I took stock of the corridor once more. It was empty, and yet, I felt I was not alone. The hallway stretched for a length that seemed absurdly long even for a grand estate, as if all proportions were off. At the end opposite me, an uncomfortably far distance indeed, I was faced by an oval portrait of a person whose details were too faint to make out. Anemic sconces on either side cast a subtle haze over the portrait’s façade. I tried to walk toward it, as it might be yet another clue, and it was the item pulling focus, the only thing truly lit with any brightness in this dim setting.

But, per that terrible convention of dreams, my least favorite of all the unfortunate tricks of the troubled mind, I could not move. Not forward, not backward. Not that I could go anywhere. A wall was to my back, the corridor’s end. Cool, carved wood paneling crested at the nape of my neck in arched patterns set within the fine mahogany. Leaving me to face the empty corridor with open doors and an unknown portrait. If I found my footing, at least I could go into the other rooms. But what might be in the other rooms was a question I doubted I wanted answered. The corridor answered for me.

With a slam all the doors at once shut of their own accord, and I started, backing against the end of the corridor behind me.

And then, one by one, in a frightening, invisible procession forward, the gas-lit sconces went out. First the lights illuminating the oval portrait went out. Doused. Instantly. Utter blackness lay in direct opposition of my place at the other end. And then from the end of the corridor forward, one by one, each set on either side of the narrow walls were snuffed out as if by a great wind. But there was no wind. And no one there to turn the key. Just an encroaching and all-encompassing darkness, creeping toward me. One set of sconces at a time. Like footsteps, but there were no footfalls. I tried to step back, to turn and run, but still damnably rooted. I tried to call out for someone, anyone, Jonathon’s name upon my lips, but no…

And then the darkness was upon me. My eyes were wide, the blackness thorough. There was a terrible, terrible pause in which I was helpless and sensory deprived.

Then an icy, unseen hand closed around my throat.

“This time you’re coming for me, are you?” came that horrid, familiar whisper of the demon in the pitch dark. Warm breath contrasted its icy strangle as it threw its own words back in my face.

Oh, God. It would be waiting. A congealed but yet incorporeal evil could never truly be killed, could it? It would just keep lying in wait… In New York, or England…it would always know me. Could it ever be bested?

I renounce thee… My mind screamed, words that had helped to keep the beast at bay more than once.

The inhumanly cold vise tightened, and I choked a gasp into the encompassing darkness.

I awoke with a start, nearly hitting my head on Lavinia’s bunk above. Breathing heavy, I choked but managed not to have screamed, which was for the best. I doubted making a scene or a fuss involving others on the boat would have helped my seasick nerves.

I took a moment to wonder what I could have learned from that dream, other than the obvious demonic pall. Clearly, if I was to travel to the Denbury estate, I should do so with a torch in hand. And a weapon. And avoid corridors. Noted. Also, try never to be alone. To be alone in a nightmare was a most despairing condition. Even worse, to be alone with potential dark magic swarming the air.

I thought of someone else alone in her own mind, and I pulled out my trusty notebook, neatly tore out a few pages, and began writing a letter to a girl recovering from demons’ thrall far, far away. A girl who wasn’t nearly as accustomed to loneliness as I had been. Despite all her faults, the Master’s Society had taken too much to additionally take away the one peer, the one possible friend she might still have, and the only one that could actually understand her plight. That was me, and I needed to rise to that designation. For I bet the demon haunted her too.

“Margaret Hathorn,” I murmured to the page before me. “I owe you a letter.”

Chapter Eighteen

 

Dear Maggie,

I would have liked to have written you sooner. But I fell ill. I was, in fact, targeted again, sought out by the demon’s tendrils, and laid low by the Master’s Society’s most recent experimental horrors.

Regrettably, the journey I am on currently will mean it will take even longer for this letter to arrive at your doorstep in Chicago. I embark upon a journey in hopes of resolution, as you have done. I hope you will keep me in your prayers, along with anyone in this dire situation who tries desperately to turn evils around into justices.

From your perspective, considering the expansive and bold contents of your letter, there are things I would like to encourage of you and things I would like to discourage. Not because I think I know any better than you. I chafe at people acting like they “know better” than me. What I write, I write simply because I am trying to take my own advice.

But first, allow me to thank you.

Not for what you did in almost getting us both killed.

But in being willing to reach out, to write a letter, to try and salvage something of what might someday be a truly beautiful friendship. For that, I commend you. It is a brave thing to reach out to another person. I spent most of my life being quite solitary due to my lack of speech, so I understand what breaking isolation means when you’ve been forced by circumstances to withdraw from average society. Society, for you, meant so much more to you than it ever did to me, so I’m sure your separation from it is all the more troublesome.

But, there are always consequences for actions, and this ostracizing is the unfortunate consequence of your letting the demon in. I believe you are weathering it well, but I would not be a friend to you if I did not share my perspective on these most unique and peculiar and dangerous circumstances.

I encourage you to appreciate Chicago for what it is. My trip out west made me only appreciate New York all the more, so I hope you can truly take in the contrasts as perspective. Absence making the heart grow fonder for home will allow you to reclaim your own self more fully upon your return. You are displaced there for a reason. In my case, I did not weather the effects of dark magic well because I was too quickly wrapped up in it once more, snapped back to New York before the evil had worn off. You need this time, distance, and space for cleansing yourself of the spiritual grime and stain of the demon’s making.

