Lord Hale pressed back, pinning her against the wainscoting as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Hoisting her up, he raised her until their mouths were level and each kiss came as easily as breathing. Lips, hands, tongues all sliding and mingling to form a jumble of heat and chill, a wild thing threatening to escape. His fingers reached longingly for the buttons running down her spine but slid away. Emmeline tightened her grip, dragging him closer with renewed urgency despite the risk of someone finding them. If only they could move into one of the rooms. His arms faltered with her reaching for the unyielding knob behind her, and as he slid her down the wall until her feet met the polished floorboards, the breath returned to their lungs. Drawing back but keeping his bodyweight against her, a heavy smile crossed his lips. He stared down at her breathlessly. Her chest heaved as she rested her head against the wall, hoping the warmth in her cheeks and flesh wouldn’t dissipate.
With the edge of his hand, he traced the soft lines of her jaw and the apples of her cheeks. Lord Hale raised her chin and kissed her. His lips burned against hers as the door behind her rattled on its hinges. Hands, firm and gentle, worked along her sides, one pulling her flush against him while the other explored the curves of her frame. Breaking from her lips, he slid to her neck. Quick, hot kisses pulled a stifled moan from her throat. Emmeline clutched at his coat. Her eyes slipped back in their sockets and her toes curled in her boots at the touch of his tongue. It was better than she had ever imagined. All she wanted was him, and she wanted more, more than they could offer each other at the Eidolon Club.
“I’m glad I showed up today,” he whispered against her neck, each syllable sending a ripple of sensation that sent gooseflesh across her breast.
“Me too,” was all she could manage as his tongue darted across her neck. “We— we shouldn’t. Not here.”
Lord Hale eased back to let her stand and straighten her mussed hair. Locking his heavy-lidded eyes with hers, he said, “You have witchcraft in your lips, Emmeline Jardine, and you have bewitched me.”
“Good, then my charms are working. I’m certain I have it other places too, but you might not ever know about that.”
He released a chuckle and scooped her bag off the floor where it had fallen during their moment of passion. “What did you want to see me for? Besides this.”
Emmeline reached into her bag, feeling for the soft, pliable cover of the grimoire. Her heart pounded at the thought of it being out of her possession. Like their kiss, it felt somewhere between relief and panic, but she pulled it out anyway and dropped the bag behind her. Lord Hale’s eyes widened at the sight of the leather tome. He reached out to stroke it but pulled his hand away before he could make contact.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice tight.
“I don’t know exactly. It came in the mail at the Spiritualist Society addressed to the leader of it, but I took it because I didn’t want Nostra to have it. I don’t think it was ever meant for her, really. At times, I think it’s an old book on science but then, it also seems magical.” Her face darkened as she traced the vines and arabesques, picturing the strange circles within burning white when her blood touched it. “It’s all in Latin, so I thought maybe you would be able to help me decipher it. You can hold onto it if you want. I don’t want my aunt to stumble across it.”
The air seeped from Cecil’s lungs as he held the book. He closed his eyes and let the pulse of power wash over him. The book burned white hot in his hand while Emmeline’s inner flame rose to match it. They had bonded. Lady Rose wouldn’t be pleased.
“Are you certain you want me to have it? It would probably interest you,” he replied slowly, leafing through the pages of strange drawings and arcane sigils.
“It doesn’t help me much if I can’t read it, now does it?”
“I could teach you.”
“I would like that,” she replied, a smile flashing across her lips before disappearing at her next thought. “There’s another matter I wanted to ask you about if that’s all right with you.”
“Anything.”
Emmeline drew in a deep breath, banishing Cassandra Ashwood’s face from her mind. “I want to be a member of the Eidolon Club. I’ve realized the Spiritualist Society holds nothing for me anymore.”
Hope welled sickeningly sweet in Cecil’s chest. “Are you sure? Once you’re here, you probably won’t be able to go back. What about Cassandra? Does she know?”
“It doesn’t matter what she or anyone else thinks. This life is mine and mine alone. I’ve made my choice.”
Emmeline stared up at him with her owl eyes set firm, and he knew there was no other choice. There would be no way to spare her. “We will initiate you tomorrow. Come back at dusk.”
