by C. J. Archer
"You call your master Death?"
"It fits. I should warn you, the last person to abduct Charlie died, as did the men who helped him. Violently. It weren't pretty."
I wasn't sure I liked Gus spreading rumors that Lincoln had killed Jasper and his two thugs. Lincoln had assured me he hadn't done it, and I believed him. We'd never learned who had murdered the captain in the holding cell after his arrest, and we likely never would.
"What do you want, Mrs. Webb?" I asked.
"I need you to summon my husband and raise his body."
I wasn't surprised. At least it confirmed that she wasn't the killer of supernaturals. It was the silver lining on a very trying experience. "Why do you want to raise him?"
"That's none of your concern."
"It is. If I'm going to do it, I need to know certain things. That's one of them."
She stepped toward me and lifted her hand to strike my cheek. I flinched, but she didn't lash out. "I'm not a violent woman, but I am quite provoked at the moment. Don't make the situation worse for yourselves by lying."
"What makes you think I'm lying?"
"I know a lot about you, Miss Holloway. For example, I know that you can raise the dead by calling them by name. Just a name. You don't need to know anything else."
"I see that you also knew I was in need of a housekeeper. How?"
"I saw your advertisement in The Times."
"I don't believe you. It's too coincidental to be true, and I don't believe in coincidences." Lincoln had said the same thing to me, and it felt satisfying to spout his words at her. But if it wasn't a coincidence, that meant she knew to look in The Times. "My God," I whispered. "Who told you we were advertising for a housekeeper?"
Her jaw set hard and her dark eyes glittered.
Gus twisted to look at me. "Blimey, Charlie. Who would do that?"
"Someone who knows our situation." That narrowed it down to Doyle and the committee members. Unless Cook, Seth or Gus mentioned it in passing to someone connected with Mrs. Webb. None of us could have any inkling that posting the ad would lead to this, and our advertising for a housekeeper was no secret.
"Who told you?" I ground out between my clenched teeth.
"It's not important."
"It is to me."
"You're in no position to dictate terms, Miss Holloway."
I lifted one shoulder. "Then I refuse to summon your husband's spirit."
Her top lip curled. I couldn't believe I ever thought this woman suitable enough to live with us. "I was told you'd say that." She turned, picked up the lantern and strode up the stairs and out of the cellar. The lock tumbled.
"Why'd she leave?" Gus hopped off the bed again but didn't advance. There was no point. With the door locked, there was no possible escape.
"I don't know. Hopefully Gordon will return before she does."
"Don't hold your breath, Charlie. We could be in the Scottish Highlands, for all we know. If we do escape, how will we get home?"
"I doubt we're that far from London. I don't feel either hungry or thirsty, which means we couldn't have been unconscious for long. I would say we're somewhere in the city."
The lock tumbled again and the door opened. Mrs. Webb came down the stairs, the lantern in one hand and a pistol in the other. I gasped. Gus moved in front of me.
"That's very brave but rather foolish of you, Gus," she said with a smile. "It's not Miss Holloway I plan to shoot. Why would I do that when she's the one who's going to summon my husband?"
"W…what?" he spluttered.
"I'm going to shoot you, you big idiot. Why do you think I went to all that trouble to bring you along? I simply drugged the others, but decided to take you too, in case she refused to do as I asked. Refuse again, Miss Holloway, and I'll shoot him."
"Don't!"
She smiled. She knew she had me. "Move a little away, Gus. You wouldn't want me to miss you and get her now, would you?"
Gus hesitated then hopped to his right until he was well away from me.
"Listen to me, Mrs. Webb." My voice trembled. My heart thundered. We could no longer delay her in the hope that Gordon would return. I had no doubt that she would shoot Gus if I didn't do as she wanted. "Raising a spirit is not safe. It should only be done in extreme circumstances, and only when I can be sure nothing will go wrong."
"Nothing will go wrong. We're good people, Miss Holloway, although you probably don't believe that at this moment."
"You're quite right there."
