Deadly Morsel Book 5
Juliann Whicker
Copyright 2018 by Juliann
Whicker
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Chapter 1
Mage
The scratching of pen against paper shouldn’t have been enough to make it essential that I gouge out my ears and my eyes in case I accidentally glanced up at the mage on the opposite side of the table.
I growled and smoke curled out of my mouth obstructing the figures and assets lists. I ignored the other mage and focused on my own work, but when he started humming the theme from Holtz’s third symphony I’d had it.
I threw my pen down and stood. He raised his eyes slowly, giving me a look of mild interest. He’d trimmed his dark red mustache and was growing out sideburns and a goatee, the sort of facial hair I remembered from my childhood. I could still remember that goatee as he’d bent over me, the deck slashed by rain driven by hurricane speed winds. He’d grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, demanding to know what I’d done, where my mother was.
“She’s worth fighting for,” he said in that voice, the one that didn’t care no matter how much he pretended.
I dug my claws into the table. I was fighting for her. I was fighting myself and every selfish impulse I had so that I could keep her safe. How long could I fight against my nature, so deeply ingrained and only emphasized by my dragon? My chest ached with every breath, deeper than the skin she’d carved her name into, heart, bone, soul.
“When are you going back on your boat? The damage is done.”
He raised an eyebrow and continued scratching on paper without looking at it. “It’s much more interesting to scrape back Huntsman from the brink of complete dissolution than continue growing the dull plodding beast that it was when I left it to you.”
“You left me Jasper.” Who had given the deception sorcerer everything he needed to bring our family to its knees.
“I left you. You were a competent business mage at age eight. Apparently, you’ve gotten worse in your old age.”
“I don’t need you interfering with my life, not now. It’s too late to undo the damage in time.”
“She’s determined to marry the most eligible mage she can find? She didn’t strike me as particularly pecuniary.”
I closed my eyes and gripped the table. My father never should have seen Penny, touched her, tried to understand anything about her. I inhaled deeply around the ache in my chest. I could take her. It would be so simple. She wouldn’t protest. She would kiss me and hold me and beg me to tell her that I loved her. I straightened up and stepped Throughside. My father was back. Good. He could take over Huntsman inc. It didn’t need me any more than Penny did. I came out in the Burning Lands, the sun beating down harder and harder with every step. Aimless steps. I’d flown over this land on my first trip out, riding a magic carpet with Ian and Teddy. Teddy was obsessed with finding a dragon and it sounded like something that would irritate my father. Ian went along because that’s what he always did. The carpet had been ripped apart by the wyverns, leaving us to walk. I fingered my cheek. That’s where I got those scars. I had more than that on my chest and shoulders from it
carrying me away to feed to its young. I’d managed to shove my emergency dagger into the joint beneath its shoulder. That’s what Teddy was yelling at me while they ran beneath me, instructions on how to kill it. Ian was the one who spelled the landing so my elevenyear-old body wasn’t shattered against the rocks. Good times.
Teddy was the smart one, Ian the talented one, and I was the idiot without fear, without hesitation. I’d broken both of them, killed my mother, and let Sooth take over Huntsman. My father was right. It was my responsibility, and I’d completely screwed up. I sat down in the hot swirling dirt and leaned over my knees, staring at the smudge of a horizon. My eyes were dry and gritty but I didn’t blink. It wasn’t necessary.
I wasn’t a thinking mage, not a contract mage, not a spell mage, not a tech mage. I could rip people apart better than anyone else, but it didn’t seem particularly useful. I should go find a war or something and fight until I felt better, but how could I ever feel better when Zach was the mage who had Penny? He should have her. He’d loved Pitch forever. He’d be smarter than me, able to protect her where I couldn’t. He’d love her better. He didn’t have a dragon in his head. She was as close as a witch could come to a tech mage. They were the perfect pair. Except that their hair didn’t match and Zach would never dress her in mustaches.
I shook my head and stood. I started stripping, pacing out a star in the dust that flared green water-fire before it faded down. It would protect my precious coat while I took care of business.
I kept my pants on, boring pants that weren’t bedazzled or anything. I had a limited supply of those that would have to last me the rest of my life. How long could I last without my spark? As long as it took. I wasn’t a suicidal mage. Homicidal, possibly. I grinned as I slashed across my chest with my claws until blood dripped freely down my body. I walked briskly North. North? Did Darkside have directions? Sort of. This was up direction. The world had changed directions and axis a few times according to dragon memory. That’s what happened to a world inhabited by sorcerers who messed around with things. Also dragons.
I was a mile and a half from my coat when I saw the first wyvern circling. I inhaled deeply and then cast a quick spell that would send it on its way. Not the right family. It took two more miles before a wyvern in shades of blood dust appeared on the horizon. I inhaled deeply and smiled. The right family.
It took a lot of time to enchant and train a wyvern properly not to mention an entire family like the group that had attacked my island with the Creagh. The witch militia could claim that they were out of bed with Sooth all they wanted, but as long as he was alive, I’d expect him to be playing both sides of every conflict that involved Penny. The Creagh hadn’t been clear about who provided the wyverns, eyes shifty like they didn’t know.
I fell over on the ground from loss of blood, after I’d ripped open my chest a few more times. I lay there in the dirt until the wyvern grabbed me, its claws piercing deeply into my body as it lifted me into the air.
I carefully eased out my knife from my waistband and with a quick movement stabbed its throat and scooped out the jewels it carried. It dropped me and screamed, shooting a blast of fire at me that singed my eyebrows as I fell. I waited until I almost hit the ground before stepping Throughside into my bedroom at Rosewood. I dropped the bloody dragon hoard on the table and sat on the edge of the couch to study the gems. There was a ruby encrusted signet ring. Interesting. A milky opal caught my eye, but that was the dragon in me. No, I was looking for a sign of the sorcerer. There. A rock. A wyvern wouldn’t be able to see past the enchantment, but a dragon could, a great dragon anyway. I fingered through the pile, separating the rock from the rest of them.
I’d have to do some Chemiss to find the origin of the sorcerer, but first, I had to retrieve my coat. I stepped Throughside and stopped at the sight of a mage levitating above my most precious possession. His suit was mustard yellow with neon purple stripes. “Mitch.”
He tumbled forward, landing in a messy roll before he spun around to smile at me manically. “The green mage. You look more
red covered in blood. I thought your blood would be green. That’s disappointing.”
“Are you here to die? If so, continue to linger near what belongs to me.”
He glanced over at the coat then exhaled deeply and took two steps to the left. Still closer to the coat than I was, but he probably couldn’t break my spell and take the coat before I could reach it. And him.
“Are you hunting wyvern or sorcerers? I could tell you who the sorcerer with a pack of tame wyverns is and you wouldn’t have to use your own pretty Daysider skin as bait. Your witch wouldn’t like you ripping yourself apart, would she?”
I smiled broadly. “I have no witch, so I couldn’t say. Tell me about Poppy. I know nothing about her other than that she was a cat.”
His eyes glimmered, one gold, one blue, both completely mad. “She wanted a mage who would rip her apart. It’s always a pleasure to fulfill your witch’s desires. All the same, I never got beneath her skin as deeply as Pitch. She got beneath your skin as well. A witch who doesn’t have to be present to destroy everything. Such a witch. I thought I would destroy her, but the deception sorcerer is what killed Poppy, however much Pitch hurt her.”
“I would think that you’d destroy both of them.”
He smiled widely. “All in good time. Perhaps she could teach me to forget Poppy. Such a witch.”
I growled at him.
He smiled and shrugged. “I can’t help it. You’re so possessive of something you claim not to own. It’s terribly amusing.”
“Why do you wear yellow and purple? It’s hideous.”
He glanced down at his suit then shrugged. “Poppy liked it.” There was a thread of real emotion in his voice. Whatever games he’d played, he’d grown attached to his witch.
“As fun as this is, what are you doing here? I have important things to do.” Like wash blood off a rock.
He turned to face south and stretched out his arms. The dust swirled around him, playfully at first before it grew stronger, growing
in fury until it was a cyclone reaching its fingers into the sky before Mitch dropped his arms and the cyclone fell along with it.
“Hell. Hale? I’m mad, you know. I started mad and am getting progressively more sane the longer I spend in Darkside. Isn’t that peculiar?”
“Hale is the sorcerer with the wyverns?”
He snapped his fingers. “You follow very well. Madness is comfortable to you. You’ll grow madder and madder without her. I grow saner and saner without Poppy. We are the same, you and I.”
“In every way that matters. We lost our witches.”
“Do you want to play? You’re already bloody, but you haven’t been ripped through.”
I fingered the claw gouge the wyvern had left in my chest. “I don’t fight with allies.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Allies?”
I shrugged. “Until you betray me.”
