The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1) (29 page)

It was my turn
to shake my head. "What makes you think that?"

"Spirits
travel right through solid things." He was blustering, his eyes wide, his
hand gestures wild. It was almost as if he was trying to convince himself. "They
don't have any form. They can't grasp objects." He spun round and lunged
for the fire tools. He grabbed the iron poker and brandished it like a sword.

George whipped
the coat off his arm to reveal the pistol. He pointed it at Blunt. His hand
shook. "Put it down."

"You
wouldn't," Blunt said, more self-assured than he had been when discussing
ghosts.

"He's
right," Jacob said to me. "George won't use it." There was no
accusation in his tone. Neither he nor I would blame George if he couldn't fire
the weapon.

But George,
surprising us both, stretched his arm out. "I
will
use it. To save
her." He nodded at me.

Jacob's gaze
slid to mine. He grunted and crossed his arms then turned his attention back to
the others just as Blunt lunged at George.

George jumped
back and pulled the trigger.

Nothing
happened. He cocked the pistol again but Blunt was on him, bringing the heavy
iron poker down onto George's head.

George ducked and
put an arm up in defense. The poker kept coming. A scream tore from my throat
and I closed my eyes, a reaction I later chided myself for.

But instead of
the crack of bone, the only sound was a grunt and it came from Blunt. I opened
my eyes. Jacob had both hands on the poker, inches from George's head. He and
Blunt battled each other for control, the older man’s startled expression mingling
with an angry one.

With a roar and
a burst of strength, Jacob pushed up hard, causing Blunt to lose his balance
and stumble. Using the momentum, Jacob thrust his opponent against the wall
beside the fireplace. The force must have loosened his grip because Jacob was
able to snatch the poker out of his hand. He swung it at Blunt's stomach. The
impact made a sickening thud.

Blunt let out a
whoosh
of breath and bent over double, his face bright red. Jacob pressed the poker
under Blunt's chin, sending his head snapping back. It hit the wall and his
eyes rolled up into his head.

"Ask him
about the demon again," Jacob said. He aimed the poker at Blunt's chest.

"Where's
the demon being kept?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level. I did not
want the men to see how squeamish the fighting made me. My insides might be
wobbling like jelly but I would do everything in my power to ensure that's
where the jelly stayed.

Blunt grinned a
warped, nasty grin. "Get. Out. Of. My. School."

"Please,
let's not have any more violence," I said. "I don't want my ghost to
hurt you, Mr. Blunt. As you can see, he can wield weapons as easily as any of
us. So please just tell us where the demon is and we'll let you go unharmed."

"It won't
hurt me." He seemed to believe it too.

"Why do you
say that?" It was George. He stood to one side, well away from Blunt and Jacob,
the gun still in his hand but pointed harmlessly at the floor.

"Because I
must be the only link you have to the demon or you wouldn't be here at all. And
I think you want to find it before tonight." His beard and moustache
lifted at one corner and the fleshy lips between them twisted into a sneer. "Am
I right?"

Jacob, his face
distorted with rage, shoved Blunt hard into the wall then pressed the length of
the poker against the bigger man's throat. Blunt scrabbled at Jacob's hands,
grasping nothing but cool, empty air since he couldn't see Jacob. His eyes
widened with fear and perhaps the realization that he'd been wrong—Jacob might
kill him. His cheeks and nose became a changing palette of colors—red to mauve
to purple—and the veins on his forehead formed thick, bluish ridges. He tried
to talk but only squeaks came out.

"He's going
to kill him!" George took one step forward but hesitated. "Should we
let him?"

"No!"
I said. "Jacob, no! Stop this. Let him go."

"He
deserves it," Jacob growled. His eyes frightened me. They were cold and
dark, two voids of swirling anger.

Blunt jerked
about trying to free himself, but it didn't dislodge Jacob. He held the poker
against Blunt's throat as if his own life depended on it.

Oh God, I had to
do something. "You can't do this, Jacob. Think about it. Think about what
you're doing!" If only I could get through to the rational side of him,
the side not blinded by fury. "Do you want another death on your
conscience?"

George turned to
me, his spectacles halfway down his nose. "
Another
death?"

I ignored him. My
plea seemed to be working. With a roar of frustration, Jacob eased back. The
schoolmaster slid down the wall like a splotch of mud and sat on the floor. He
was still very pink and he held his throat with both hands as if he was holding
it together. He heaved in great lungfuls of air and glanced feverishly around
the room.

The maid entered
carrying a tray of tea things. She gasped when she saw Blunt's state and the
tray tilted dangerously to one side. "Mr. Blunt! Everything all right, sir?"

"He, uh, had
a coughing fit," I said, trying to catch George's eye but to no avail. He
held the gun in plain sight, seemingly unaware of the uproar he would cause if
the maid saw it. I grabbed his spare jacket and threw it at him.

He placed it
over his hand and the gun. "He's not going to talk now" he muttered, grabbing
my hand and pulling me toward the door.

With my heart rampaging
like an advancing army of soldiers, we left. I glanced over my shoulder to see
if Jacob would stay or go. Fortunately he was right behind us, his gaze fixed
on George's hand holding mine. I thought he'd still be angry, wanting to fight,
but he looked worried. No, not worried. Haunted. The irony of the word wasn't
lost on me.

We reached the
carriage and George opened the door for me. I checked for Jacob but he stayed
back near the school's porch. "Are you coming?" I asked.

He shook his
head.

I wanted
him
with me, holding my hand, telling me everything would be all right. I wanted
him away from Blunt. I wasn't entirely sure he could be trusted not to return
and... "Please, Jacob, come home with me."

