The Royal Occult Bureau

by Barbara Russell

  Oh, Lord. Powerful, indeed. “What happened to Bertie?”

  “No idea. I saw Lavinia entering a room. The scent of roses wafted, then there was the blast.”

  A hole the size of a double door cut the wall. The distant hills and the sunset were into view.

  I brushed his hair from his face, needing the contact to be sure he was safe. “What was the efreet doing here?”

  “I don’t know.” He wiped the blood from his chin. “But it was part of an emergency plan in case they had to escape.”

  “And Lavinia?”

  “I lost sight of her.” He rubbed his jaw. “She was running out of the room last time I saw her. Not that fleeing will help her. She broke the law. Her father won’t be forgiving.”

  Well, in my opinion, Lavinia didn’t deserve any forgiveness. I put a hand on the wall. “I must search for Charlotte. She and Jasper were on the porch when the blast started, thank goodness.”

  “Let’s go.” He winced when he walked.

  We trudged through the dirt and the masonry in the eerie silence of the house. We found Jasper and Charlotte laying on the grass in the front garden, his arms and legs protectively wrapped around her.

  “Charlotte.” I crouched and touched her neck.

  A feeble but steady pulse kicked under the pads of my fingers. I checked Jasper’s too. His heartbeat was stronger than Charlotte’s. I sagged in relief again. “They’re alive.”

  “Thank goodness.” Evander gently rolled Jasper on his back, disentangling him from Charlotte. “I don’t see any blood. Probably he’s just knocked out.”

  Footsteps padded, and we stiffened.

  Blood trickling down his forehead, Damon limped towards us, eyes wild. The girl he’d rescued was sagging in his arms. “Sirius is here,” he said before collapsing.

  Twenty-Six

  DR JESSICA BLACK tucked the quilt around Charlotte’s sleeping figure after having checked her pulse and eyes for the umpteen time.

  Sitting in the armchair of my room in De Luna House, I rubbed my foot. After the blast, we hadn’t had a moment of rest. Sirius had arrived with a small army of agents who had started to dig in the rubble and modify the household’s memories. It’d taken ages. Lavinia and Bertie were gone, and half of the house had blown up.

  “How is she?” I asked.

  “Charlotte needs to put some weight on, to sleep a lot, and to drink plenty of water.” Jessica sat on the edge of the bed. “But that’s her body. Her soul will take a longer time to heal.”

  “I know.”

  Charlotte had woken up in the carriage while we were riding back to London, and she’d panicked, blathering about her master and that she wanted to go back. She’d punched and slapped Jasper, who had stoically taken the assault without uttering a sound. He had to sedate her to take her to De Luna House.

  “What happened to Lavinia?” I asked. Not that I cared about the woman, but if Lavinia was arrested, then Evander would be free to be with me.

  “I can’t discuss that. Besides, I don’t know much myself. I just know that a team is handling the situation.”

  “How did Lavinia manage to spend years with Bertie without dying or losing weight?”

  Her eyes brightened at the scientific question. “Likely, she injected herself with the enhancing serum. It kept her strong and healthy, but still, I confess I don’t understand why Bertie didn’t kill her.” She shook her head. “There are many things I don’t understand. That incubus, Bertie, is an unusual creature. He surrounds himself of other Unnaturals. It’s something that’s never happened before. Each creature has always been a solitary hunter, fighting humans and other spirits alike. They never cooperate. That was one of our main advantages on them. If they team up against us, we don’t stand a chance. We can fight one of them at a time, but not all of them together. But this incubus must’ve found a way to make a deal with other spirits. He started something.” As if realising she’d said too much, Jessica avoided my gaze and fiddled with her bag. She parted her lips, but then shut her mouth again.

  “What is it?”

  Her hands trembled. “I’m sorry, Asia.” She rose and walked towards the door.

  “About what?” I sprang up but stilled when Sirius, Evander, and Damon entered the room. I should’ve sensed Evander approaching because the bond was vibrating and warming.

