“I’m glad to see you’re all right.” Turning his attention to Sir William and Peregrine, Adam added, “I’m sorry for intruding, but I was told to come here to escort Immanuel back to our flat. Has he seen a doctor?”
“Yes, but he can’t leave yet. The police may want to speak to him again.”
“How long is he supposed to stay here looking like this? If he’s been seen to and has already spoken to Scotland Yard, then I’m going to bring him home. If anyone wants to speak to him, I’m sure you have his address on file. Come, Immanuel, the earl’s cab is waiting for us.”
Avoiding their gazes, Immanuel hung his head and followed Adam into the vestibule. A breeze whipped through his hair, bringing with it the unmistakable perfume of water and trees from Hyde Park. If he could, he would have dragged Adam into the hip-high grasses. Together they would sink into the earth until all they feared disappeared and all that remained were the stars and the familiar sighs of sleep. He wanted nothing more than to pretend the night never happened.
“Winter! Winter, wait a moment,” Peregrine called behind them as they reached the throng of men near the front door. When Immanuel and Adam turned, Peregrine caught his breath and continued slowly, “I don’t want you to leave thinking I sent you down there on purpose. If I had known, I never would have done it.”
“I know. You couldn’t have known he was there,” Immanuel replied with a weak smile, forcing back the impending implosion. “I have to thank you. If it wasn’t for you, things could have ended much differently.”
“This goes without saying, but you probably shouldn’t come in tomorrow. Take the weekend to recover. Don’t worry, I will smooth things over with Sir William if need be, but it’s unlikely anyone will argue that you should be here in your current state.” He paused, the smile falling from his face as his eyes traveled to the bulge in Immanuel’s satchel where the device sat swaddled in handkerchiefs. “I do hope you feel better, Winter. Anyway, let’s hope that whatever he was after stays safe.”
Immanuel’s head swam as he watched Peregrine saunter into one of the galleries. He tugged at his collar and closed his eyes against the wave of nausea passing through his gut. Vomit gurgled up his throat, but Immanuel swallowed it down and gave Adam a reassuring nod. As they cut through the swarm of police and reporters, Adam stood behind him, fending off unwanted questions while pushing Immanuel forward with his body. The brief, forceful brushes reassured him. Adam was there. Adam was always there. At the edge of the pavement sat Eilian Sorrell’s idling red steamer. In the window, Immanuel caught a glimpse of his disheveled and bloodied clothes and the feverish glint in his eye. He looked like something out of Bedlam. As he passed the reporters, he hoped none had gotten a good enough look to create an etching for the morning papers.
Adam nudged him into the cab and slid in beside him, fending off a pushy reporter who tried to force open the steamer’s door. The moment the Sorrell’s butler pulled away from the curb, Adam’s features bloomed into horror and concern. His eyes traveled over Immanuel’s face as if looking for the source of the blood streaking across it before lingering on the rips in his jacket and waistcoat. Finally they landed on his hands. Adam took Immanuel’s hands in his, studying the cuts and bits of glass embedded in his palms. When he looked up, tears brimmed at the edge of his lids.
“Your poor hands. I thought a doctor looked at you at the museum. Why didn’t he take care of you?”
Immanuel opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t. His lip trembled and his throat thickened with moisture. “I didn’t tell him,” he croaked. “I just wanted to go home.”
As he dissolved into sobs, Adam’s arms wrapped around him. He rubbed his back, his fingers slipping into Immanuel’s curls. “I know, darling. I know. When the police came, I feared the worst. I thought they would tell me I had lost you for good. You don’t know how relieved I am to see you whole. There’s no way I could have held together if you were any worse off.”
