Charming the Devil

by Lois Greiman

  “How kind of you,” said her hostess, glancing about. “I do so enjoy it. Often libraries are such stuffy old things. Especially in these ancient estates. Inver Heights has been in Henry’s family for years out of mind. While I was reared in Cheapside. An actress. Lady Macbeth, Kate, even Juliet. Our union caused quite a scandal.” She laughed, clasping her hands before her and glancing about. “How I loved this old house from the moment I saw it. Perhaps it was bold of me to insist on refurbishing this chamber, but I did so want a library.”

  Faye felt misty, disembodied. Why had she ventured here, wandering up the stairs like one entranced? Truth didn’t call to people. Not sane people. But neither did lies throb in their heads like a smithy’s driving hammer. Had the madness finally found her, or were her gifts yet evolving, changing? ’Twas said a witch’s powers could grow and shift until her last breath was drawn. “Lord Lindale doesn’t enjoy the written word?” she asked.

  “Not so much as he enjoys a good port and a nap by the fire. Though lately…” Her eyes looked troubled.

  “Is something amiss?”

  “He’s not been sleeping well, and sometimes he complains of pains in his chest. He worries so…” she added, and glanced toward the doorway.

  “Worries?”

  “That horrible duel,” said Lady Lindale, and shuddered.

  “Oh yes.” The effects of the strange truth trance were fading. And she found, to her surprise, that she could play this game, could speak the necessary lies despite the pinpricks in her head. “Poor Lord Brendier.”

  The lady nodded, setting the loose skin beneath her skin to jiggling. “He wasn’t a bad person. But he did have a short temper. That’s what precipitated the duel at the outset.”

  “But I thought he sustained only a flesh wound.”

  “As did we. My husband…” She winced. “They were blood kin, you know. He so hoped Richard would recover. That they could be friends again.”

  “Was there trouble between them?”

  “Trouble?” She looked startled. “No. They had argued. You know how it is when men drink.” She shook her head. “I told Henry to make amends before it was too late but…” She shook her head, eyes troubled, and in that moment Faye saw the beauty she must have been as a maid.

  “I’m sorry,” Faye said. “I shouldn’t make you talk about it.”

  “No.” She drew a sharp breath. They were facing each other on the settee, knees turned in as women do. “There are so few people I can confide in, but I feel I can talk to you.”

  It was often true of decent people. But it was decent people she had hurt with the secrets she had ferreted out for Tenning. The secrets she had learned using gifts that should have been employed for naught but good. The thought made her head throb dully. “Your husband must feel dreadful,” she said.

  “You can’t imagine the guilt.”

  “Why guilt? Surely he had nothing to do with Brendier’s death.”

  “The truth is, Henry thought a duel might knock some sense into the boy. Make him more cautious. Less arrogant. As you know, duels are rarely fatal. And there was a surgeon standing by. He assured us all would be well.”

  “What do you think might have gone wrong?”

  She shook her head. “’Tis said the wound became septic without anyone the wiser. It all happened so quickly. He had no children to mourn his passing. But his poor young bride. My heart is breaking for—”

  “Brendier,” said Mots, stepping into the room with a glass of sherry. “What a terrible waste.”

  “Devastating,” said Lady Lindale. “But what am I thinking? Here you were feeling unwell, and I burden you with my tale of woe.”

  “It’s no trouble,” Faye said.

  “Are you much improved?” Mots stepped closer. He was tall, fair, elegant in his slim-fitting cutaway coat and gray breeches.

  Faye managed a smile. “Perhaps I but needed to sit for a moment.”

  “Yes,” Lady Lindale agreed, and patting Faye’s hand, rose to her feet. “You stay here as long as you like. But I’d best get back to my other guests or dearest Henry will worry.”

  And leave her alone with the looming Mots? Faye felt her throat tighten.

  “Perhaps I should stay,” said the nephew, “make certain you are well?”

  Faye felt fear flash in her soul.

