by Lynn Vieh
“No.” Harry sounded genuinely frightened and swiped at me, but his hand passed through my arm. “Charm, if you smash it you’ll be torn to pieces—”
“Then I’ll go and be with him.” I brought down the pocket watch as hard as I could, smashing it into the stone. The watch’s crystal shattered, and a piece banged into my chin, cutting me.
Harry let out a long breath. “Thank the Gods.”
Blood dripped from my face onto the nightstone as I lifted the ruined watch a second time. “Goddamn you, Lucien, come out of there.”
“Charm.”
The second time I hit the nightstone I felt it crack. Purple-black light poured across my face, freezing my skin and blinding me. I fell back, feeling as if the dock had begun spinning like a top, and rubbed at my eyes until they cleared.
“You are the most stubborn, idiotic, mule-headed mortal female it has ever been my misfortune to know,” I heard Harry say as the sky blurred and the Talian ship began to turn transparent.
“What? Wait.” I looked over at Dredmore’s body, but it and the tarp were gone. “Harry? Where is Lucien? What have I done?”
“Made your father happy at last, I expect.” He sat down beside me, as solid as I was, and put an arm round my shoulders. “Close your eyes now or you’ll get very dizzy.”
I couldn’t even blink; the world had gone mad. Night turned to day as the sun rose in the west and climbed backward through the sky. The tide rushed in and out. Great clouds of black smoke funneled down into the city, dwindling to thin streams before disappearing altogether. Cargo handlers working faster than could be followed dragged crates out to load them on ships that raised anchors and sails and moved against the wind out to sea.
“I don’t believe it.” I thought my eyes might pop out of their sockets. “Everything is going in reverse.” I raised a hand to cover my gaping mouth, only to see it growing as transparent as Harry. “Am I dying?”
“No, my dear. You’ve worked the only magic you can. Your father’s science.” My grandfather made a rude sound. “That wasn’t a pocket watch. It was another of his blasted mechs.”
I glanced down at the ruins of the watch. “What did it do before I smashed it?”
“Doesn’t matter now; you’ve bonded his mech and her magic with your blood, and the watch’s power has been released.” His voice grew distant. “I’m afraid you’ve turned time on its head, Charm.”
I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t work. “When will it stop?”
He was only a faint outline in the air now. “When you’ve returned to the beginning of it all, of course. Assuming you survive the journey.”
Harry vanished, and then, so did I.
* * *
“Charmian.”
I floated through the darkness, seeking the voice calling my name. Only after some time did I realize it came from inside me, and was enough like my own for me to believe I’d spoken.
Until it came again, and scolded me. “I did not raise you to be ignorant, or a coward, and you have conducted yourself as a clever and resourceful woman. Since we were parted, you have made me and your father very proud of you.”
I lifted my head and searched for a Harry-like presence, but no spirit appeared. “Mum?”
“I don’t trifle with the passages between worlds as my father does,” my mother said. “I am quite content here. Or I was, until this moment.”
It had to be my mother; no one else could make me feel such guilt. “But you’re dead.”
“There is the death of the body, which comes to every person in the mortal world,” my mother said primly. “It cannot be stopped or avoided; it must be accepted as inevitable. But that which animates us, that which is the essence of us; that never truly dies.” A comforting warmth welled up inside me, as if I were being hugged all over. “This is not your time to leave this world, my dear. Or his.”
“But he’s dead, too.” I should know, I’d murdered him. “Mum, I don’t think I can go on without him.”
“You won’t have to now, Charmian.” Something tugged at me, pushing me through the darkness. “You must return now, and put things to rights. When you wake, you will know what is to be done.”
I felt the warmth receding. “Don’t leave me, Mum.”
In my mind she whispered, We’ll be reunited someday, my darling. When it’s your time, your father and I will be waiting for you.
As my eyes cleared so did the darkness, and I found myself looking across my desk at Lady Diana Walsh.
