The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1) (28 page)

Proving he was
full of surprises, he said, "Is this about what happened between us in
your room?"

"No, this
is about you telling me what to do. You have no right."

He groaned and
fixed his gaze on the ceiling. "I'm sorry we parted on such angry terms."

"I wasn't
angry."

"You're
angry now."

"No, I'm...never
mind. Now is neither the time nor the place to discuss it." I risked a glance
at George. He was staring out the window a little too hard for me to believe he
was interested in the scenery whizzing past at an astonishing rate. "Aren't
you going to tell the driver to go to Clerkenwell?" I asked him.

"We'll
return to my house first," George said. "I have a pair of old dueling
pistols that belonged to my grandfather in the study."

"Pistols! Do
you think that's necessary?"

George nodded
grimly. Jacob nodded, equally grim. "There was another victim last night,"
he said.

I gasped and put
a gloved hand to my mouth as bile filled it. "Oh God." I told George
what Jacob had said. He removed his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his
nose.

"Another
footman," Jacob said. "Later on, the house where he worked was
burgled. There was no sign of forced entry."

I passed the
information onto George, all the while trying not to think what a shape-shifting
demon could do to a poor, unarmed man.

"This is
awful," George said with undisguised horror. "It's looking more and
more like the person or persons who summoned the demon are directing it to take
on the form of its victim in order to gain access to the house where he worked."
He screwed his top lip up and shook his head. "For money," he spat. "Despicable."

We were all
silent for some time after that.

"Did you
speak to the footman's ghost?" I eventually asked Jacob.

He nodded. "He
couldn't tell me anything useful. He thought a wild dog or a bear had killed
him. He said it came out of nowhere, from the shadows. When I explained what
happened he decided to stay in the Waiting Area until the demon is returned to
the Otherworld."

We remained
silent until the carriage stopped outside George's house and he got out. Finally
I was alone with Jacob. But after the terrible news, I didn't want to argue
with him anymore. I just wanted to hold him and be held by him.

On the other
hand I couldn't allow the opportunity to speak pass me by. I might not get
another one.

"You failed
to finish your story last night," I said.

"I know."
He shifted his long legs, cramped in the tight space of the cabin, but still
managed to keep them well away from mine. He must not want to risk getting too
close. "I owe you an explanation after...everything." He shifted his
legs again, putting them back where they were to begin with, under the seat we
shared, crossed at the ankles.

"You got to
the point where Frederick fell and hit his head," I prompted. "What
happened next? Did you check to see if he was thoroughly dead?"

"He wasn't
dead at all. He got up and ran away."

"Got up! Not
dead! Jacob, that's—."

He held up a
hand. "Wait, let me finish. I know what you're going to say—that I didn't
kill him."

"Well of
course!"

"He was
unconscious for only a few seconds during which time I tried to waken him. I
was in the middle of feeling for a pulse when he opened his eyes. He took one
look at me, screamed, then got up and ran off. He seemed disoriented and I went
after him to ensure he didn't fall again but he climbed into a carriage that I
hadn't noticed waiting further down the street, and sped off before I could
catch up.

"For days I
worried if he was all right. I also tried to think who he might have been, but
I had no luck. Anyway, about a week after that incident, I was walking home
again and was attacked once more. This time it was by someone wearing a hooded
cloak. Whoever it was caught me off guard, delivering a blow that made me lose
my senses. I woke up some time later with a blanket or cloak over my head. I
struggled to free myself but my wrists were tied." He lifted both hands to
his face and stared at them. "I was hit again as I struggled and it was
then that I realized I was inside a carriage and it was traveling fast. I
continued to struggle of course and by this time I was asking my companion, or
companions, what they wanted. The only answers I received were more blows and
again I became unconscious."

"Oh, lord."
I sidled up to him and touched his cheek. How could anyone hurt my Jacob?

He took my hand
and pulled it gently away and placed it on his thigh. Tears stung my nose and
eyes and burned the back of my throat. He did not want my sympathy, or my love.

"The
carriage stopped and I was dragged out. We were in the country, I know that
much. I could smell earth and grass."

"Did it
have a farm smell?" I screwed up my nose. I'd only been to one farm in my
life, when Mama had taken me to see where milk came from as a child. I'd got
dung on my boots and straw in my hair and the aroma had stayed with me ever
since. I knew after that experience I was a London girl through and through.

He smiled,
despite the horrible tale he was telling. "No. Just a pleasant country
odor. I could hear an owl but nothing else. It was very quiet. I was dragged
further away again and I remember rolling into a ditch."

"And left
there to die," I whispered.

"I suppose
so. I was in and out of consciousness by this stage. I remember being extremely
cold, all the way through, as if my very bones had frozen. I'd lost my coat and
hat and the blanket had also disappeared."

I shivered and
hugged myself. "How long before you died, do you think?"

He shrugged. "It
could have been minutes or days, I really don’t know."

I looked out the
window but there was no sign of George, which was good because I hadn't
finished questioning Jacob and I wanted to continue to do it alone. I'd discovered
years ago that discussing a ghost's death with them could be quite an intimate affair.
I suspected Jacob wouldn't want George to know all the harrowing details. I
felt privileged that he was confiding in me.

"Did the
killer remain with you until you died?"

"No." He
blinked rapidly and rubbed a finger across his bottom lip. There was something
he wasn't telling me.

"Did your
killer say something before he departed?"

He hesitated
then his gaze leveled with mine. "Yes. He cursed me for killing his son."

My heart thudded
once against my ribs. "Frederick."

