The Dark Matters Quartet

by Claire Robyns

  “We’re in here,” Armand’s voice came from one of the many alcoves that branched off from the main chamber.

  Neco’s head popped out from a shadowed archway. “You should come see this.”

  This was an intricate tangle of steel-plated tubules, supported within a wooden frame and connected to a life cell to keep the memory sap circulating. An exact replica of the advanced celludrone memory mechanism.

  A nasty thought assailed Greyston. “Did you take this out of Ana?”

  Armand shook his head. “We found it like this five years ago when we first tunnelled through to the laboratory.”

  “Duncan was building another celludrone?”

  “That’s where it becomes interesting,” Armand said. “This model had an optical and vocal translation device attached, but we’ve found no other celludrone parts. As far as we can tell, it’s simply a memory box, perhaps even some type of recording device.”

  “The memory sap will tell us,” Neco said. “Assuming it hadn’t stagnated before you found it?”

  “There’s been no disruption in the life cell charge.” Armand backed away from the apparatus, drawing them with him into the main chamber to gather around Ana.

  Greyston took a stance at the foot of the worktable, noting that the mass of tubules were indeed still intact inside her chest. But there was an extra attachment, feeding from one of her tubules into a steel box that was completely sealed except for the small hole.

  Armand looked at Neco. “We had no means of accessing the memories until, of course, we discovered you and Ana hadn’t been destroyed in the explosion.”

  “You intend to put that memory box inside Ana,” Neco deduced. “Replace her own system with a prototype of unknown origin.”

  “Lily will never permit it,” Greyston pointed out. Celludrones might be only machines, but they were also the sum of their memories, as close to human as memories made people.

  “Lady Lily has been resistant,” Armand agreed. “But she’s had a recent change of mind.”

  “Let me guess,” Greyston muttered. “Since Glasgow?”

  Armand grimaced at his tone. “We’ll preserve Ana’s memories before the exchange and restore her as soon as we’re’ done. The disruption should be minimal.”

  “I’ve calculated the risk,” Ana piped in, “and it’s less than five percent.”

  “I’m conducting a series of tests before we attempt anything,” Armand explained as he unhinged one side of the sealed machine to reveal the tangle of glass piping Ana was attached to. “I’ve filtered increasing portions of Ana’s memory sap into this by-pass system for short periods at a time. By asking a set of standardised questions before and after, I’m able to determine the extent to which her memories are affected. So far as I’ve been able to ascertain, she’s lost none.”

  Greyston took nothing on blind faith when it came to anything McAllister related. He cut through the bullshit. “You’re going to drain Ana dry, pump her full of mystery sap, and hope to hell nothing goes wrong when you attempt to reverse the process.”

  One of Neco’s spring-loaded eyeballs twitched. “Ana’s memory sap was partially scrambled during her last injury and the damage may compound,” he said. “I’m a more suitable candidate.”

  “No,” Greyston barked. Neco had been with him since birth and was the closest thing to family he had left. “Absolutely not.”

  “It’s too late to introduce a new variable, anyway,” Armand said. “I’d have to start the memory retention testing from scratch and we don’t have the time to spare. Lord Perth wants to know what we have here and he wanted it yesterday. As it is, I’m almost ready to proceed with the full transfer.”

  “I have additional questions I’d like included then,” Neco said. “I already know the answers, so I can validate whether they have changed.”

  Armand wasn’t opposed to broadening the range of his control questions and went to fetch his notes.

  Neco leaned in, speaking in a low tone. “Do you remember the afternoon I left? When I came to say goodbye? You were in the courtyard with Puppy.”

  “I never forget a thing. You said, according to your data, the colour of my hair indicated I was beautiful.”

  Ludicrous as it was, especially with Armand standing over them and scribbling in his notebook, Greyston felt as if he were intruding on a private moment. He took a step back, and then another.

  “And what did you say?” asked Neco.

  “I said, according to my data, a gentleman who says such things without first declaring his intentions is no gentleman at all.”