"My husband was a little eccentric, but all brilliant men are. He helps people. Or he used to, before he died." Her face crumpled before she reigned in her emotions and schooled her features again. "I only wish to punish his killer."
"Killer?" I whispered. "He was murdered?"
She nodded and pointed the gun at Gus. He winced but otherwise went very still. "For no reason at all that I could see. It was horrible. Quite horrible." She placed a hand to her heart before returning it to the pistol again with the other. "I want him to avenge his death, Miss Holloway, and for that, I need you. Only he knows his killer's identity."
I had a very bad feeling about this. How did the widow of a murdered man come to know about necromancers and, in particular, me? "Mrs. Webb, was your husband magical?"
She tilted her head to the side. Her sad smile softened her gaze. "Yes, he is. Was. He can—could—move things just by thinking about it."
I closed my eyes against the nausea rising up my throat, the sick worry settling into my chest. If I summoned him and he entered a body, he might know how to override my control like Estelle Pearson had. But if I didn't do it, Mrs. Webb would shoot Gus.
He swore under his breath. "Don't do it, Charlie. It'll go wrong."
The woman I knew as Mrs. Webb gave an uncharacteristically inelegant snort. "The only thing that will go wrong will be me shooting you, if she doesn't do as I say."
I opened my eyes. "Your name's not Webb, is it?"
"It's Merry Drinkwater."
Drinkwater. One of the murdered supernaturals had been Reginald Drinkwater.
"Merry. Ha!" Gus must have worked it out when I did, because he didn't sound surprised.
"My husband's name is Reginald Rochester Drinkwater." She adjusted her grip on the pistol. "Summon his spirit, Miss Holloway. Now! Or I will shoot."
I swallowed. "Reginald—"
"No!" Gus shuffled toward me.
The gun went off. The shot deafened me for a second. Its echo seemed to reverberate around the walls for an age.
"Gus!" I fell to my knees beside his body.
He moved, thank God, and groaned. "I'm alive."
I glanced up at Mrs. Webb. She looked even paler, if that were possible, and her hands shook. "You almost killed him!" Blood seeped through the rent in his sleeve near his shoulder. "He has to see a doctor."
"He has to stay here." She waggled the pistol at us. "Summon my husband, Miss Holloway. Do it now, or I will shoot again."
I swallowed. Gus protested, but I shut out his voice. "Reginald Rochester Drinkwater, I summon your spirit here to this realm. Come to us."
The mist came from a different side of the room from which Gordon had arrived. It flew past us, dashing back and forth like a frightened rabbit, before regaining control and settling nearby. Reginald Drinkwater was of middling age with a slender build and intelligent eyes behind spectacles. Intelligent, cool eyes. If I didn't know he'd been shot, the gaping hole in his chest would have told me how he'd died. He smiled when he saw his wife but it quickly slipped away at the sight of the pistol. He frowned at her.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Drinkwater," I said to the spirit. "My name is Charlotte Holloway and I'm a necromancer."
"A what?"
"Necromancer. I can raise the dead."
"You summoned me?"
"I did, at your wife's request. She forced me to." I indicated Gus, now sitting up and trying to inspect his wound.
His eyes widened. "Merry?"
"She can't hea
r you. Only I can."
"I underestimated her." He smiled. "Didn't know she had all this in her."
He was proud? I swallowed down the bile as it threatened to rise up my throat again.
"Tell him that he must search for his body," Mrs. Drinkwater said.
"I don't need to repeat what you say. He can hear you."
"Reginald." She didn't quite look directly at him, but near enough. "Listen to me. I had you summoned so you could avenge your death. I know you must want to."
"Oh yes." His tone chilled my blood.
"You must find your body and…go into it. Then you'll be able to walk around again as a living man."
Reginald eyed me. "Is this true?"
I stood very still.
The ghost swooped at me. "Is. This. True?"
Mrs. Drinkwater pointed the gun at Gus again.
"You will be able to walk around," I said. "But you'll still be dead, not alive. The body is merely a vessel for your spirit."
As soon as he disappeared to find his body and Mrs. Drinkwater left, I'd give the order to send him back. I didn't need to be within hearing range of him.
