I was much shorter than he, I felt like I had the upper hand in the exchange. "Or have you forgotten how a gentleman should behave?"

  He couldn't have stiffened any more if someone had dripped ice cold water down his spine.

  "It is only polite after all to allow Celia to know your general location," I went on, "since you have the advantage of being able to see her."

  He lowered his arms to his sides and nodded once. "Point taken." He edged around the furniture to the mantelpiece and picked up the other portrait this time, the one of Mama. "Lucky I'm a ghost or those barbs would have really hurt," he said to the daguerreotype.

  My irritation flowed out of me at his absurd sense of humor. I controlled my smile as best I could however. It would have undermined my argument.

  "I see you two have become further acquainted with each other during my absence," Celia said, eyeing me carefully. She forked one brow and I shook my head. I was in no danger from Jacob. He needed me to find the amulet peddler. And the demon. "Have you discovered what he means by being assigned to you?" she went on.

  I explained about the demon we released, emphasizing the we and winking at her as I did so. Now that I had let Jacob think I'd been as guilty as Celia, I didn't want him to know I had deliberately misled him. It felt dishonorable somehow.

  Apparently Celia didn't agree with me. "No," she said and placed her teacup and saucer carefully on the table. "I cannot let you take the blame, Em. I was the one who bought the amulet and it was I who invoked the demon. It was nothing to do with Emily," she said to Jacob.

  He lowered the picture frame and regarded me levelly. "Very noble of you," he muttered. "And now I suppose I owe you an apology."

  "Don’t trouble yourself," I said more curtly than I intended.

  He winced then bowed. "I've behaved despicably, both as a gentleman and as a guest." He spoke quietly and his mouth softened, no longer forming a grim line. "I hope you can forgive me." As apologies went, it seemed genuine. "I would ask the Administrators to assign someone else to you but there is no one else."

  "Isn't the Waiting Area filled with thousands of ghosts? That's what several of them had told me and I'd never had any reason to doubt them.

  "There is, but few are like me."

  "You mean solid, or at least have the appearance of it?"

  He nodded. "Without the solidness as you call it, I couldn't follow you wherever you go. Most spirits are limited to a specific location, as you know. I can go anywhere I please."

  "Fascinating." I cast my eye over him again. He certainly looked nothing like the other ghosts with their fuzzy centers and fading edges. Indeed he looked healthy, full of life. And so handsome it was all I could do to stop myself from reaching out and caressing the skin at his throat. It would be smooth and butter-soft, I guessed, but cool. I'd only ever touched a ghost once before and she'd been cool despite it being a warm day
.

  "Really, Emily," Celia scolded.

  I snatched my attention away from Jacob but tried my best to ignore my sister, which wasn't easy considering her annoyance vibrated off her. She didn't need to say anything else. We knew each other well enough to know what the other was thinking. In this case it was my fascination with Jacob. I could almost hear her asking me why a ghost and not the very much alive vicar's son from St. Luke's who always tried to touch my hand or some other part of me after Sunday service.

  But how could she understand? She couldn't see Jacob. Couldn't get sucked in by those eyes, so like a dangerous whirlpool, or that classically handsome face. I could, and was, even though my brain told me I was a fool. He was dead.

  "Why are you so solid?" I asked him.

  He waved a hand and shrugged one shoulder. "It's just the way I am."

  I had the feeling there was more to it than that but I didn't want to be rude and pry. Not yet anyway.

  "So how do you propose to return this demon to the Otherworld?" Celia asked.

  "We must discover who wanted the demon released and why," Jacob said. "We can start by understanding the words you spoke during the séance."

  I repeated his answer to Celia and she in turn repeated the incantation. "It means nothing to me," he said, "but I'll ask the souls in the Waiting Area. It might be a more familiar language to one of them."

  "Wouldn't the Administrators know?" I asked. "Or if not, can't they just summon the demon back again with an incantation of their own?"

  "The Administrators don't have the power to reverse a curse issued in this realm. No one in the Waiting Area does. It can only be done by someone in this realm and only when the demon is near."

  I swallowed and looked down at the amulet in my hand. "So much trouble over a piece of cheap jewelry."

  "Keep the amulet with you. Whoever speaks the reversing incantation must be wearing it."

  "I should be the one to wear it and seek out the peddler," Celia said. She held her head high, her chin up, as if defying us to disagree with her. Despite her stance, I knew she was afraid. The supernatural was my territory. She'd never been as comfortable around the ghosts as me, and demons were another matter altogether. The guilt over releasing one must be great indeed for her to make such a bold offer to rectify the situation.

  "No," Jacob and I said together.

  "You can't see or talk to Jacob," I said. "And we need his guidance in this."

  She lowered her head and nodded. "Very well." She raised her gaze to where he stood, holding the frame. "Is it dangerous, this demon?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  "Not terribly," I said and tried to look like I wasn't lying. If she thought it was dangerous, she would not agree to my involvement, no matter how important. I glanced at Jacob but he said nothing, just watched me beneath half-lowered lids. "Don’t worry, Sis, we'll send it back before anything happens."

  Celia breathed out and settled into the sofa. "That's settled then," she muttered. "Now," she said to Jacob, "tell me exactly what you mean when you say you are assigned to my sister? Will you be at her side until the demon is found? Are you tied to her in some invisible way?"

  Jacob went very still. "Tell your sister not to worry," he said stiffly. "I'll be the perfect gentleman."

  I almost told him he'd mistaken her and she wasn't suggesting he'd do anything untoward, but I couldn't be sure if that assessment was correct. Knowing Celia, it was highly possible she meant exactly that.

  As if understanding my hesitation, she added, "Can he protect you against this demon—and don't try to tell me it's harmless because I know it's not. It is a demon after all. And can he protect you against the person who cursed the amulet?" Her knuckles had gone white, clasped as they were in her lap. I gently touched her arm. It didn't seem to help—she remained as taut as a stretched rope.