He gave me a sickeningly lopsided smile. “I already have.” He turned and started walking, waving his hand as he went, sending the dust swirling in patterns only he could see. His madness was something else. Inane. He seemed particularly useless. A great deal like me.
I retrieved my coat then stepped throughside, coming out next to the Chinese restaurant. I stared in the window for a moment before I stepped back into the darkness where Jello waited.
“If you wish to die, I could eat you.”
I ignored him, climbing on his back and settling down as he crouched then sprang into the air. He knew where to go. I had a debt to pay. I wasn’t suicidal, but I deserved death. At least pain. More pain than the aching inside my chest.
I broke through the darkness around Penny’s mother’s house, the dilapidated Victorian monstrosity that looked haunted as I flew Jello near it. He landed and I stepped off his back. I rubbed his brow bone. He growled at me and launched back into the sky. I paced in front of the house for two hours before the front door creaked open and a dark figure peered out at me.
“Do you know what time it is?” Revere sounded like a grumpy old man who would kick kids off his lawn.
“No idea. I broke Penny’s contract. I should pay for that.”
“You also broke my protective barriers. Twice.”
“I should pay for that too.”
“What are you offering?”
I held out my arms, still covered in dried blood.
He sighed, audibly before he stepped onto the porch, closing the door firmly behind him. He walked over the sagging floor and down the steps. His pace was slow, even, his eyes exhausted beyond worlds, but he didn’t show it in his smooth movements as he pulled out a black firesword and saluted me before lunging.
I didn’t exactly expect the spellmaster to go back to his roots and pull out the Blackheart Chemis captain. He was good. Better than good, beautiful. I called my own green firesword and barely stayed away from the edge of his blade, the burning black sword drawing my eyes when I couldn’t afford a moment of distraction.
He disarmed me almost effortlessly after ten minutes of dueling and I crouched beneath the threat of his black fire, staring at him. “How did you become a spellmaster when you’re a genius Chemiss? Were you always good at Sophis?”
He raised his sword, shook it until the flames went out and put it away inside his jacket. He turned and headed back to the house.
“Wait! How did you do it?” I grabbed his shoulder and he spun around, palm facing me, sending out a shock spell that sent me stumbling away from him.
“It’s called necessity. If a Dayside mage wants to adapt to Darkside, thrive, give a witch a place, protect her, he does what he must. Why are you here, Huntsman? You are not a mage who glances backwards.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “What can I do? I can’t protect her. Sooth has his claws in Huntsman, Dayside and Darkside. The corp is crumbling around me and I can’t do anything.”
He studied me for a long time. “You want something to do? Bored with incompetence?”
“I’m here to pay for my broken contract.”
“Do you think it gives me some satisfaction to see an incompetent mage’s precious ego disintegrate? Maybe a bit.” He smiled and I shifted uncomfortably beneath that stare. “You’re men are swearing fealty to you. Why?”
“I have some immunity to the deception sorcerer.”
“Through the dragon?”
I hesitated then nodded.
“You’re immune. That’s something.”
“Not much.”
He shrugged and paced around me, looking me up and down. “Your spellcraft is terrible. You have potential. Why are you so bad?”
“My father thought it was important.”
“You’re going to have to let go of your issues if you’re going to become something she can use.”
I frowned at him, having to turn my head to follow him. “I can’t have her.”
He shrugged and glanced at me. “But that’s not essential. Being something she can use, isn’t that what you crave?”
I nodded. “What does that make me?”
“Motivated. First thing, watch your knee.”
Chapter 2 Penny
I’d gone to sleep in an island paradise and woken up in my bed at Rosewood. I felt like someone had stuffed my head with sawdust and batted it around like a piñata. No one had asked me if I wanted to be drugged or spelled unconscious so I missed the ride home in the jet. If they had asked, I would have agreed. They should have asked. Zach. Just because he owned me didn’t mean he could drug me and drag me around any time he wanted.
I stumbled over to Señor’s cage, fed and watered him and then got dressed out of Drake’s lounge clothes. Drake. I stopped moving and slid my fingers over my shoulder to trace the lines engraved in my skin. He loved me. He actually, truly, honestly loved me.
I took a deep shuddering breath and forced my mind to focus. Contracts. Those didn’t take magic, just energy. I had lots of that. What I lacked was knowledge. I had until my birthday to marry a Dayside mage. No one had told me why, or if they had, I wasn’t able to remember it. Infuriating that my father prevented me from remembering anything. He was the deception sorcerer Drake was fighting. He had to be.
I got together the books about mage contracts I’d borrowed from the library before my spontaneous vacation and took them to class.
In Linguistics, I was having a perfectly nice time learning about clause openings when Zach came over and ripped the book out of my hands.
“You skipped Tech this morning.”
I stared at him, took one step closer and yanked the book back. “Yes, I did. So fail me.”
He scowled, forehead wrinkling as he crossed his arms, fingers twitching. “You’re just going right back to how things were before?”
Before I was poisoned and Scratched, before he’d spent ages healing me at Drake’s beach house.
I licked my lips. “I came up with a plan for your suit. I don’t really want any feedback, but you can look at it, if you have to.” I sighed and rifled through my books to find the slip of paper with a technical drawing on it.
He snatched it greedily and stared at it for a long, long time before he raised his head and nodded. “Yeah, I have no idea what any of this means. You’re going to have to learn to actually collaborate at some point.”
“Do you have plans for the car? I’ll let you take lead on that project and I’ll be a good little helper, but this mech suit isn’t going to be screwed up by your usual ugly design.”
He gasped and his eyes widened. “Ugly? From someone who bedazzled Drake’s suits?”
I shrugged and turned away. “I’m just saying that your aesthetic is a little boxy and lacking in grace and proportion. You can ruin the car, but your next mech suit is going to be sublime.”
He narrowed his eyes before he finally nodded. “Fine. We’ll work on the suit in the morning, car in the afternoon. We’ll have a contest afterwards to see which is the most appealing.”
“Viney can judge.”
“And the rest of the school.”
I shrugged before I remembered Ian. “I have ballet practice with Ian after school.”
“Fine. After that. You don’t need to spend hours and hours with him.”
I really, really wanted to do well at the final show when I danced with Drake in front of the rest of the world. “Three hours. Then dinner, then the car.” Then studying mage contracts. Bonbons and macaroons, I did not have time for school. But it was important to keep up appearances.
He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to do the final show with Drake. You could get another mage instead, Ian, or even me if you wanted. I don’t suck.”
I patted his head. His hair was kind of soft and silky. What kind of shampoo did he use? I leaned closer and sniffed it. Strawberry. I grinned at him. “You’ve been buying my Darkly Sweet shampoo.”
He jerked away and ran a hand through his hair to fix it or make it messy, whatever. “You know how important it is to have shampoo you can drink in case you’re in a shipwreck and have nothing else. Shut up. See you at six in the dining room. After we eat, the car.”
He spun around and went to speak kind of aggressively to Travis, like plaid pants were irritating or something.
Drake wasn’t in ballet class, no, Ian was there instead. I didn’t ask why and he didn’t say anything, just was the perfect partner in every way. Except that he wasn’t Drake. I stopped walking and leaned against the wall while I ached. I needed him to touch my bond, to touch me.
I shook my head and straightened up. I didn’t have time for that. I had things to do. Serious things. I went to my room, secured the door and called Teddy.
“Penny Lane, what can I possibly do for you? Creagh attack?”
“Not today. You’re supposed to sort of be my contract mage, right? I mean not my mage just a mage that will help me with my contracts, right?” Ugh, why did I have to deal with the wolves?
He laughed, this silky smooth sound that made me shiver. “What do you need?” He left a lot unsaid that I didn’t delve into.
“I want to understand mage contracts, but I feel like I’m missing huge gaps. Can we do a study session some time?”
He paused for a few minutes. “A study session? At Rosewood?”
“Yes. I’m sort of stuck here. I can meet you in Fairfield if you’d like, at the library or something. Do they have a library? I don’t even know.”
“No, I’ll come to Rosewood. We can study in your room. Was your mother really Serene Night?”
“No night with my mother was ever serene. How about Wednesday, eight o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.” He hung up and I was left staring at my phone like it had betrayed me.
What was I thinking, playing with Teddy Prince, the second worst mage in the world? Well, if I couldn’t play with number one, I had to get what I could. No. I needed to see Drake. I should. We should do the bond thing in a totally calm and collected kind of way. No, I had to practice dance with Ian.
Alone in the studio with Ian, he was incredibly normal. He didn’t leer at me once and his hands felt completely indifferent on my skin. Weird. But not unpleasant. I actually relaxed around him and really put myself into the exquisite lines of the dance. After three hours, we were standing together, his arms around me while I swayed to the side when Zach started clapping, the sound sharp, cutting through the focus I’d put into becoming lines.
Ian’s arms tightened for a moment before he stepped away. He handed me a clean towel. “Good work. Watch your arch. Flexibility without strength will lead to injuries.”