Chapter Thirteen
“Are you unwell, Miss Kittredge?” Lady Diana asked, taking a lacy handkerchief from her reticule and touching it to the dark circles under her pretty eyes. “Is that why you refuse to help me?”
“I’m not sick, milady.” The burning sensation in my stomach had vanished. So had all my aches and pains and the soot blackening my skin. My mind began to reel as I glanced down at the little calendar I kept on my desk and saw the date. The date that was a fortnight past. The day I’d met Lady Diana Walsh for the first time.
Time. Harry had said something about it. It took a moment before I remembered what it was.
You’ve turned time on its head.
“The attacks on your person are not the result of a spell, nor are the words cut into your flesh actual wounds,” I told Lady Diana. “You are the victim of cruelty and contempt, not magic.”
“How could you—?” She stopped and rose to her feet. “I should have known better than to come here. Good day, Miss Kittredge.”
“Proof. Of course, you’ll want that before you believe me.” I took a flask from my drawer, went round the desk, seized one of her wrists, and pulled off the glove. “Here, hold still.” As I poured the brandy over her hand she uttered a shrill sound that I ignored as I picked at the edge of the letter S in SLUT, lifting the dried wound paste just enough to peel it off. “You see? Just as I said. The brandy acts as a solvent, but don’t yank at it too hard, or it will still tear your skin.”
Lady Walsh stopped protesting and stared. “How in the world . . . ?” She went to work and in a few seconds had carefully peeled all the paste off her unmarked flesh. Her wide eyes shifted to my face. “You knew how this was done to me? Without ever meeting me? Who—?”
“I’m afraid this time I do have an urgent appointment across town,” I told her as I reached for my walking cloak. “Perhaps we could meet later, at your home?”
“You are not invited to my home. Nor can you tell me such things and then walk out.” Her voice grew shrill. “I must know who did this to me.”
“In a few hours, you will. Or we’ll all be dead. I’m not quite sure how it will go.” Once I fastened my cloak I grabbed my keylace from the wall hook. “Oh, and you should know that the only reason your husband married you was to get another heir. Your stepson is diseased and barren. Good day, milady.”
I ran past her footman for the stairs, praying that my assumptions about my own circumstances were just as correct. Puzzling that out made me forget about Fourth, who intercepted me on the stairs halfway to the first floor landing.
“Good morning, Mr. Gremley.” Hoping to squeeze past him I moved to one side, but he did the same. “I do beg your pardon, but I’m in something of a hurry.”
The clerk bent from the waist in one of his overdone bows. “Miss Kittredge, I’d hoped to—”
“—run into me today,” I finished for him. “I regret to say that I cannot be your escort to the opening of the opera on Thursday next, excuse me, Friday next, as I will be away on business. Mr. Skolnik’s unmarried daughter, Maritza, will make a fine substitute. She speaks no English, so your dear mother will be unable to grill her.”
By this point Fourth’s nonexistent chin had dropped to his reedy chest. “Miss Kittredge, you have anticipated my every thought. How in heaven’s name—?”
“It’s magic. I was wrong. It does exist.” I patted his shoulder. “Must fly. Do enjoy the opera.”
He didn’t try to stop me as I d
arted round him and made it to the basement access door on the first-floor landing.
“Docket.” My voice couldn’t be heard above the clanking and hammering, but as soon as I spotted the bottom half of him sticking out from a familiar cabinet I didn’t bother to shout again. I did rap my knuckles on the side of the HangItAll to get his attention.
“What the devil is it now?” Docket emerged, his face shiny with sweat and patches of black grease. “Oh, Kit, fabulous. I’m just putting the finishing touches on—”
“—the HangItAll. Problem is that the boiler steam will soak all the garments you put in it, so best you call it the WashItAll.” I paused to catch my breath. “Docket, I need to borrow your carri for a few hours.”