  Jasper was the last to stroll inside, and his gaze was captured by Charlotte’s sleeping form.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, a tremor of dread slithering up my neck.

  Sirius removed his buckskin gloves, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I told you this moment would come.”

  Cold anxiety coiled in my belly. They wanted to make me forget. They wanted to take my memories. I shot a pleading glance at Evander. “No. Please.”

  Evander’s jaw contracted, and his emerald gaze burned with emotions I couldn’t identify. Even Jasper stared at his feet, shoulders hunched.

  “You and Charlotte are the last ones,” Sirius said. “Damon and I have already cleared the rest of the house. Violet and the others are asleep now, and when they wake up, they won’t remember having met us or the events of the past weeks. Say goodbye to your memories.”

  “Evander!” I yelled.

  “Don’t fight this. Please.” His voice cracked, red colouring his cheeks.

  “How can you do this?” I was shaking with fury and betrayal.

  Evander opened his mouth but then closed it without saying anything.

  “What did you expect?” Sirius stepped closer. “You’re just a little bint.”

  “I think I should do it,” Damon said.

  Sirius tilted his head. “Why?”

  “You did Violet, Felicity, Fanny, and Celestia.” Damon shrugged. “Just in case you’re tired.”

  “Evander!” I tried to walk to him, but Sirius blocked me, taking my arm. I punched his chest. “Evander! Don’t let them do it! Please. I don’t want to forget.” Awful, choking noises came out of my mouth, but Evander just shook his head.

  Sirius spun me towards Damon and gripped my arms. “Do it then. Her hysterics are giving me a headache. Just follow the scheme I used for the others.”

  “Evander.” The word was now a whisper.

  Evander stared at me, his lips pressed in a grim line. Tears burned my eyes. How could he do that? I thought he cared about me.

  “Relax.” Damon’s face filled my vision. “It’ll last a moment.” He pressed a finger on my forehead.

  Heat spread from the point he was touching. I closed my eyes and stiffened. Sirius’s hands clutched so hard my arms, they were growing numb.

  I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to . . .

  ~ * * ~

  LADY LUCK IS A BLIND goddess, but sometimes she seems to have an exceptional good sight.

  All my dreams had come true . . . Well, maybe not all of them, but the small fortune one of my past clients had left me allowed me to retire from De Luna House earlier than I thought. I didn’t have a clear recollection of the gentleman who doted upon me the incredible sum of three hundred pounds, but a gift was a gift, and a whore was a whore. The gentleman had sent a sweet letter, telling me he cherished beautiful memories of us together, which made me wince since I didn’t remember him.

  And that wasn’t my last lucky event in the past week.

  While poor Charlotte was recovering from a particularly severe case of pneumonia, I’d found a job as a housekeeper in a respectable house. Almost found. I had to meet my new employer.

  So here I was, loitering on the pavement, in front of the townhouse of the gentleman who had hired me. Could it be true that a gentleman I’d never seen hired a former whore as his housekeeper? Did he just want a fumble under the skirt from me? Hellfire, I didn’t even know his name. A green-eyed lad who worked at a tailor shop had arranged the thing. He’d caught me reading the job vacancies section of the newspaper in the park and told
me of the position.

  If the gentleman wanted to take advantage of me, it wouldn’t be nothing new for me, and I still had my three hundred pounds. I could refuse the job and wait for a better one if the employer was a swine.

  Adjusting my velvet hat and jacket, I climbed the few marble steps to the front door and knocked. Maybe I was catching pneumonia too because a strange tug in my chest vibrated.

  The door was flung open before I could withdraw my hand, and a tall, broad man swept into view. Piercing emerald eyes seared me down.

  My breath caught, and the words of introduction I was about to pronounce knotted in my throat.

  Blond strands of hair framed his handsome face and swished about a hard jaw.

  “Miss Quicksilver.” The deep rumble of his voice started a flutter in my lower abdomen, and the throb in my chest intensified.