  Jacob took a long time to answer and I began to doubt he would when he finally said, "I will do my best." He held up the picture frame. "I can wield Earthly weapons as easily as I can hold this, but I'm afraid weapons from this realm have little effect on demons. They can only be killed with blades forged in the Otherworld. Unfortunately the Administrators don't have access to one which is why I prefer to banish it."

  I squeezed Celia's arm again. "He said yes," I lied. "Don't worry, Sis, he looks very capable."

  She stared straight ahead at the picture frame held by Jacob and gave a small nod. "Very well," she said in a tired voice. "You may accompany my sister to find this demon and return it. But if anything should happen to her," she coughed to cover her cracking voice but I heard it nevertheless, "I'll find someone who can make sure your soul never crosses over."

  I stared at her open-mouthed. My sister, making threats to a ghost? Remarkable. I loved her for it.

  She released her grip on the sofa and picked up her teacup. "It would seem nothing can be done before Thursday, anyway, when the peddler returns. The day after tomorrow. Until then, Mr. Beaufort." She nodded and sipped her tea. Dismissed.

  He looked like he would argue but thought better of it and returned the daguerreotype to the mantelpiece. "Don’t worry, I can see myself out." He bowed to us then vanished like a bubble that's been popped. There one moment, gone the next.

  I flopped back in the sofa in a most unladylike fashion. "Oh Celia, I think we've bitten off more than we can chew."

  She handed me my teacup. "We'll conquer this demon, don't fret, my dear."

  I hadn't been referring to the demon.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 3

  It took me a long time to fall asleep. It was bad enough knowing there was a demon out there hiding in the many shadowy lanes of London searching out something—or someone—to eat, but it was thoughts of Jacob Beaufort that occupied my mind more. Whenever I closed my eyes I could see his bright blue ones staring back at me with unnerving intensity. Now that I was alone I could think of a thousand questions I should have asked him, each one circling my head like a carousel. Finally, when the longcase clock in the entrance hall downstairs struck three, I'd had enough. I got up and threw my shawl around my shoulders then lit a candle and padded barefoot to my writing desk. I sat and pulled a piece of paper and the inkstand closer and wrote every question down, one after the other. Except one. I re-read my list and tried to tell myself it wasn't important, I didn't need to know the answer to it.

  I wasn't very good at lying, even to myself. So I gave up and wrote the question at the bottom:

  Did he meet Mama in the Waiting Area?

  If he answered yes to that then there were so many other follow-up questions but I put the quill down without writing them. It was enough for now.

  I fell asleep quickly after that.

  Much later, I awoke to the sound of the brass knocker on our front door banging. It was daytime because light edged the curtains. It wasn't bright but then the days never were in London thanks to either the smog or rain or both.

  I heard Celia's voice and listened for another but no one else spoke. Perhaps I'd imagined the knocking and she was simply reciting poetry in the kitchen.

  But that was as absurd as it sounded. Celia regarded poetry as a useless form of literature read only by deluded romantics.

  Then I heard footsteps running up the stairs. Only one set. "Emily! Emily, are you decent?" Celia shouted. "I think he's here."

  "She means me," came Jacob's voice from just outside my bedroom door.

  Jacob! Good lord, I was still in my nightgown! What was he doing here so early? It couldn't be much past eight o'clock. What was he doing here at all when we'd agreed nothing could be done until the following day?

  "She'll be out in a few minutes," I heard Celia say in a loud voice. The door opened a crack and she slipped inside. She was dressed but her hair looked like it had been hastily shoved under her cap. "My sister is not yet ready to receive callers," she said as she shut the door.

  I heard Jacob's chuckle and I pictured his handsome features softening with his smi
le. "It's nice to know the rules of propriety still apply to the dead," he called out.

  Celia leaned against the door as if barricading it. "He hasn't zapped his way in here, has he?"

  "No. Help me dress," I said, climbing out of bed. "How did you know it was him?"

  She passed me a clean chemise from the wardrobe, which I put on over my head after I shucked off my nightgown. "When I answered the knock there was no one there so I closed the door. But then I heard a knock on the hallway wall and I realized someone was inside, alerting me to their presence. The only ghost I know who has turned up here without being summoned is that Beaufort boy."

  Hardly a boy. I made up my mind to ask him his age. Or his age at the time of his death. It was the first question on my list, still sitting on my desk.

  "I told him I'd fetch you," she said, helping me into my corset. "But as I walked up the stairs I felt a coolness sweep past me and I knew he was going on ahead."

  "At least he still possesses a sense of honor and hasn't entered." I gasped as she pulled hard on the corset's laces. "Careful, Sis, I might need to breathe at some point."

  "Why bother breathing if you look fat?" We both knew she was being ridiculous—I was washboard flat in stomach and, alas, in chest—but she was in an odd temper so I let her comment go. "The green gown, I think."

  "Really? What's the occasion?" The green dress was my newest and favorite. The color complemented my complexion and dark brown eyes. The bodice was shaped in the latest cuirass style, which hugged my frame all the way down to my thighs, emphasizing my small waist and the curve of my hip. It would have looked better on a taller girl, as did all dresses, but with heeled boots it looked quite good on me too. Although the satin had been recycled from one of Mama's old gowns, it nevertheless cost a great deal to have made. Celia had insisted on using the last of our savings for it. I suspected it was her weapon of choice in the battle to find me a husband. I supposed I looked quite good in it. Indeed, the dress never failed to turn heads, which was always a pleasant feeling when the heads were turned for the right reasons. Being singled out because I could see ghosts or because I wasn't fashionably pale, however, made me feel like the bearded lady in a sideshow.