New Blood (45 page)

He watched Amanusa through his lashes for her reaction, fearing her disgust, but now able to believe she might not condemn him for it. “When she had a great spell she wanted to work, I would sometimes carry the magic for weeks. It did me no harm to carry so much magic, didn't affect my physical self at all, but I felt bloated. Because I felt it, I moved differently. It made me walk like a fat man, or a pregnant woman.”

“I am not sending you to any orgies, so you can get that idea right out of your head this instant.”

Her snappishness, her obvious jealousy, had Jax laughing with delight. He scooped her into his arms, rolling onto his back with her atop him. “With you as my wife, how can I even see other women? I shall be that most boring of creatures, a faithful husband.”

“Good.” She gave a brisk, satisfied nod and folded her hands on his chest. “Now what?”

He laughed again. He'd never ended lovemaking with so much laughter. “Now, you reinforce our magic shields, and then I suppose it will be time to begin the ‘happily ever after' part of our lives?”

“Oh, Jax, do you think it's possible?”

“What? ‘Happily ever after'? No, I suppose not. Not the ‘ever after' bit. But I think we ought to be able to manage ‘Happily some of the time.' Perhaps even ‘Happily most of the time.' ” He brushed back a cascade of pale blond hair so he could see her face. “I'm happy now. Are you?”

Her smile made his heart turn over. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”

She reached for magic, Jax gave it, and she added another, brighter layer of protection to that they already wore. Then, tired by the effort, they slept.

Jax woke her once more in the morning's small hours to make love again, needing to know if she'd really meant it—whenever, whatever he wanted. She did. How could he love her any more?

The attack struck just before dawn, crashing past the wards around their hotel room as if they were walls made of paper, shrieking across the personal shields built with so much pleasure in the night. Amanusa screamed as the attack pierced the shielding, pain slicing through her. She grabbed for the
magic Jax thrust at her. Shouting the shielding spell, she built up their defenses from the inside out.

“Must we just endure the bombardment?” she gasped between waves of attack. “Can't we attack in return?”

“Sorcery doesn't have much offensive magic without innocent blood being shed.”

Amanusa thought frantically as she spoke another spell, built another shield. She didn't know enough. She needed more spells in her repertoire.

“The attack is fading,” Jax said. “I've still got plenty of magic. What if we turn it back on them? Reflect the spell back at them with your magic in it.”

“Can we do that?”

From the nightstand, Jax pulled one of the notebooks she'd filled on the train and flipped through it. “Yes, here. I thought I remembered it.”

Amanusa finished yet another defensive spell. “I didn't think you could remember what Yvaine said when she spoke with your voice.”

“I can't. But I always looked over what you'd written when I woke.” He climbed back onto the bed, unaware of his nudity, his finger marking the spell in the notebook.

She spoke it as she read, pouring magic into the conclave's testing spell, turning the attack back on its source, confining it to pain and forbidding death or physical injury. Then she let it go and felt it slingshot back across the city.

Only then did they hear the shouts and pounding at the suite's door. “It's Harry,” Amanusa said, recognizing the voice as Jax found his dressing gown on the floor and pulled it on.

“They must have felt the warding shatter. I'll tell them to come back later.” He closed the door to the bedroom as he padded out to the parlor.

Amanusa decided she could take time for undergarments beneath her dressing gown before emerging to consult with their friends.

Friends?
The word brought her up short. She'd never had friends. Not since her family left Vienna. Did she now?

She rather thought so. Harry and Elinor and even Grey, for all his nonsense. They seemed to like her and care what happened to her, and she liked them. Amanusa smiled as she tied the ribbon on her chemise. She had a husband—an excellent one—and she had friends. Life was suddenly very good.

But why were they all shouting? Amanusa threw her dressing gown over her unmentionables and tied it hurriedly shut before snatching open the bedroom door to see what was going on.

Jax stood in the doorway, arms braced on either side of the frame, barring the way. Harry and Grey, also in dressing gowns, stood just in front of him, and Amanusa thought she saw Elinor in a shabby green wrapper in front of them. Beyond her friends were several gentlemen in morning coats and suits. Amanusa could barely see them past all the bodies in her way.