“Yeah, you too.” I rolled my eyes and headed towards Zach. “You ready to cherry up the monster? What’s first, boss? Strip her down to the bones and rebuild from scratch?”
Zach grabbed me around my sweaty shoulders and pulled me against him as we walked down the aisle of the small theater where I practiced with Ian. “First, you need a shower. You smell terrible. I’ll grab dinner, we’ll eat and work. Yeah?”
I shoved him away from me. “No one asked you to smell me.”
So, yeah, working on the car with Zach was fun, kind of annoying because he had to sit and explain stuff instead of just following whatever I did. Not that I couldn’t figure out what he wanted and do it a little bit better than he asked for, but it was still annoying to have to listen and follow instructions. He was a better helper than I was. Still, he clearly had experience with large vehicles that I completely lacked. Okay, I admit it, he was pretty brilliant. And he didn’t look half bad covered in motor oil. But my shoulder ached almost as much as my heart by the time I wiped my hands on a rag and headed to the library.
How did Drake handle the agony if he really loved me? How could I understand mage contracts when I didn’t understand mages?
Lester sat down beside me and opened up his books. I turned to stare at him. He didn’t notice for a long time before he finally raised his head and nodded at me, swinging his shaggy mane.
“Lester, what motivates a mage?”
“It depends on the mage.”
“You, what motivates you?”
He frowned for a long time. “Knowledge first, power second, influence third. Stoneburrow is also a knowledge first sort of mage. Huntsman values influence most.”
“How is influence different than power?”
“Power is about what you can do, influence is about what others do.”
“But a powerful leader makes others do what he wants.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t make them want to do what he wants.”
I wrinkled up my forehead trying to understand. “You’re saying influence is about changing people instead of forcing them to bow to your will. That sounds like my grandmama.”
“World changers.”
I smiled slightly and handed him a lollipop before I refocused on the book in front of me. It was 2 a.m. before I finished up for the night. Lester walked me back, the uneaten lollipop tucked into his pocket as we walked through the halls.
The next day was Tuesday. I made a batch of lollipops early that morning for my princesses and blueberry and pecan crunch for Missy and Carl’s son.
My darling girls were so beautiful and for a little while I forgot about the ache in my shoulder, my heart, then I walked down the hall where I might accidentally run into Drake.
No Drake. Just the normal humans, well, normal if Darkside survivors could be considered normal in any way.
I flopped beside Missy on the couch and stole some of her chocolate mints. She smiled slightly and took one of the lollipops I held out to her.
“How are you?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know enough about mages. I want to ask you a million questions, but I don’t want you to feel bad remembering.”
She hesitated then glanced around at the other humans who were carefully not looking at us. Sebastian wasn’t around. “I don’t mind talking about Narcollo. It’s kind of a relief, actually. That’s the point of this place, somewhere everyone understands, but sometimes I feel like we’re all trying to ignore it so it will go away. It can’t go away. It happened. I’m who I am because of what I experienced. I can’t go back to being that girl on her way to the library to check out books on magical romance. Everything was different back then. Poor. Hungry. Going to Darkside was like a dream, everything richer and darker and stronger. I just pretended I was in a dream and floated along with it. The others in my group went mad very quickly because they couldn’t separate Darkside from reality. I don’t know. Maybe I did go mad. I met a lot of mages. So many witches.”
“What did they want?”
She tilted her head from side to side. “Novelty usually. The younger ones are burning with ambition but as they get older, jaded,
they’re searching for diversion as life loses all meaning. That’s before the madness. The madness gives them a second period of burning, but they break you quickly when they forget to be careful.”
“What stage was Narcollo at?”
She frowned. “Narcollo was different. He was a seeker, a finder, a knower. He never got tired of learning, of hunting. He could find anything whether it was an object, a person, or a speck of knowledge. He had so much knowledge inside his head. He liked showing me his thoughts, teaching me languages and customs. He understood Dayside and he’d talk to me about it, having me explain difficult concepts like faith and trust, hope and kindness. That was before he bought me from the Mavens.”
“So his greatest desire was knowledge.”
She shrugged and rubbed her arms with what was left of her fingers. “He took everything I taught him about love and used it to see how much I could love him. I was his pet and love was my project. I failed, though. I cared more about the lives of those humans than pleasing my master. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, going to the Mavens to report Narcollo for eating humans. But I’d do it again. No, I’d have found a way to free them myself.”
Carl came over and put a hand on Missy’s shoulder. “Mirbeth wanted the love of a human as well. She tired of the dead for company and wanted someone live, a pet she could teach tricks. She taught me so many tricks. Sebastian thinks that was love. Perhaps it was.”
“Not human love,” Tim the bartender said coming over and sitting on the arm of the couch next to me. “But human love can be a horrible thing too. I see it a lot in my work, people coming in and confessing their sins. They don’t eat each other, but sometimes they’re even worse. Are you trying to understand the mage, Penny?” He said my name kind of carefully, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say it.
I smiled at him brightly. “I’m trying to understand mage contracts. I need to understand the nature of mages so I can understand how they work, how they can be manipulated, how they can change mage nature.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s the best way to deal with them. You can’t trust their emotions. Even if they love you, that doesn’t mean that they can control their instincts. They keep what they love locked far away from any threat.”
Missy nodded. “That’s why I thought he loved me, because he started building walls around me, stopped allowing any visitors, stopped taking me out.”
I sighed. Love. My marriage contract with Drake had been universally detailed on things like how many children we would have but also their rights. I needed to see the contract between my mother and my father. Would she still have it? How could I find it? Narcollo could find anything.
I looked at Missy, at her one, sad gray eye. No. Missy wasn’t my pet. She was my friend. I wasn’t going to sacrifice her to get what I wanted. I didn’t have to be wicked since I wasn’t really a witch, not without magic.
I leaned over and gave her a hug. She smelled so nice. “I’m glad that Drake found you. You’re nobody’s pet. Just because you don’t have magic doesn’t make you any less powerful. That’s why they want you, because you have what they lack. Soul. Do you want to go to church with me on Sunday? I’ll make you a pretty eyepatch if you like.”
She smiled and shook her head. “No eyepatch, but I think I’d like to try church.”
“I’ll give you a ride,” the bartender offered with an easy smile. He’d developed that smile from years in Darkside surviving who knew what. I smiled at him and gave him a lollipop.
It was on my way out that I realized that Narcollo could find anything, even the mage who broke Poppy. I hadn’t even thought about revenge. I was a truly, terrible, horrible witch.
Chapter 3 Mage
Penny Lane. I turned a corner and stopped while my heart felt like it was going to rupture in my chest. She stood outside my door
reading a book, her red gold curls cascading around her face until she looked up. Her enormous eyes softened when she saw me.
“Drake, do you have a second?”
A second? No. A billion seconds wouldn’t be enough, one second was too much. “What do you have in mind?” I gave her the most dissolute smile I’d picked up from Ian as I walked closer. I could either move closer or run away as fast as I could. That would look like I cared.
She tucked the massive tome beneath her arm and put her palms against my chest. “Can you touch my shoulder? It aches.”
The feel of her against my chest, the ache that had grown until I’d felt I would never feel anything else, made it almost possible to breathe. I inhaled shudderingly the intoxicating scent of Penny Lane and dusty books before I slid my hand over her shoulder to her back, somehow not digging my claws into her.
“We really should do something about that.” My voice was too much like a growl.
She blushed like I’d said something suggestive, not that I meant giving the bond to Zach. She ripped my shirt open with that same sweet blush before she traced over her name as though the glamour wasn’t there. She pulled the pain out of me as she touched me, relieving more than the bond ache. I curled my fingers and shredded the back of her shirt absently. I touched her skin, sliding around my initials, but she had so much more skin begging to be touched. My hand slid down her back to the base of her spine.
She gasped and jerked like I’d bitten her. That was an idea. I brushed her hair away revealing the soft sweet side of her throat.
“Drake, you missed our Tuesday.”
I froze. I couldn’t miss our Tuesday because we didn’t have that anymore. I stepped away from her and spelled my shirt closed. She’d ripped off the buttons. “I heard you were there. I’m glad you’re still seeing Missy.”
She pressed her lips together and took a step closer to me. “Drake, I’m not finished with you.”
I laughed, sharp and cutting. “Of course you aren’t. You can’t help but want me. I’m the most despicable mage you’ll ever meet.
Enjoy the pain, Penny. Revel in it.” I brushed past her to my door. My hand was shaking as I unlocked it.
She yanked on my shoulder, spinning me around. Her arms were crossed as she glared at me, her eyes growing darker, her lips pulled back in a delicious snarl that showed the sharpness of her teeth. “Explain to me about the Creagh attack. What are you doing to fight the deception sorcerer who is messing with you? What can you do against a mage like that? What can I expect from him in the future? Is everyone at risk who I come in contact with? Can I marry a mage in good conscience if this monster is going to ruin whoever I touch?”