"You're buried in Old Brompton," Merry Drinkwater went on. "It was a beautiful ceremony." She smiled sadly. "Go, Reginald. Go and find whoever it was who did this."
He lifted a hand and patted his wife's shoulder. "Good girl." She felt nothing and simply stared straight ahead.
"Mr. Drinkwater, tell me who killed you," I urged. "There are people looking into your death. I can pass on the name or description of your murderer—"
"The police are incompetent." He flew up the stairs to the door.
"Not the police." Hysteria pitched my voice high. "Others from a special organization."
He shook his head and the mist dissolved. He was gone.
I plopped onto the bed and swore.
"Language, young lady!" Mrs. Drinkwater scowled.
I managed to refrain from telling her where she could shove her hypocrisy—just. I looked down at Gus. "Are you all right?"
He nodded. "He's gone?"
"Yes. Mrs. Drinkwater, you've done a very foolish thing by telling your husband about his body. I could have seen justice served for him by giving the name of his killer to Mr. Fitzroy."
"It's not the same as doing it yourself. Not as satisfying." She set the gun down on the floor beside her lantern. "Come over here, Miss Holloway, away from Gus."
"Why?"
"Just do it!"
I hopped across the floor to her. She reached into her skirt pocket and withdrew something. It wasn't until she slapped her hand against my mouth that I realized it was a gag to keep me quiet. To stop me sending Reginald's spirit back.
I shut my mouth. I twisted and struggled, throwing my weight into her.
"Keep still!" She hit me hard across the jaw, but still I kept my mouth shut.
Gus protested and I saw that he'd made progress toward us, but not enough. He was still too far away to do anything.
She pinched my nose. It was no use now. Her grip was too tight and slowly, slowly the air leached out of me until my chest burned.
I opened my mouth to gasp in a breath and she shoved the gag inside. Before I could spit it out, she'd wrapped another cloth strip around my head, covering my mouth, to hold the gag in place. I swallowed reflexively and almost choked. I coughed violently and fell to my knees. Snot and tears streamed down my face. I couldn't control them. Couldn't catch my breath. Surely she wouldn't kill me. Not like this.
She stood back to admire her handiwork. "I know that keeping you silent will mean you can't control my husband's spirit or send him back. I could kill you, but I'm not a violent woman, nor do I have any intention of having my husband here forever. But until he exacts his revenge, you must be quiet.”
This woman knew everything about my magic. But how, when her husband hadn't even known what a necromancer did?
Chapter 8
"Charlie! Charlie!"
I could hear Gus shuffling toward me, and then a thump and a grunt as he fell. My vision cleared a little, and I was able to breathe normally again.
Mrs. Drinkwater picked up the pistol and aimed it at Gus. "I can't have you removing her gag. Up the stairs. Now."
"I ain't goin' nowhere." Gus sat, his legs stretched out before him, doing his best to look immovable.
Mrs. Drinkwater aimed the pistol at his head. "Very well, but I no longer need you. You've outlived your usefulness. While I don't wish to kill anyone, I will do so if necessary."
I tried to encourage Gus to move, but my shout came out garbled and only made me descend into a fit of choking coughs again.
"I'm goin', I'm goin'." I wasn't sure if his grumbling assent was directed at our captor or me.
I watched him jump up the stairs, Mrs Drinkwater behind him. He managed it without falling, but he was breathing heavily by the time they reached the top.
She shut the door and locked it. I was alone.
The cloth around my head bit into my cheeks. I rubbed my shoulder against it, but it was too tight and wouldn't budge. Damn her. Damn both the Drinkwaters.
I didn't know if attempting to speak the words to send a spirit back with a gag in my mouth would work, but I tried anyway. It came out muffled and I had no way of knowing if I'd been successful.
I spent the next little while alternating between trying to remove the gag again and untying my bonds, but it was useless. All I managed to achieve was another debilitating coughing fit followed by a flood of angry tears that made me gulp and choke on the gag.
