A Study in Silks (47 page)

“
YOU BASTARD
!”
EVELINA
hissed, lunging for the knife.

Magnus grabbed her arm, bruising the flesh above her elbow. They were both crouched on the landing, almost knee to knee. Nick lay in a heap to her right, his chest barely moving.

Fury flamed through her blood, leaving her light-headed, delirious with the need to strike back. She snarled into Magnus’s face, baring her teeth.

His smile was nearly as savage. “So there is a tiger inside that soft white skin. Good for you.”

“What did you do to him?” She had the blade, the curve of it familiar in her palm. It was an old one, the ivory handle just as she remembered it from long ago, warm and smooth against her skin. Like Nick, it was part of a past that made her strong now.

Magnus answered by digging his fingers between her tendons, making it impossible to keep hold of the weapon. “Give it up, Evelina. You can’t fight me.”

“Watch,” she spat, but her grip released, dropping the knife to the carpet. She couldn’t help it. So she swung with the other fist.

He caught that hand, too, and shoved her backward with as much ceremony as if she were a bale of straw. She fell with a soft cry, too hampered by stays and skirts to resist.
Magnus rose, his tall form looming over her, the knife in his hand now.

“You’re mine,” he said quietly, “as surely as if I bound you in chains and carried you away. I’ve been looking for a great many years. You hold the secrets I want. Give them to me, and I will teach you in return.”

Too angry to speak, Evelina glared.

“You want what I know. That simple fact will be magic enough to lure you.”

“You don’t know me at all.”

He gave a sepulchral smile. “If that thought comforts you, keep it.”

The need to deny his words swamped all common sense. She spat, the fat glob clinging to his elegant pant leg and sliding down like a glistening slug.

The look he gave her turned her bones to putty. “I can see I shall accomplish nothing more tonight. I’ll be visiting with you soon, Miss Cooper.”

He drove the point of the knife into the banister. It quivered and stuck, poised like an unexpected bird.

Then Dr. Magnus turned and descended the stairs. In a flurry of skirts, Evelina scrambled to her feet, pulling the knife from the wood with a grunt.

He must have heard her, but didn’t turn. Magnus was clearly confident that she wouldn’t throw it, even though his back was right there, just a few yards below.

Evelina rubbed the knife handle with her thumb, watching his form disappear step by step.

“
NICK
!”
SHE HISSED
.

His eyelids flickered, the only response a weak, “Huh?”

Fear cramped her stomach. She looked up the stairs and then down, terrified they would be caught. After three murders the police couldn’t solve, she didn’t fancy Nick’s chances with a judge. She had to wake him up.

For a long moment, she stared at his handsome face, the hawklike bones and smooth, olive skin. The gaslight glinted on the gold of his earring. An ache filled her—a mix of
longing and remembrance, of sadness for things that would never be.
He risked everything to save me
.

Now she had to save him, and there wasn’t time to play the soft and innocent girl. She wanted to touch his face, to run her fingers over the graceful angles, to press her lips to his. He was asleep and would never know. She would never have to admit to her weakness.

But giving in to her feelings would never save him. Instead, it would most likely condemn them both. Ignoring the prickle of tears, Evelina smacked his face with a stinging slap. The noise alone made her wince.

His eyes snapped open.

“Wake up, damn you!” she muttered.

He slowly put a hand to his head, eyes crinkling as if it hurt to move. He worked his mouth a moment, as if he’d forgotten how to talk. “Where is he?”

“Gone.” Vanished with an evil look and fierce silence. She shuddered at the memory of the doctor’s face, grimacing down on her with a scowl that froze her to the bones. It was over that fast—one last glare and then down the stairs—but it had seemed to go on forever. Long enough that she’d died a tiny bit. Long enough that she’d nearly prostrated herself, burying her face against Nick’s fallen form, like a child clinging to her parent and begging not to be left alone.

She tried to keep all of that off her face. She had to be stronger than that. “He left.”

“Huh.”

Evelina got to her feet and grabbed Nick’s arm, trying to pull him with her. He was too big, and she might have been a girl of six again. “Get up. You’re not safe here.”