  “I said, I never professed to be a gentleman.”

  “And I said, you’ve been observing Grey too long.”

  Neco glanced at Greyston, then back to Ana. “That is a common complaint today.”

  Greyston looked on with a raised brow. So much for simulated happiness. These two were brewing a simulated romance. And with more success than he’d managed in his life. He couldn’t decide if he was amused or disgruntled.

  He wasn’t a gentleman, but in the end, that wasn’t what had lost him Lily.

  Damn his father. Damn the McAllisters. And damn his demon blood, little that there was…not enough to stimulate the self-healing process. Stimulate.

  That thought played on his mind as he observed the proceedings. Maybe that’s exactly what he needed: to stimulate the demonic energy within his blood, concentrate or activate the source of that healing power. He needed a burst of demon charge and wasn’t that exactly what a time-run would do?

  He wasn’t entirely convinced it would work, but what did he have to lose? He closed his eyes to concentrate, searching for a recent memory to hop back to.

  Lily’s face loomed.

  More than her face, really.

  The spark of green anger dominating the hazel in those expressive eyes, the lip nibbling, the curves beneath that tight bodice, the sultry look she’d set on him as she’d slid her cheek against his palm, the concern in her voice when she’d realised he wasn’t fully healed… His eyes snapped open.

  Damn that. If he was going to time-run, he might as well make it interesting. One last time, one last moment, and then he’d be ready to put Lily aside. He’d never done this before, created a memory with the specific intention to unwind it. Especially what he had in mind. If Lily had ever thought him a barbaric Scot, this would prove her right.

  But now the idea was there and too tempting to discard.

  SIX

  “I didn’t come back for you,” Lily mimicked, scowling at her reflection in the mirror. Well, she also knew Greyston wouldn’t be here if she weren’t. So what was that? Some grand noble gesture to save a damsel in distress?

  She finished doing up the row of hooks at her side, then tugged at her sleeves and ran her hands down her waist to smooth the lines. She’d become adept at dressing herself in the last three days, since Ana had been incapacitated.

  Another McAllister lab rat.

  But she couldn’t think like that. Not anymore. And that applied to Greyston, too. She’d resigned her immediate future to limbo and wasn’t sure she’d emerge with her reputation intact, given her current living arrangements. She’d spent far too much time worrying about propriety instead of demons, and George Winterberry and his household had paid the price.

  She wouldn’t allow herself to be derailed with romantic entanglements, especially those that were this complicated and clearly unrequited.

  But, dear Lord, Greyston was back, he was here, and she could breathe a little easier. He knew her fears and failures, he understood…he’d always seen a far better person in herself that she ever had. He’d been her anchor since the beginning of this crazy journey, the only one she could put her absolute trust in.

  Except, he’d left.

  She didn’t blame him. She wasn’t angry. Yet, there it was. She’d still trust Greyston with her life, but she needed to prepare herself. Because he’d leave again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when the last demon
had been banished. She didn’t know when, but he would. Because that’s what Greyston did.

  The only person she could really rely upon was herself.

  She gave her hair an ineffectual pat—there was only so much one could do with a plain knot—and made her way downstairs.

  Supper was a tense affair, taken in the formal dining room with the three of them crowded around the head of a table that could sit in excess of twenty.

  Over the first course, salmon drizzled with a sugared lemon sauce and slithers of exotic melon, Lily ventured to enquire if Greyston had been up to anything interesting in the intervening months.

  “Recuperating,” he said softly, holding her gaze until the footman interrupted to fill his wine glass. Then he slanted a look at Kelan. “But you could have told her that.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of betraying a confidence,” Kelan said.

  First Evelyn, now Kelan. Was she the only one with whom Greyston hadn’t been in contact? She dabbed a napkin to her lips to hold in any recriminations.

  “You have no concept of privacy,” Greyston muttered.