Chapter Sixteen
Vive ut Vivas
Immanuel hummed to himself as he brushed the last of the butter and herb mixture onto the chicken he had bought at the market. While he had to brave the vision of the butcher with his cleaver, making Adam happy was worth it. He bit back a wide grin. Adam would be so surprised to arrive back from the earl’s house in Greenwich to find a chicken roasting in the oven and a cake already cooling on the table. Immanuel’s hands were gummed with flour and butter and his apron bore the tell-tale signs of cooking as he rushed around the kitchen balancing the timing of meat, side dishes, and dessert, but he didn’t mind. It reminded him of happier days spent at the stove with his mother before their Sunday dinners with Johannes and Theodor. A spark of lightness he had missed for months glowed within him. And it was all for Adam.
Popping the chicken into the oven, he turned his attention to the icing he had assembled but abandoned to finish their dinner. He carefully tucked the bowl under his arm, whipping the sugar, berries, and butter as quickly as his tugging stitches would allow. As the balls of powder disappeared into the pink goo, the doorbell sounded in the hall. Immanuel froze, stopping mid-stroke as the song died in his throat. Adam couldn’t be back already. He had to go over the books for the earl’s estate and Hadley’s toy company, and that would take a few hours at least. Dropping the bowl on the table and wiping his hands, he cautiously crept down the hall as the bell rang again. His throat tightened at the prospect of opening the door. He could dive into the parlor or Hadley’s studio and hide until the shadows peeking through the front window disappeared. He could picture Lord Rose, his devil’s gaze lurking just below the surface of whatever body he had stolen waiting on the porch to strike. Could he have found his home? Then again, what if it was Scotland Yard coming to ask him more questions about the break-in at the museum? Immanuel pulled off his apron and rushed to the door. He wouldn’t let the police come barging into his life again. He would meet them on his terms.
Immanuel braced himself and opened the door expecting to see a plain-clothed detective in a cheap suit or a bobby in blue wool, but instead, he found Peregrine Nichols in his best violet and grey pinstripe suit. The botanist flashed a fanged grin as he doffed his hat. Looking over his head, Immanuel spotted two women. His eyes widened at the sight of Cassandra Ashwood waving at him with a reassuring smile beside a stern woman he vaguely recognized. He had only met her once, a few months earlier in Oxford when Adam had come to visit him. Back then, snow still fell at night to dust the lawns while memories surfaced against his will like a cry in his throat. Her arrival had been heralded with a swarm on dons flooding the university to stop her from opening a school for women with money from a dead heiress. She had lost the battle, but Immanuel had never forgotten the sensation when their palms met and invisible vines that prickled like lightning rushed up his arm and flared across his shoulder blades. Judith Elliott’s military bearing and keen eyes weren’t easily forgotten, but he couldn’t imagine what she had in common with the others.
His eyes ran between them. “Mr. Nichols, Miss Elliott, Miss Ashwood, what are you doing here?” His mind filed through possibilities, and a second later he added, “Have I been sacked?”
“No, no. Your job is quite safe, Winter, so lo
ng as Sir William is busy dealing with the gala and squashing rumors. May we come in? What we have to say is a bit more…,” he trailed off, cocking a sharp brow and twirling his hand to speed the uncharacteristic silence.
“Pressing,” Miss Ashwood finished. “It’s nothing to be worried about, I promise.”
“It’s just—” Immanuel glanced over his shoulder at the bowl of icing waiting on the kitchen table. Adam would be home in an hour and the chicken wouldn’t feed five. Swallowing hard, he said softly, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have company coming tonight.”
“It won’t take too long.”
Stepping aside, Immanuel let the cabal file in. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if for a moment he had fallen asleep at the table and they had been a fabrication of his mind, but no, they were as real as he was. Making certain the front door was locked, he reached into the front of the satchel hanging on the coat rack and slipped the vivalabe into his trouser pocket. As Cassandra and Miss Elliott took their seats on the sofa, his eyes traveled to the space between the cushions where he had stuffed the journal of spells and photograph of his younger self. It was too late to hide it now. When he looked up, Miss Elliott had settled into her air of power with her brassy hair gleaming in the sunlight and her eyes set wholly on him.