Jacob nodded. "He
must have died from his injury. The injury
I
gave him. Only not straight
away but some time later."

I felt like I'd
been punched in the chest. Breathing suddenly became difficult. I didn't
understand. There was something wrong, something missing in this puzzle and I
couldn't put my finger on it. Perhaps Jacob was still withholding information.

"What
exactly did he say?" I asked. "Tell me the curse. We can do some
research on it and perhaps find out more about your killer that way."

"I won't
tell you the precise wording of the curse since I don't know if it can be
activated by words alone." I agreed with an urgent nod. George had just
emerged from the front door of his house and was speaking to the driver. "My
attacker said if I wanted to live, I must prove I deserve to by sacrificing
something important to me." His voice shook slightly. "He likened it
to the loss of his only child, the most important thing to
him
. My loss
had to match his."

"But prove
how? You were dying in a ditch for goodness sake!" I clutched Jacob's
hand. George would be joining us at any moment. There wasn't much time. "What
did he think you'd do, get up and walk away to perform this sacrifice he
wanted? And if you didn't, was he threatening to...?" I couldn't finish the
sentence. It was just too horrible to think about Jacob's murder. Besides,
George was opening the door and climbing into the carriage.

He lifted the
coat he carried over his arm to reveal a rectangular wooden box about the size
of a large book. He placed it on the seat beside him and called out, "Drive
on!"

The carriage
jerked forward and the horses' hooves clip-clopped a merry tune on the road. I
looked to Jacob. If he wanted to speak, he could and it would be like having a
private conversation with me. But he did not. He turned away and looked out the
window.

His words
haunted me the entire journey to Clerkenwell:
if I want to live, I must
prove I deserve to by sacrificing something important to me.

So why hadn't
the murderer given Jacob the chance to make the sacrifice before ending his
life?

CHAPTER 13

I was still
thinking about the curse placed on Jacob when we arrived at the Clerkenwell
school. It hadn't taken long by carriage but there was only so much silence
three people in close confines can endure before time starts to stretch
painfully. George had tried to instigate a conversation with me but I wasn't in
the right mood for chatter so he spent the remainder of the journey loading the
pistol. Before we climbed out of the carriage, he placed his coat strategically
over his arm and hand to hide the weapon.

The school's maid
showed us into the drawing room where we waited for Blunt. The giant figure of
the schoolmaster soon filled the doorway. "Ah, Mr. Culvert, Miss Chambers,
you've returned." His wary gaze flicked around the room. "But where
is your sister, Miss Chambers? I'd hoped you had come to organize the séance."
He bent down to my level and that's when I noticed the puffy, sagging skin beneath
his reddened eyes. "The ghost still haunts me," he whispered.

I raised an
eyebrow at Jacob. He gave me a smug smile. "We're not here about the ghost,"
I said to Blunt. "Mr. Culvert and I have some very serious questions to
ask you."

"Yes,"
said George. He squared up to the much larger man and I wanted to cheer his
bravery but then I remembered he held a loaded pistol. A weapon can make a
person twice as courageous but sometimes twice as stupid too. I wasn't sure
which camp George fell into. "Do you recall on our last visit we mentioned
a book on demonology had been stolen from my library?"

"I do,"
Blunt hedged.

"We think
you used the information within it to summon a shape-shifting demon from the
Otherworld."

Oh dear, George
had about as much tact as Jacob. Perhaps it was a male thing. His accusation
certainly had an affect on Blunt. The schoolmaster bristled and his beard took
on a life of its own as he spluttered an objection.

"How dare
you accuse me of such a thing! Get out. Get out of my school." He stabbed
a finger at the open door.

"Not until
we have answers," George said.

Blunt stepped
closer to him so that they were chest to chest, or would have been if the
height difference weren't so pronounced. George only came up to the other man's
armpit. He swallowed and a bead of sweat popped out on his pale brow.

Blunt chuckled,
a nasty sound that gurgled up from his throat. "Stupid
boy
. What
did you possibly hope to achieve by coming here?"

"The truth,"
George said without blinking.

Jacob sidled
over to them. "You'd better say something before he gets himself clubbed
by one of Blunt's paws. Use your charm," he added when I gave him a
questioning look.

We were in
trouble if we were relying on my charm. "Er, Mr. Blunt," I began, "we've
just come from Leviticus Price's house and he claimed you were asking some
rather specific questions about demonology."

"Did he?"
He turned eyes the color of a stagnant pond on me and I recoiled at the
viciousness in them. He wasn't trying to hide it now. "And what makes you
think you can believe him, Miss Chambers? Did a ghost just happen to whisper it
into your ear?"

"Yes. Just
like he's now telling me you are the one who summoned the demon." Blunt
clearly believed in spirits, demons and the Otherworld so why not use that belief
to frighten him?

"What?"
he bellowed, his bravado rapidly fading behind his facial hair.

"Spirits
know everything, Mr. Blunt. They know what you had for breakfast today, what
you do in your office when the door's closed and what you do at night in the
girl's dormitory."

The big man rocked
back on his heels and his face turned the same sickly color as his eyes.

"So tell
us, where is the demon now?"

He stared at me,
shaking his head over and over, all the while backing away but not towards the
door. Jacob stalked him, taking a step forward for every one Blunt took back. His
presence felt strong to me, real, and I wondered if either Blunt or George could
feel it too.

"Tell us,"
I said.

Blunt, still
shaking his head, said, "No. No, I...I won't. You can't hurt me. Your
ghost can't hurt me."