I encourage you to listen to the counsel given you there. It is a precious gift. Karen is your guide, as is the lingering presence of lost Amelia. Treasure them as I treasure my deceased mother who yet guides me. Internalize their words and sensibilities down to your core. People like them will save your life. Mrs. Northe gave you the gift and protection of her friends; please see this as her taking care of you. Do not believe for a minute that she doesn’t care. She always has, though she hasn’t always expressed and acted upon it as thoroughly as she should, in my humble opinion. I do believe she grieves for what more she should have done with and for you. Allow her the opportunity to rectify it here, by sending you somewhere safe, with her dearest companions.

I beg you this: do not entertain the Master’s Society’s aims in the least.

Do not try to see the perspective of the darkest nature and lend it credence.

Yes, you must understand the enemy in order to fight it. But thinking it has any right to do what it has done or that its agenda is somehow worth considering only gives it more space to breathe. Like a fire that needs air to expand, do not blow upon the embers of the Society. It is already ablaze in several major cities, and the firefighters may be outnumbered. (Well, at the least the police in all cities are entirely unequipped for these conditions.) We’ll see how it all plays out. There are many conflagrations that require stamping out.

But, I am dead sure that the answers the Master’s Society seeks are to unnatural questions that should not have ever been asked. One cannot invert and pervert the ways of God’s kingdom so. I do not believe that the processes of science are meant to undermine God, but the Master’s Society members are not scientists. They are backward upstarts, seeking to pervert progress unto chaos.

Most of all, do not feed anger and misery. Do not let it grow within you. That’s another way for devils to enter. Don’t give them the threshold. Don’t show them the door.

The phrase of scripture “I renounce thee” will serve you well. If you were not a person of faith before, I encourage you to become one now, in whatever liturgies or practices that empower you, provided they are about love and not hate, graciousness and not omnipotent power, free will rather than enslavement. Otherwise, it is no faith at all but a prison, one in which your mind and soul will rot.

I look forward to all the ways in which we can become better friends and confidants. And, when we’re back in New York, let’s us go shopping, shall we?

Your friend,

Natalie

 

I stared at the nearly sermon-like response I’d crafted, thinking it might sound a little too grandiose or a little too much of a lecture, but the young woman needed help. And true friends gave sermons if they felt that something needed to be said, for the sake of the friend in need. I’d appreciate this if the situations were reversed. The strange calm I had when I was delegating and instructing others was one I wished I had when I turned inward. But that’s the trouble with advice, it’s easy to give and hard to take.

I wasn’t about to reveal my location or any of the latest clues in that letter, as I didn’t feel either were appropriate or useful. And if for some reason this letter were to find its way astray, or heaven forbid, the Society was still after Maggie and had a way of getting to her, I didn’t want anything incriminating or too revealing to cause me (or Jonathon) trouble.

Something I had written unlocked something for me. The natural versus the unnatural. The sequence. Mrs. Northe said the Master’s Society had a penchant for inverting that which had a divine pattern. I would need to consider the orders of the things I would see. In that, I would know where to look for the disorder, the sinister path veering off from that which was right and true. And therein I might find the chink in the armor of dark magic. Deducing its dissembling pattern and righting it again, subverting the subversion back toward something loving. The simple good in the world they sought to upend.

I knew that this battle, this odd adventure, might upend me. Upend my life. Result in the death that Mrs. Northe feared. I wasn’t, despite this impetuous flight, ignoring the base possibilities. But I simply couldn’t give them traction to derail my forward momentum. I couldn’t stop to think enough to talk myself out of what had to be done:

Find Jonathon. Fight. Enlist the best help along the way we possibly could.

Much like how I knew I had to aid Jonathon from the moment his painting changed before my eyes and gave me clues to help him, I had to do this. Make this journey. See this through. Meet the Society face-to-face. I think I’d always known, somewhere deep within me, it would lead to this, from the first moment I heard the demon wax rhapsodic about the Society’s aims there late that night in the Metropolitan.

The world was made by single people doing brave things. Or it was unmade by single people refusing to do what fate decreed.

Chapter Nineteen

 

Another uneventful few days passed where Lavinia and I spoke of life, dreams, and spent nearly a day hashing out our favorite novels. Austen and the Brontë factored in as our lady heroes, though a wealth of Gothic novels crowned Lavinia’s favorite muses above all else. Whereas I gravitated more specifically, solely, to Edgar Allan Poe. Because there was a truth to his words, stories, poetry that resonated with me more than the sweeping romantic gestures of others. Lavinia, like Nathaniel, enjoyed the theatrics. But I understood Poe’s pining, his loss, and also, his horror. That hit, unfortunately, so close to home.

And of course we spoke of our loves and of hopeful futures. We attempted to be consummate ladies on a delightful, carefree journey, taking tea in the finer tea rooms specifically to distract ourselves with pretty place settings. It seemed an unspoken agreement to entirely ignore the dread that sat in my stomach, and I’m sure hers too.

England now was closer than it was farther, and I allowed myself a bit of excitement about docking. I’d be seeing Jonathon, surely. Somehow, I’d find him; I knew names and locations, and perhaps, once we were there, he could take a moment to show me his world, his city, a place I’d always yearned to visit.

A part of me was sure he’d be slightly angry for my making the journey. The rest of me was sure he was absolutely expecting it.

But still, I had to let him know, and as he’d given no itinerary, no specific instructions, I was left to my own devices in terms of communicating with him. So, I used our unique and unparalleled connection: our meeting of the minds and entwining of the souls.

Thusly, I forced myself to dream of Jonathon, and thankfully, enough of me knew my life was on the line to agree to a subconscious demand.

Shockingly enough, no corridor in this dream! I almost didn’t even know I was dreaming. I was presented with an entirely literal dreamscape, at least at first, a desperate telegraph from a desperate woman.