“WashItAll. That might work.” As he looked at me, his grin turned upside down. “Sorry, my dear, but the carri’s done for. Took it apart last week to repair the boiler.” He squinted at me. “What’s the matter? You look white as a wedding frock.”
Without a carri I’d never get there. “I have to go.” Wouldn’t be the first time I’d stolen one. I hurried outside and looked down both sides of the street. No carris in sight, and the trolley wouldn’t reach the corner stop for half an hour. I felt so desperate I even thought of the tubes, but even if I could survive the pressure of being shot through one, I’d never fit inside.
I sat down on the curb to prop my head against my fists. I would not wail or weep or otherwise make a fool of myself. I would think of a way.
The clop of hooves came toward me, growing slower until they stopped. I raised my head to see a big black horse looming over me. He had been bridled but not saddled, and his sides were sweaty, as if he’d been on a long run.
“George, what are you doing here?” The horse dropped his head to nudge my shoulder, and I automatically caught his reins. “You can’t be here. You weren’t here that day. This day. We haven’t met.”
He snorted and tugged, pulling me to my feet. I had to hike up my skirts to mount him, which bared my legs almost to the knee as I rode down the street. Decent men stared, decent women turned away, but a few clerks and cartlasses laughed and waved me on.
I guided George across the city, out to the farmlands, and down the long road to my destination. The black iron gates were closed, of course, but George leapt over them, as quick and nimble as a hare.
I reined him into a respectable trot—dashing up to the great ugly place would only alarm the hooligans guarding it—but took him straight to the front of the house. Connell appeared before I could dismount, but as soon as he saw my face he turned and hurried back into the main house.
“Well, we’re here, George,” I said as I dropped to my feet. “One of us has to go in there.”
The big black horse eyed me before he turned and trotted off toward the stables.
“Coward.” I shook out my skirts and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I walked up to use the knocker. But the door was already opening, the man inside stepping out.
“Charmian.” Lucien Dredmore, resplendent in his usual silver and onyx, surveyed me from toe to crown and back again. “Am I to understand my man correctly? You’ve stolen one of my horses?”
“No, sir.” He was alive. “I am returning it.” He was himself again. “It ran away and came to my building in the city and I have to sit down now.” I was going to cast up my accounts, all over his boots.
The marble step felt so cold it was like perching on a block of ice. That was why I was shaking so badly. I felt a strong hand at the back of my head, an arm under my knees, and then he was lifting and carrying me through his dark dungeon of a house to a softer spot, a chaise lounge by a sunlit window. I heard him call for brandy, and then he was putting the rim of a glass to my lips.
“Drink.” When I didn’t, he took hold of the end of my nose and pinched it shut.
I drank, and coughed, and felt the fire in my throat spread through my insides as it settled to an agreeable warmth.
He made me take another swallow and then he watched me until the shaking stopped. “Should I call for the smelling salts, Charmian, or is that the end of it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never been in shock before now. I’m so sorry.”
“You are apologizing. To me.” He put his hand to my brow. “You’ve no fever. Were you thrown from my horse?”
“George would never unseat me,” I said, and took a deep breath. “This morning I was tossed back through time. I’m here because of that. Because I’ve seen the future, and I need your help to change it.”
“You have hit your head on something.” Lucien glanced over at Connell. “Send for the physick at once.”
“Wait, please.” I considered what to tell him. I’d killed the man, or rather his body; he deserved to know at least that much. But he had no memory of the wonderful or terrible things that had happened to us—or hadn’t yet done them, now that I’d thrown us all back in time—so he would think me terribly addled, or even perhaps gone mad.
Unless I offered him evidence to the contrary. “No one knows about your life before you came to Toriana, do they? You’ve never confided it to anyone. Certainly not me.”
“What are you about now, Charmian?” he asked, his voice going soft and lethal.