  Kelan shrugged and turned the conversation to more palatable waters. Apparently the salmon had been caught in a local stream this morning. They all agreed it was delicious and Greyston declined an offer of a fishing expedition on the morrow.

  As soon as the main course had been served, Kelan dismissed the footman and Greyston fired off his first question.

  “So, how did Lily end up mistakenly informing you of my ability to rewind time?”

  “She was under the impression I already knew,” Kelan stated in the matter-of-fact way of one who’d done no wrong.

  The evening progressed downhill from there with Kelan wanting to know everything about time sifting and Greyston giving him the barest detail.

  Lily fell silent, grateful for the protracted exchange between the two men that gave her some respite in her own thoughts. She made an effort to swallow a mouthful of the beef tureen once in a while, but mostly she couldn’t keep her gaze averted from Greyston.

  He was slightly gaunt, his shoulders not fitting his jacket quite as perfectly anymore. The angles of his face were a little sharper, his hair as unkempt as always, if not more. The shadows in his eyes a shade darker. She’d once thought the suggestion of a smile would shatter his jaw and now she wondered if the last few months had converted that misconception into a truth.

  Greyston glanced up from his plate to look at her. “How did you achieve it?”

  She blinked. “Achieve what?”

  “The demon glass,” Kelan said. “That’s what you call it, right? Looking through the demon glass.”

  “Kelan was telling me you’ve learnt how to search for a demon presence.” Greyston put his fork down to give her his undivided attention. “I’m curious as to how you finally found the way to command your visions.”

  “Well, I haven’t refined it quite that much…yet.” Heat crept up her throat. What had she missed in the conversation up until this point?

  Please, Lord, Kelan hadn’t said anything about that kiss, had he?

  Both men watched her, Kelan with a somewhat amused expression. She’d never admitted how she’d used that kiss to break down her resistance to the demon power. They hadn’t spoken of it again and she’d certainly done her utmost to wipe the entire episode from her mind. But Kelan wasn’t the kind of man who needed confirmation to know when he was right.

  “For instance, I haven’t found Agares,” she pushed on, swinging her gaze determinedly to Greyston. “And we know the demon is out there.”

  Greyston’s brow arched. He was still waiting for his answer. He’d bared his soul to her when he’d told her about his first experience with rewinding time and how he’d achieved it. They shared this tainted blood, from the same demon, and each one deserved to know as much about it from the other.

  But Lily couldn’t give him the truth. She could feel Kelan’s eyes on her, and the heat was now flooding her cheeks and that blasted kiss was in her head—raw, wild and yes…deeply, darkly thrilling. The thing about honesty was; there was no going back. The best she could hope for was to shove it into a corner of her mind and pray this was the last time she’d be forced to pull it out.

  “Trauma has a way of breaking down walls,” Kelan said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “There’s only so much death and horror one can take before all else pales in comparison, including bonding with the demonic energy one might otherwise abhor.”

  “I think that must have been it,” she said, her voice suddenly unsteady. Her pulse fluttered and a different kind of warmth fed into her blood. Relief? The unexpected sympathy from a man she’d believed had none? She slipped him a grateful look before turning back to Greyston. “I embraced my darker side.”

  Greyston’s mouth firmed. “You’re not responsible for what happened to Winterberry.”

  “I realise that,” she assured him. “But I’ll do anything within my power to prevent further slaughter. Anything.”

  For her own sanity, if or when she failed next time, it couldn’t be because she hadn’t tried hard enough.

  The door to the dining room opened to admit Armand. “Another message from Lady Evelyn,” he muttered at Kelan as he marched toward them.

  One of the many inconsistencies that defined Armand’s place in this strange household. He wouldn’t take his meals with them, but had no scruples about barging in and having his say.

  “With all due respect, m’lady,” he said, delivering the scroll of thick, linen paper into her hands, “I don’t believe Lady Evelyn has a grasp on the etiquette of Aether Signalling. I had to replace the canister of ink half through.”