I was standing on the deck of a ship, this ship, the one I would remain on until we arrived to port two days or so from now. There was a great gale around me. I was wet, struggling to stand, hearing the crash of waves upon the steel hull, the splash of water across the deck, feeling the sting of whipped moisture across my cheek, but I held to a rail and shouted into the storm, for there before me, a few paces away, stood Jonathon. He was turned away from me, but as always, distinct.

I knew it was him—black frock coat, black shoulder-length hair whipped back in the wind, his frame, his stance, his height, and the way my heart pulled toward him like a magnet.

“Jonathon, I’m coming for you,” I called.

He whipped around as if he were tossed by the gale, his bright ice-blue eyes luminous in the moonlight, ethereal and otherworldly. His expression was pained.

“That’s what the demon said to you. Do you say that to me…because you have been compromised, my beautiful girl?” he asked, calling across the gale, anguished.

“No… Those were the demon’s words, but that’s hardly what I mean,” I protested, reaching out to him, trying to move forward to him, but the pitch of the ship nearly made me lose my balance. Jonathon reeled a bit and regained his footing, still space between us. “I hope you know I’d never let anything within me hurt you…”

I hated that space between us. I needed to be in his arms, to prove what my words only hinted at. I needed his body fully against mine. I needed to kiss him. To go even further. To accept his proposal and act like the betrothed, with certain permissions… I felt a wave of heat radiate down my body. We were not meant to be so separated. Not in spirit, not in body.

“I am coming to England,” I clarified. “I must help you. Because I need you. I want you.”

He let those words settle in, in the myriad ways I meant them. A lady could say this to the man who was her hero and partner. I could not be ashamed of what neither my body nor my mind knew was right and true.

“Why, Natalie, of course I want to see you. Of course I feel the same. But we don’t know what we’ll face, this was foolish—”

“You know me better than to think I won’t come for you—”

He laughed wearily. “That I do. But take care. People may be on to us. I am not sure when or where we can meet, safely, there is so much sniffing about. We’re trying to be the bloodhounds, but there is an arsenal of similar dogs trying to out us. We’ve tried to play our cards brilliantly, but we maintain constant vigilance.”

“How shall I find you?”

“I will find your steamer. Do you know what day you arrive?”

“Dusk. Two days hence. Lavinia is with me.”

“Oh, is she?”

“She planned this, separately. She’ll not allow Nathaniel to slip away any more than I will you.”

Jonathon smiled. “He’ll be glad to hear it—”

“So he is with you?”

“I seem to attract the best company. Don’t find me, I will find you. And when I do, just… You’ll have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

“I do,” I cried, wishing that were another proposal if not a wedding vow.

He grinned. “We are so lucky our dreams are like letters and telegraphs. Only better, because I get to see you… And oh, look at you, you’re all wet…” His noble voice descended in pitch, to a purr that somehow still carried across the storm.

And suddenly he was the one to close the distance between us. He seized me roughly and drew me into a furious kiss, the saltwater of his lips crashing over mine like the waves upon the ship. My soaked dress revealed the full contours of me to his bold and questing fingertips. Perhaps the fury of the storm was an excuse to be rough with me. Never has a girl so welcomed a squall.

He pinned me against a large cabinet bearing life vests, and this steadied us for our deepening kisses, soft cries, bold and searching caresses. And in this storm, we sunk together into our desperate need, as much of a force of nature as the pitch and roil of the boat. I noted all the ways in which I knew he desired me, and I blushed into the gale, and I wanted more.

I welcomed this abandon that would risk all, as I had always welcomed our physical trespasses. I could not think of anything carnal between us as anything but sacred, for magic had bid us be lovers, and being lovers was its own magic.

“Come to me, then, Natalie Stewart,” he growled, his words thrusting against my ear as he did against my body. “And let’s finish all that we started…”

I woke up perspiring, my nerves making the moisture of the gale real, and my body was alive. Shaking. Humming with titillation. Furious that I was now awake and no longer his willing captive.

It dawned on me that this was the first dream in my memory that wasn’t a nightmare.

This didn’t change the fact that I faced a living nightmare ahead of me.

But for now, my love, my lover, my pride and joy, he transformed a troubled mind into a paradise. Even in the storm.

Chapter Twenty

 

I was taking in what details I could of the English coast as we dropped anchor at Port Brimscombe where we would then make arrangements for a train on to London, and prepared to disembark.

I was rendered breathless by the Port, appreciating the sweeping landscape before me. As dusk set, lamplighters were busy at their trade; creating a winking path of golden streetlamps blazing forth to illuminate the lines and depth of the brisk seawall. Streets ahead led under arches and down busy lanes.

Two other similarly impressive ships as ours had moored ahead of us and the bustle surrounding the docks resembled a swarm of insects over the boats. Ours was apparently the last big ship scheduled in for the evening.

I drank in the sea at twilight, pausing for a moment as the sounds of the harbor washed over me, the chaos and hurry, the business and the comings and goings, meetings and partings. There was great beauty before me; I found myself enthralled by the sound of so many different classes and ranges of accents. I couldn’t worry about how Jonathon would find me, for there were men and women, families, friends, all finding one another, somehow, through the chaos. Bonds will out. Longing and fondness will bring the missing reunited. Surely, it would be a matter of moments… We’d come this far by faith.

What was one more seeking out…

Ports were full of endless possibility, and I sensed the raw emotion of meetings and partings, of dreams setting sail and hopes deferred, of quests and longings, of departing citizens already dearly missed. The charge and power of a harbor was one of the most invigorating hubs of any society, and I thrilled and thrived in it here, as I did in New York. A sea of passengers buffeted around me as I descended the broad gangplank and onto first the wooden dock, then ahead, the cobblestones of the bank street.