  I dropped a curtsy. “I am she.”

  He inhaled deeply and held the door open. “I’m Evander Lynch.”

  The name was like a bolt of lightning shooting through me, a flash of recognition that led to . . . Nothing. The moment passed as fast as it had come. I wasn’t sure why his name should spark anything inside me at all. But if this handsome gentleman wanted a fumble under the skirts, I might be interested.

  Mr Lynch stretched out an arm towards the foyer. “Please, come in. I’d like to discuss the terms of your employment here.”

  I’d like that, too.

  I bobbed another curtsy and stepped into the foyer. The scent of dark spices hit my nostrils, and for some odd reason, I knew that I was home.

  THE END . . . FOR NOW

  About the author

  I’m an entomologist and a soil biologist, which is a fancy way to say that I dig in the dirt, looking for bugs. I was a kid when I read The Lord Of The Rings and fell in love with fantasy novels.

  When I discovered cosy mystery, I fell in love with Hercules Poirot and Sherlock Holmes. Then I grew up and . . . Nah, I’m joking. Don’t grow up, folks! It’s a trap.

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  Bonus content

  Enjoy an excerpt from Her Flame—Auckland Steampunk First Class#1

  Blurb

  The only thing twenty-two-year-old Bridie wants is freedom. Freedom to travel the world, do as she likes, and make her own decisions. Marriage? Finding a man? No, thank you. Besides, she’s a Supernatural, able to remember everything she reads, hears, or sees—a skill she can use to find an adventurous job.

  But she doesn’t know that six years ago, her father secretly married her to Lord Aurelius Steward. A few papers, her father’s signature, and Bridie became Mrs Steward.

  So when Aurelius asks her to leave with him for a trip, she wishes him bon voyage. Except that, the trip is actually a secret mission to stop a terrorist attack on the next Technological Exhibition of Auckland.

  Gifted with unnatural strength, Aurelius is part of the Military Intelligence Seventh Division, and to prevent the attack, he needs Bridie and her superpower.

  She accepts. Adventures, travels, and a gorgeous man—what could a girl want more?

  Chapter 1

  Auckland, 1852

  Aurelius

  GETTING TRAPPED IN a corner of a crowded ballroom to hear nonsense about the Crimean War wasn’t part of tonight’s plan. Finding quickly Miss Rovel—the head of Military Intelligence Seventh Division—begging her to hire me, and leaving quietly was my idea.

  Impatience itched along my fingers clenching the champagne flute too tightly. All the bubbles were gone from the drink that now tasted like cow’s piss. In front of me, under the glorious light of a glass chandelier with enough crystals to bloody blind me, Lord Belton gibbered about the necessity to defend and protect the rights of the Roman Catholics in the Crimean Peninsula. As if the British Empire cared about them.

  “I absolutely champion Napoleon III and his decision to oppose the czar.” He twitched his long moustache and shot me a challenging glare. “I don’t understand why Queen Victoria is hesitating. Peace, treaty, diplomacy.” He scoffed. “We should support our French allies.”

  How fascinating. Until a few weeks ago for Lord Belton, the French were the worst thing that had ever plagued Europe. Now they were our allies.

  I’d always thought that being polite was overrated. Thanks to my mother’s obsession with good manners, I had to endure this rubbish instead of punching Lord Belton’s large nose. Not my idea of an exciting evening.

  He regarded me from underneath his bushy brows. “Your father doesn’t seem to share my view, young man.”

  “My father believes the British Empire should stay away from another bloody war. And I agree. We know this war has nothing to do with protecting people, but is about power and the control of the Black Sea,” I gritted out as politely as I could, scanning the crowd of ladies and gentlemen twirling at the rhythm of a waltz.

  A ball with its loud noises, throng, and chatter could start a splitting headache in my skull in a moment, but a boring ball like this one would probably kill me.