“May I get you tea?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably under her penetrating gaze.
“No, thank you. Please, take a seat, Mr. Winter,” Miss Elliott commanded, her American accent clipped in the quiet room. “There’s no need to look so afraid. We only want to speak with you.”
“It’s rather hard to stay calm when people keep telling you there’s no reason to be afraid. I don’t understand why you’re all here.”
“Just sit and we’ll tell you.”
Immanuel tugged at his collar and chewed his lip as he sank into the nearest chair. His heart thundered in his throat in time with the clicking of the vivalabe against his thigh. The air hummed between them, raising the scant hairs on Immanuel’s arms. At any moment, he feared one of them would move and the air would arc with sparks. Catching Peregrine’s eyes flickering over the cuts littering his hands, Immanuel tucked them around his middle out of sight.
“As you probably guessed, we’re here to talk about what occurred at the museum the other night,” Peregrine began slowly. Upon seeing Immanuel’s eyes widen, he put up his hands. “Not fired. You’re not fired. It’s about the man who attacked you. Was there anything strange about him?”
Immanuel’s tongue turned to sand. He wanted to cry out that the man was dead, that the body he had wasn’t his, that he belonged in hell after all he had done to him, but Immanuel kept his mouth shut. They were watching for his answer. They knew something.
Drawing in a deep breath, he pushed away the visions of that night. If he could be clinical, maybe he wouldn’t lose his grip. “He wasn’t right. His eyes were unfocused, but there was something behind them that scared me. It was as if he was wild, and he— he smelled like rot.”
“Anything else?” Peregrine prodded.
“He didn’t bleed. It was as if he was dead. He was, wasn’t he?”
Peregrine and Cassandra nodded.
“But how? Was he reanimated? Is there another machine?”
“They don’t use machines, no, but have you ever heard of a neamh mairbh? You might have heard it called a revenant,” Cassandra said slowly, keeping her voice level.
“No.”
“It’s a reanimated corpse. Revenants are malicious spirits that take over fresh corpses, usually to take revenge on someone. It’s rare to have a spirit be so evil or tortured that it doesn’t move on. Between the level of malevolence and the power needed to create one, we don’t see them very often. Thankfully.”
“They’re also bloody hard to kill,” Peregrine added with a shake of his head. “Had to bust its skull like a coconut and still had to dispel it with a spell to finally kill it.”
“A spell? What do you mean a spell?” Immanuel sputtered.
“It’s— well, it’s like the ward you have on the front door. Symbolic ingredients, a catalyst, focus, and intention, but on a much larger scale.”
The ward. Immanuel’s brows furrowed in confusion but loosened upon seeing the rune stones his mother had sent. “Those aren’t spells. It’s just superstition. They were a housewarming gift from my mother.”
Cassandra and Peregrine locked eyes before turning to Judith, who had yet to take her gaze off Immanuel.
“He doesn’t know,” Judith said without a hint of surprise or emotion.
“What don’t I know?”
“That you’re a practioner.”
“Of magic,” Peregrine added.
“No, I’m not. That’s not possible. I’m a scientist. Magic is just superstition.”
A little voice inside of him whispered of flowers uncurling and dead creatures giving him a glimpse of their final moments, but he silenced it. He was normal.
“Magic is merely what science doesn’t have an explanation for.”
“I can’t be a— a practioner. I don’t do anything with magic.”
“What’s around your neck?” Judith asked, pointing to his collar.
Immanuel stared down at his chest. There was no way she could have seen the chain tucked beneath his shirt and waistcoat. Unbuttoning the top of his shirt, he pulled out the silver chain and the flower-filled vial swinging from it. How had she known?
“You became a practioner the moment you used that.”
“But it wasn’t mine! I didn’t make it!” Immanuel cried, the pained words bringing back the filthy stone walls of the catacomb that had been his prison. “It’s a family heirloom. I didn’t know what it did.”