“You were five when your parents sent you away to school. They didn’t tell you that you would be kept there, that you wouldn’t go home for holiday like the other boys.” I looked round at his things. “You’ve always had the best that could be provided. They paid for you to have a private room, the finest tutors, the most expensive garments. But there were no letters, Dredmore. No birthday cards. No visits. Nothing. They wouldn’t even permit your nanny or valet to write to you.”
His eyes took on a dangerous glitter. “Who told you this?”
“You did, or more precisely, you will.” And I proceeded to tell him the rest. I spared him no detail, and when I named the exact sum his mother had offered him to leave England forever, he turned his head and stared into the fireplace.
It wasn’t anger or wounded pride. He was ashamed of what they had done to him. Perhaps because they had felt no shame in doing it.
Once I had finished, I picked up the glass of brandy I disliked so intensely and took a large swallow. After another round of coughing, I handed the remainder to him. “In fourteen days there will be an invasion of Rumsen. Talian Reapers will come here with an army, led by the agents of an Aramanthan warlord called Zarath. They plan to use the dreamstone they’ve hidden all over the city inside phony wardlings to turn our people into puppets.”
He drained the rest of the brandy. “I don’t know how you found out about my boyhood, but dreamstone and time travel are myths. The Tillers would never permit the Reapers to set foot on Toriana soil.” He regarded me carefully. “You haven’t been trifling with poppy dust, have you?”
“The Reapers have already infiltrated the Tillers,” I assured him. “They’re controlling Lord Walsh.”
“Nolan Walsh, the banker?” When I nodded, he made a dismissive gesture. “The man is nothing but a pompous ass.”
“Takes one to know one, does it?” I asked sweetly. Before he could reply, I added, “In a little over a week, that pompous ass will capture you and me at Feathersound. Yes, I know you own it. To save my life, you’ll swallow a spirit stone, Walsh will kill himself, and your body will be possessed by Zarath. The warlord needs your mind power to remove the final obstacles and set off the dreamstones.”
He stared at me. “You’ve never in your life believed in magic.”
“That reminds me.” I smiled. “Your current suspicions about me are correct. I am a spell-breaker, Lucien. That’s why your magic has no effect on me.” I didn’t have to tell him that his spiritborn gift of enchantment worked extremely well; that little detail could remain between me and the future Dredmore.
He came to me and jerked me to my feet. “If what you say isn’t some bizarre fancy you’ve dreamed up to confound me, and by some impossibly wild
chance you have returned from the future, then why didn’t you stop the Reapers while you were there?”
“I did.” I rested my hand against his chest. “Just before Zarath cast his spell over the city, I drove an iron spike through his heart and killed him.” I looked up at him and let him see everything I felt. “Which was, coincidentally, your heart.”
“You killed me.”
I nodded. “Before you surrendered your body to Zarath, you made me promise that I would. I didn’t enjoy it as much as I expected. Really a lot of blood.”
His hands fell away. “Now I do believe you.”
“Excellent.” I turned my head. “Bring the carriage round, Connell.” I saw the surprise on the servant’s face before I said, “Your master and I are going to call on Lord and Lady Walsh.”
* * *
Dredmore said very little as we rode to the Hill. I pulled up the shade so I could see the mansions glittering in the sunlight once again. While I would never care for the ton’s lofty community, seeing it burnt to the ground had not been an improvement.
“Do you mean to expose Walsh in front of his family?” Dredmore asked.
“Not at all.” As the carriage stopped, I reached up and felt for my pendant. “We will speak to him privately.”
He frowned. “If he is under Reaper control, he will deny every charge, and then use his influence to destroy my credibility and your life.”
“Not this time.” I reached out and patted the back of his hand. When he seized my wrist, I didn’t pull away. “We’ve arrived. Don’t change your mind now.”
He held on to me. “You haven’t told me everything about the future, have you?”
“What, and spoil the surprise?” I smiled as Connell opened the door. “Where would be the fun in that?”
The Walshes’ forbidding old butler came directly to answer the door, doubtless astonished by the prospect of anyone calling at such an unseemly, early hour.