  Lily smiled, both at the prospect of news from Evelyn and at her friend’s stubborn refusal to keep her messages short and efficient.

  “Thank you, Armand.” Her smile deepened as she unwound, and unwound, the ream of paper. “I’ll be sure to remind her that what is spoken, must also be translated and painfully inked onto paper.”

  “Trust Evelyn to appropriate the War Office’s Signaller for her private communications,” Greyston said, chuckling.

  “Devon had an Aether Signaller installed at Harchings House,” Kelan informed him.

  It would be rude to read at the table, but Lily couldn’t resist a quick peek. She listened to the men talk while she skimmed over the first couple of lines.

  “And here I thought Signallers were restricted to government establishments and the McAllisters,” Greyston drawled.

  “Devon is the Secretary of War and Alternative Threats.”

  “Still seems officious to insist on having a private Signaller in his home.”

  “He didn’t insist,” Lily chimed in. “Evie did. Oh, dear…” She reread the line that had stalled her. “This can’t be good.”

  “Is there trouble in London?”

  “Only for me,” she sighed. “Listen to this.”

  She pushed aside her plate so she could spread the ream of paper out before her. “The rumours are catching fire faster than I can put them out. Lady Henriette has it on good authority…” apparently, the old gossip-mongering bat “…from her niece who heard it from…” Lady Kessler who heard it from her second cousin who is in correspondence with a “…Mrs. Derby in Glasgow, saw you entering and leaving the residence of a well known unattached man, on more than one occasion, to the point she’s convinced you were living there…” I assured everyone you don’t even know where Glasgow is, but the bloody flottersnip mill now has you attending a masquerade ball in Vauxhall Gardens last Thursday, and isn’t that convenient, I informed Kathleen Haslow when she spread that little tit bit, since it would seem a trench of brown curls sticking from a mask is a positive identity.

  Lily’s chest tightened as she read. She’d prepared herself for this. Or at least, she thought she had. But to see her reputation shredding before her eyes had a bitter taste.

  “To make matters worse, Pragella…” the silly goose should really never try
to help, but it would seem even she didn’t believe our story about you and that stupid convent “…claimed you couldn’t be at either of those places because you’d taken ill and were convalescing at her family’s estate up in Bedfordshire and now everyone’s titillating with anticipation of your miraculous recovery in approximately nine months time.”

  My dearest Lily, perhaps you should hasten home to quell this madness. No, perhaps that wouldn’t be wise at this moment. Oh, I honestly don’t know. I am the Duchess of Harchings, by damn, I’ll make these sharks hear me or I’ll attend every last ball and musical and boring soirée for the sheer pleasure of giving the entire lot of them the cut direct. Your aunt isn’t making matters any easier and she’ll hear no more of my lies. Those were her words. She’s demanding the truth of your whereabouts. What should I tell her? I do so hate lying to Aunt Beatrice. Perhaps we can put our heads together and fathom some version of the truth?

  “Is that all?” asked Greyston.

  “That is only the beginning.” She rolled the ream of paper up again and injected a sedate, couldn’t-give-a-fig flavour into her tone. “My character, I’m afraid, is quite sullied and unlikely to ever be recovered.”

  “Surely it can’t be so bad,” Greyston said. “Most of it is speculation.”

  “Unfortunately, that just gives them more licence to improvise,” Kelan ground out. His gaze met hers. “I should never have allowed you to come to Glasgow.”

  “You’re neither my father, nor my husband, nor my guardian,” she retorted.

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Lily.” His jaw clenched as he looked at her, then unclenched. “I should have done more to protect your reputation.”

  He sounded sincere, enough so to warrant an apology. But her nerves were brittle and her head was pounding. This was officially the death of her social life and she couldn’t even mourn it without feeling shallow and pathetic.

  “Something like this was bound to happen, sooner or later,” she said instead. “I’m done with hiding.”

  When she glanced at Greyston, she found him watching her with a furrowed brow. Of course he distrusted her casual disregard for her fall from grace. He knew her too well.