I stared at her. I’d avoided having this conversation, but she needed reassurance so that she could marry a different mage. Zach. It took me a moment but I finally managed to summon the appropriate snarl. “Marry whomever you like. That’s interesting. You’ve never shown any interest in the Deception Mage before now. All those Creagh attacks and not a word of concern but now suddenly, you care?”
“We should have this conversation in private.” She glanced around like the walls had ears. Maybe they did, but having Penny alone in my room was out of the question. Then again, she didn’t look like she was going anywhere. I threw open my door and bowed elaborately, texting Zach while she walked in. She smelled so lovely. When I saw the title on the spine of her book, ‘Marriage Contracts made Unbreakable,’ I wanted to rip it apart. Instead, I headed for my bar and poured myself a drink. I swallowed it in one gulp then poured another before I could give Penny a charming and indifferent sneer.
“You were saying?”
“Pitch isn’t something I can talk about openly. You know about everything, so we should discuss what this monster wants with her. Do you know?”
“What would a monster do with a Penny Lane? Perhaps it’s your hurters. Who doesn’t want heart shrapnel when you really want to leave an impression on the enemy? I can’t think of a single reason a truly diabolical mage would want you.”
She narrowed her eyes and took a threatening step towards me. Was she going to hurt me? That would be so pleasant. “Why won’t you tell me? Am I just too stupid, little macaroon-for-brains Penny Lane who can’t think two thoughts together? I know he messed with my mind. I know I have gaps where I used to have memories, but I want to know as much as I can know. I need to. I’m vulnerable, Drake. I’m vulnerable and I need to know what my limitations actually are so I don’t accidentally get myself killed or kidnapped by some psycho mage. I have enough of them in my life. I don’t need any more.”
Her chest rose and fell. Her shirt was barely attached at the sides and back. It would be so easy to finish the job. The curve of her waist, the way her bottom lip trembled, the bed at the top of the short stairs, the stairs, the couch, the coffee table, the door.
I took a step closer to her while green shimmered around me, green and gold that blended with her hair while I stopped breathing. I couldn’t take another breath unless it was Penny Lane. I backed her against the door and pushed her hands above her head while I buried my face into her neck and inhaled and inhaled and inhaled. She struggled against me. Mm. Such a delicious struggle. I opened my mouth and touched my teeth to the skin of her neck. Ah. A shudder went through me at that contact then a hard knocking reverberated through the door.
It took me a few breaths to get it together enough to retract my claws and pull away from Penny. I pushed her to the side and opened the door.
“Zachary Stoneburrow. Looking for your witch? She came within a hair’s breadth of being eaten by a dragon. Keep a closer watch on that one. She doesn’t know when to run away.”
She glared at me and then spun towards Zach. “Stay away from me, idiot mage. Just because I don’t have magic doesn’t make me a pet that you can pass around when you get tired of me.” She pointed a sharp finger at me. “As long as we’re bound together, we have to regularly interact. Try not to be such an idiot in three days when I contact you again.”
She shoved past Zach and stalked down the hall, clearly not wanting any mage company. Zach looked at her back, the pale skin showing beneath the fluttering white fabric of her shirt, what was left of the shirt. He cast a quick spell that glamoured the shirt so no one else would see her like that then walked past me towards my couch. He flopped down and ran his hands through his hair.
“This isn’t working.”
“You mean that outfit? That’s because you didn’t wear a belt. Throws off the whole proportion.”
He laughed. “Not you too. She’s friendzoned me. I thought she’d naturally kind of shift her affection to me once you dumped her, but she doesn’t see any mages like that. Not even Ian. You know how witches are with him, but they’re almost friends. Ian doesn’t have witch friends, not just friends.”
“It hasn’t been very long.”
“No, and it doesn’t help that you’re ripping her clothes off when you get the chance.”
“She came to my room demanding that I tell her about the Deception Sorcerer. What does she remember?”
He blinked at me and frowned. “I don’t know. She said that she was scratched, a Scratcher and a Titch, but I don’t know what that means. Do you?”
I ran my hand through my hair again. “If she remembers, that means she’s liable to do something stupid.”
“Do you think she’ll go into Darkside even though she knows the danger?”
“I think that she doesn’t like a mage messing with her head or messing with her mage. I think she’s going to do something brilliant that we could never see coming. I’m sure of it. You’re her friend? Good. Be her best friend. I can’t be that. I can’t get close to her without wanting her skin in my teeth, under my nails. I’ve never hovered so close to the Darkside as when anger sizzles over her skin.”
He nodded. “Sure. I love Pitch, always will, but Penny’s too stupid to feel like that about. I’ll just forget about the Pitch and be her idiot friend genius who needs her for some reason I’ll try to
come up with. We can marry for mutually beneficial purposes without all that emotional stuff that messed you up so good.”
“Well.”
He grinned sharply. “You’re still messed up. What big eyes you have. What sharp teeth you have.”
“All the better for biting Penny Lane. Maybe I should have told her about Sooth.”
“It’s not your place without permission from her legal guardian. Since he’s the sorcerer who wants to rip you apart, that makes it a tad tricky.”
“That’s her Darkside guardian, not Dayside. That would be her mother.”
“You think that she doesn’t want to rip you apart after what you did to her daughter? That’s optimistic.”
I slumped down on the couch next to him. I was so tired. Revere had built a time capsule around the house and I’d been practicing spellwork for days and days before he finally let me out. I had to put the time in somewhere. I closed my eyes and rubbed my eyebrows. “Zach, I need to kill something. Not kill, shred to pieces, something beautiful.”
“You have wars to fight in Darkside, don’t you? The green mage hasn’t been seen for ages.”
That’s not what I wanted. I moved and had his throat in my claws before I knew what I was doing. This wasn’t a good place for this battle. We rolled off the couch and into the Barren Wastes. He was going to die. Or at least burn and ache like I ached. He could touch Penny, I could not. He would feel pain for that, but not as much as me.
Zach was tough, angry, an excellent opponent who took hours and hours to break. Finally, I stepped Throughside, into my room and shook off the mostly disintegrated suit. What a waste of perfectly fine trousers. I went to the pile of dried blood and gems on my table and carried them to the sink to wash. I could magic them clean, but that would disrupt the sorcerer’s spell. Hale. One more mysterious sorcerer who I needed to defeat.
No. The sorcerer I needed to defeat was myself. I should not have let Penny into my room. I shouldn’t have hurt Zach. I shouldn’t have trusted Jasper to take my responsibility for me. I shouldn’t do that now, with my father. He was a mess, a broken mage. Revere was right. I couldn’t let my issues get in the way of what must be. If I could control a great dragon and keep my sanity, I could certainly control my reaction around a female, even if she was perfection in a mustache. And a short skirt. And a ripped blouse.
I sighed and stepped Throughside, coming back at Huntsman manor. I stood in the hall with the marble floors beneath my still muddy and bloody boots before I slowly walked up the stairs, leaving a mess behind me. As I climbed, I spelled myself tidy, bit by bit ending with the mess on the floor until I reached the top and looked moderately pulled together, other than my face. It was hard to effectively glamour open wounds.
I went to the table and sat down as though I’d never left. I didn’t say anything to my father, and his pen never stopped scratching, but it wasn’t quite as unbearable this time. Maybe because Penny had touched my chest with her delicious fingers. Maybe because I’d ripped apart Zachary. Maybe because I was too tired to be irritated by something as small as the way someone moved a pen over paper. Maybe because it didn’t matter. I could not have her. But she would have me. I would keep her safe. I would become what she needed. That’s what I needed.
I was immersed in a vast contract that a mage family was trying to cancel without paying the ordinary penalties when my cell phone buzzed. And rang. And buzzed again. It was like the wedding.
I pulled it out and saw a picture of a mouse in a top hat, eating a cookie. It was Pete. Did I mind if he taught Professor Cadaver some new tricks?
I stood and stepped Throughside, coming out in Pete’s room. I tucked the mouse carefully into his cage before I gripped Pete’s shoulder and dragged him Throughside then into the boy’s gym.
He attacked me first, apparently ready and waiting for the chance to be broken by me. He was going to make his mark, do his damage, and he did. It was ridiculously satisfying to see his
improvement. He took some effort to break. He was worthy of the effort.
By the time his teeth were stained pink from blood instead of fireballs, I was a mess, a genuine wreck.
I laughed at Pete and choked off because it hurt so much. He staggered over and slapped me on the shoulder, almost sending me over sideways.
“You don’t look so good. Maybe you should take lessons sometime.”
I gripped his shoulder. “I have taken lessons from you. You’re a good mage. Resilient.”
