The Clockwork Wolf (3 page)

“I didn't call on you to discuss Lucien.” I sat back and rubbed my eyes. “Someone tried to kill me this morning by sending an animech with a bomb inside to my office.”

“Must not have been a very good one.” Harry reached across and poked my arm. “You're still among the living.”

“Pure daft luck, I assure you. My friend Docket said the device might have been made by a soldier. Which is odd, considering I've done nothing to annoy the militia. Unlike some occupants of this vehicle.” I folded my hands in my lap and gave him an expectant look.

Harry hunched his shoulders. “I told you, Charm, I never actually spied for the Crown. I used the body of one of their spies to travel to Toriana to look after your mother and you. That's all.”

I leaned forward. “The point is, that bomb was sent to the office. Our office, Harry. Your name is on the door now, too.”

“That was your idea, not mine.” He sniffed. “You shouldn't have used my true name anyway. Now all my enemies know we're partners.” He frowned. “Did you find that cat at the cobbler's I told you about last night?”

“Yes. I found the cat.” Getting my grandfather to
focus on the problem at hand was like trying to herd a dozen rabbits in an open field scattered with carrots. “What have you been doing that you haven't told me?”

“Oh, this and that.” He avoided my gaze by examining the state of his cuffs. “I spend most of my time in the Netherside, as well you know. It would be much more convenient if you were to find a body for me to occupy.”

“Let's be clear on something, old man,” I said. “I am your granddaughter, your business partner, and, I suspect, the only friend you have left on the planet. What I will never be is your personal body snatcher.”

“Calm yourself, gel.” He sighed. “I'm not some demon spirit come straight from Hades to destroy the world. I was only thinking of the convenience.”

While Harry could take on solid form for short periods, as he did now with me, the only way he could get about in the world was to possess a living person and turn him into his personal carri. Fearing Harry would do that and much worse to me, my parents had imprisoned him in a nightstone pendant I'd worn most of my life. Since no magic worked anywhere near my person, Harry had been unable to work a spell to free himself, and had remained trapped for decades like a genie in a bottle.

My parents had been wrong about his intentions, but I couldn't blame them. If Harry stayed in the body for longer than a day and a night, the possession became permanent and lasted until the body died . . . or someone killed it.

And there was one possible explanation for my vastly unpleasant delivery.

“Mother of God.” I braced my forehead against my hand. “Someone thinks you've possessed me.”

“I'll look into it,” Harry said. As the horses slowed, his body began turning transparent. “You've arrived at the evil sod's lair. Have a care, gel. If you're not home by midnight I'll be quite annoyed—and I still remember how to turn an ass into a toad.” He disappeared.

I glanced out the window and saw the soaring heights of Morehaven, the enormous cliff-side mansion Dredmore called home. “Fabulous.”

•   •   •

Connell escorted me to the main entry, where Dredmore's butler stood waiting with a lantern. “Good evening, miss. The master is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

I followed the butler through the foyer and down a long hall scented with beeswax candles and adorned with some of Dredmore's extensive art collection. It was so silent and gloomy I had to say something. “How have you been, Winslow? Plotting with your master to overthrow any governments lately?”

“Not this week, miss.” The servant didn't miss a step, although his expression grew puzzled. “Forgive me, miss, but how could you know my name? Have we met before tonight?”

Actually we had, not that he or anyone else in the house would remember. Our meeting, which had taken place during Dredmore's abduction and seduction of me, had been erased when I'd been thrown back in time. “You know, I can't recall,” I lied.

He stopped before a massive oak panel, knocking once before sliding it to one side. “Miss Kittredge, milord.”

I walked in to the beast's lair, which immediately lived up to Dredmore's reputation for the fantastic. Magical-looking relics occupied stands and cases scattered about the room's many polished tables. Glittering light from a seven-tiered crystal chandelier illuminated the brass-studded dark leather furnishings and vases of hothouse roses. Everything was spotless, expensive, and mysterious—exactly the sort of atmosphere in which Dredmore thrived.