He stalked
across the space between us and slammed his hand against the side of the
carriage, right near my head. George looked around as if he couldn't detect
where the sound had come from.

I swallowed my
squeal of fright and blinked at Jacob.

He stood close
to me, his palm flat on the carriage, his forearm skimming the brim of my hat. He
leaned down until our faces were level. "I told you last night," he
said in that quiet, malevolent voice of his. "I'm dangerous. You should
stay away from me."

And then he was
gone and all that was left was the pounding of my heart and the background
noise of George's voice as he spoke words that I couldn't quite hear.

"I can't,"
I whispered to the emptiness. "I can't stay away."

***

All I wanted to
do when I got home was climb into bed and reflect on everything Jacob had told
me that day. Unfortunately Celia bombarded me with questions over a dinner of
roast pork in the dining room instead.

"Well? How
did it go today?" she asked, popping a single pea into her mouth. Why did
she always have to eat them one at a time? She couldn't be trying to impress
anyone with her delicate eating habits since I was the only one there.

"Leviticus
Price wasn't much help," I said. "He couldn't recall when he spoke to
Blunt precisely."

"Oh. Yes of
course."

I eyed my
sister, a pile of peas balanced precariously on my fork near my mouth. "That
is what you meant, isn't it?"

"Well...partly."

I frowned as I
chewed my peas. Celia was being coy about something and she was not usually a
coy person. Except on one subject. "Ah. You mean did I have a nice outing
with George Culvert?"

"Now that
you mention it, how are you faring with him?"

Faring? "We
get on well enough."

"I see,"
Celia said as she cut off a small slice of pork. I put my knife down with a
clank on the plate. She looked up from her dinner. "Is something wrong,
Em? You're not finished. Aren't you hungry?"

I leaned over my
plate to get closer to her, even though the large dining table kept us well
apart. "I know what you're doing," I said.

"I am
eating my food like a lady. You would do well to follow my example if you want
to secure a gentleman for yourself."

"A
gentleman like George Culvert you mean?"

She shrugged and
anyone who didn't know her as well as I did would have thought her dismissive
of the suggestion. I was not so easy to fool.

"I am not
interested in George Culvert and he's—." I was about to say not interested
in me, but that was clearly incorrect. "He can do far better than the
likes of me."

It was my
sister's turn to lower her cutlery with a clank onto her plate. "What has
he been saying about you?" She'd raised her voice, a sure sign she was
deadly serious.

"Nothing. He's
the perfect gentleman."

She made a
miffed sound through her nose. "I'd challenge him to find another girl
more interesting than you." She stabbed a pea with her fork rather more
viciously than necessary. "Or more suited to a demonologist. Does he
expect a Society miss to merely overlook his peculiar interests?"

"Not
George." His mother, however, probably would hope such a girl existed.

This time she
stabbed two peas. It would have been amusing to watch if I wasn't a little
disconcerted by her matchmaking. And if my mind weren't preoccupied with Jacob's
behavior. Then there was our conversation in the carriage about his murder...

"Celia, can
I tell you what else happened today?"

"Something
else happened?" She seemed relieved to leave the subject of George behind.

"Yes. Quite
a bit actually." I told her about our visit to Blunt first. I left out the
part about the pistol, the fire iron and how close I came to a fight between
Blunt and Jacob. There wasn't much more to that part of the story except to
say, "We're quite certain Blunt is involved in some way with the demon and
the thefts. We just need to prove it."

Celia's jaw
dropped further and her eyes grew wider as I spoke. Despite my omission of the
grimmer facts, she appeared to comprehend the danger perfectly. "I forbid
you to return to the school, Emily. Do you understand? Mr. Blunt does not seem
like the sort of person we want to associate with. We certainly won't be
performing a séance for him now."

I tried not to
smile. "No, we won't." I didn't say anything about not intending to
visit the school again though. No need to lie unless absolutely necessary. "There's
more I need to tell you, Sis. I...I need some advice."

"Oh?"

"It's about
Jacob."

She sighed
dramatically. "Not again," she muttered.

"What does
that mean?"

Lucy arrived and
collected our plates. Celia waited until she'd left before she answered. "I
know you see him more than you let on. I know you...like him."

"What of
it?"

"He's a
ghost, Em. You cannot think of him..." She lowered her voice. "...in
that way."

"I think of
him as a friend." I folded my hands on the tablecloth to stop them
shaking. It was a lie of course, but I didn't think my sister was prepared for
the truth—that I loved a spirit. I would always love him.

"I'm not a
fool. I know you care for him as more than a friend." She too placed her
hands on the table, steepling them as if in prayer. "I recognize a girl
who thinks she's in love when I see one. And while I sympathize—."

"Sympathize!"
I shot to my feet, bumping my chair and sending it tumbling backwards to the
floor. "How would you know how I feel? You've never cared romantically for
any man. That part of your heart shriveled up long ago, if it ever existed at
all."

Her lips
flattened. Her nostrils flared and tears pooled in her eyes. My anger
evaporated as suddenly as it had flared at the sight of her struggling not to
shed them. "I'm going to my room," I said.

"Emily!"

If she was
hoping for an apology she wouldn't get one. I regretted my outburst but not
what I'd said. Celia had never been in love. How could she know what I felt for
Jacob? "I'm going to my room and don't wish to be disturbed," I said,
rounding the table.

"But you
wanted to tell me something about him! I'll listen—."

"Forget it.
It doesn't matter." I passed Lucy outside the dining room. The red and
green jelly she carried on a platter wobbled when she stopped to let me pass.

"Don't you
want jelly, miss?"