  Lady Lindale looked into her eyes, then smiling kindly, slipped her plump arm through his in a motherly fashion.

  “I believe the fair Mrs. Nettles needs some time to herself,” she said, and, ushering him from the room, stopped in the doorway. “I’ll make certain no one disturbs you. Unless you would have me send someone up.”

  “No. My thanks, but I’ll be fine in a moment, I’m sure of it.”

  “Very well then,” she said, and, taking Mots with her, closed the door behind them.

  Faye sat in silence. Her head was spinning with information. Perhaps that was why it throbbed dully. Or had a lie caused the pain? And if so, was the lie her own or another’s?

  Glancing about, she remembered the surreal allure that had brought her here. What had caused that unusual phenomenon? Rising to her feet, she turned, and in that moment the light flickered off, shutting darkness into the room.

  Chapter 11

  Fear turned Faye’s legs to lead, her throat to marble. She tried to push out a question, but she couldn’t speak. Foolish. She was safe, after all, surrounded by others.

  But was she? She realized suddenly that she couldn’t hear a single noise from below, for the walls were thick, the doors the same. The room was simply, inexplicably dark. She turned, searching the interior, then she saw it. A hunched shadow.

  “Who’s there?” Her voice trembled, barely audible to her own ears. Fear quivered up her limbs, trembled in her soul. Lucifer had found her at last. Just as Tenning had said he would. Had found her and would punish her for her lies. For her disloyalty and…

  But no. All that was behind her.

  “Who’s there?” Her voice was stronger now, and she managed to step toward the door.

  But suddenly the shadow was there, looming in front of her.

  She tried to scream, but a hand shot out, covering her mouth, freezing her breath.

  “So you’ve come.” His voice was a whisper from hell as he pressed up against her.

  Panic suffocated her, freezing her limbs, her mind.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

  She shook her head, trying to drive away the nightmare. But he remained. She was pressed into a corner, her spine cutting into the books behind her.

  His free hand groped her breasts. She tried to scream, but he leaned closer still, breath hot against her ear.

  “Quiet now. Quiet so we can enjoy this the more.”

  She sobbed something inarticulate.

  “Do you understand me?”

  She jerked a spasmodic nod.

  “Good. Good,” he said, and yanked up her skirts.

  Memories flooded in, dark and terrible. Her mind scurried for cover, for hiding as it always had. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fight back.

  “Such a sweet little piece. So delicate. So fragile,” he hissed, but it was a lie. She knew it suddenly. Knew it in her head, in her core. She lurched forward, throwing every ounce of her weight against him, making him stumble back a pace. Hope made her strong. Anger made her wild. She flew at him, clawing like a feral beast, but he caught her hands. Something struck the side of her head. She wobbled to the right. Consciousness wavered. Her knees buckled.

  But fury still roared in her mind like a maelstrom, and suddenly the ceramic angel flew forward. There was a resounding crash. Her attacker crumbled. She bolted past him, but even as she did so, he reached up, snagging her skirt.

  “Come back, witch!” His voice was guttural as he tried to yank her back, but she had reached the door and snagged the handle. His fingers slipped, and she was through. Safe, slamming against the far wall of the hallway, twisting about, staring wi
de-eyed at the yawning rectangle of the doorway. Standing outside of hell, the light all but blinded her.

  “Faye!”

  She turned with a jolt to find Madeline just a few yards away, worry stamped on her face.

  “What happened?” Shaleena appeared, holding her skirts with both hands as she rushed up the stairs.

  “In there,” Faye whispered, and tried to point, but her arm was too shaky, her body too weak.

  “Where? What?”

  “The Devil!” Faye rasped.

  Shaleena met Maddy’s worried gaze for an instant, then the latter stepped inside.

  “No!” Faye forced herself to take one wooden step forward, to try to save the woman who had saved her. But Madeline was already inside, and try as she might, Faye could not find the courage to go farther.

  A diffused shaft of light fell from the hallway at an oblique angle, slanting through the library’s doorway. From where Faye stood, the room looked empty, innocuous. She shook her head, waiting desperately for Madeline to return.

