Dead Magic

by Kara Jorgensen

  Closing the gap between them, Adam kissed him. It was slow and earnest and chaste, and it was only when he pulled back and placed another soft kiss on his lips that heat flushed his features. He could taste the sweet berries from the cake on Immanuel’s breath mingling with the tang of tea as he exhaled.

  “Of course I want you,” Adam whispered. “I love you.”

  A fragile expression broke across Immanuel’s features at the phrase. “You— you love me?”

  “More than I could have known.”

  “Good.” His lip twitched as if he might laugh or cry. “Because I love you too, Adam.”

  Immanuel wrapped his arms around his companion’s back and bit back his joy. He shut his eyes and pressed his face into Adam’s neck, his lips inching toward his collar and up to his ear where he nibbled and lapped at the lobe until Adam’s hands tightened on his sides. Releasing him, he ran his fingers along Adam’s jaw and gently lifted his head until their gazes met. He swallowed hard, taken aback by the look in Adam’s eyes. Love was something he had nearly forgotten since he fled Germany, and in his companion’s eyes, he saw the magnitude of its hold.

  You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve him, a little voice in the back of his mind hissed.

  Pressing his lips to Adam’s, he silenced any doubts. Adam’s tongue slipped between his lips and his hands explored the parts of his body Immanuel wished he could ignore. A small smile inched across his features as his companion’s thumb settled into the imperfection in his ribs where they never healed. Adam loved him, and he needed nothing more.

  “Mein Schätzchen,” Immanuel murmured as he pulled away, breathless. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  Before his mind could clear, windows were quickly shut and their footsteps echoed up the stairs. At the junction between their rooms, they paused. As Adam took a step toward his bedroom, Immanuel caught his arm and pulled him close again. Drawing him in with a kiss, Immanuel worked his hands under Adam’s jacket and slipped it from his shoulders. He carefully laid it on the dresser as Adam’s fingers worked over the buttons of Immanuel’s waistcoat. Beads of perspiration broke across their backs and necks in the muggy summer air, trapping socks and sleeves against damp flesh. Reaching to unbuckle his trousers, Immanuel caught Adam’s lips in an urgent kiss.

  Adam struggled for purchase as he stumbled back into the doorway, the molding pressing into his back. Immanuel leaned against him, using his added height to pin him in place. His long legs interlaced with his own, and as the hum of electricity crackled against his lips and arced across his tongue, Adam lost himself. For a moment, their bodies were one, still and frantic all at once.

  His pulse raced at the thought of Immanuel’s smooth skin beneath his palms and what lay beneath thin layers of wool and cotton. The belt uncoiled and fell at their feet with a clank only to be swept away by Immanuel’s foot. Adam reached for the button of his lover’s trousers, but Immanuel clasped his hand and brought it above his head. Adam’s breath hitched at the pressure of Immanuel’s length pressing against his thigh. He wanted nothing more than to break from his lips and tear his remaining clothing away, but he was trapped. Heat flooded his groin and abdomen at the thought.

  When Immanuel finally drew back with bruised lips and hooded lids, he rested his forehead against Adam’s to steady his heart. In the stillness, Adam’s fingers flew across the buttons of their shirts until they hung open at their sides. Adam’s eyes wandered over Immanuel’s face and form. With his shirt covering his scarred side and a loose golden curl draped over his blotted eye, he appeared whole. His hand still held Adam’s firmly above him, and in his grip, there was none of the trepidation or wavering he had known since they met six months before. Was this how Immanuel could have been? Without a marred eye, maybe he would have outgrown his shyness and been as confident in the world as he was in that moment. The image of when he first saw him flickered through Adam’s mind, when Immanuel’s face had been gaunt and flushed with fever. If Adam had met him before Lord Rose tore him apart, would they be together now?

  Adam slipped his free hand beneath Immanuel’s shirt and lightly traced the prickling stitches jutting from his side. No, if Immanuel couldn’t have been taken away, Adam wouldn’t have dared to love him. Twenty-three years of denying his true nature wouldn’t have changed with a confident partner. He would have feared exposure and retreated, but he could trust a dying man who had so much more to lose.