When I looked around for Lavinia, realizing I’d been separated from her in the thick of the disembarking masses, she was nowhere to be seen. This was the first swift kick of terror to my gut.

The second came when I was seized and thrown over a shoulder.

And that was a far more terrible terror indeed.

My cry of surprise was lost in the din as I was taken into an alley. I tried to kick, but my legs were held fast, and though I pounded my fists against a broad back, soon another set of hands put a gag around my mouth, seized my wrists, and bound them with a thick piece of fabric, and I was thrown inside a carriage where Lavinia sat wide-eyed, bound and similarly gagged.

We stared at each other, the panic upon our faces was evident, and I prayed so hard that somehow my message to Jonathon in our previous shared dream would mean that since he was expecting me, he’d notice if I’d gone missing. Somehow, he’d come find me. Somehow he’d know how to save me, just as I had done for him. It was what we were meant to do. A princess who saved a prince who saved his princess…

I wondered if Lavinia was thinking the same thing, wondering if somehow Jonathon and Nathaniel were working together, thinking together, plotting, and problem solving together, would rescue us together…

I looked around at our unexpected prison. It was the finest carriage I had ever been inside. It was spacious, an imposing black lacquer space with silver fittings and detailing, with dark green velvet curtains and the same green velvet covering the benches that faced each other.

Lavinia had been deposited across from me, her lovely black gown fitting for this imperious space were she free to enjoy it. But her bright eyes darted about as mine did. I shifted, hefting myself forward, and as the carriage lurched, I came down on my knees on the dark wooden floorboards.

With a groan of pain, I shifted my torso so that my bound hands behind me could fiddle with the carriage handles, seeing if I could open a door. Lavinia watched me with hopeful eyes. The carriage was locked, that was quite clear from my wresting, shifting efforts with the door and the latch that should have opened it. It must have been secured upon the exterior by another lock or pin.

Lavinia nodded, seeing my efforts, and she then tried to stand. Her red tresses jostled against the dark, carved wooden ceiling as she tried to draw back one of the curtains to see out the glass windows we could only glimpse the edges of. But it would seem the corners of the curtains had been secured in a way we couldn’t gain purchase upon, tacked down by ornate silver pins. She tried to wrest the heavy fabric one way, then the other, which only succeeded in her throwing herself inadvertently from one side of the carriage to the other, colliding against the green velvet benches. Her face contorted in a wince of pain.

We sat back down together on the same side, each of us hearing a rip as a hem of our skirts tore. We had no hands to ensure the safe shift of the layers of fabric from one position to another. There was a long moment of us just breathing heavily, swaying and bouncing as the carriage trundled on.

This was the carriage of someone of means. That surely didn’t bode well for us. People with means had many resources at their disposal to do with women what they pleased. I could feel the familiar panic of being in a life or death situation—a feeling I did not like but seemed so ridiculously accustomed to by this point—rise within me, the heat of my body, the thump of my heart, the drying of my mouth, the plummet of my gut, the prickling of my hairs, the desire to scream…but none of that physical reeling would keep me or Lavinia alive. Somehow, my mind remained sound.

I tried to get a sense of where we were, any telling clues of sound or scent, but the jostle of the carriage and the occasional neigh of the horse team that was hefting us along at a great clip was din enough; no details surpassed the clatter. At some point we did cross from cobblestones to earth, so we were heading out of the city proper.

At least an hour passed. Maybe two. Time was hard to tell in captivity and helplessness. The fact of how little we’d slept the night prior was catching up to the both of us, and at one point we realized we’d folded over each other in an exhausted collapse, lulled by the constant rhythm and steady pace of the carriage flying over well-packed paths.

When one of us started awake, the other did, all we could do was look into each other’s eyes and feel empathy. This went on for some time until the carriage came to an abrupt halt with the sound of a male shout, the piercing whinny of the team of horses, a clatter of the harnesses, and a lurch of the cab.

There was the sound of footsteps climbing down from above, the carriage rocking slightly in the effort, a thud of feet on both sides. And the sound of two deadbolts being thrown back, simultaneous. A hand upon each carriage door. The lever turned…

Lavinia and I stared at each other in abject terror. At least one aspect of our fate was about to become clear. Our heads whipped back to each respective door. I wanted to face my abductor and stare him down with whatever strength I could muster.

The doors on either side of the carriage were flung open, and in leaned our captors: two handsome, black-haired gentlemen, looking rather pleased with themselves…

Good God, if it wasn’t Jonathon Whitby, Lord Denbury himself, that leaned into the carriage about a foot away from me, resting on his elbow somewhat jauntily. Nathaniel Veil appeared on Lavinia’s side with an expectant expression, looking like the wild, theatrical twin to Jonathon’s more tamed elegance. But in that moment, I wasn’t thinking of their black-haired beauty; I was only filled with fury as they both broke into grins at our blushing faces.

My cry of, “What in God’s name?” thanks to my gag, came out as one jumbled, inelegant, “Aah ih aw ehh!” I threw my body forward, onto my knees, and tried to say, “You untie me this instant!” but that didn’t come out any better than the first attempt.

I shook my head like a horse trying to throw off its bridle and wrestled my shoulders. Lavinia was, by contrast, sitting quite still and staring.

“I said I’d come fetch you,” he replied, shifting forward to undo my bindings. I didn’t like being tied down when I’d been subjected to the toxin, so I certainly didn’t like it now.