“Mademoiselle Whitcomb?” A heavily accented voice floated over the heads of her friends and husband, speaking a few more sentences in French.

“Oh, wait. I don't have my translation stone.” Amanusa turned back into the bedroom and rummaged through yesterday's dress for the stone in her
pocket. The dressing gown didn't have pockets so she held it in her hand.

“There is no Mademoiselle Whitcomb,” Jax was saying in his fluent French. “There is only Madame Greyson.”

“My apologies.” The other man's accent had vanished. Magic. “And my congratulations on your marriage. I am desolated to be disturbing you so early—”

“Just get on with it.”

Amanusa recognized that voice. It was the English wizard, Cranshaw. The one who feared and hated sorcery—and women—so much. Her stomach began to churn.

She rose onto her tiptoes to see, a hand on Jax's shoulder for balance. The man at the forefront of the group had turned around to look at Cranshaw, who stood with a cluster of four—no, five other scowling magicians. Behind them, at the door to the suite, she saw uniformed policemen.

Cranshaw flushed under the man's stare, and after another long moment the man turned back around. What was Captain Vaillon doing in her hotel suite? Amanusa's head went light and fuzzy.

“Madame Greyson.” Vaillon met her eyes over Elinor's sleep-touseled head. “I have been asked by the International Magician's Conclave to execute a warrant of arrest for the investigation of a magical crime. These men—” His disdain showed clearly in his voice. Probably too clearly. “They have been sent to ensure that you do not use your magic to escape.”

Amanusa gripped Jax's shoulder, needing the support as her head threatened to float entirely away, and she lost track of the whereabouts of her knees. Dear
God, what was wrong with these people? Why couldn't they just leave her alone? “What crime am I supposed to have committed this time?”

Jax glanced over his shoulder at her and immediately abandoned his role as gate to wrap his arms protectively around her. Vaillon stepped forward and held out a folded paper. Amanusa reached between Harry and Grey to take it, but before she could open and read it, a little man all in black, save for the red cockade on his top hat and the red badge on his frock coat, came in. He marched across the parlor, the occupants parting before him, until he stopped just behind Vaillon.
Kazaryk.
He had pursued her even to Paris.

Amanusa's knees gave way, only Jax's hold keeping her upright. How long had the Inquisitor Plenipotentiary been here? The thought of Kazaryk's greedy cruelty working with Cranshaw's rabid hatred of sorcery terrified her.

“You are charged with the magic assault on an officer of a duly constituted national council,” Inquisitor Kazaryk spat.

Actual spittle flew from his lips. She had forced him to confront his own crimes, and he hated her for it. Amanusa saw the promise of her death in his eyes.

Another man had come in with Kazaryk and stood beside him, glaring at Amanusa. She hadn't noticed him beside the Inquisitor's blazing threat. She glanced at him now, wondering what it was about him that seemed so familiar.

“You are also charged with the murder-by-magic of twenty-three innocent men,” Kazaryk said.

Amanusa gasped. She might have cried out. The other man was
Szabo.

Dragos Szabo, with his gray-laced black hair slicked back and his bristly chin clean-shaven between his bushy side whiskers, dressed up in a fancy suit. No wonder she hadn't recognized him.

“You betrayed my trust,” he snarled.

“Your trust? What about my trust?” Anger—absolute fury—drove out her fear. “What about what your men did to me? What about my murdered mother? My little brother? Where was the justice for that? Did you give me justice? No. So I took it.”

“You have heard it from her own lips,” Kazaryk crowed, triumphant. “She confesses to her crime.”

“This is a hotel room.” Vaillon's voice rang out. “Not a court of law. Proper procedure will be followed.”

“Then arrest her, by God,” Cranshaw shouted. “Do your duty. Or has sorcery enslaved you as well?”

Vaillon turned to glare at him again. “It is
my
duty, monsieur. I am the one who knows what my duty demands. I do not take orders from you. You have satisfied yourselves that I am free of magical influence. Now, if you do not shut your mouth, I will arrest you as well for interference in my duty. Do you understand?”

