Poison in the Blood (2 page)

“You have spoken with the Scrivener?” I asked. The Scrivener was the chronicler responsible for London, a man so ancient that he made Simon St. Jerome seem like a mewling infant. I had met him once, and it was not an experience I cared to repeat.

“Yes, and he has been accounted for during the time of each abduction. The victims were abducted from their own homes and were missing for several days before their bodies were discovered, each in a different location in the city.”

Curious. The killer must be very bold to steal a young woman from her home. “If not a necromancer or chronicler, whom do you suspect? A demon? Or a shapeshifter?”

“Perhaps. The summoner council and the head of the local canine shapeshifter pack also deny any involvement. I hope that you will be able to identify a clue that Just—ahem—that Miss Dubois and I have not.”

His face reddened at the slip, and I wondered if Miss Dubois was the golden-haired woman so prominent in his thoughts. If so, I could understand his anxiety, for it must be difficult for a witch to impress a guardian. I knew very little of guardians. As a seer, I am driven by a curiosity that often leads me into mischief, but never so terrible that I’ve caught the attention of a guardian.

I raised the shade of the window closest to me and peered into the night. The streets were dark and ominous, and the constant contact with the spells that crisscrossed the city irritated me. So many centuries of wards, blessings and powers knew what else piled on top of each other. The spells were a necessary evil, intended to guard magicians from the dangers created by living in such close quarters with the nonmagical majority, but knowing that did not make experiencing that magic less disagreeable. For me, traveling through London was like struggling through webs woven by enormous spiders, and each strand of magic tugged at me and muddled my perceptions. Since my arrival I had suffered from a headache that never went away but only faded into the background at times.

We passed a building I thought I recognized, and I frowned at Dr. Bennett. “Isn’t that the Undiscovered Country, the necromancer’s club?”

“It is, yes. How did you know that?” he asked.

“My sister’s husband commented on it as we drove by one afternoon.” Though of course that begged the question of how Thomas knew that, but neither Josephine nor I had asked.

The carriage stopped at the corner on the same street as the club, and we looked at each other in surprise. It certainly seemed suspicious that the body should be found so near to a necromancer establishment. The door opened, and Dr. Bennett helped me down. A gentleman I didn’t recognize waited for us, and from the unpleasant energy that emanated from him I guessed that he must be an apprentice necromancer—still living, but no less evil than a master. Unlike chroniclers, who sought immortality to record and preserve magician history, necromancers had no purpose. They were magicians who were afraid to die because a terrible fate awaited them in the afterlife.

“Dr. Bennett, you are expected. Your companion is?”

“This is Mrs. Emily Black, a seer. She is going to assist in the investigation,” he explained.

The necromancer sneered down at me, as often happens when the nature of my magic is announced. “The Order of St. Jerome is not welcome here.”

I made a great show of looking about me as though expecting to find someone else the target of his disdain. “I see no member of the Order here.”

“It is well known that your husband has recently become a chronicler,” the necromancer said.

“And he is not here. The Order has made it quite clear that I am not allowed among their ranks. You may ask them yourself to confirm it, if you like.” I let my vision shift for a moment, examining the greasy black and sickly green of his aura. His energy was an oozing bruise, weak and anemic. “Though I doubt that someone of your standing would be allowed to speak with a council of any sort.”

He gasped, clearly offended, and Dr. Bennett coughed. “If you would be so kind as to take us to Miss Dubois. She is expecting us.”

The necromancer glared at him but reluctantly turned and led us away.

Dr. Bennett offered his arm, and this time I took it, wanting to present a unified front in case we encountered more disapproving necromancers. They were such disagreeable creatures.

We turned just before reaching the Undiscovered Country and walked down a darkened alley beside the building. The energy that emanated from the club made me nauseous, as though I could smell the rancidness of the magic within. I took solace in the strong healing energy of Dr. Bennett’s aura, so much so that my headache momentarily lifted for the first time in months. That relief alone made it worth the risk of coming into contact with him, but it was short-lived. We stepped into a small circle of light cast by two men holding lanterns, likely also necromancers judging by the severity of their frowns, and as we approached a woman in a light pink gown holding a folded matching parasol, I became sharply aware of two things. First, that poor Dr. Bennett was madly in love with Miss Justine Dubois, and second, that she was oblivious to how he felt.

Well. I would just have to do something about that, wouldn’t I?

“Doctor, you are late,” she scolded without looking up.

From her accent I gathered that she was also an American. I supposed that accompanying Miss Dubois was the motivation for his relocation to London from New York, for I knew that there was a new guardian in the area, but I had not yet heard the details of who or why. Miss Dubois’s focus was upon the naked corpse at her feet, the limp form of Mrs. Clara Harding, whose exposed flesh was pale as new-fallen snow. I had grown used to bloodless complexions thanks to Simon, but the victim would have made him look the positive picture of blushing health. Someone had draped a long crimson coat over the body, and the color was lurid against her skin.

“I apologize. I was speaking with Mrs. Black, and I asked her to join our investigation. She is a seer, and has some experience in solving murders. I feel she can aid us.”

“Small experience,” I corrected. “Only two murders. But I am glad to help in any way that I am able.”

Miss Dubois straightened and approached us. She was quite beautiful, and I could see why Dr. Bennett was so helplessly attracted to her. She had a charming, heart-shaped face graced with large blue eyes framed with thick lashes. Her hair was arranged in an artful mass of golden curls, and she was positively radiant. Almost angelic.

She eyed me thoughtfully. “I have never met a seer before.”

I smiled as I refrained from commenting on how I had never met a female guardian before. Instead I chose a more polite reply. “Very few people have. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Nodding briskly, she returned her attention to the body. “What do you see?”