Immanuel glanced toward the white-haired butler who drove with his eyes locked ahead. He heard their conversation and knew what they were but ignored it. Adam’s sister and brother-in-law knew and, therefore, Patrick, the earl’s manservant, must have known about them as well, but Immanuel trusted him as he trusted his masters. Releasing a wet, hitching breath, Immanuel closed his eyes against Adam’s shoulder with his torn palms resting in his lap, thankful that he didn’t need to hold it in anymore. The thought of giving into numbness on the walk back to Baker Street or pretending to not know each other in a hired cab made him sick. For over an hour he had tried to convince himself it didn’t happen. No one had chased him in the storeroom. A knife had never sunk into his side. A detective from Scotland Yard hadn’t questioned him like he was a criminal who had lured the man inside to be beaten to death. The man’s body hadn’t housed Alastair Rose’s soul. Silent cries rocked his form, sending pains shooting through his ribs. He would have done anything to go home.
Immanuel lifted his head, straining to breathe. “Are— are Eilian and Hadley—?” He gasped for air. “Are they at our house?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. They came to surprise us with dinner. I’m sure you would—”
“No, I’m— I’m glad they’re there. I should like to sit and talk with them, but look at me. This is all they’ll see, Adam.”
Before Adam could reply, the steamer slowed to a stop before their flat. The lights in the front windows were lit and the curtains had been pushed back to reveal the earl and countess’s faces at the pane awaiting their return. Reaching for the door, Immanuel snatched his hand away at the sharp tear of glass in his palms. Pain rang through his body, filling every inch with renewed fear. In his mind’s eye, he saw the man’s lifeless eyes and the soupy black patch on the floor where bits of skull mingled with preserved tissue and broken glass. How had he ever thought stones and symbols could do any good?
***
Immanuel stood at the bathroom window, watching the Sorrell’s red steamer pull away from the pavement and disappear into the evening fog. He didn’t want them to go. The moment he arrived home, Eilian and Hadley had sprung into action. Adam retreated to the kitchen to reheat their dinner while the earl gathered clean clothes and sent Patrick out for fresh bandages. Upon seeing his hands, Hadley had taken him into the kitchen to soak them in Epsom salt and water. For nearly an hour she had patiently picked out every minute shard. In that moment, he loved them more than they could have known. He hadn’t deserved their gentle smiles and tender ministrations. He had done nothing for them, yet his sister- and brother-in-law treated him like one of their own. If only they had stayed, then maybe he wouldn’t have felt so exposed. Adam thought he would want solitude after the day’s horrors, but he needed their cheerful voices filling the house to chase away the shadows of his mind. Despite the pain, they made him forget for a time. With four people in the house, surely no one would try to harm him.
Turning back to the tub, he sighed. Hadley’s last kindness before she left was to fill the tub with piping-hot water. He had washed his face, but his body still smelled of formaldehyde and rot. Immanuel peeled off his waistcoat and shirt, trying to ignore the scratch of glass trapped within them. As he reached to remove his trousers, his stomach churned at the sight of fingerprints bruised into his forearm. It’s happening all over again, he thought as he kicked off his remaining clothing and stepped into the tub. His flesh burned and the thoughts tumbled through his mind in the silence.
He was back. Lord Rose was back. The man who had destroyed his body and mind had died in the Hawthornes’ basement by his own hand, but there he was in a new body—a stranger’s body. Now, Lord Rose could be anyone. If he could invade a body once, he could do it again. Immanuel had to tell someone. He had to warn them.
Immanuel’s thoughts were broken by the jiggle of the doorknob behind him. His heart quickened with fear, then beat faster at the sight of Adam standing in the threshold.
He reached to grab his companion’s clothing off the floor
when Immanuel murmured, “Don’t bother, Adam. They’re ruined.”
“I figured as much.” The rubbish bin teetered as he threw them in. “May I join you?”
“If you don’t mind the smell.”
Scooting closer to the far end, Immanuel folded his arms over the rim of the tub and rested his head against them. Water splashed across his back as Adam slipped in behind him. His legs appeared on either side of him, and his chest burned against his back. Soft hands tentatively caressed Immanuel’s shoulders before slipping across his collarbones and down his sternum. Immanuel bit back a hiss as the water stung the field of tiny scrapes across his chest. Adam’s hands stopped, his eyes tracing the stitches on his side. Certain he had taken in every new wound and bruise, Adam leaned back against the porcelain and closed his eyes with a relieved sigh. Immanuel grabbed the washcloth and soap, quietly scrubbing off Lord Rose’s fingerprints and the blood beneath his nails. In the morning, he would do a more thorough job when Adam wasn’t so close. His body stirred at the thought of his lover’s soft, freckled flesh only inches behind him.