  Letting go of Adam’s hand, Immanuel brushed against the soft flesh of Adam’s stomach, sending a wave of gooseflesh across his thighs. With a quick motion, he pulled Adam’s shirt away and swept the suspenders from his shoulders. Immanuel locked eyes with him, his hand resting on the button of his trousers. Sunlight glinted across his irises, setting their copper and turquoise aflame. Immanuel pressed him back toward the bed, and Adam obeyed. Standing at the edge, Immanuel let Adam’s trousers drop in an inky pool. His drawers tented under Immanuel’s hungry gaze. He wanted to do something, to reach out and touch him, yet his companion’s hard expression stayed his hand. Adam eyed the wool trousers slouching on Immanuel’s narrow hips and the blue of his drawers peeking out.

  “What do you want me to do?” Adam asked, swallowing hard as he watched the vial of forget-me-nots dance in time with Immanuel’s movements.

  “Sit, and let me do the rest.”

  Adam sat on the bed and watched as his lover removed his shirt with a roll of his shoulders. The white fabric fluttered behind him, and when he looked back, Immanuel’s hands were on his fly and a wicked smile graced his lips. Adam’s body stirred at the sight of Immanuel’s ivory flesh and the faint hairs that glittered like gold trailing to his waistband. He had never seen him in the daylight.

  “Like what you see?”

  “Very much so.”

  At the last word, Immanuel let his trousers fall. Adam’s hands twitched, itching to touch him, to feel the downy flesh of his stomach or the smooth, otherworldly skin of his scars. His body tightened and his breath quickened at the thought. As if sensing his need, Immanuel slowly drew closer until he stood at Adam’s knees. With his hands cupping his companion’s neck, Immanuel straddled him. Adam closed his eyes and tried to ignore the soapy fragrance of his skin only inches away. His body shook with the urge to throw Immanuel to the mattress and do all he envisioned. It had never been like this with Immanuel silently commanding him to wait, all the while everything unbearably building. The German’s long fingers worked through Adam’s hair as his lips passed lightly over his eyelids and cheeks. With his mouth massaging the redhead’s neck, he lowered himself over Adam’s lap. Immanuel ground his hips against him, eliciting a low moan from his companion at each twitch and rock. Adam groped at his sides and back, his fingertips pushing in with renewed urgency, but he couldn’t let the game end yet.

  Sitting back on Adam’s knees, they locked eyes. Their bodies breathed in sync as they waited for the charge between them to dissipate until they could speak. Immanuel hung his head, fighting to ignore the pulsing in his groin that urged him to go on. Fingers brushed against Immanuel’s forehead, pushing the loose curls from around his eyes. Adam’s hands closed around his cheeks and raised his head until they were eye-to-eye again. His companion studied his face, his quavering finger stroking the scar where it began above his eyebrow. He traced the ragged pink skin, following it until Immanuel had to close his eyes for him to continue. When Adam reached the tip of his scar where it disappeared into his cheek, he let his finger linger.

  Adam stroked Immanuel’s cheek, all the while staring into his damaged, half-blurred eye. “This one… This one is my favorite.”

  “How can you say that?” Immanuel asked, his voice hoarse and his eye blurring with the burn of moisture.

  “Because it’s different and beautiful, like you.”

  Immanuel bit his lip, averting his gaze. Snaking his fingers up Adam’s neck and into his hair, he tried to regain the fire that had coursed through him a moment earlier, but all that was left wa
s the growing emptiness of disbelief.

  “Immanuel?”

  “Why? Why do you love me? What do you see that I don’t, Adam?” His lip trembled as he shifted, sending a bolt of pain up his side. “Because all I see is something broken.”

  Adam wrapped his arms around Immanuel’s waist and urged him closer. Holding him tight, he kissed the crook of his neck and along the ridge of his clavicle until Immanuel’s breath loosened.

  “You aren’t broken.” Between hot, moist kisses, he continued, “You want to know what I love? I love how smart you are. I love how you sing to yourself while you’re getting ready for work. I love how despite everything horrible that has happened, you keep going.”