The minute the fabric was unwound from around my mouth, I launched into a tirade, though the language was so much quicker in my head than I was able to spit out. My tongue, due to my disability, still remained at a pace behind my mind, and it only made me blush hotter.

“Jonathon Whitby! You…should be ashamed of yourself. This is not how you treat ladies. Much less ones you’re courting,” I murmured vehemently. “We had no idea what was going on. That was…simply cruel!”

I looked over at Lavinia for support, expecting a mutually incensed young woman.

Instead, I found Lavinia looking rather dreamily at Nathaniel as he undid her bindings. We wore the same blush, blooming brightly, but hers seemed far less borne of anger. As she leaned toward him with hitching breaths, I rolled my eyes. I supposed, in her Gothic novel heart, that this was somehow very romantic.

Jonathon noted with discomfort that I was not so swayed. He opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off.

“Why such a show of abducting us, what good did that do save scare us to death?” I asked, keeping my tone hard. “And I hope you’ll give us the small courtesy of telling us where we’ve been swept off to.”

“It’s good to see you, too, you know,” he said, frowning.

“Don’t you dare pout at me! You nearly drove us mad!” I snapped. I felt my whole body grow hot with the delayed panic, as if the blush were a rapid contagion, my survival instinct now overturned with relief and yet replaced by a thorough and violent anger. “After all we’ve been through, to do something like that? It’s not a game! It’s not a game when I honestly thought I might die,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “When I’m scared I might soon die, with your help or no, these dangerous circumstances—”

Jonathon climbed in the carriage and took me by the arms and spoke earnestly. “I’m so sorry. This was what was advised to us.” I wanted to break away, but his embrace felt divine and his warm breath on my ear so delicious. I cursed giving over easily, though my heartbeat still pounded like the thump of rolling trains. “I thought you’d know it was me.”

“You could’ve said something,” I murmured. I glanced over, glaring at Nathaniel. “You could have whispered something, either of you—”

“No,” Jonathon replied firmly. “We were both advised against that as your body, fight, and struggle would have changed in the moment, and even a hitch could have cost us the ruse. Please understand that we feared eyes upon us, we had to keep up appearances.”

“Advised by who—”

“Gabriel Brinkman,” Nathaniel piped in. I noticed that as he stood at the side of the carriage, Lavinia had gravitated to him, sitting midcarriage between the benches in a pool of black satin and ensconced in her paramour’s arms. I furrowed my brow.

“Ah, Mister Brinkman.” I turned back to Jonathon, pulling back to stare him down fully. “He who ferreted you off without allowing you any chance to tell me you were going?”

Suddenly Lavinia seemed to recover her dignity and self-awareness. “Or me!” she piped in.

Both gentlemen sighed in tandem.

“Time was of the essence. And to tell you the truth, Brinkman so passionately convinced me to just come directly to London that it was precisely the thing to do. I telegraphed a note to Mrs. Northe with addresses I’d found in my searching on the streets of New York, several Master’s Society properties that had that fiery red and gold aura about them, the demon’s mark.”

“You wrote Mrs. Northe, but not me—”

“It was encoded, and nothing could be traced. I didn’t know how to send you something as efficiently that wouldn’t give too much away. Please, Natalie, your need to be included shouldn’t overreach the caution for my safety and that of your own.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” I agreed. “But I do hope you’ll explain why this show of force was necessary.” I fought to take the edge off my voice, trying not to let the tears of panic I’d held back now flow forth in relief and displaced anger. My stubbornness was not so easily worn down.

“Brinkman said that there was a Society tail that he thought was closing in on me in New York, and had reports that things were escalating in England, that the Society was keeping an eye out on any of their scientists, experimenters, and operatives. We chanced that if I returned to England and convinced the Master that I was still my evil half, then they might be more forthcoming in general while giving me leave to move and interact with more freedom.”

My jaw fell open. “You chanced meeting with that man again? He could’ve had you killed!”

“Brinkman was at the ready with police should I have signaled distress. But I convinced the bastard.” A furious flash of pride crossed over his lovely, albeit haunted, face. I wondered if playing the demon again had the same distressing affect that his soul had shown when his body and mind were failing in the painting. “Dragged Nathaniel into it with me, he was brilliant.”

“How did you earn his trust?” Lavinia asked, looking up at Nathaniel, her voice breathy, impressed.

“By saying I wanted to see the breadth of his power as I could see my Association was under attack, and that they indeed had presented themselves as a test group of willing subjects. I told him if I could bring the Association into the fold of something more powerful, then I was willing to become a devotee in turn,” Veil said convincingly.

“I played the same part as before,” Jonathon continued. “I’ve seen the mannerisms and the pointed, eerie ways of the possessed enough to know how to mimic them. He asked questions of my conquests, and I invented elaborate stories.” His shudder inspired my own. “And I made some promises…” And here his expression suddenly grew sheepish.

“Promises? I’m not sure I like the sound of that, Jonathon,” I said, my voice lowering. “What kind of promises?”

“Bait,” Nathaniel replied with a nonchalance that disturbed me. Our respective gentlemen looked at each of us.

“Us?” I was immediately indignant again.

“Only if you’re willing,” Jonathon rushed to reply. “I had a feeling when I met with the “’Master”’ that you’d be coming. Natalie. You have that way about you, a certain predictability…” He offered a fond smile that threatened to undo my indignity. “And I know you want to eliminate these bastards as much as I do.”

“Or I could convince others within my Association here in England,” Nathaniel added. “In no way did we predicate this plan on the assurance of your involvement, most esteemed ladies. I am sure I could find other willing women—”

“I’ll do it,” Lavinia blurted. I set my jaw and nearly growled.