  “What do you know anyway?” Lord Belton prattled on, chest swelling like that of a rooster. “You’ve never been in a war or worked hard for that matter.”

  I hid a groan by sipping my warm champagne, trying to peep past him and search for Miss Rovel. Lord Belton was right. I’d never gone to war or been in any danger.

  My father said I was too young to become an MI7 agent, but there was no harm in trying. Hell, I was nineteen, and soon I’d inherit my grandad’s money . . . Granted that I married, which was as absurd. While my mother was obsessed with manners, my grandfather had been obsessed with marriage. The old bugger had put a clause in his will that I’d get his money only when I settled down and found a girl. As much as an allowance of fourteen thousand pounds per year was appealing, taking a wife was certainly not. I had better things to do, and I wasn’t husband material.

  “Am I boring you?” An annoyed tone crept into Lord Belton’s voice as if no one could possibly be upset after he basically insulted my father and me.

  “My mind is elsewhere.” Like following a lady in a yellow dress. Black curls, chin up as if daring anyone to cross her path, and sharp gaze—that was Miss Rovel, a Supernatural woman who could melt metal bars with her bare hands. That was the type of Supernatural people MI7 recruited.

  “Well, young man, you must learn respect towards older people. As I said, you don’t know anything about the real world. You haven’t seen a battlefield, like I have.”

  “And see how you’ve turned out.”

  “Excuse me?” If he were a rooster, his feathers would be on end.

  I rose my voice, “I said: see how you’ve turned out.”

  “How dare you?”

  My patience was stretching thinner than a violin’s cord. I sidestepped him and chased the yellow crinoline swaying right and left with each step of Miss Rovel. Hounding a lady across a ballroom would earn me a half an hour preach from my mother at best and the prohibition to attend any party for a month at worst. “Miss R—”

  Someone bumped into me with enough strength to make me drop the flute. Glass smashed. A lady yelped. A froth of burgundy satin, auburn hair, and the sweet scent of lilies of the valley enveloped me.

  An indignant, “Sir! Watch out!” resounded before the young woman who had slammed against me wavered.

  I reached out and grabbed her naked shoulders lest she fell over. A pair of eyes the colour of warm brandy stared up at me. Smooth skin teased the pads of my fingers, and a heart-shaped mouth pouted. As those ruby lips pa
rted, I couldn’t help but think how they’d feel on my neck, or lower as my suddenly throbbing cock suggested.

  “You should pay more attention to your surroundings.” Even her voice sounded like brandy—warm and intense.

  I didn’t release my hold, Miss Rovel slipping out of my mind. Maybe father was right when he said my attention could be swung in a moment. To my credit, the creamy beauty in my arms deserved all my attention. “You attacked me, actually.” And I quite liked it.

  “Me? You were going like a train through the ballroom.” She breathed in. Her breasts seemed to spill out of the tight bodice.

  I gazed down. Manners be damned. Sorry Mama. “I didn’t see you.”

  A fine brow arched. “Obviously, and I’d appreciate if you’d be kind enough to remove your hands from my body.”

  “If you really insist.”

  “I do.”

  I withdrew my hands and clasped them behind my back to not touch her again.

  Miss Rovel was nowhere to be seen, and my feet refused to move. Besides, the red-haired nymph didn’t walk away either. We stood next to a French window, people streaming past us. One of those barrel-shaped automatons that were all the rage at the moment twirled around, cleaning the floor from bits of glass and champagne. The quick notes of a counter dance drifted.

  I bowed, my stare roaming along the low neckline of her close-fitting dress. “The least I can do is asking you for a dance.”

  A small frown settled between her brows. “If you dance in the same way you walk, I’m afraid I’d have to refuse.”

  “Ouch, my lady.” I put a hand on my chest. “I can assure you I’m a fine dancer. You’ll be the judge.”

  “I’ll certainly be.” She offered her gloved hand. “May I ask your name?” Her slim fingers slid into mine as I led her to the middle of the ballroom.