His eyes widened before he shrugged and stepped away from me. “Don’t get all sentimental just because I bled on you. Anyway, this witch stuff, it’ll all work out. You own each other. You can’t walk away.”
I put my hand against my chest where it ached, where it would always ache whether I were bound to her or not. “I can’t, but I will anyway.”
Chapter 4 Witch
I carefully packed the three finus balls in really cute boxes. My hacker friend had sworn that these were Dayside witches. We’d see. I scheduled my pickup with Signore and went down to the Eastside driveway, four AM.
He came an hour later. I stood and stretched, almost dropping my packages and the tome about Marriage Contracts. There were too many different kinds. I had to know specifically which kind my mother had had with my father to understand how it applied to me.
Signore parked at the end of the drive and took his time getting out. He looked like rock, stone, impossible to move, even if he moved anyway.
“Signore, will you take me home this morning? I need to be back before eight tonight. I have an appointment.”
“Cara Mia, I can. Is that all you have for me to deliver?”
I held up the packages. “Three finus balls. Not much, and for you nothing but pain.”
His brow furrowed in the dim light of too early in the morning. “My pain or yours?”
“Yours. I’m taking it. We can do that while you drive. I’m not broken today so I don’t need to lay around on your couch. Pretty special, right?” I handed him the package and climbed up into the passenger seat. I didn’t even glance into the back, like I didn’t care what magic he had. It wasn’t any of my business.
After he’d put away the hurters, he sat down and started the engine. I ran my hands over his head, down his neck to his shoulder while I soaked up his pain. He didn’t have as much today.
“Have you been giving your pain to someone else?” Oh jealousy, how irrational you are.
“No, Cara Mia. I heard the Creagh attacked and you were poisoned.”
I flinched and pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them and pulling them tighter to my chest. “Bitten. Is that the same as poisoned? I don’t think so. Venom.”
“If Huntsman can’t protect you, it’s a good thing you won’t be marrying him. Who will you marry? Stoneburrow?”
I stared at him. “If I’m not safe, you’ll kill me, right?”
He glanced at me and shrugged. “Not with pleasure.”
“Well that’s nice. I don’t want you to kill me. The poisoning was terrible. I could feel myself dying, so slowly, taking weeks at a time. Do you always make it so horrible?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to kill you outright but you proved more resilient than I’d thought. You should be dead.”
“Thanks.”
“You are vulnerable without magic, but you’re still a witch. You’re still fairly indestructible. If I had to kill you, how would you like me to do it?”
“Now you’re taking requests? Quickly, so I don’t know that you betrayed me. Without pain. I don’t want to feel the pain when I die. I feel the pain too much being alive. Death should be different. You say I’m a witch, does that mean I don’t have a soul? I want to go to heaven when I die so I’m with Lulu, my angel princess. She’s so sweet. And all the animals Poppy torched. Tea parties every day.”
“A drop of human blood would give you a soul, Cara Mia. You can have your heaven.”
I grabbed his wrist and squeezed, digging my fingers into the nearly solid flesh. “Thank you for not telling me that it’s a fantasy. I need hope.”
“Because you have a soul. Needing hope is proof of its existence. With hope anything is possible, isn’t that how it goes?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve only gone to church a few times. I’m going on Sunday with Missy.”
“Missy? A witch?”
“A human. She was a Darksider’s pet. Narcollo. Do you know him?”
He slid his tongue over his teeth like he was tasting blood. “I may. There are a great many Darksider mages.”
“Who keep human pets?”
He glanced at me. “Do you find it unethical? Some keep their pets very well.”
“But they’re still slaves and it’s against the law.”
He nodded and gave me a slight smile. “You would liberate them all. It’s a good thing you aren’t in Darkside, Cara Mia. Mages would want to keep you as a pet.”
“But I’m a witch, even without magic.”
He shrugged and turned back to the road. “Indeed. I can’t imagine a mage or a sorcerer who could enslave you without becoming more your slave in return.”
“What about my father?”
I watched him carefully for a reaction, but he didn’t so much as twitch. Of course not. Rocks don’t twitch.
“Particularly your father.”
I studied him, the assassin who might kill me if I got too close to my father. “Did I have a lot of magic?”
He nodded, still staring at the road.
“So whoever stole my magic must have more than he needs.”
“The need grows commensurate with the having.”
“I have a lot of energy, but I don’t need more.”
He glanced at me with a slight smile. “Because it was given, not taken.”
“What does that mean?”
He shook his head and refocused on the road. “You should go lie down. I’ve been spelling your curse, but it’s about to consume you.”
He was right. One second I’m riding in a car like a normal person, the next my intestines were being trawled by sharks. On motorcycles. In leather jackets. Which made no sense, but sense was a long ways away from the agonizing fear that spread through me, chewing all reason and spitting it out like used dental floss.
I stumbled into the back and crashed on the couch while my body ached and my stomach twined. The curse. What a twisted mage my father must have been to put a curse like that on me, a carsick curse. So random. Jetsick too. I was not meant to travel. Probably that was meant to keep me from running away, from living like we had before my mother called Revere, running from place to place, never staying longer than a few months, a few weeks, a few days. Yeah, my mother had taken the brunt of that curse. She couldn’t even leave her house. She’d taken part of the curse for me? Why would she do that? She didn’t love me, not really. She never had tea parties with me, just taught me how to fight, how to endure pain, how to make hurters, how to endure more pain.
I smiled slightly as I stared at the ceiling of Signore’s van. The nausea was already wearing off. I hadn’t even thrown up. That was my mother showing love. My safety, my ability to fight and struggle in spite of difficulty, that was her gift to me, plus taking the brunt of the curse. Was there a curse mage at school I could get to help me with it? I could pay him in lollipops or something. It seemed like witches cursed much more often than mages. No, if there was some way to undo it, Revere already would have. He could do anything.
I fell asleep for the rest of the drive and when the truck stopped, I rolled off the couch, ducked through the front, patted Signore on the head and jumped out.
“Do you want me to wait for you?” he asked, this fancy assassin who probably had better things to do.
“I’ll text when I need you to pick me up. I’ll probably have important things with me that shouldn’t travel in a limo.”
He raised an eyebrow but only nodded and drove away. I didn’t watch him go. I climbed the back steps and went into the old enclosed porch. A strange little man sat there knitting. I didn’t bother him and he didn’t look up at me. None of my business. I walked into the kitchen, saw how tidy it was, which meant there wasn’t any food, and headed down into the dungeon. The dungeon was at the bottom of a very long flight of very well-lit stairs. The long hall was lit with bare bulbs, but the space was immaculate. One didn’t want errant dust floating through a spell or getting meshed with a hurter. I went to the hurter room and pushed open the door. My mother was in the middle of a mess of hurters, elastine turning brittle from laying out too long.
I grabbed the rubber gloves interlined with lead and a pair of goggles then went to work. She’d made a few interesting adjustments to her system. We worked in silence until the last hurter was curing on its shelf before she took off her goggles and gloves then stared at me like she’d just noticed me in spite of the hours we’d been working together. Was I like that with Zach and my Chem girls? Probably. I’d have to work on it.
“Hey, mom. I got some memories back of dad cursing me and stealing my magic. Can I see your marriage contract?”
Her eyes widened and went a little haunted before she turned and left the lab, climbing the stairs like she was tired. That had been a lot of hurters. Maybe she was. She didn’t have my nearly limitless amounts of energy. And she had my curse.
I snarled at her because if there was one thing I hated, it was owing someone something. If there was one thing I hated worse than that, it was owing my mother.
She led me to the green and gold parlor. For a second I couldn’t breathe because Drake was so much in that room, his aura, his strength, his incredible aftershave.
She pushed open the rolltop desk and started sorting through certificates and sheafs of papers clipped together.
“Are those all grandmama’s contracts?” I asked.
“Yes. These aren’t all of them, just her favorites. The ones she was most pleased with.” She searched the desk, checking each drawer before she found the folder and opened it to pull out one paper. She handed it to me then grabbed my face, twisting my neck so I had to stare into her eyes.
“Your memories came back? How?”
I forced myself to breathe evenly and not yank my head out of her claw-like grasp. “I was bitten by a Titch and a Scratcher decided I deserved two memories because my feet were so pretty. What is a Scratcher?”
She studied me, her onyx eyes going even darker before she dropped my face and turned. “A getter. A betweener. Space, time, dimensionality don’t apply to Scratchers. They aren’t Darksiders. They’re from somewhere else. Rare to have one of those involved. Extremely expensive. He must be getting desperate.” She smiled. There wasn’t anything more terrifying than my mother’s smile. I smiled back.
“I like that.”
She shrugged slightly. “He’ll make a mistake. You must be married before you turn eighteen.”
“Because of the curse?”
She shrugged. “I can’t give you my protection, blunting the curse’s strength when you turn eighteen, but it’s more. Legality. A mother’s protection lasts until the child is eighteen, but a father’s protection lasts until she is married.”