“But…” Jonathon leaned forward again to cup my face in his palm. “It would be far better to have the bravest woman I know there at my side. To have someone beside me who knows the enemy better than anyone else? That’s the safest option. For in the baiting, there is the trapping, the snaring of the fox.” Here his bright eyes lit with determination.

“Go on,” I urged. The fact that we were discussing intense and dangerous plans while in an open carriage was questionable, but they must have taken us somewhere far from civilization indeed, as all I could hear outside were the sounds of nature and wildlife at night.

Jonathon continued excitedly. “Brinkman will have guards posted in the secret passages of my home, and just when the true depth of the depravity is revealed, as I hope to get him onto one of his rhapsodies about his plans, the authorities will swoop in and apprehend the villain.”

“And the context of this baiting?” I queried pointedly.

Lavinia looked at me with a certain overwhelmed gratefulness, as if it was all she could do just to keep up and she was glad someone was asking the right questions. This kind of mindset and these sorts of situations were not the kind of thing any “good, upstanding” young woman would ever have been trained for. I simply had grown somewhat accustomed to the sort of twisted tale I seemed to have lived into, a strange extension of the countless adventure novels I consumed and loved since I could read.

“Why, you bring all the best bait to a lavish dinner party, of course,” Veil replied with a winning smile. “A meeting of the depraved minds.”

“I am hoping it will bring out others within the Master’s Society for their arrest,” Jonathon added.

“But…” I began, furrowing my brow. “Couldn’t that mean we might end up being outnumbered? For what if Brinkman can’t be trusted? What if he is just serving us all up directly into the hands of the enemy? Who vouches for this stranger who just conveniently, unexpectedly, showed up in our lives?” I thought about the day he swung uninvited into our carriage near Central Park, and this abduction plan seemed like his handiwork indeed. I wondered if he was lurking somewhere nearby, listening to everything. “Arriving knowing more about you than I’d like a stranger to know?”

“He isn’t about to serve us up,” Jonathon said gravely. “He’s playing the double agent just as I am. Though unlike me, he’s not doing his part as a possessed creature. But he is entwined in the same dangerous game, I assure you. Playing for life or death. For someone he loves.”

“Trust us on that count,” Nathaniel murmured. Though I didn’t know the situation, from the look on both their faces, something horrible was at stake, and I felt a pang of pity for Brinkman. To have garnered such an unquestioning response, it must be something terrible indeed.

I nodded, though something nagged at me that I couldn’t shake, the certainty that this couldn’t possibly go smoothly, no matter how well thought out or imagined.

“You still haven’t answered where we are.”

“Ah, yes, that!” Jonathon smiled. “Now that we’re away from watching eyes and listening ears, I shall present our next task. Surveillance.” He offered his arm. Glancing over at Nathaniel, he did the same; a matching set of black sleeves, a similar engaging smile, a glimmer in Nathaniel’s dark eyes was mirrored as well as in Jonathon’s ice-blue ones. It was clear these two were best friends, kindred spirits, and impossible to resist. Even after kidnapping. “Shall we?”

Chapter Twenty-One

 

The gentlemen helped Lavinia and me out of the carriage, and we stepped down onto soft green moss. From what I could see by the lit lanterns hung on each corner of the fine carriage, we were surrounded by trees, the team of horses having stopped in a little clearing. A bright moon hung high in the sky.

The horses were steaming with their exertion, seeming very glad to be nibbling at grass once Nathaniel removed their bits and patted their sweaty hides. He spoke to the two horses with such fondness, calling them by name, so I now knew this was his carriage, his team. Veil had done well for himself, it would seem, for those were just as fine a set of horses as the carriage itself was of the highest caliber. Perhaps he had a few wealthy patrons. I knew nothing of his lineage, but this wasn’t the time to ask, as a peculiar arrangement lay before us.

A few paces ahead of us sat a circular, dark brick wall draped in climbing ivy that just surpassed Jonathon’s tall height.

He took two of the lanterns from the carriage’s four exterior hooks, then handed one to Nathaniel and  strode forward, the beams of light bouncing and illuminating only lush greenery around us. The rest beyond was thorough darkness. Jonathon fished in his pocket before procuring a large iron key that he inserted into just as large of a lock. The solid metal gate opened with a rusty groan, and Jonathon gestured all of us forward.

He led us within the curved wall. Inside were the long-lost remnants of an untended garden that may once have been exquisite.

Up the path sat a small, single-story cottage of dark brick that was nearly entirely overgrown with ivy and climbing roses. The roses, either white or pale pink, I couldn’t quite tell in the light, were the only things looking thoroughly healthy in the area, their tumbling glory utterly unheeding the dilapidation of the building they climbed upon.

We walked carefully up an overgrown flagstone path. Weeds and briars slapped and snagged at my skirts. Jonathon led us up to a splintering wooden door.

This reminded me of a fairy tale. We had somehow crossed into an enchanted forest, and in this hut we would encounter either profit, an oracle, a witch, or some other Grimm doom. Though I had to admit, the scenery had more romance than magic or dread to it, wistfully abandoned.

I wasn’t sure what this place was or once had been, let alone how we could attempt surveillance from so remote a location. Though I had no direct experience with English lords, I’d seen enough of the wealthy to know what an estate was and was not. This was not an estate. But it was curious indeed.

The same large iron key opened the door, paneled in shaded glass as if wanting to keep something within obscured. If there were windows, I couldn’t see them in the darkness for the coverings of ivy and rose briars.

“Where are we?” I asked, looking around at the interior of the small, dusty cottage.

