Fateful (25 page)

Though still bloodied, Alec regains enough of his strength to rise to his feet. “Leave us. Please.”

“Politeness at last. Perhaps you’re beginning to learn.” Mikhail’s bow is exaggerated to mock us all. “Enjoy the first night you’ve known in two years, Alec. Say good-bye to the mere humans who have weighed you down for so long. Tomorrow at dawn—you belong to us. If you will excuse me, I have a Marconigram to send to my associates in New York. They were waiting for us all along, of course. How relieved they’ll be to hear that they won’t have to persuade you further, Alec. They’ll be ready to bring you into the Brotherhood fully—and forever.”

Mikhail saunters out. The moment the door shuts behind him, Alec sinks back to the floor, clutching at one ankle as though it hurts even more than the terrible cuts in his shoulder. Mr. Marlowe and I sink to his side to help him.

“You tried it, didn’t you?” Mr. Marlowe says. He sounds weirdly excited, almost hopeful.

Alec pulls up the leg of his pajamas to reveal his ankle—which has a small chain wound around it, one that seems to have burned into his flesh. He gasps, “Tess, take it.”

I peel it away from him as quickly as I can. The blisters it has left are so horrible, so blackened, that it takes me a moment to realize what it is I’m holding: his mother’s locket.

“Silver,” I whisper.

Already breathing easier, Alec says, “I was able to put it on when you confronted Mikhail, Tess. When you stepped between us. That distracted him just long enough; I’d have had to stall him until tomorrow, otherwise. Who knows if it works or not—but I had to try.”

“Good for you. Both of you.” Mr. Marlowe takes the locket from me to gaze down on the portrait of the long-dead woman inside the locket. “It seems only right that your mother could be the one to save you.”

“But silver burns werewolves,” I protest. “Alec, you’re hurt. Why did you do that to yourself?”

Alec takes my hand. “We never found the people who knew what we most wanted to learn in Europe. That doesn’t mean we didn’t learn
anything
.”

Mr. Marlowe adds, “One ancient book we studied said that the touch of silver could prevent the Brotherhood’s magic from fully taking hold during the initiation. Pray God it’s true!”

Relieved, I squeeze Alec’s fingers in mine. “You mean, Mikhail can’t control your mind?”

“I hope not,” Alec says. He doesn’t share in his father’s elation.

“Did you feel that he was controlling you, before, at the end of the initiation? Something was happening.” I remember again that terrible darkness that swirled around us.

“I’m not sure. I felt weak, but I was in so much pain from the silver and the ritual itself—it’s hard to know.” Alec grimaces as he looks down at the burns. “Maybe it kept their magic from working on me that much. On the other hand, it could mean the initiation didn’t work at all—and I might change tonight, the same as I always have. We won’t find out whether this worked until I’m truly tested. It was a book of legends, no more. Legends can lie.”

“The Brotherhood will try to hold sway over us, regardless,” Mr. Marlowe says.

“I know, Dad. I’m sorry you got dragged even deeper into this.”

“Any sacrifice is worth it for my son.”

I’m trying to parse out how much of what I just saw was truth, and how much was false. “You weren’t fool enough to chuck the Initiation Blade overboard, were you?”

Despite everything, Alec laughs. “That’s what I love about you, Tess. Practical to the end.”

The word “love” makes me quiver, but I press on. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Of course not,” Alec says. He tries to adjust his seat on the floor but winces; Mr. Marlowe pulls out his handkerchief, and I take it from him to hold against Alec’s cuts and staunch the flow of blood. “There are only a few Initiation Blades in the world. Having two of them aboard this ship is extraordinary. If the silver didn’t work—if Mikhail can fog my mind, control me—then we can use the Blade as a bargaining chip later. It’s some measure of safety for all of us. We have to keep it.”

“Good.” I dab at his arm and grimace as I see how much blood is scattered across the carpet. “You poor thing, you’ve bled everywhere. It spattered all the way across the room.”

Alec sees what I see—a few droplets near the door—and frowns. “That’s not my blood.”

“What?” I don’t understand. “But you were the only one cut. How can you tell?”

“Have you somehow managed to forget I’m a werewolf? I can smell blood well enough to know the difference between someone else’s and my own. Mikhail smelled strongly of blood when he came in here. He—he must have attacked someone.”

I gasp, sick with horror.