He staggered upright, weaving slightly and then nearly falling when his ankle gave way. He grabbed the wall to steady himself. “You know, a kiss would have worked as well as a blow to the face.” His voice was hoarse, but a spark of himself was coming back into his dark eyes.

She wanted to cry with relief. “Then you would have sprawled there till next Sunday, hoping for another.”

His mouth curled into a lopsided grin. “I made the villain go away. Surely that’s worth something.”

Tears stung her eyes.
Damned idiot
. “That was a close-run thing. Can you walk?”

“Almost.”

She grabbed him, one arm around his waist, and steadied him. He smelled of horses and the cold, clean wind of the spring night. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, trying her best not to notice how warm he was and how his lean form moved against her. Sooner or later, a servant would come by. They had to get out of sight.

“My knife,” he said.

“I’ve got it.” Her voice was tight.

The clock made a sepulchral bong, followed by a long grinding noise. A card spit out of the slot. Out of long habit, Evelina grabbed it before it hit the floor.

“What in damnation?” Nick squinted at the clock.

“Never mind.”

She stuffed the card into her pocket and moved away, helping Nick hobble to a small sitting room at the end of the corridor. The fire was out and the room was chill, but at least there they’d be undisturbed for a little while. The tiny room wasn’t used much, having no view, little furniture, and only a few bookshelves of almanacs from years long past. When she got Nick inside, she locked the door. He sank gratefully onto a settee.

The only illumination was the glow from the blazing display of lights outside the window, proving that Lord Bancroft was far from Disconnected. Evelina lit one of the oil lamps, turning the flame down low. As the light spilled over her hands, she used the ritual of match and flame to steady herself.

Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she worked, each breath coming a little too quick. Panic was just around the corner, but as long as she kept moving, she didn’t have to dwell on the fact that Nick was right there, just a few steps away, hurt and vulnerable—and he’d put himself on the line for her sake. It was her responsibility to get him out of there in a fit state to dodge the police or Magnus or Lord Bancroft’s footmen. It wasn’t going to be simple. No matter what she did next, there would be risk.

She stood before him a moment, her hands on her hips, running her gaze over his long, lean legs and sweep of black hair. Looking after him came naturally. She’d always relied on Nick, but she’d also been the one who mended his shirts and made sure he came in to dinner. It was how she’d earned her bread and milk as a girl, but those were also the things she’d done for love. She felt an echo of those days now, the bond between them as strong as ever.

She cleared her throat. “How are you feeling?”

“It’s stopped hurting.” A gray pallor clung to his skin, but he shrugged and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and propping his head in his hands. “Mostly.”

She stood uncertainly, fidgeting with the trim on her gown. “I’m not certain you can shake this off with a moment’s rest. It’s not that kind of an injury.”

“What else is there to do?” He looked up, a fine sheen of sweat clinging to his cheekbones. “Are you going to call a doctor and ruin everything for yourself?”

“I would if I thought it would help.” He made a noise that said he didn’t believe her. A spike of anger made her flush. “Don’t be daft. None of this is worth spit if you’re dead.”

With a jolt, she realized it was true. Nick was terminally loyal, but in her own way, she was, too—and there lay the danger.
I still love him. I won’t ever stop
. But none of that mattered when there was no future for them.

“At any rate, you’re limping. You can’t do the show like that.” She knelt before him, running her hands over his ankle.

He gave her a sharp look, half astonished, half suspicious. “What are you doing?”

Wordlessly, she pulled off his boot, ignoring the sand and mud clinging to the worn, supple leather. Then she placed her hands on the rough wool of his stocking, trying not to think about the fact that it looked like Gran Cooper’s work. If she started missing her old home too much, there would be no hope of concentration.

As she expected, the moment she pulled down the sock, putting her hands on his skin, power flooded under her fingers as if she had suddenly summoned a hot, prickling river
of silver fire. It didn’t happen with a casual brush of the hand, but now—when she touched him with intent, when she
meant
to call his soul to hers—the energy opened like a floodgate. This was the combination of their powers, the thing no one could explain when their two bloodlines met. And it was no more possible to be together and keep from calling it than it was to stop breathing.