  And then light sprang into the room. Madeline strode back into view. Unscathed but somber.

  “Are you certain someone was there?” she asked.

  Madness stalked Faye like an ogre. She shifted her gaze from Madeline to the library.

  “Are you certain?” she asked again.

  It took all of Faye’s faltering nerve to step toward the room, all of her flagging strength to enter it; except for the trappings of the rich, the room was empty. Only the angel was displaced, facedown on the plush carpet, arms outstretched, the tiniest scrap of mint fabric caught on the tip of its wing.

  Faye scanned the room once and again, then shook her head. “I’m not mad,” she whispered. “I’m not,” she said, but even she was uncertain whether her words were true.

  Madeline was staring at her, brows furrowed. “Perhaps he escaped through the window,” she said.

  With one glance, Shaleena strode past them to the far wall and tugged at the heavy wood that encased the thick pane. “Locked,” she said, “from the inside.”

  Faye skittered her gaze to Madeline, and in the shadow of her eyes, Faerie Faye saw doubt.

  “Let’s get you home,” Maddy said. Wrapping her shawl around Faye’s shoulders, she glanced at Shaleena.

  “I’ll find him if he’s here,” said the other.

  Madeline nodded. They stepped together into the hallway.

  “Is something amiss?” Lady Lindale asked, hurrying toward them. “I heard a noise.”

  “Mrs. Nettles is feeling unwell,” Madeline said. “Might you have someone fetch my husband? I think it best if we see her home.”

  Hailing the nearest servant, Lady Lindale gave instructions before turning back. “Whatever could be wrong?” Her worried gaze skipped to Faye.

  “He was there,” Faye whispered.

  “I’m not exactly certain,” Madeline said. “If you’ll excuse us—”

  “He came for me,” Faye whispered.

  “Is she well?” Lord Gallo was there suddenly, eyes dark with intensity.

  Faye jerked back, feeling invaded, feeling struck, but he turned his gaze from her, settled it on his wife.

  “Yes. Certainly,” Madeline said, “Just overtired.”

  “He was there,” Faye murmured, voice low as she searched Maddy’s eyes. There was worry there. And uncertainty.

  “Who was there?” asked Lady Lindale, face paler than ever.

  “The Devil.”

  “Most likely a dream,” Gallo said. “My wife tells me Mrs. Nettles is prone to fitful nights.”

  “Of course,” Maddy said. “That must be it. She was feeling a bit unwell. Might you have fallen asleep, Mrs. Nettles?”

  They were treating her like a child. Or worse, as if she were mad. But there was entreaty in Madeline’s eyes, forcing Faye to nod, to play along, to hope they were wrong, that she wasn’t crazy.

  “I was resting on the…on the lounge. Perhaps I nodded off without knowing,” she said, and felt her head begin to throb in earnest with the force of her lie.

  “We’ll get you home straightaway,” Madeline said, then to Lord Gallo, “Could you have Joseph bring the carriage round?”

  He nodded and disappeared.

  Madeline tightened her arm about Faye’s shoulders and eased her forward. They didn’t allow madwomen to remain without chaperones.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the crowd seemed to surge toward her, lies pounding at her brain, but Madeline steered her through the mob.

  The night air felt cool and soothing as Lord Gallo ushered them inside the dark landau.

  The springs creaked beneath them as they bent to enter. Madeline sat close to her side. In a moment, they were alone. In another, they were moving.

  Faye tried to remain quiet. Tried to pretend, but she could no longer do so. Not to Madeline. “I was not dreaming,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  Faye caught Madeline in a fleeting, hopeful glance.

  “You believe me?”

  “You are the truth finder, Faerie love. Why would you lie?”

  “I would not. Not to you. Not intentionally,” she whispered, then winced, remembering a thousand childhood memories: a hulking shape watching from her window. Scratching at her door. In trembling whispers she had mentioned her fears to Cassie, but the scullery maid had scoffed. Lucifer did not walk among them. There were no giants at Bettington. “But maybe Shaleena is right. Maybe I am mad.”