  Immanuel’s body tensed, his eyes shutting as Adam nipped at his neck and ran his tongue along the tender skin. The words swirled through his mind but scattered at Adam’s deft touch.

  “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” His hands ran up Immanuel’s ribs and over the flat scars dotting his shoulder blades. “Your body bears tragedy as beauty, and every scar reminds me how close I came to losing you.”

  Shuddering, Immanuel pulled away. “But it isn’t beautiful. It’s—”

  Adam put his finger to Immanuel’s lips. “It is to me. I fell in love with you. All of you.” He leaned back on the bed, stroking Immanuel’s cheek while holding his bichrome gaze. “This is the only body I’ve known. This is the body I dreamed about while you were gone, and I love it, even if you don’t.”

  The words died in Immanuel’s throat as Adam drew him forward for a kiss. Adam lay back on the mattress, lowering Immanuel down with him. Their lips locked and slipped, parting to allow the reach of tongues and half-breathed phrases. Hands skimmed skin, memorizing the curves and planes of their forms until energy hummed between them. Insecurities died away beneath need and heat as the air grew thick with thunder. A chill passed over Immanuel at the brush of fingertips running down his stomach. He broke from their embrace to find Adam’s hand resting on the edge of his drawers.

  “Wait,” Immanuel whispered, his voice barely audible above the tattoo of rain. Taking Adam’s hand, he brought it to his lips. “I want to do something for you. That is, if you’ll have me.”

  “Always.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rites

  Emmeline checked her reflection in the vanity mirror, licking her finger and running it along her eyebrows until every hair stayed in place. She had chosen to wear her favorite purple gown even though it was unseasonably warm, but if she was to be initiated into the Eidolon Club, she had to be at her best. Her gaze roamed over the pots and boxes littering her vanity until it came to rest on an oblong ebony box. An aria of tinny notes plinked out of hidden mechanisms as she opened it. Under the paste jewelry her aunt convinced her to buy were a shard of jet and an enamel brooch in the shape of forget-me-nots. Once upon a time it had been her mother’s and she had coveted it until she let her borrow it. A thin smile crossed her lips as she held it in her palm and lightly stroked its periwinkle petals. If only she would have known it be all she had of her after that night.

  Affixing it to her bodice, she looked in the mirror one last time. Behind her, dark clouds rolled over the city, gathering in grey clumps over Westminster. Emmeline drew in a long breath, relishing the sultry tang of approaching rain. Somehow it seemed fitting to have a storm on a day like this. Grabbing her purse and parasol, Emmeline eased open the door and listened for her aunt’s mouse-like tread. When she was certain Eliza was occupied elsewhere, Emmeline broke from the threshold and bolted down the stairs, slowing her pace as she passed her uncle’s study. James Hawthorne stooped over a microscope, obliviously turning dials and muttering under his breath. Emmeline kept her eyes on him as she slipped past. She could have stared at him for hours and he never would have noticed. If she had ever hoped for a loving, caring blood-relative, Uncle James was not it.

  Carefully stepping over the creaking treads on the last staircase, Emmeline’s pulse raced with the thrill of secreted freedom. She slipped on her mackintosh and reached for the doorknob when the boards whined behind her.

  “Emmeline, where are you going?” came Eliza’s voice from the parlor.

  Gritting her teeth, Emmeline turned around with a tight grin. Eliza met her with an impassive look. While her mouth remained lax, her eyes sharpened with suspicion.

  “I’m going out with Cassandra. She got tickets to an opera or a concert or something. I don’t remember which.”

  “Like yesterday?”

  Emmeline impatiently inched toward the door, her gloved palm growing sweaty around the metal knob. “Yes?”

  “Strange,” Eliza began as she approached with her arms tightly crossed. “A while after you left, Cassandra came looking for you. You must imagine my surprise when you weren’t with her. I was about to call Scotland Yard when your uncle suggested you might be somewhere benign, like a shop. So where were you?”

  Damn her, Emmeline seethed. “Why didn’t you ask me yesterday?”

  “Because I hoped it would be a onetime event. I didn’t expect to find you sneaking out so soon.”