The flow was impossible to describe—it was almost like cinnamon was to the tongue, or a distant birdsong to the ear, bright and sweet and filled with urgent longing—but there was no language that could quite wrap around the sensation. It felt like heaven and yet still brought tears to her eyes. It was everything she and Nick were when they were together. Everything she had given up to keep them both safe.

She heard the hiss of Nick’s indrawn breath. It was a sound of anticipation mixed with reluctance. He knew what might happen, too.

“You need healing,” she said, trying to sound brusque. “You can’t climb out a window like this. You’ll fall and break your neck.”

“Evelina,” he said, pulling his foot from her hands, “just let me leave. You know better than this.”

Nick was right, but if he slipped and broke a bone crawling out the window, there was every chance he’d never ride again. He’d starve to death on the streets. If she could bring steel and gears to life, surely she could heal a simple injury. “I’m stronger than I was. I can control it.”

Doubt filled his eyes. “But I don’t know how to help. No more than I ever did.”

“Trust me,” she said softly, hoping she wasn’t promising too much.

Even in the few seconds since Evelina had summoned their energy, she could feel how much stronger the power was than the last time they’d called it. They were adults now, not children, with all the intensity that implied. She took his foot and put it back in her lap. “You have to get out of here in one piece. This is the only thing I can think of.”

Her words were matter of fact, but her stomach was in
flutters. It wasn’t just fear of discovery, but also the thrill of feeling this addictive power again. And she had the best excuse—Nick’s ankle was swollen and hot. She pushed the energy into it, envisioning the intricacy of bone and muscle, joint and blood and tendon, and directing it to heal.

The silver fire began to glow brighter, the look of it growing solid as she worked. That was part of the danger—when their two bloodlines operated together, it didn’t act like normal magic. It should have been invisible, but anyone, whether or not they had the Blood, could see this power at work. She had locked the door, but a niggle of worry still wound around her heart.
Please, let no one come into the room
.

Evelina glanced up to see Nick’s eyes drifting closed. Her own head was spinning, the electric sensation acting like strong wine. Sensations were far more acute—the crush of carpet under her knees, the rasp of clothing on her flesh, the scent of dinner seeping up the stairs. Every breath intensified the feeling, eroding caution in the pure delight of her senses.
No, no, no—keep your mind on the task at hand
.

Of course, Nick himself didn’t help. It was improper for a young lady to touch a man like this, and the strong, supple muscles of his leg prompted all sorts of impure speculation. She found her hand drifting up to his knee, almost of its own accord. And then he was bending down, his hand on her cheek. The silver fire spread, engulfing them in its light.

She let go of his ankle and was suddenly leaning upward, reaching toward him as he reached down, winding her arms about his neck. The splash of power as they touched made her gasp. With each beat of her heart, the silver fire expanded into a nimbus, the edges thinning to a mist that filled every corner of the room, engulfing it in the electricity of their shared emotions. It felt like the most natural and the most wondrous thing in the world, to be moving in for an embrace, to share their powers fully and with no inhibitions.

Evelina felt control—both of herself and of her magic—slide through her grip like satin ribbons torn away by a sudden breeze. Suddenly, she was back at the circus in the simple, constant springtime of girlhood, and Nick was her
whole world. She leaned forward, aching to touch her lips to his as if that would seal the past into the present and make her whole.

Then, a handful of the old almanacs shot across the room, pages tearing with the fury of the motion. The volumes hit the wall with a resounding thump, then fell to the floor like birds shot from the air. Nick pulled back with an oath, leaving her bereft. Like Evelina, he was breathless, sweat beading on his olive skin.

A fire burst to life in the grate, rushing up the chimney in a gust of flame—and then a sudden wind snaked around the room, fluttering curtains and tearing at her hair.

Now that a fire lit the room brightly, she could see the emotion in his dark eyes—desire, fear, and wonder. “We’ve called devas,” he whispered. “Dozens of them.”