Immanuel leaned back until he rested in Adam’s lap. Mustached lips brushed Immanuel’s shoulder as Adam’s hand snaked around his chest. “I’m so happy you’re safe.”
“Me too. I just wish someone was watching the door.” The words escaped his lips before he could stop them.
Adam swallowed hard and removed his arm. The room fell silent, but he didn’t move to leave.
“I’m sorry, Adam. I’m just afraid.”
“And understandably so, but you’re safe now. The culprit’s dead, isn’t he? It was simply horrible timing. At least, it couldn’t possibly happen again. Three near-death experiences is plenty for one person.”
Immanuel’s eyes burned as he kept them locked on the bathroom window and his fingers tightly curled on the rim of the tub. “It wasn’t a coincidence that he found me. He came looking for me.”
“What do you mean he came looking for you?”
“He’s back, Adam. He didn’t die. He was never dead.”
“Who?” Adam asked cautiously, his voice low.
Immanuel’s breath crackled as he turned and locked eyes with his lover. “Who do you think? Lord Rose. He found me, Adam. He found me at the museum and came back to hurt me. He’s still out there somewhere. What if he comes back again? What will I do if he comes here?”
Doubt lurked beneath Adam’s somber exterior. He hid the tremor in his voice as he said, “Immanuel, we both know Lord Rose is dead. It couldn’t possibly have been him. The man who broke into the museum was a thief.”
“You didn’t see him. You didn’t look into his eyes when he threatened to stab me. I would know those eyes anywhere, Adam. I looked into them for months. It’s him. He had a different body, but he moved the same, he sounded the same.”
“Immanuel—”
“No! I know what you’re going to say, but you weren’t there! He said he wanted to make me and Emmeline pay for what we did to him. He wanted to make me suffer. A thief wouldn’t know that.” His voice rose with every word until finally he cried, “He wanted to torture me again, and you don’t even care!”
Adam shook his head and scratched at his wrist. Opening his mouth, he tried to speak but couldn’t when he met Immanuel’s pleading features.
Tears welled in Immanuel’s eyes. “You don’t believe me.”
“How can I? Lord Rose is dead. People don’t come back to life.”
“Emmeline did. I did.”
“That’s different. People can come around after nearly drowning, and maybe you weren’t dead when Lord Rose electrocuted you. You could have simply fainted.”
“I can’t believe you.”
Despite the ache in his ribs and back, Immanuel vaulted out of the tub, snatching up his towel and pajamas on the way out. Water sloshed behind him as Adam followed suit, but before the redhead could catch-up, Immanuel slammed and locked the bedroom door behind him.
“Immanuel, let me in. You’re being ridiculous,” he yelled through the door.
“No, I’m not!”
“Well, you certainly aren’t being an adult about this.” The doorknob rattled as he let his hand fall. His voice dropped, weariness overtaking anger, as he said, “At least let me in, so we can talk.”
Immanuel slipped on his drawers and took a step toward the door. A pang of guilt crawled through his gut as he turned the lock. “All right, but you have to promise to listen to me.”
Adam pushed inside, his eyes running over Immanuel for any sign of further injury or distress. Drawing in a long, tremulous breath, Immanuel averted his gaze and sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. The mattress sank beside him as Adam joined him in only his towel, a gentle hand closing around Immanuel’s knee.
“I believe you when you say that you saw Lord Rose’s face in your attacker. I know you believe it with all your being. The man came with the intent to kill or injure anyone who got in his way, and so did Lord Rose. It would only make sense that you would draw parallels between the two, but they aren’t the same man, Immanuel. Alastair Rose is dead, and he’s never coming back.”