Judith’s brows furrowed. “I can see that your life line connects with another.” Her eyes followed an invisible line running from his heart and through the window. “That’s ancient magic. Alchemy?”
Drawing in a tremulous breath, Immanuel tried to silence his pounding heart. That’s what his mother had said years ago. That they had come from a long line of alchemists turned chemists and scientists. Had he broken some rule when he rescued Emmeline Jardine?
“Am I in trouble?”
Judith’s eyes softened. “No, not in that sense, but you are in danger. Peregrine told me what happened at the museum with the revenant, and we agreed that we had to speak to you. Did you recognize the creature?”
Fear-tinged relief washed over Immanuel. He wasn’t crazy. He had been right when he told Adam it was Lord Rose’s spirit he saw within the stranger’s body.
“By face, no, but I know who he is. Can he come after me again? Is there a way I can protect us— I mean, protect myself?”
“Carry a gun or knife on your person, and be aware of your surroundings. While the revenant may have sparked a renewed urgency, it isn’t the reason we have come to speak with you, Mr. Winter.”
“Then, why? I have nothing to do with this supposed magic apart from the pendant.”
“And the creature,” Nichols piped up.
“We’re here because Peregrine suspected you had higher levels of magic when the vivalabe chose you, but he wasn’t sure if you knew of your extranormal abilities. Now, we know he was correct.”
Immanuel released a tight laugh. “What extranormal abilities? I don’t have anything like that.”
Cassandra caught his gaze, and in meeting her taupe eyes, the tension sighed out of him. “Mr. Winter, everyone is born with magic inside of them. It gives us the ability to create and the spark of free will that sets humans apart. Magic is merely an affinity for something, a talent. A sculptor is thought to have earth magic because he can see inside the stone or clay and bend it to his will. Peregrine’s abilities lie in horticulture. A green thumb blossomed into the ability to manipulate plants and change how they grow. The only difference between a normal person and a practioner is that practioners actively use their abilities and hone their skills intentionally. Do you now understand that abilities don’t have t
o be grandiose or frightening? They’re merely something we have a penchant for. Sometimes we lose our magic, after violence or we deny our natures until it goes away. We feared you might do that, and with the vivalabe in your possession, we can’t let you take that risk.”
“But I— I don’t,” he whispered, his eyes burning. All he wanted was to have a normal life.
“Mr. Winter, I can see it inside of you.” Judith’s eyes followed an unseen flame in Immanuel’s core. It danced and whipped, growing immense before diminishing into the glowing embers of a pipe. Energy arced from the white-hot flame. “It’s one of the strangest souls I have ever seen. It can’t settle on a shape or size. Usually only infants have that happen, but you have been through things, terrible things, and that can lead to soul-uncertainty.”
“How do you know that?” Immanuel’s damaged eye clouded, blocking out Peregrine’s form and half of Judith’s. “Who told you?”
“I can see it within you. That’s my ability, Mr. Winter, second sight. When I choose, I see the truth, the past, the soul. It’s a very useful ability for a lawyer to have.”
“Then what’s mine? If I’m a practioner, then where do my abilities lie because I feel I have nothing of value,” he cried, the words tearing from his throat before he could stop them.
Immanuel shrunk back at Peregrine’s shifting, wide eyes and Cassandra’s downcast gaze and pensive mouth. Was it pity he saw? Pity making them want to leave or avert their faces from him.
“I can tell you, but you must let me in. Relax and don’t take your eyes off mine.”
Regulating his breathing, Immanuel looked up only to find Judith staring back, unflinching. She locked onto his eyes, and as she drew in a deep breath, he felt his mind creak open. He had expected Judith’s prying to hurt or feel as though he had stripped down to his most vulnerable parts, but it was as if she merely walked through a darkened hall, opening door after door to reveal what she needed to know. Her gaze focused in on something in the distance with her brows knit in concentration until finally she leaned back against the sofa shaking her head. Cassandra’s gaze darted toward her, yet she didn’t move. Had she seen him and Adam wrapped in an embrace? A bolt of panic laced through him, sealing his mind shut with a clap that radiated through his skull. A wave of nausea churned his gut, and for a fleeting second, he felt as if he were falling.
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