Simple. To the point. I rather liked that. It was refreshing to be spared having to justify my abilities, though I suspected that as a woman Miss Dubois was familiar with having to justify her own magic to others.

I stepped away from Dr. Bennett and centered myself, clearing my thoughts of my curiosity about their relationship. When I opened my eyes I winced at the riot of colors emanating from the Undiscovered Country; was nothing calm in this city? The necromancers had cast so many spells upon their building that the narrow alleyway rather looked like our table linens the day the twins had gotten into the watercolors. I turned my gaze to the body itself and found it devoid of energy, as I expected. Mrs. Harding’s dark hair was unbound, and her lifeless eyes stared blankly up at the night sky.

“I should like to see the young woman’s home. I may be able to see a vision of her abduction,” I said.

“That can be arranged,” Miss Dubois replied. “Is there anything of note on the body?”

“No, and there are no strong impressions around the body. It is doubtful that she was killed here, but that much is obvious from the lack of blood in the area.”

“Anything else?” Miss Dubois prompted.

My attention flicked to her, and I winced at her bright silver aura. She was by far the most powerful magician I had ever encountered. Were all guardian auras that strong? There was something odd about her parasol as well. It gave off a bright energy, which was unusual for an object because most items only held residual traces of the person who had been handling them.

Blinking past the brightness, I walked away, hoping to find some sort of trail in the swirling mass of magic. I left the lantern’s light behind me, but my vision was filled with the necromancers’ spells, at least on my right side. The building to my left was plain, dull brick, with no magic whatsoever…except for one spot. Tilting my head, I studied the area. A long gash of unfamiliar energy was torn into the brick, a bit taller and wider than myself. It almost looked like a door of sorts.

“Would you bring a lantern here, please?” I asked.

One of the necromancers obliged, muttering less-than-polite things about meddling women under his breath as he did so. The light bobbed nearer, and I frowned as I saw nothing—the absence of color, as though a dark void was painted onto the wall. I removed my right glove, intending to place my hand against the brick, but was startled by a sudden, angry shout.

I whirled at the sound and spotted two figures approaching, their energy faint in the dark like two ghosts storming down the alleyway. My eyes widened with shock when the lanterns caught them, revealing my nemesis, Simon St. Jerome, with my husband, Michael, in tow. As always, Simon was a spindly tower of disapproval crowned with long chestnut hair, and, also as always, my husband, Michael, followed at his heel like a loyal hunting dog.

The change in Michael’s aura struck me like a physical blow, forcing the air from my lungs until it was difficult to breathe. Though on the surface he was still the handsome man I married, small details of the change in his condition became clearer as they drew to a halt, like the bloodless paleness of his skin and the stillness of his body. Tears welled in my eyes, and I shook my head and turned away, unable to keep looking.

Miss Dubois spoke first. “What is the meaning of this? You are interfering with a guardian investigation.”

“No, madam, we are conducting an investigation for the Order of St. Jerome,” Simon replied. “Though it appears we are also in time to escort Mrs. Black home where she belongs before she gets herself into trouble.”

Where I belong.
As though I were a wayward kitten who had wandered off chasing a butterfly. Of course they thought I belonged at home with my children, where the extent of the use of my magic was to determine whether the baby was truly hungry or merely cranky. I loved my family, and I didn’t dispute that my place was with them. I did, however, believe that Michael’s place was with us as well. Instead, he had left us to pursue becoming a chronicler, because his magic was important and mine was not.

“Emily, are you all right?” Michael asked.

Fighting the instinctive urge to go to him, I folded my hands and blinked repeatedly until my vision returned to normal and the tears were kept at bay. Taking a deep breath, I turned back to face them.

“I am in perfect health, thank you.”

“I was not informed that the Order is conducting an investigation of their own,” Miss Dubois said.

“Now you have been. Judging by the escalation of the crimes, the Scrivener is not convinced that you are capable of handling this matter.”

I stared up at Simon in disbelief—he was tall and gangly, like a sneering scarecrow. Anger boiled from Miss Dubois, though she only took a half step forward, her hands tightening on the handle of her parasol until her knuckles whitened. I stole another look at Michael. He watched me with silent concern, his dark eyes gleaming in the weak light.

“Is that so?” Miss Dubois said. “The Order is welcome to perform its own investigation. After I have completed mine. I will brook no meddling from you or any other chronicler, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the penalties for interfering with a guardian’s affairs.”

Simon stiffened. Clearly he knew what she was referring to, but I had no idea. I assumed the penalties must be dire. Miss Dubois turned to me.

“What did you see, Mrs. Black?” she asked.

“Emily is returning home. Now,” my husband announced.

Now he was angry with me. His temper was obvious in his snappish tone and did not require seer magic’s to detect, not that I wanted another look at his anemic chronicler’s aura. How awful. My dear and loving husband, reduced to a copy of his contemptible mentor. I swallowed hard past a lump of emotion that tightened my throat. At the very least I deserved a “darling” and a kiss from Michael, not a lecture.

With a defiant lift to my chin, I turned to the guardian. “Some sort of doorway made of magic. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It is just here.”

“Emily.” Michael sighed my name as though describing a heavy burden. I ignored him, for I was quite used to hearing that sound from my parents and sisters. I was Emily, the family disgrace.

Miss Dubois joined me and peered at the wall as I gestured to the outline. She placed her palm against it and hissed as she snatched her hand away.

“Justine! Are you hurt?” Dr. Bennett reached for her hand and took it in his, examining it for wounds.

“It’s freezing,” she said.

Considering the warm summer evening, I doubted there was any reasonable explanation for why the wall would be that cold. Unable to resist, I touched it. A spike of cold traveled up my arm as though an icicle had impaled my palm. I shrieked in pain and surprise, stumbled back and promptly fainted as a vision overwhelmed me.