The master himself stood near a roaring fire in a gray-stone hearth, his arm braced against the mantel. It surprised me to see he had put on a white tie in my honor, almost as much as if I'd found him in his shirtsleeves swilling ale.

“Thank you, Winslow.” Dredmore inspected me. “Bring our guest tea and sandwiches, if you would.”

“Yes, milord.” The butler withdrew and shut me in.

I occupied myself by placing my reticule on a table and then taking a turn of the room. “Did your client beg off at the last minute, or was it all a ruse to get me here?”

“The lady will be arriving shortly.” He moved to an armchair and gestured for me to take a matching seat across from his. “Did you enjoy the tea this morning?”

“You know, I did, thank you. It turned out to be a genuine lifesaver.” I disdained the facing seat and wandered over to an orrery fashioned of nested astrolab turntables with the suspended planets made of polished spell stone spheres. “Someone sent an animech rat containing a bomb to the office. It didn't go off because I poured your tea over the parcel instead of opening it. Don't glower like that, I'm fine.”

A muscle twitched along his jaw. “Do you still have the mech?”

“Docket's having a look,” I said. “Lucien, have you told anyone about my grandfather?”

“Who would believe me?”

I watched as the mech's rotagears turned and the tiny planets floated round the goldstone sun. “I know precisely how persuasive you can be. You could stand in the market square, announce the sky was the earth, and everyone within earshot would stand on their heads.” I'd personally experienced what he called his mind power to charm the spirit-born, and combined with his reputation as a deathmage, it wasn't much of an exaggeration.

He appeared on the other side of the orrery. “You believe the parcel bomb was meant for Harry.”

“Since I've done nothing to— Bloody hell.” I glared at him. “You're
still
having me watched?”

“You are one of the most powerful mortal spell breakers ever born, Charmian. Of course I'm having you watched. Come here.” He took my arm and guided me over to the armchair, making me sit. “The surveillance is only for your protection,” he added in a gentler tone. “The Reapers have learned that a spirit-born mortal defeated their warlord Zarath, and in so doing prevented the conquest of Toriana. Thanks to your adjustments to the timeline, however, that is all they know. I cannot allow them to discover who you are, or that it was your doing.”

I wanted to tell him I could look after myself, but he was right. “If the Reapers didn't send the bomb for me, then it must have been meant for Harry.”

“I'll make some inquiries. I should know something by tomorrow.” Dredmore looked up as Winslow carried in a large silver tray laden with a steaming porcelain pot, matching cups, and enough dainty sandwiches to feed a small fussy army. “Now eat before you wilt from hunger.”

I eyed the pot. “I really can't drink anything green. Even on Saint Patrick's Day.”

“This blend is called Golden Afternoon, miss,” Winslow said as he poured and handed me a cup. “Indian amber leaf, touch of honey. Very smooth.”

I took a cautious sip as he served his master. “So it is, Winslow. Quite delightful. Be warned, I might try to nick a tin or two before I leave.”

“If you can get past Cook, miss, it's in the dry-goods pantry. Third shelf on the left.” He inclined his head as he departed.

Dredmore added a slice of lemon to his tea. “I never knew Winslow to have a sense of humor.”

“We all of us have hidden depths, Lucien.” I selected a round of brioche filled with shaved ham and cranberry relish.

“I heard you talking to Winslow in the corridor,” he said. “How
did
you know his name?”

More dangerous territory, for like Winslow, Dredmore had no memory of the night I'd spent at Morehaven before I'd mangled time. “As I told your man, I can't recollect. Perhaps you mentioned it in passing, or I met him once in town. Or it could be that I'm having
you
watched.”

“I never speak of my servants to anyone. Your memory is flawless, and any meaningful surveillance of
me is quite beyond your financial means.” He regarded me over the rim of his teacup. “And Winslow never leaves the estate.”

“You should let the staff out now and then, Lucien,” I said mildly. “I'm sure most of them will come back.”

“You came to Morehaven before today.” He set down his cup and gave me his full attention. “I know when. The question is, why?”

He could be annoyingly direct. “I cannot tell you what never happened.”