Mikhail came here after discovering the Initiation Blade wasn’t in the Lisles’ safe. He would have been angry, so angry, when he discovered it was gone—

Baby Bea.

Ned.

Miss Irene.

He could have killed them all.

Chapter 22

LEAVING THE WOUNDED ALEC AND HIS FATHER behind, I dash back through the corridors as fast as I can. A stitch in my side stabs with every breath, and by now the stewards must assume I’m a madwoman, but I don’t care.

The door to the Lisles’ suite is closed but unlocked. I burst through to see chaos. The fine sofa and chairs have been tipped over, and the cut-glass water jug is shattered into dozens of glittering shards. One of the draperies is torn, and in Lady Regina’s room, I hear little Beatrice wailing.

When I rush in the door, I see Layton sprawled on the bed. Blood oozes from cuts on his hands and face, and his nose is crumpled and puffy. Mrs. Horne stands next to the bed, bandages in hand, but she’s not fixing him up; she’s in a kind of stupor. I can’t imagine what she must have seen, or what Mikhail might have threatened to do to her. Beatrice stands on her cot, shrieking in terror and neglect.

As I go to the little girl, Layton’s head lolls to one side while he turns to me. One of his eyes has already swollen shut. “You,” he says thickly. His lips and tongue must be cut. “Count Kalashnikov said it was you.”

“You need a doctor,” I say, trying to settle the child on my hip and cuddle her.

“Ned’s making himself useful and fetching one,” Layton snaps, then winces—no doubt that hurt his split lip. “And you’ve made yourself useful too, haven’t you? Stealing from the family coffers.”

My heart sinks. The denial rises to my lips, but it’s such a bald-faced lie that I can’t get it out.

“He would have paid us a hundred pounds for that worthless old knife.” Layton pushes himself up on his elbows, though he grimaces as he does it. “More money than you’ll see in your entire life, unless of course you steal for it. Did you do it to pay me back for Daisy? Because it was more than she’s worth. More than the two of you are worth put together.”

The insult to my sister pushes me past the brink. “You lied to Daisy. You made her think you cared about her, and you left her on her own when she needed you the most. Don’t you dare insult her. She’s worth a hundred of you.”

Layton snaps, “I don’t give a tinker’s damn about your wretched sister. What I care about is the welfare of this family.” Hypocrite. He’s none too worried about the other family he abandoned, my sister and his son, and half the Lisles’ debt must come from his endless gambling. But my self-righteousness withers as he continues, “You stole from us. If you think any member of the family will ever forgive that, you’re mad. I shall have Ned fetch a steward. You’ll be kept under lock and key until we reach New York City. And if you don’t tell me precisely where you’re keeping the dagger, and any other baubles you might have stolen, I’ll have you thrown in prison.”

Prison. Anything but that. The very thought terrifies me. What kind of a life would I ever have afterward? And yet Layton has me now. I can’t present him with the dagger again. Though I know Alec would return it in an instant to spare me this, giving the Blade back to Layton is the same as handing it to Mikhail. Doing that gives Mikhail even more power over Alec than he may have already.

Layton’s battered, blood-spattered body is a sign of what can happen when the Brotherhood’s power is defied. Mikhail would do this to Alec. He’d do even worse to me.

“What’s he saying?” Mrs. Horne says in the same sort of unknowing, wondering tone more often used by children. Witnessing the beating took something out of her—imagine crusty old Horne being completely undone. “You—you took something of the family’s? You’re dismissed immediately. And you’re to give it back at once.”

At this point, being fired is the least of my worries. “You can have my uniform back at day’s end, but I haven’t got the dagger. I swear. You can search my cabin if you don’t believe me.”

“Who else could have taken it?” Layton coughs, a racking sound, and I see to my alarm that he’s spat blood onto one of the pillowcases. Maybe it’s just from his cut mouth, but if his ribs are broken, that can cause bleeding inside—it happened to one of the grooms last year, and his health still isn’t right. “We persuaded the staff to give all of you keys to pass throughout the ship as you pleased. It looks like Tess has abused that privilege.”

“If Mikhail had that knife, he’d like as not have used it on you!” My shout makes Beatrice start wailing again, and I cuddle her closer, trying to soothe her. “Sir, you’ve got to listen to me. Mikhail—I mean, Count Kalashnikov’s a dangerous man. How can you not understand that, after what he’s done to you?”