“All those Creagh are still under their father’s protection?”
She shrugged. “Creagh give up such ties, at least temporarily.”
“That’s incredibly obnoxious. So Darkside is just another patriarchy?”
She laughed and patted my head. “You sound like Poppy. Funny girl, hating mages so much but finding one so soon. Are you finished? I need to respell the desk.”
I shook my head and sat down. I stared at the paper, the contract. It was incredibly short, and written in Darksider.
“I can’t read this.”
She hissed and tapped the paper sending strands of silver light over the page. The words shifted and flowed from the jagged symbols I couldn’t understand to neat type.
ISerenesweartolivewithBenjamininDarksideandknowno other.Iwillgivehimchildrenhewillraiseaswellascanbe expected.
IBenjaminSoothsweartoadoreSereneNightfortherestofmy life,toloveandprotectaswellasmychildren,asfarasitisinmy power.
There were a couple of incredibly messy signatures and that was it. It was the worst contract I’d ever seen. There were no clauses, no details, nothing other than a vague commitment from one witch to one mage to share one life forever.
I squinted at it. There had to be more.
My mom spoke in a soft voice. “It’s my mother. She was so talented at contracts that I created this to make her angry. She was angry. Furious. Insisted my father write another contract to include some details. I don’t know what happened to that one.”
I stared at that sheet of paper for a long time while my eyes got misty before I blinked back tears and turned to smile brightly at my mother. “Wow. So I really did get the idiotic tendencies from you. Good to know.”
She sighed and pinched my ear, drawing blood. “It didn’t matter what the contract said. I would have signed anything he gave me.”
“Why?”
“He bespelled me. It’s the mage energy. Aberrations don’t have the natural defenses against mages that most witches have. We can manipulate their energy, but we pay for it in vulnerability.”
“So you actually loved that monster?”
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“No,” said the other a little bitterly; “but we’re on different sides of the House, Angel. You’re in the Cabinet, and I’m in the everlasting Opposition.”
“Muffled sobs!” said Angel flippantly. “Pity poor Ishmael who ‘ishes’ for his own pleasure! Pathos for a fallen brother! A silent tear for this magnificent wreck who’d rather be on the rocks than floating any day of the week. Don’t humbug yourself, Jimmy, or I shall be falling on your neck and appealing to your better nature. You’re a thief just as another man is a stamp collector or a hunter. It’s your blooming forte. Hi, Charles, do you ever intend serving me?”
“Yessir; d’reckly, sir.”
Charles bustled up.
“What is it to be, gentlemen? Good evening, Mr. Angel!”
“I’ll take what my friend Dooley calls a keg of obscenth; and you?”
Jimmy’s face struggled to preserve its gravity.
“Lemonade,” he said soberly.
The waiter brought him a whisky.
If you do not know the “Plait” you do not know your London. It is one of the queer hostels which in a Continental city would be noted as a place to which the “young person” might not be taken. Being in London, neither Baedeker nor any of the infallible guides to the metropolis so much as mention its name. For there is a law of libel.
“There’s ‘Snatch’ Walker,” said Angel idly. “Snatch isn’t wanted just now—in this country. There’s ‘Frisco Kate,’ who’ll get a lifer one of these days. D’ye know the boy in the mustard suit, Jimmy?”
Jimmy took a sidelong glance at the young man.
“No; he’s new.”
“Not so new either,” said Angel. “Budapest in the racing season, Jerusalem in the tourist season; a wealthy Hungarian nobleman traveling for his health all the time—that’s him.”
“Ambiguous, ungrammatical, but convincing,” murmured Jimmy.
“I want him, by the way!” Angel had suddenly become alert.
“If you’re going to have a row, I’m off,” said Jimmy, finishing his drink. Angel caught his arm. A man had entered the saloon, and was looking round as though in search of somebody. He caught Jimmy’s eye and started. Then he threaded his way through the crowded room.
“Hullo, Jim——” He stopped dead as he saw Jimmy’s companion, and his hand went into his pocket.
“Hullo, Connor!”—Angel’s smile was particularly disarming—“you’re the man I want to see.”
“What’s the game?” the other snarled. He was a big, heavily-built man, with a drooping mustache.
“Nothing, nothing,” smiled Angel. “I want you for the Lagos job, but there’s not enough evidence to convict you. Make your mind easy.”
The man went white under his tan; his hand caught the edge of the table before him.
“Lagos!” he stammered. “What—what——”
“Oh, never mind about that.” Angel airily waved the matter aside. “Sit down here.”
The man hesitated, then obeyed, and dropped into a seat between the two.
Angel looked round. So far as any danger of being overheard went, they were as much alone as though they sat in the center of a desert.
“Jimmy”—Angel held him by the arm—“you said just now you’d got a march when you admitted you’d seen old Reale’s puzzle-verse. It wasn’t the march you thought it was, for I had seen the will—and so has Connor here.”
He looked the heavy man straight in the eye.
“There is somebody else that benefits under that will besides you two. It is a girl.” He did not take his eyes from Connor. “I was curious
to see that young lady,” Angel went on, “and this afternoon I drove to Clapham to interview her.”
He stopped again. Connor made no reply, but kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
“I went to interview her, and found that she had mysteriously disappeared this very afternoon.”
Again he stopped.
“A gentleman called to see her, with a message from—who do you think, Connor?” he asked.
The easy, flippant manner was gone, and Connor, looking up, caught the steady stare of two cold blue eyes, and shivered.
“Why,” Angel went on slowly, “it was a message from Inspector Angel —which is a damned piece of impudence, Connor, for I’m not an inspector—and the young lady drove away to Scotland Yard. And now, Connor, I want to ask you, What have you done with old Reale’s heiress?”
Connor licked his lips and said nothing.
Angel beckoned to a waiter and paid his score, then rose to go.
“You will go at once and drive Miss Kathleen Kent back to the place you took her from. I shall call to-morrow and see her, and if one hair of her head is harmed, Connor——”
“Well?” said Connor defiantly
“I’ll chance your alibis, and take you for the Lagos business,” and with a curt nod to Jimmy, he left the saloon.
Connor turned in a fret of fury to the man at his side.
“D’ye hear him, Jimmy? D’ye hear the dog——”
“My advice to you,” interrupted the other, “is—do as Angel tells you.”
“D’ye think I’m frightened by——”
“Oh, no,” was the quiet response, “you are not frightened at what Angel may do. What he does won’t matter very much. What I will do
is the trouble.”
“BOROUGH LOT”
I was not a bit like Scotland Yard as Kathleen Kent had pictured it. It was a kind of a yard certainly, for the grimy little street, flanked on either side with the blank faces of dirty little houses, ended abruptly in a high wall, over which were the gray hulls and fat scarlet funnels of ocean-going steamers.
The driver of the cab had pulled up before one of the houses near the wall, and a door had opened. Then the man who had sat with her in glum silence, answering her questions in mono-syllables, grasped her arm and hurried her into the house. The door slammed behind, and she realized her deadly peril. She had had a foreboding, an instinctive premonition that all was not well when the cab had turned from the broad thoroughfare that led to where she had imagined Scotland Yard would be, and had, taking short cuts through innumerable mean streets, moved at a sharp pace eastward. Ignorant of that London which begins at Trafalgar Square and runs eastward to Walthamstow, ignorant, indeed, of that practical suburb to which the modesty of an income produced by £4,000 worth of Consols had relegated her, she felt without knowing, that Scotland Yard did not lay at the eastern end of Commercial Road.
Then when the door of the little house slammed and a hand grasped her arm tightly, and a thick voice whispered in her ear that if she screamed the owner of the voice would “out” her, she gathered, without exactly knowing what an “outing” was, that it would be wiser for her not to scream, so she quietly accompanied her captor up the stairs. He stopped for a moment on the rickety landing, then pushed open a door.
Before the window that would in the ordinary course of events admit the light of day hung a heavy green curtain; behind this, though she
did not know it, three army blankets, judiciously fixed, effectively excluded the sunlight, and as effectually veiled the rays of a swinglamp from outside observation.
The girl made a pathetically incongruous figure, as she stood white but resolute before the occupants of the room.
Kathleen Kent was something more than pretty, something less than beautiful. An oval face with gray, steadfast eyes, a straight nose and the narrow upper lip of the aristocrat, her lips were, perhaps, too full and too human for your connoisseur of beauty.
She looked from face to face, and but for her pallor she exhibited no sign of fear.
Although she was unaware of the fact, she had been afforded an extraordinary privilege. By the merest accident, she had been ushered into the presence of the “Borough Lot.” Not a very heroic title for an organized band of criminals, but, then, organized criminals never take unto themselves generic and high-falutin’ titles. Our “Silver Hatchets” and “Red Knives” are boy hooligans who shoot off toy pistols. The police referred to them vaguely as the “Borough Lot.” Lesser lights in the criminal world have been known to boast that they were not unconnected with that combination; and when some desperate piece of villainy startled the world, the police investigating the crime started from this point: Was it committed by one of the Borough Lot, or was it not?