I lay on the cold flagstone floor on my side and stared at the door at the top of the stairs. Despite willing it to open, it remained firmly shut. Where was Gordon? Why hadn't he returned yet? How much time had passed?
The only comfort was the knowledge that Drinkwater was going after the man who'd killed him. If his wife could be believed, he wasn't a danger to anyone else. As soon as he had his revenge, she would let us go and I could send him back.
I sat up and scooted across the floor to the bed where I waited. And waited. My stomach growled and I needed to use the privy. The skin on my cheeks felt raw from the chafing cloth and drool seeped from the corners of my mouth. It took effort not to choke or cough reflexively.
Finally the door opened and Reginald Drinkwater stood in his body, candelabra in hand. The flickering flames picked out his bloodless face, his soulless eyes, and the gaping hole in his chest. He descended the stairs, alone. Neither Gus nor his wife was with him.
"Good evening," he said. "The deed has been done. My murderer is dead."
I arched my brows.
"He deserved it." His grim smile was made even grimmer thanks to the deathly pall of his lips.
I arched my brows higher and tried to say, "Why did he kill you?"
"I don't know his name," he said, misunderstanding my muffled words. "I'd never met him before. I only knew where to find him because he made the mistake of talking to himself after he shot me. 'Another successful job deserves an ale at The Feathers,' he'd said. The Feathers is a rough pub in Clerkenwell. I simply bought myself an ale, bided my time and waited for my murderer to enter. I lured him into the lane out the back with the promise of a job for him."
Job. He was a hired gunman? Who would hire another to kill Drinkwater?
Someone who didn't want blood on their hands.
I twisted and wiggled my numbed fingers.
"I can't release you until you promise not to send me back," he said.
No. Oh no. Why couldn't he just return to his afterlife? I shook my head.
The muscles in his face hardened. His lips pressed together. If blood flowed through his body, a vein would have bulged in his throat or temple. "I'm not going to harm anyone. I simply want to continue with my work." He paced from wall to wall of the cellar, his booted footsteps loud on the stones. "Imagine if I can achieve my objective and transfer my magic into the limbs I create? Imagine the benefits to mankind!" He stopped pacing very close t
o me. I swayed back, away from the stench of decay. "My magic still works, you know. Death hasn't affected it."
He frowned at me and I suddenly felt myself lifting off the bed. He was levitating me! I continued to rise and rise until my head skimmed the ceiling. I held myself very still in case movement broke his concentration. It was terrifying and yet oddly thrilling too. I wondered how long he could keep me up here, and if there were limitations with an object's weight.
With a derisive snort, he lowered me again. "Impressive, isn't it?"
Once I felt the mattress beneath me, I scooted away from him, even though I knew it would do no good. With his power, he could pick me up and slam me against the wall.
"I would very much like to untie you, but I can't without your promise that you won't send me back," he said. "Do I have it?"
Reneging on a promise didn't sit well with me, but I saw no other choice. I nodded.
"Good girl. A wise decision. As soon as I find a way to harness my magic and transfer it into the limbs, I'll return to my afterlife. But not until then."
Harness? How could something so ethereal and wild be rounded up like a flock of sheep?
He set the candelabra down on the floor and began untying my ankles. "Once my legacy has been established, I can go in peace. I will be immortalized in the scientific community, and outside it too, I hope."
Ah, yes, immortalization. The lure of it drove many madmen.
My feet and hands now released, he removed the gag. I spat out the ball of cloth from my mouth and swallowed several times and rubbed my jaw. It ached and my tongue felt twice its size, but there seemed to be no lasting damage.
"You may go," he said.
I couldn't believe it. I was actually going to walk free. Despite my stiff limbs, I hurried up the steps and flung open the door.
"Don't forget your promise!" he called after me.
"I won't," I croaked.
I found myself in the service rooms of a modest sized house. Across the corridor was the kitchen. To left and right were closed doors. Was Gus behind one? I couldn't leave without him and the house was large enough that it would take several minutes to search every room. There was no sign of Mrs. Drinkwater, however, but Mr. Drinkwater's plodding footsteps echoed on the cellar stairs. He was coming up. I had only seconds.