  “She didn’t say that,” Madeline said.

  “She thought it.”

  “Reading minds is not your gift,” Madeline said, and smiled gently before drawing a careful breath. “What happened?”

  She wanted to answer, wanted to spew forth the truth, but the painful events were stuck in her soul. She glanced to the left. “What of Shaleena?”

  “She’ll not ride with Joseph at the ribbons.”

  Faye fidgeted. “And Lord Gallo?”

  “He stayed behind as well.”

  She felt restive suddenly, jumpy. “He should be with us.”

  Madeline’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “Even though he’s male?”

  “It was not he.”

  “No,” Madeline said, and if she thought Faye insane, she did not show it. “But who was it? Were you able to see his face?”

  Faye managed to shake her head.

  “But it was a man.”

  She nodded. It was always a man.

  “Did you recognize his voice?”

  “It was low. And quiet. Whispered.” Like the Devil himself. She stifled a shiver.

  “What else do you recall?” Maddy asked, and hugged her closer.

  Warmth flowed through her at Madeline’s touch, granting her a modicum of strength. “He was big,” she whispered, and felt a tear slip down her cheek.

  “Tall or broad?”

  She controlled a wince. “Both, I think.”

  “Taller than Jasper.”

  She swallowed, closed her eyes, managed a nod.

  “Taller than Ella’s husband?”

  “I…It was dark and I was—” Words failed her.

  “You were scared,” Madeline said. “There is no shame in that.”

  And suddenly Faye remembered similar words. Remembered and felt herself go pale.

  It couldn’t have been McBain. It couldn’t. But he had warned her not to lie to him. And she had sinned.

  Chapter 12

  Jasper stood beside Madeline in the doorway of Faye’s bedchamber.

  She was curled tight beneath the covers, knees drawn up, face nearly hidden. All that was visible was one smooth cheek and a halo of sun-bright hair.

  “What did you give her?” Jasper asked.

  “Motherwort and goat weed.”

  “She’ll sleep till morning?”

  “I’m not certain. She’s distraught. I wish Ella were here.”

  “Then she will be soon,” he said, and, closing the door softly, turned toward her. “This is not yo
ur fault.”

  Torment crossed her beloved face. “I was the one who said she was ready.”

  Reaching out, he took her hand and led her down the hall to their own chambers.

  “Who is to say she’s not?” he asked.

  “Ready?” she said and huffed a harsh laugh. “Look at her, she’s—” She winced, then collapsed into the winged upholstered chair near the window and drew her knees to her chest as if she could block out the world.

  “What is she?” he asked.

  She shook her head, miserable. “She’s scared out of her…” She stopped, expression breaking.

  And he could no longer bear the distance between them. Crossing the room, he knelt beside her chair.

  “So the fact that she’s scared means that she’s unready?” he asked, and took her hand in his.

  She shook her head. “No. It’s the fact that she is…” She paused.

  “What?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Hallucinating,” he said.

  “I told her I believed her.”

  “And for that you feel guilty.”

  “Truth means everything to her. It took all the power that’s in me to make her believe. What will happen if she realizes I lied?”

  “Esperanza,” he said softly. It was the name he had called her in his mind for all the years he had held her in his heart but could not hold her in his arms. “It is your caring that means everything to her. Your support.”

  Her eyes were haunted. “There was no one in that room, Jasper.”

  “No one you saw,” he corrected.

  She let her feet slip rapidly to the floor, eyes suddenly alight. But that was her way. Ever the optimist. “You found something.”

  He shook his head, untied her slippers, the right, then the left, before tossing them aside. “No.”

  “But you felt something,” she said, and let him urge her to her feet.

  “I am no witch,” he reminded her, and, turning her back to him, unlaced her gown, then pressed a kiss to that favorite spot at the base of her neck. The spot that called to him even in the midst of a crowd.