His Lordship Possessed (11 page)

known as the Reapers. Little is known about the Reapers

except some rumors. It’s said that they still desire to settle old scores.”

It was incredible how much detail he’d worked into

his delusion . . . or perhaps there was nothing wrong with

his mind, and he’d employed this complicated farce in

hopes of bringing me under his sway. I began to suspect

the latter. “So which was it? Harry became a Tiller, and

your father a Reaper? Is that why you despise each other

so much?”

“Jack was a Tiller,” he said softly. “Harry’s spirit never

did choose a side.”

I decided I’d indulged him long enough. “I must say,

that was an excellent story, Lucien. Quite imaginative,

having the moving pictures to add such a dramatic feel.

You could perform this show daily in the park. I think

you’d really clean up.”

“What you are disregarding is that the Tillers and

the Reapers did go back to live normal lives,” he said.

“Th ey became men of business, politics, and importance.

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Th ey all succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations. And

they married and had families, because they never

suspected hosting the Aramanthan spirits would change

their physical bodies. Not until they realized that their

off spring were not like other children.”

My nose itched and I couldn’t scratch it, and it was

driving me insane. Just as he was. “Please, Lucien, stop.

Just stop now. It was a good joke, a very good joke, but

you’re taking it too far. It isn’t funny anymore.”

“Th e Tillers managed to hide what they were, but their

children were born with abilities not so easily disguised.”

His voice dropped low, as if he were confi ding in me.

“Some superstitious fools began calling their progeny

names. Shade-born. Demonites.”

I went still.
Hellchild.

“Some of the children had ordinary gifts, but others

proved to be even more powerful than their sires.”

He went to the panel to fl ip some switches and the

cuff s round my wrists parted, and then the bars folded

themselves away. “Your mother not only rejected her

powers, Charmian, I believe that she and your father

used the nightstone to assure that you would never know

yours.” He came over to take my cold hands in his.

“Th anks to them, you’ve remained ignorant of the fact

that you are spiritborn, and possess incredible—”

“Enough.” I pushed him away from me and got to my

feet, wincing as my muscles went pins and needles. “My

parents are dead. I don’t have any power—mind, magic,

or otherwise. I am an ordinary person, just like you. I

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don’t even want to know what a nightstone is.”

“You are not like anyone.” He also stood. “You are a

spell-breaker, Charmian. Perhaps the most powerful in

existence. Magic cannot work in your presence because

your own instantly unravels it.”

“Brilliant.” I clapped my hands. “You’ve managed to

invest me with the one power that explains why magic

never works. Oh, in my presence, of course,” I added.

“Once I leave the room, however, then it’s business as

usual. Wardlings and potions. Enchantments. I’d like to

leave now.”

“I can prove it.”

I whirled round. “How? By not performing magic in

front of me—again? Yes, that should convince me. Go

ahead.” I gestured. “Fail to conjure something.”

“Th ere is only one power that can overcome yours,

Charmian,” he said softly. “Happily, it is mine.”

I didn’t like the look in his eyes. “Yet somehow you’ve

never thought to use it on me.”

“I did try, but your parents made sure no magic could

ever touch you.” He took out my pendant and dangled

it. “Th is is a nightstone, one of the last in existence. It was used by the old Druuds to imprison the mages in

the Bréchéliant. Your parents somehow mechanized it to

shield your spirit in a similar manner. From what I have

gathered by observation, it releases your power while

holding you oblivious to both it and the forces within the

netherside.”

“So that’s the reason magic doesn’t work near me?”

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I nodded. “I wonder what my Da’s pocket watch does.”

“Al ow me to demonstrate.” He curled his fi ngers over

my pendant, opened them, and it was gone. “Now you are

unshielded.”

“Let me guess.” I folded my arms. “You can to turn

me into a great fat frog. Or, if my mind power is now

working, you can’t.”

His eyes glittered as he came to me and dropped a

small blue stone down the front of my bodice. As I tried

to slap him, he said, “Take off the cloak.”

I looked down at my hand, which on its own had

stopped and joined my other fi ngers to untie the strings

under my chin. “Th is is ridicu—” I stopped when I

realized I wanted to take off the cloak, more than

anything in the world. “What is this? What are you

doing?”

“I’ve told you, spell-breaker.” He smiled. “You’re

mine.”

I pushed the cloak from my shoulders and straightened

the dark blue gown I’d borrowed from Rina’s. Oddly, this

gave me a distinct glow of pleasure. “Why does that feel

better?”

“You want to please me,” he said. “In another moment

you’ll do anything I ask.”

“Yes.” Something began pulsing deep inside me, as if

I’d grown a second heart. “Of course I do. Should I take

off the rest of my clothes?”

“My father became host to the immortals’ greatest

enchanter,” Dredmore said as he went round me

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and encircled me from behind with his arms. “An

Aramanthan who could bend anyone, even the most

powerful spell-breaker, to his will. Th at was the gift Jack passed along when he sired me.”

“Th is is why Harry wanted me to leave you.” Poor

Harry, he was a fool. “He knew you’d try this.” Not

that I was especially worried, not with this delicious

contentment glowing inside me. “How long does it last?”

“If I choose,” he whispered against my ear, “for the

remainder of your days.”

Delight sparkled inside me as I imagined it. “Yes,

please, Lucien. I’d like that. I like you.”
No, that wasn’t
right.
“I love you.”