Jonathon took a thin taper sitting on the plate of a sconce by the door and began lighting the candles and lanterns within the place, and pool by pool of light revealed an intriguing space.

While petite, it was lavishly appointed, having obviously kept someone in great state. But considering the forest and wall around it, someone kept hidden.

“It’s a bit of family history,” Jonathon replied with an odd discomfort. “We’re here on Denbury property, but property only known to a few, and accessed by none. I was grateful the carriage path was still somewhat navigable when I first retread it the other day, though I had to take a scythe to it to truly open it back up again. All of this dates back to my great-grandfather’s time...”

“A lady was kept here,” Lavinia stated, picking up dusty, fine lace doilies and distinctly ladies’ accessories: a stray glove, a fan set onto the mantle of a marble fireplace, a vanity placed rather prominently in a room that wasn’t a bedroom, but... “It all looks like one large ladies’ boudoir,” she added.

Nathaniel strode over to a set of lush, thick red velvet curtains and swept one back, revealing an enormous four-poster bed that was nestled into an alcove crowned by an elaborate trim. Or, it would seem it was a bedroom after all.

Jonathon cleared his throat. “Yes. Supposedly, my great-grandfather had quite a precious secret that he wanted to keep quite hidden indeed.”

“On his own property?” Nathaniel said, seeming a bit more impressed than he should have been. If this was going where I thought it was, this was not something a gentleman should aspire to. “I suppose the secrets kept close to home are the most titillating...” he added, tossing a burning glance at Lavinia, who held his gaze and returned it.

I refrained from folding my arms and looking at Jonathon pointedly, though I truly wanted to make him squirm a bit. The sight of the bed had me blushing again, and I cursed my revelatory cheeks. Thankfully, there were other mysteries of the place to catch attention.

Turning away, I gestured to an immense, intriguing door, a massive wrought iron contraption beautifully decorated with floral and ivy patterns, and then gestured back to the smaller door we’d come in through, the one that led out to the little walled garden one might expect of an average cottage. “If that is the front door,” I began, then gestured back to the ornate metal garden, “then where does this lead?”

Jonathon swung the door wide. A big black chasm was revealed, with stairs leading down into a dark corridor. The first few steps were white marble. Everything else was entirely in shadow.

“To the estate,” Jonathon replied. He couldn’t hold my gaze as I blinked at him.

“So what you’re saying is that…” I said slowly, “you’ve brought us to the secret mistress cottage that is connected to your estate?” Now I felt justified in folding my arms and glowering. “That’s…that’s what’s going on here?”

“Great-Grandfather’s cottage, this wasn’t like some family tradition,” he clarified, clearly trying to justify this whole presentation as an extreme outlier. “He was an infamous rake, excessive, mad to the point of abject hedonism. My family has worked very hard to restore the Denbury reputation.”

“But still, kidnapping and then bringing the lady you’re courting to the mistress’s cottage?” I countered. Again, I looked over to Lavinia for support in my indignation. I don’t know why I bothered. She was staring rapturously at Nathaniel. I folded my arms, turning back to Jonathon. “Well, it doesn’t strike the best tone.”

“I realize that, but none of this is about you, Natalie,” Jonathon said, bracing me as if that might be a shocking revelation. I scowled. He continued. “And none of this should be seen in the eyes of courtship but of necessity. Everything I have done is about getting into my estate, unseen, still keeping up the guise until I am absolutely certain I could have no possible trail on us in order to safely survey the situation. This is the perfect vantage point, to enter from a secret passage. There will be ways to spy and listen in without ever being seen. In addition, no one in the house—”

His face flashed with fury. “None of those fools who don’t belong there as it is not their house could know about any of this, not the passages, anything.” He gestured around him to this unusual setting. “This was a very well-kept secret only between my mother, father, and me. We told none of our staff. The knowledge was bequeathed to my father when his father passed. Since this was a good escape route or hiding place in any emergency, we felt there was no sense sealing it off.”

A fleeting glimmer of sorrow passed over his beautiful face. I assumed thinking of his late parents caused a pang, and I wondered at his strength of confronting all this; a house and family were taken from him, and here he was poised to survey it as if it wasn’t even his anymore. Well, it wasn’t; it had been stolen. But justice would be done. In the end. It had to be. But there were no certainties for us. His resilience in the face of it all was truly astonishing.

Jonathon continued further. “You and Lavinia will be safe here while Nathaniel and I see if the house is occupied or indeed as abandoned as Brinkman indicated it might be from recent exterior surveillance.”

“You mean to leave us here?” I clarified quietly.

“It would be for the best,” Nathaniel stated.

“No, I am coming with you,” I declared.

Jonathon shook his head. “I knew you’d say that, but, Natalie, my dear—”

“If we are about to be bait, as it were, I’d like to know what may be in store. I want to know where and what I might be—perhaps literally—dragged into. As you say, I don’t need to be visible, but waiting here will be maddening—”

“Well, then, if you’re so insistent about it, Miss Stewart,” Nathaniel interrupted crisply, “then we should take every precaution. If we are discovered during this surveillance excursion, we’ll need to play our parts.” He reached into the pockets of his long black frock coat and plucked out the bindings he’d taken off Lavinia, unfurling them through his long fingers once more. He turned to Lavinia with smoldering attention.

Nathaniel grasped Lavinia’s hand and brought it to his lips. “My lady. Would you permit me this little ruse once more? It’s just a game,” he purred.

Lavinia bit her lip, nodded, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she swayed a bit as if her knees were suddenly weak.

I balled my fists, and that blushing flare of fury lit up over my body once more.