  “My apologies, I thought I told you,” Emmeline replied tartly. “I was at the Spiritualist Society, yesterday, like always. I told Cass, but I guess she didn’t hear me.”

  “Try again. I know for certain you weren’t. Cassandra and I went there looking for you. She told me you haven’t been there much lately. I thought we had a deal, Emmeline. You can come and go as you please—within reason—as long as you work at the Spiritualist Society. What could be so important that you completely ignore your responsibilities? They’re counting on you. They’re paying you to work.”

  Emmeline’s grip tightened on the parasol’s handle. She just wanted to leave. Was that so much to ask? Caustic words worked at her lips, but it was too late to stop them.

  “What do you care? You’re not my mother.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me. I’m your aunt and guardian, and whether you like it or not, until you turn twenty-one, you’re my responsibility.”

  “Your responsibility?” Emmeline spat. “What do you care where I go? You both barely care that I’m alive. You just feed me and order me around.”

  “That isn’t true.”

  “Really? What have you said to me today before all of this? Hmm? Emmeline, take your books out of the parlor. Emmeline, do the dishes. Emmeline, see if your uncle wants anything.”

  Eliza’s face fell but snapped back to its stern façade. “Emmeline, I don’t—”

  The cords in her neck hardened as she yelled, “Uncle James barely acknowledges that I’m even here. The only way I would have his full attention is if I was lying on a slab in the basement.”

  Her aunt reached for her arm, but Emmeline swatted her away with the handle of her umbrella.

  “I hate living here. It’s like I’m a bloody ghost! You never speak to me. You speak to Cass because you like her, but I’m not worth your time because I’m not perfect like her— like you. Mama and I actually spoke to each other. She cared about me.”

  “I do care about you. If you want to have conversations, then why don’t you ever come downstairs and talk?”

  Emmeline shook her head. Bitterness creeped up her throat, burning all in its path. “You don’t understand anything. Why don’t you just give me my inheritance and let me leave? You’ll get your life back, and I’ll be able to start mine.”

  “You know I can’t do that, Emmeline.”

  “Why? Are you afraid I’ll ruin myself and bring shame to the family? No one would care what happened to me. Do you think the corpses would care? Or are you worried about what the queen thinks since we made such a good impression last time?”

  “That isn’t it. There are rules,” Eliza replied, keeping her voice cool.

  Releasing a bitter laugh, Emmeline yanked open the front door. “Like you care about the rules. You lecture me about independence and autonomy, yet you won’t give me control of my inh
eritance because of some rule. Am I the only woman who doesn’t deserve to make her own choices or am I too stupid to handle free will?”

  “You’re still young. You don’t have the knowledge to—”

  “Then, I’ll learn! I deserve the chance to try. You’re a hypocrite! You think you can control me because you don’t agree with what I want.” When her aunt faltered, she spat, “I’m not nearly as stupid as you think.”

  Eliza Hawthorne fell silent. What little venom she had dried in her throat. “Emmeline, all I wanted to know is where you are going. We can discuss this later. I just want to know you’re going to be safe.”

  “As if it matters,” Emmeline muttered, opening her parasol as rain pattered from the roof in fat drops. Raising her gaze, she defiantly locked eyes with her aunt. “Maybe I’m going to elope or maybe I’m going to throw myself off Tower Bridge. I guess you’ll find out when I come home.”

  Emmeline slammed the door behind her and started down the street, her heeled boots clicking on the pavement as she passed the unremarkable faces of Wimpole Street. She half-expected Eliza to chase her down the street and convince her to return home, but no one followed her into the storm.

  ***

  Emmeline listened to the drops of rain pattering against the canopy of her umbrella. Its steady rhythm slowed her heart and lulled her body into a more peaceful pace. She should have still been angry, she should have fumed all the way to the Eidolon Club and back, but it had been a relief. She and Eliza had finally had it out. At least now she knew she was serious about how much she hated living there. As Emmeline rounded the bend, the Eidolon Club peeked through the steaming rain. A grin crossed her lips as she reminded her feet to slow down. She had to approach with dignity and confidence.