“So you do, as long as I will it.” Th e air pressed in

against me, and then I was turning to put my arms round

his neck. “But this is not real love, Charmian. Th is is

enchantment. Enslavement.”

“Nonsense. You know how much I fancy you. Th ere

will never be anyone else for me.” I beamed at him.

“Lucien, all I’ve ever want to do is make you happy.”

“You’ve never wanted anything of the kind.” He kissed

my brow before he plunged his hand down the front of

my dress, removing the stone he’d dropped there. “And

I’m sorry I’ve done this, but I had to show you.”

A heartbeat later my mind and body became my own

again, and I drooped, as limp as an underdone crispie.

“Once I release you from the enchantment, there is a

period of weakness. It will pass in a few moments.” He

carried me over to the chair and sat down with me. “Th e

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longer I bespell you, the greater the weakness. With each

hour that passes, more of you surrenders to my control,

until I command the very beat of your heart. Th en I can

never release you, or you will die.”

“I can’t believe it.” I didn’t try to fi ght him off or

argue; I was too stunned. “I really wanted . . . I would

have happily . . .” I stopped and stared at him. “And

you can do this to anyone, whenever you wish, just by

thinking it and popping a stone down their dress?”

“Anyone like us.” His mouth curled at one corner. “To

my everlasting regret, the power I inherited from Jack

doesn’t work on ordinary mortals. Only the spiritborn.”

“Bloody hell.” I rested my cheek against his shoulder.

“How do you live with something like this?”

“I avoid the temptation to use it.” He stroked my

cheek. “When I fi rst encountered you at that merchant’s

house I knew you were like me; I sensed it at once—but

my power had no eff ect on you. I tried everything, even

planting spell stones in your garments, but nothing

worked. I believed it to be a miracle.”

“You’ve actual y tried to do this before to me?” I sat up

and remembered all the odd times I’d found blue pebbles

in my pockets. “How could you?”

“I wanted you.”

“You want to be beaten senseless.” I pushed away his

hand. “Is there anyone more powerful than you? Do they

hire out?”

“We all have our weaknesses.” His expression became

shuttered. “You needn’t worry. I’d never use my power on

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you unless you were in danger.”

“Th at’s what you say now. Next week you might decide

to have me shine your boots with my tongue.” I grimaced.

“Not that I mean to suggest you do.” Something occurred

to me, and I sat straight up. “Th at night in the maze, you

didn’t use your mind magic on me, did you?” I hadn’t

seen any blue stone then, but it might have fallen out of

my pocket while I’d ridden back to the city on George.

He ran his thumb along my jawline. “You were

wearing the pendant, remember? It’s always protected

you.”

I glanced about. “Where
is
my pendant?”

“You’ll have it back, in time.” He turned my face

toward his. “Charmian. You can’t keep wearing it. Your

parents meant well, but nightstone is very dangerous and

unpredictable. Th e manner in which they’ve mechanized

it blinds you to the netherside. If the mechanism were to

fail at the wrong moment—”

I wasn’t convinced I wanted to see the real world

anymore, much less the netherside of specters and mages

and only sweet Mary knew what else. “Perhaps it’s better

that I not know such things.”

“You can’t hide forever from what you are, love.” He

sounded weary now. “No more than I could.”

I tucked my head against his neck, my eyes drooping.

“Lucien.” I yawned. “Why am I falling asleep on your

lap?”“You’ve had a long day.” He sounded peevish now, as

if talking were too much eff ort.

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Th e air seemed to be turning pink, and very hot, and

with all my strength I pushed myself off him. My limbs

turned to noodles and I landed heavily on the fl oor.

“Charm.” He tried to reach out to me, but his hand

fell against the cushions. “Fire.”

I gritted my teeth and began crawling toward it, the

pink smoke coming from the logs making my eyes burn,

but halfway to the hearth I couldn’t feel my legs anymore.

Nor could I turn over to see who had come into the room

and was walking toward us.

A hard boot kicked me over onto my back, and I

looked up to see Montrose Walsh standing over me, a

noz over his mouth.

“Poor Cousin Kit,” he said through the mask. “You

and your lover might be impervious to magic, but you’re

still obliged to breathe, now, aren’t you?”

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Th e next hour came to me in blurry fl ashes as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I glimpsed Dredmore’s body

being dragged past me and dropped onto the dirty boards

of a cart, and snow falling into my eyes. Th e cold roused

me even as it chilled my limbs; the fl ashes grew closer

together until they merge into a veil of snowy lace above

my head. By the time my wits were restored they had

moved us to another place and put me on a bed. Beside

me Dredmore lay unmoving, but I shifted my arm to

press against his side, and felt his ribs expanding and

contracting.

Lucien still breathed. Th ey hadn’t killed him.

Men’s voices spoke in low, ugly tones all about

us; I could hear Lord Walsh, his diseased son, and

someone with a faint Talian accent. Th ey were arguing

over something. Montrose spoke insistently, his father

responded harshly, and the Talian seemed to be trying to

placate both of them.

Th e voices came closer, and I played dead. Th rough

my lashes I could see Lord Walsh taking polished stones

from a pouch, which he rolled in his hand like coins he

was reluctant to part with, until he held them out and a

black-gloved hand chose one. More words were spoken,

none of which I understood, and the glove lowered a

white stone to Dredmore’s face.

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