Cranshaw subsided, muttering. In centuries past, magicians had defied civil authority. It was one of the things, according to Jax's returning memories, that had sparked the witch-burnings. A great many more people had small talents than had great enough talent to become master magicians. Their numbers made a difference when the council magicians abused their power.

The masters had agreed to abide by civil law in order to obtain the protection of that law from angry and fearful mobs. Even Cranshaw did not dare defy the law and risk a return to those days, much as he might wish to instigate a mob against Amanusa and her sorcery.

“Surely you cannot mean to take her into custody in her dressing gown,” Elinor protested.

“Of course not. Madame may dress. I will remain here in the parlor with my policemen, and these . . .” He sneered, as only the French can sneer. “These ‘gentlemen' may go into the corridor, if they insist on waiting.”

“How do we know you won't let her go?” someone demanded.

“Because unlike you,” Vaillon said, “I have honor. This lady has honor. She will not run. But if she did, I would stop her.”

“You didn't expect to find us alive, did you?” Jax said then, looking at Kazaryk, at the magicians. “Did you launch the magic attack on us yourselves?”

“No.” Amanusa shook her head. Her fist closed around the satin shawl collar of Jax's robe as realization hit her. “They wouldn't be here if they had. They would be trying to cope with the results of their own spell. These cowards persuaded the conclave to authorize the attack as my master magician's test. They manipulated them into timing it just before dawn. Just before Captain Vaillon was to arrive with his arrest warrant and discover our bodies. That attack was meant to kill. Is that how you test all your journeymen?”

Harry looked shocked. The magicians behind Vaillon
looked defiant. But they hadn't been the ones attacking.

“I reflected the spell used against us back at those who attacked, but I barred the reflected magic from killing,” Amanusa said quietly. “Who are the barbarians in this room?”

“O
UT
.”
VAILLON TURNED
to eject the magicians from the parlor, grabbing Kazaryk by the shoulder to turn him forcibly around and propel him out the door.

“You destroyed the revolution,” Szabo growled.

“No.” Amanusa was suddenly too tired to growl back. “
You
destroyed it, Szabo, when you let criminals and thugs join your revolution. They turned it into nothing more than a rabble.”

Vaillon shoved the outlaw chief backward, handing him over to one of the policemen.

“Amanusa, I am so sorry.” Elinor squeezed between Harry and Grey and pulled her into a fragrant hug.

“I can give you only so much time, madame, monsieur,” Vaillon said, returning from the closed suite door. “Time for dressing, but not time for consulting with your friends.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Amanusa smiled at him. More gratitude would be offensive to his dignity before his men. She hugged Elinor again, squeezed Harry's and Grey's hands. “And thank you all for your support. It means a great deal to me.”

“We're not the only support you got,” Harry said with a little salute. “So we'll be off now to rally it. We'll meet you at the conclave chamber. That is where you're takin' 'er, right?” he asked Vaillon.

“Oui.”
With a little bow to Amanusa, Vaillon escorted her friends to the exit and Jax swept her into the bedroom.

With the expertise of the servant he was for so long, Jax helped her dress. Before he retreated to his own dressing room, he bent for a quick kiss. The instant their lips touched, desire flared. Amanusa clutched at his lapels, terrified that all she had gained would be lost, desperate for more time, more kisses, more everything.

Gently, Jax pulled away. “It will be all right. You are in the right here. Vaillon and his men will ensure that the law is followed. And he will not give us more time than we actually need. I must dress.”

“I know.” She turned to face the mirror, took hold of her new silver-backed brush to keep from clinging to Jax. He touched her cheek, a lingering caress, then he fled.

When he returned, Amanusa had her hair braided and coiled on her head, a jaunty, military-styled hat atop the coil to match her white, braid-trimmed dress. Jax picked up his sword stick, settled his top hat on his head, and offered his arm to Amanusa for escort. Vaillon and his policemen waited in the parlor.

She hid the trembling of her hands in Jax's sleeve and the terror that spawned it behind the mask she had learned to wear in the outlaw camp.
Never let them see your fear.
It might make them think her less feminine, but men like this did not respect the feminine.
They respected strength. She had to be strong. This trouble could yet end in the spilling of innocent blood, and with so many arrayed against her, she did not yet know how they would get out of it. But one way or another, get out of it they would.