He was right. Alastair Rose’s body had died the day they tried to reanimate the Prince Consort, but Adam hadn’t seen the swath of black flow out of the man’s body. It had been his soul, and now, it was floating through the aether looking for a new host whose body he could manipulate and wear like a suit. Sweat dripped down his back at the helpless thought. He could be anywhere and in anyone. His head swam and his stomach gurgled to the point that he thought if he didn’t lie down, he would vomit. Immanuel bit his lip as he lay across the bed facing the wall. Maybe if he closed his eyes, it would all be over, and the fear would lessen for a time.
Adam’s hand ran along Immanuel’s spine. “I’m worried about you, Immanuel. You don’t seem yourself. You barely eat. You never sleep. I hear you pacing at all hours, and in the morning, you look as if you haven’t slept in a week. You don’t draw. You don’t read. All you do is work. What can I do to help you?”
“Nothing,” Immanuel said into the pillow, his eyes burning at the sound of the all too familiar word.
“Have you thought of seeing a doctor?”
“A doctor? You think I’m crazy, don’t you? That I’m seeing things now?”
Images of being strapped down and electrocuted flashed through his mind. He couldn’t end up there. They would murder his soul, and he would kill his body if they did.
“That’s not what I said. Maybe they can give you something to help you sleep. If you were able to sleep, maybe you wouldn’t have—,” delusions, “so much anxiety.”
Immanuel released a bitter laugh. “Sure, a little laudanum and I will be good as new.”
Adam bristled. “I’m going to leave you be for now. I fear if I stay, I’m going to say something I will regret later. Just know that I want to help you, but you won’t let me.”
Listening with his eyes closed, Immanuel heard dresser drawers open and slam shut. Tears burned his lids at the sound of fabric slipping across Adam’s back and up his legs. His footsteps trailed to the door when they suddenly stopped. Immanuel turned his head to find Adam staring down at him, his lips drawn straight and his arms tightly folded across his breast.
“I’m sorry, but you need to hear this. You need help. Ever since you went back to Oxford, it seems as if you’re trying to slowly kill yourself, and I appear to be the only one who’s worried. Do you want to die? I thought you would like living with me, that it would be better for you, but you seem miserable. We are taking a big risk living together, and if you aren’t happy, then I don’t know if it’s worth continuing.”
Immanuel bit his lip until the taste of copper welled in his mouth in hopes that it would silence the squeak crawling up his throat and the sob that followed it.
“Tell me, are you happy here or was this a mistake?”
His emotions bubbled out in a crackling heave that ended in a blubbered sob. His
body rocked as he curled inward on himself and wept into his knees. He ruined everything.
“Oh, Immanuel,” Adam whispered as he climbed into bed beside him. He wrapped his arms around the crying man and rubbed his uninjured side. “Tell me what I can do. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I like living here,” he cried. “It’s not you. It’s just… it’s just that I don’t know how to be happy anymore.”
It seemed impossible. In the safety of Adam’s arms, he released his pent up feelings in hot tears until his ribs and sinuses burned. All the love in the world couldn’t cure the emptiness where something he could no longer remember had once been. He wanted to be happy. He wanted to love Adam and build a life without fear. He wanted to have fun again, but it all seemed impossible now.
Drawing in a thick breath, Immanuel’s attention trailed to the icy spot on his chest where his pendant of perpetually blooming forget-me-nots hung. Whether anyone believed him or not, he knew Lord Rose was out there waiting. But who would believe an immortal boy and an impossible girl?
Chapter Fourteen
Shared Souls
It hadn’t been easy to tell Adam to go to work. All through breakfast and getting dressed, Adam had asked him over and over, “Are you certain you will be all right by yourself?”
The answer had seemed so easy then. “Yes, I’ll be fine. You go to work every day, don’t you?”
But today was different. Today, there was no work for Immanuel to go to. There were no specimens to examine, no exhibit cards to write or edit. As Adam gave him a soft, lingering good-bye kiss, he sensed his lover’s trepidation. There was an extra glance over his shoulder to give Immanuel ample time to change his mind, but Immanuel kept his lips resolutely shut. The front door closed behind him and all that remained was silence.
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