As Kathleen was pushed into the room by her captor, a hum of subdued conversation ended abruptly, and she was the focus of nine pairs of passionless eyes that looked at her unsmilingly.
When she had heard the voices, when she took her first swift glance at the room, and had seen the type of face that met hers, she had steeled herself for an outburst of coarse amusement. She feared— she did not know what she feared. Strangely enough, the dead silence that greeted her gave her courage, the cold stare of the men nerved her. Only one of the men lost his composure. The tall, heavylooking man who sat at one end of the room with bowed, attentive head listening to a little clean-shaven man with side-whiskers, who
looked for all the world like an old-fashioned jockey, started with a muttered oath.
“Upstairs!” he roared, and said something rapidly in a foreign tongue that sent the man who held the girl’s arm staggering back with a blanched face.
“I—I,” he stammered appealingly, “I didn’t understand.”
The tall man, his face flushed with rage, pointed to the door, and hastily opening the door, her captor half dragged the bewildered girl to the darkness of the landing.
“This way,” he muttered, and she could feel his hand trembling as he stumbled up yet another flight of stairs, never once relinquishing his hold of her. “Don’t you scream nor nothing, or you’ll get into trouble. You see what happened to me for takin’ you into the wrong room. Oh, he’s a devil is Connor—Smith, I mean. Smith’s his name, d’ye hear?” He shook her arm roughly. Evidently the man was beside himself with terror. What dreadful thing the tall man had said, Kathleen could only judge. She herself was half dead with fright. The sinister faces of these men, the mystery of this assembly in the shuttered room, her abduction, all combined to add terror to her position.
Her conductor unlocked a door and pushed her in. This had evidently been prepared for her reception, for a table had been laid, and food and drink stood ready.
The door was closed behind her, and a bolt was slipped. Like the chamber below, all daylight was kept out by a curtain. Her first thoughts were of escape. She waited till the footsteps on the rickety stairs had died away, then crossed the room swiftly. The drop from the window could not be very far; she would risk it. She drew aside the curtain. Where the window should have been was a sheet of steel plate. It was screwed to the joists. Somebody had anticipated her resolve to escape by the window. In chalk, written in an illiterate hand, was the sentence:—
“You wont be hert if your senserble. We want to know some questions
then well let you go. Dont make a fuss or it will be bad for you. Keep quite and tell us these questions and well let you go.”
What had they to ask, or she to answer? She knew of nothing that she could inform them upon. Who were these men who were detaining her? During the next hours she asked herself these questions over and over again. She grew faint with hunger and thirst, but the viands spread upon the table she did not touch. The mystery of her capture bewildered her. Of what value was she to these men?
All the time the murmur of voices in the room below was continuous. Once or twice she heard a voice raised in anger. Once a door slammed, and somebody went clattering down the stairs. There was a door-keeper, she could hear him speak with the outgoer.
Did she but know it, the question that perplexed her was an equal matter of perplexity with others in the house that evening.
The notorious men upon whom she had looked, all innocent of their claim to notoriety, were themselves puzzled.
Bat Sands, the man who looked so ill—he had the unhealthy appearance of one who had just come through a long sickness—was an inquirer. Vennis—nobody knew his Christian name—was another, and they were two men whose inquiries were not to be put off.
Vennis turned his dull fish eyes upon big Connor, and spoke with deliberation.
“Connor, what’s this girl business? Are we in it?”
Connor knew his men too well to temporize.
“You’re in it, if it’s worth anything,” he said slowly.
Bat’s close-cropped red head was thrust forward.
“Is there money in it?” he demanded.
Connor nodded his head.
“Much?”
Connor drew a deep breath. If the truth be told, that the “Lot” should share, was the last thing he had intended. But for the blundering of his agent, they would have remained in ignorance of the girl’s presence in the house. But the very suspicion of disloyalty was dangerous. He knew his men, and they knew him. There was not a man there who would hesitate to destroy him at the merest hint of treachery. Candor was the best and safest course.
“It’s pretty hard to give you any idea what I’ve got the girl here for, but there’s a million in it,” he began.
He knew they believed him. He did not expect to be disbelieved. Criminals of the class these men represented flew high. They were out of the ruck of petty, boasting sneak-thieves who lied to one another, knowing they lied, and knowing that their hearers knew they lied.
Only the strained, intent look on their faces gave any indication of how the news had been received.
“It’s old Reale’s money,” he continued; “he’s left the lot to four of us. Massey’s dead, so that makes three.”
There was no need to explain who was Reale, who Massey. A week ago Massey had himself sat in that room and discussed with Connor the cryptic verse that played so strange a part in the old man’s will. He had been, in a way, an honorary member of the “Borough Lot.”
Connor continued. He spoke slowly, waiting for inspiration. A judicious lie might save the situation. But no inspiration came, and he found his reluctant tongue speaking the truth.
“The money is stored in one safe. Oh, it’s no use looking like that, Tony, you might just as well try to crack the Bank of England as that crib. Yes, he converted every cent of a million and three-quarters into hard, solid cash—banknotes and gold. This he put into his damned safe, and locked. And he has left by the terms of his will a key.”
Connor was a man who did not find speaking an easy matter. Every word came slowly and hesitatingly, as though the speaker of the story were loth to part with it.
“The key is here,” he said slowly
There was a rustle of eager anticipation as he dipped his hand in his waistcoat pocket. When he withdrew his fingers, they contained only a slip of paper carefully folded.
“The lock of the safe is one of Reale’s inventions; it opens to no key save this.” He shook the paper before them, then lapsed into silence.
“Well,” broke in Bat impatiently, “why don’t you open the safe? And what has the girl to do with it?”
“She also has a key, or will have to-morrow. And Jimmy——”
A laugh interrupted him. “Curt” Goyle had been an attentive listener till Jimmy’s name was mentioned, then his harsh, mirthless laugh broke the tense silence.
“Oh, Lord James is in it, is he? I’m one that’s for ruling Jimmy out.” He got up on his feet and stretched himself, keeping his eye fixed on Connor. “If you want to know why, I’ll tell ye. Jimmy’s a bit too finicking for my taste, too fond of the police for my taste. If we’re in this, Jimmy’s out of it,” and a mutter of approval broke from the men. Connor’s mind was working quickly. He could do without Jimmy, he could not dispense with the help of the “Lot.” He was just a little afraid of Jimmy. The man was a type of criminal he could not understand. If he was a rival claimant for Reale’s millions, the gang would “out” Jimmy; so much the better. Massey’s removal had limited the legatees to three. Jimmy out of the way would narrow the chance of his losing the money still further; and the other legatee was in the room upstairs. Goyle’s declaration had set loose the tongues of the men, and he could hear no voice that spoke for Jimmy. And then a dozen voices demanded the rest of the story, and amid a dead silence Connor told the story of the will and the puzzleverse, the solving of which meant fortune to every man.
“And the girl has got to stand in and take her share. She’s too dangerous to be let loose. There’s nigh on two millions at stake and I’m taking no risks. She shall remain here till the word is found. We’re not going to see her carry off the money under our very noses.”
“And Jimmy?” Goyle asked.
Connor fingered a lapel of his coat nervously. He knew what answer the gang had already framed to the question Goyle put. He knew he would be asked to acquiesce in the blackest piece of treachery that had ever disfigured his evil life; but he knew, too, that Jimmy was hated by the men who formed this strange fraternity. Jimmy worked alone; he shared neither risk nor reward. His cold cynicism was above their heads. They too feared him.
Connor cleared his throat
“Perhaps if we reasoned——”
Goyle and Bat exchanged swift glances.
“Ask him to come and talk it over to-night,” said Goyle carelessly.
“Connor is a long time gone.”
Sands turned his unhealthy face to the company as he spoke. Three hours had passed since Connor had left the gang in his search for Jimmy.
“He’ll be back soon,” said Goyle confidently. He looked over the assembly of men. “Any of you fellers who don’t want to be in this business can go.” Then he added significantly, “We’re going to settle with Jimmy.”
Nobody moved; no man shuddered at the dreadful suggestion his words conveyed.
“A million an’ three-quarters—it’s worth hanging for!” he said callously. He walked to a tall, narrow cupboard that ran up by the side of the fireplace and pulled open the door. There was room for a man to stand inside. The scrutiny of the interior gave him some satisfaction.
“This is where some one stood”—he looked meaningly at Bat Sands —“when he koshed Ike Steen—Ike with the police money in his
pocket, and ready to sell every man jack of you.”
“Who’s in the next house?” a voice asked suddenly.