“But you remember it.” He stood and came over to me, cupping my chin in his hand and making me look up at him. “You may subvert the past as often as you like, my sweet, but you cannot escape your fate.”

“My fate my foot. Leave off, Lucien. All this to-do is giving me indigestion.” I pushed his hand away and took a bite of my sandwich.

He brushed a crumb from my lips. “Ah, but it's my fate, too, Charmian. The portents have made that unwaveringly clear.”

Before I could tell him what I thought of his taking magical peeks into the future Winslow returned. “Your guest has arrived, milord.”

Dredmore dropped his hand. “Show the lady to the Orchid Room, and inform her that Miss Kittredge will attend to her momentarily.”

I wolfed down the rest of the sandwich, drained my cup, and stood. “I'll see her now.”

“Before you meet my client,” Dredmore said, “I have some additional information about the widow to impart.”

I folded my arms. “Well? What is it? Do you think she killed him?”

“Naturally you would assume that, Kittredge.” A tall, heavily veiled woman in dark blue strode into the room, her swirling red pin-striped skirts rocking along with the hitch in her step. “You've always been exceptionally commonplace.”

I knew that voice, better than my own, and it explained why my host had been so reluctant to use her name. I faced Dredmore and uttered the only word I could reasonably produce without screaming. “No.”

“You see?” Lady Eugenia Bestly removed her hat and veils and tossed them at Winslow. I glanced at her, and saw that to improve her color she had put on a great deal of face paint. The rice powder she'd used to disguise its shine had also brought out every tiny wrinkle round her eyes and mouth. “Did I not tell you, Lucien? She will never give me a fair hearing. She is not capable of compassion.”

Compassion? No. Murder? Absolutely. “In regard to you, madam, you are quite correct. Good day.” I stalked past her.

Dredmore reached the panel before I did and closed it in my face. “You assured me that you would listen to her.”

I was trembling, panting, and I could hardly see straight. “That is a promise I am utterly overjoyed to break.” I jerked aside the panel and stepped out into the hall.

Dredmore followed, closing the panel and catching my arm. “I am aware that you and Lady Bestly have had some unfortunate dealings in the past—”

“Unfortunate dealings. Such a lovely pair of words.” I jerked my arm in an attempt to free it. “They make what that bloody harpy did to me sound almost pleasant. Like saying a beating is a lot of love taps.”

“You may as well leave her go, Lucien,” Lady Bestly called through the panel. “She will have none of me and my troubles.”

That did it. I went back in to face the witch. “Are you in trouble, my lady? How terrible for you.” I advanced on her, taking great satisfaction in watching her retreat. “Has someone repeatedly and viciously maligned your character? Have they registered dozens of complaints about you to the magistrate, or the police? Did they dare accuse you of crimes that you've never committed? Or did they send their servants to attack you in public, and then try to have you arrested for defending yourself against them?”

Lady Bestly backed into a settee and dropped. “Dredmore, for God's sake.”

The gentleman stepped between us. “Charmian, stop this. You're frightening her.”

“I doubt it,” I told him. “Seeing as Lady Bestly and her friends did all of that—and quite a bit more—to me.”

Dredmore gave my old nemesis an uncertain look. “Eugenia?”

“I never sent anyone to attack the gel.” She fussed with the jet buttons on her gloves. “As for the rest, well, my position as president of the society required me to act ardently in order to preserve civil decency and safeguard the ladies of Rumsen against the influence of a decidedly unnatural young woman.”

“Woman?” I hooted. “I was seventeen years old. I'd just come to the city with nothing more than the clothes on my back. Your campaign to smear my name cost me my job, and ruined any hope I had of obtaining new employment. By the time you were through with me, milady, I was reduced to sleeping on park benches and digging through rubbish cans for scraps so I wouldn't starve.”

Lady Bestly raised her chin. “That was certainly not my doing. You should have left Rumsen and gone back to your people.”

“My people.
My people
, milady, were all dead,” I said softly. “I was a penniless orphan without a friend in the world. You had everything, and I nothing, and still you inflicted all that pointless cruelty on me. I imagine you were quite proud of how thoroughly you squashed me.”