Layton pauses. Though he says nothing, I see what’s behind his reluctance. Of course he realizes how malevolent the count truly is; his bruised and bloody skin tells that tale. But Mikhail scares him badly—maybe even worse than Mikhail scares me. He’s lashing out at me because he’s too weak to stand up to the real enemy.

“Think,” I say more urgently. “Report this to the captain. There’s no way he can ignore it.” Probably the Brotherhood can make sure Mikhail walks away free at the end, but surely he’d at least be guarded for the remainder of the voyage. A report from a member of the English nobility would mean something. “You have a chance to protect all of us, sir. Yourself included.”

Just as I believe I might be getting through to Layton, though, we’re interrupted. Ned rushes in, almost skidding to a stop on the carpet. “The physician’s with someone dire sick right now, sir, but he promises to come along as fast as he can.” A few steps behind him is Irene, her hair still half-done; she rushed out hardly dressed, so eager was she to help her brother—and, perhaps, to remain near Ned.

“Blast and damn these doctors! They don’t know what’s important. Did you offer him more money to come right away?” Layton asks.

Ned frowns. “Ah—no, sir. Sorry, sir, but it never occurred to me. I think the lady he’s with is really quite ill—”

“You’ll go back and offer him whatever he wants,” Layton declares. “And then you’re to fetch a ship’s officer to have Tess arrested for theft.”

Damn. He’s too scared to think clearly. Instead of striking back, he’s tucking tail and doing whatever Mikhail wants.

“Tess arrested?” Ned looks from Layton to me and back again, utterly bewildered. “That can’t be right, can it, sir? You’ve taken a knock to the head. Maybe you’re not thinking clearly.”

Layton straightens himself as regally as he can, with his clothes rumpled and his face a bloody mess. “She’s stolen the dagger. She’s going to jail for it—and if she doesn’t hand the dagger back this instant, I intend to see to it that she stays in jail for the next several years.”

Irene steps forward and says, “Tess didn’t steal the dagger. I took it.”

Everybody in the room stares at her. I’m so astonished by her lie that I nearly drop Beatrice. With arms turning to jelly with shock, I manage to put the quieted child back in her cot.

“You?” Layton flops back onto the pillows. “Whatever would you take some old dagger for?”

“I wanted some money of my own. Mother and Father give me nothing, you know that.”

“Mikhail—Mikhail said that Tess—”

“He must have found out something about it.” Irene fibs so smoothly you’d think she was a master criminal, instead of telling just about the first falsehood of her whole life. But that’s what she does, isn’t it? She defends other people when she can. “You see, I had her pawn the dagger for me in Southampton the night before we set sail. So she did have it—and it was good of you not to tell anyone, Tess. But you needn’t pretend any longer just to protect me.”

“Yes, miss.” I drop her a curtsy, as I’ve done several times a day for the past few years of my life, but this is the first one I ever really meant as a sign of respect.

Layton sputters in helpless rage. “Well, it was ridiculous of you. Ridiculous, Irene. Mother and Father don’t give you money because you’re irresponsible, and don’t ask me how it is we both know that.”

So, they told him about the miscarriage. Irene’s face flushes—and I’m uncomfortably aware of Ned, standing close to her but unknowing. Yet she doesn’t back down. “They don’t give me money because we haven’t got much money left. The family’s virtually penniless.”

Layton looks even sicker than he did when I first walked into the room, and we servants can hardly do more than stare. It’s not as if we didn’t know. We’ve made jokes about the Lisles joining us downstairs to wash dishes, gags like that. But hearing Irene admit it—and admit that it’s as bad as “penniless”—still feels like watching a cathedral crumble. The great ancient family of the Lisles is poor. The world I was raised in has turned upside down. Even little Beatrice stares.

“You should all get new positions as soon as possible.” Though Irene seems to be speaking to all three servants in the room, her eyes are only on Ned. She wants him to leave more than the rest of us—to spare him the sight of her married to a man she doesn’t love. “We might have to sell the house within the year, assuming anybody wants such a drafty old place. When they think I can’t hear, Mother and Father talk about moving into a town house in London.”

“Be quiet!” Layton coughs again, his face contorting in pain, but the shame of their poverty outweighs even the beating he just received. “Irene, you shouldn’t talk about matters you don’t understand. None of you are to pay her any mind.”