Goyle laughed. He was the virtual landlord so far as the hiring of the house was concerned. He closed the cupboard door.
“Not counting old George, it’s empty,” he said. “Listen!”
In the deep silence there came the faint murmur of a voice through the thin walls.
“Talkin’ to himself,” said Goyle with a grin; “he’s daft, and he’s as good as a watchman for us, for he scares away the children and women who would come prying about here. He’s——”
They heard the front door shut quickly and the voices of two men in the passage below.
Goyle sprang to his feet, an evil look on his face.
“That’s Jimmy!” he whispered hurriedly.
As the feet sounded on the stairs he walked to where his coat hung and took something from his pocket, then, almost as the newcomers entered the room, he slipped into the cupboard and drew the door close after him.
Jimmy, entering the room in Connor’s wake, felt the chill of his reception. He felt, too, some indefinable sensation of danger. There was an ominous quiet. Bat Sands was polite, even servile. Jimmy noticed that, and his every sense became alert. Bat thrust forward a chair and placed it with its back toward the cupboard.
“Sit down, Jimmy,” he said with forced heartiness. “We want a bit of a talk.”
Jimmy sat down.
“I also want a bit of a talk,” he said calmly. “There is a young lady in this house, brought here against her will. You’ve got to let her go.”
The angry mutter of protest that he had expected did not come, rather was his dictum received in complete silence. This was bad, and he looked round for the danger. Then he missed a face.
“Where is our friend Goyle, our dear landlord?” he asked with pleasant irony.
“He hasn’t been here to-day,” Bat hastened to say
Jimmy looked at Connor standing by the door biting his nails, and Connor avoided his eye.
“Ah!” Jimmy’s unconcern was perfectly simulated.
“Jimmy wants us to send the girl back.” Connor was speaking hurriedly. “He thinks there’ll be trouble, and his friend the ’tec thinks there will be trouble too.”
Jimmy heard the artfully-worded indictment unmoved. Again he noticed, with some concern, that what was tantamount to a charge of treachery was received without a word.
“It isn’t what others think, it is what I think, Connor,” he said dryly. “The girl has got to go back. I want Reale’s money as much as you, but I have a fancy to play fair this journey.”
“Oh, you have, have you,” sneered Connor. He had seen the cupboard door behind Jimmy move ever so slightly.
Jimmy sat with his legs crossed on the chair that had been placed for him. The light overcoat he had worn over his evening dress lay across his knees. Connor knew the moment was at hand, and concentrated his efforts to keep his former comrade’s attentions engaged. He had guessed the meaning of Goyle’s absence from the room and the moving cupboard door. In his present position Jimmy was helpless.
Connor had been nervous to a point of incoherence on the way to the house. Now his voice rose to a strident pitch.
“You’re too clever, Jimmy,” he said, “and there are too many ‘musts’ about you to please us. We say that the girl has got to stay, and by —— we mean it!”
Jimmy’s wits were at work. The danger was very close at hand, he felt that. He must change his tactics. He had depended too implicitly upon Connor’s fear of him, and had reckoned without the “Borough
Lot.” From which of these men did danger threaten? He took their faces in in one comprehensive glance. He knew them—he had their black histories at his finger-tips. Then he saw a coat hanging on the wall at the farther end of the room. He recognized the garment instantly. It was Goyle’s. Where was the owner? He temporized.
“I haven’t the slightest desire to upset anybody’s plans,” he drawled, and started drawing on a white glove, as though about to depart. “I am willing to hear your views, but I would point out that I have an equal interest in the young lady, Connor.”
He gazed reflectively into the palm of his gloved hand as if admiring the fit. There was something so peculiar in this apparently innocent action, that Connor started forward with an oath.
“Quick, Goyle!” he shouted; but Jimmy was out of his chair and was standing with his back against the cupboard, and in Jimmy’s ungloved hand was an ugly black weapon that was all butt and barrel.
He waved them back, and they shrank away from him.
“Let me see you all,” he commanded, “none of your getting behind one another. I want to see what you are doing. Get away from that coat of yours, Bat, or I’ll put a bullet in your stomach.”
He had braced himself against the door in anticipation of the thrust of the man, but it seemed as though the prisoner inside had accepted the situation, for he made no sign.
“So you are all wondering how I knew about the cupboard,” he jeered. He held up the gloved hand, and in the palm something flashed back the light of the lamp.
Connor knew. The tiny mirror sewn in the palm of the sharper’s glove was recognized equipment.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Jimmy with a mocking laugh, “I must insist on having my way. Connor, you will please bring to me the lady you abducted this afternoon.”
Connor hesitated; then he intercepted a glance from Bat Sands, and sullenly withdrew from the room.
Jimmy did not speak till Connor had returned ushering in the whitefaced girl. He saw that she looked faint and ill, and motioned one of the men to place a chair for her. What she saw amidst that forbidding group was a young man with a little Vandyke beard, who looked at her with grave, thoughtful eyes. He was a gentleman, she could see that, and her heart leapt within her as she realized that the presence of this man in the fashionably-cut clothes and the most unfashionable pistol meant deliverance from this horrible place.
“Miss Kent,” he said kindly.
She nodded, she could not trust herself to speak. The experience of the past few hours had almost reduced her to a state of collapse.
Jimmy saw the girl was on the verge of a breakdown.
“I am going to take you home,” he said, and added whimsically, “and cannot but feel that you have underrated your opportunities. Not often will you see gathered together so splendid a collection of our profession.” He waved his hand in introduction. “Bat Sands, Miss Kent, a most lowly thief, possibly worse. George Collroy, coiner and a ferocious villain. Vennis, who follows the lowest of all grades of dishonest livelihood—blackmailer. Here,” Jimmy went on, as he stepped aside from the cupboard, “is the gem of the collection. I will show you our friend who has so coyly effaced himself.” He addressed the occupant of the cupboard.
“Come out, Goyle,” he said sharply. There was no response.
Jimmy pointed to one of the ruffians in the room.
“Open that door,” he commanded.
The man slunk forward and pulled the door open.
“Come out, Goyle,” he growled, then stepped back with blank astonishment stamped upon his face. “Why—why,” he gasped, “there’s nobody there!”
With a cry, Jimmy started forward. One glance convinced him that the man spoke the truth, and then——
There were keen wits in that crowd—men used to crises and quick to act. Bat Sands saw Jimmy’s attention diverted for a moment, and Jimmy’s pistol hand momentarily lowered. To think with Bat Sands was to act. Jimmy, turning back upon the “Lot,” saw the life-preserver descending, and leapt on one side; then, as he recovered, somebody threw a coat at the lamp, and the room was in darkness.
Jimmy reached out his hand and caught the girl by the arm. “Into that cupboard,” he whispered, pushing her into the recess from which Goyle had so mysteriously vanished. Then, with one hand on the edge of the door, he groped around with his pistol for his assailants. He could hear their breathing and the creak of the floorboards as they came toward him. He crouched down by the door, judging that the “kosh” would be aimed in a line with his head. By and by he heard the swish of the descending stick, and “crash!” the preserver struck the wall above him.
He was confronted with a difficulty; to fire would be to invite trouble. He had no desire to attract the attention of the police for many reasons. Unless the life of the girl was in danger he resolved to hold his fire, and when Ike Josephs, feeling cautiously forward with his stick, blundered into Jimmy, Ike suddenly dropped to the floor without a cry, because he had been hit a fairly vicious blow in that portion of the anatomy which is dignified with the title “solar plexus.”
It was just after this that he heard a startled little cry from the girl behind him, and then a voice that sent his heart into his mouth.
“All right! All right! All right!”
There was only one man who used that tag, and Jimmy’s heart rose up to bless his name in thankfulness.
“This way, Miss Kent,” said the voice, “mind the little step. Don’t be afraid of the gentleman on the floor, he’s handcuffed and strapped and gagged, and is perfectly harmless.”
Jimmy chuckled. The mystery of Angel’s intimate knowledge of the “Lot’s” plans and of Connor’s movements, the disappearance of Goyle, were all explained. He did not know for certain that the occupant of the “empty” house next door had industriously cut
through the thin party-walls that separated the two houses, and had rigged up a “back” to the cupboard that was really a door, but he guessed it.
Then a blinding ray of light shot into the room where the “Borough Lot” still groped for its enemy, and a gentle voice said—
“Gentlemen, you may make your choice which way you go—out by the front door, where my friend, Inspector Collyer, with quite a large number of men, is waiting; or by the back door, where Sergeant Murtle and exactly seven plain-clothes men are impatiently expecting you.”
Bat recognized the voice.
“Angel Esquire!” he cried in consternation.
From the darkness behind the dazzling electric lamp that threw a narrow lane of light into the apartment came an amused chuckle.
“What is it,” asked Angel’s persuasive voice, “a cop?”
“It’s a fair cop,” said Bat truthfully.