“It is not a game, Mister Veil. It never has been. Perhaps this all seems like a grand act to you, but please remember people have died in this game. Your dear friend and myself, included. Not to mention your Association, too, if they’re not careful.”

The imperious actor turned a sober look to me. “If we don’t make it a game, Miss Stewart, pretend we’re not frightened, how in God’s name will we have the courage to do what must be done?” he countered earnestly. “I stared into the eyes of that so-called “Master” of it all, and the soullessness I saw there, the pit left behind once all humanity has been removed...” He shuddered. “It defies description. And I’m very good with words. Perhaps you think me just an arrogant, carefree player after all. But I thought I glimpsed understanding when we met. I thought you saw, as Jonathon has always seen, that I take the terror I choose to counter with levity deathly seriously.”

I nodded, looking away, contrite. He took a step closer to me, waiting to meet my eyes again. When we did, he added, “But you’re not wrong to make sure of it.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

I felt the pressure of Jonathon’s hand in mine. I smiled up at him weakly. “Lead on then, Lord Denbury,” I said, holding out my hands for him to make me out to be the captive again.

He smiled at me gently and was just as gentle as he took the fabric from his breast pocket and wrapped up my wrists, making it look like an intense bind, but it did not chafe in the least. “Thank you for placing your trust in me, Natalie. I do not take it for granted.”

“That makes two of us,” Nathaniel said to Lavinia, running a finger down her blushing cheek.

“How can the devils beat such a blessed team?” I asked, returning his smile.

Oh, but how I knew they’d try.

I closed my eyes a moment as Jonathon did up my hands again, trying to block out thoughts of how the toxin had overtaken me, how I’d been tied down for fear of harming others. How embarrassing. This was not much better, this show of humiliation.

I tried not to think of the helpless position this put us in, how as women we were expected to be the “bait” for demons, as I’d chosen to be once before at the Metropolitan, to lure out evil so that I might best it with a countercurse. That we were constrained to do so was inescapably sickening to me. I was aware that society relegated us to second-class citizens, though I believed with all my heart women were equal creatures under the God that I knew. Human law and opinion just needed to catch up with the divine. Just because I could play the game of my world did not mean I was complicit to it otherwise. Jonathon must have read the struggle on my face; surely he could feel it, for what he offered was a salve:

“I take no pleasure in anything that would give you discomfort, Natalie. I would never subject you to something I didn’t know you could handle with the most impressive aplomb.”

“Thank you, dear,” I replied, opening my eyes to take in his kind gaze. He’d always been as much of my champion as I was of myself. Bless him for that. “Thank you. For such a thing as this is not easy to stomach.”

“For a girl like you, hardly,” he said with a little laugh. “And I’d not have that any other way.” He tied the knot of the bindings, loose in truth, but looking quite thorough to an outside eye. He kissed me fondly on the cheek and stepped away.

Jonathon took his carriage lantern, Nathaniel, too, and as he went down the marble steps ahead, he called back to us. “Wait one moment, ladies, while we light the torches on ahead.”

A dank, dark corridor was revealed beyond the descending set of stairs. The fine trappings near the mouth of the corridor, presumably all that a lady ensconced in that private cottage would have seen, were enough of a courtesy. But the route to get to her was something else entirely.

Jonathon and Nathaniel darted back up the corridor and up the marble slab stairs to fetch us. They led us each by the elbows down into the corridor, taking care with our balance. None of us were in a rush, as everything had an oppressive weight of dread about it. Poor Jonathon, who should have been so excited to return home. Now home was enemy territory that had to be approached by subterfuge...

The connecting passage was like an endless tomb. Dirt-packed walls were reinforced by wood and stone beams. The soot of torches and lanterns smeared big black tongues up the slightly arched ceiling that was not far above our heads. An interminable length lay ahead of us. Jonathon and Nathaniel had only lit the periodic torches for a few paces on, but Jonathon held out a lit taper. I assumed there were more yet to light. I wasn’t necessarily claustrophobic by nature—after all, I lived in New York City—but this would try anyone’s sense of space.

None of us felt compelled to say anything. I had a thousand questions as to what to expect, but I doubted Jonathon could offer me any answers. We were playing this game entirely by ear. I tried not to think about any number of my nightmares where terrible things happened down long corridors where I was, for all intents and purposes, trapped... When Jonathon and Nathaniel lit the lamps, I just prayed they would stay lit for us and not be snuffed out by God knows what... Hadn’t I promised myself I’d avoid corridors? I was the worst tempter of fate that ever lived.

I had no sense of time or length of passage other than a great deal of it. Finally the mouth of it seemed to widen as if we’d come to the estuary of a river. Before us lay another set of stairs. Out from the tunnel rose another large metal door. Jonathon ascended the set of stairs, fished for the same key in yet another impressive iron lock, and was very careful to turn the lock slowly so that the latch would not echo.

“Stay quiet until I can determine if we’ve any measure of cover or safety,” Jonathon whispered.

He gestured us through the door and into a strange space beyond, a little landing, wooden panels all around us and a few strange pipes, levers, and meters and small vertical slots in the panels before us. He very slowly shifted a lever, and a slot opened. There was darkness beyond. A sliver of light could be seen far in the distance.

“What’s on the other side?” Lavinia whispered.

“Our library.” He peered into the dim vertical opening once more. “Obviously, no one is feeling literarily inclined at the moment,” Jonathon replied, still in a whisper.

“What is all this?” I gestured around me to the other levers, which I assumed may be other peep holes, but that didn’t explain the pipes or meter.

“When the house was fitted with gas fixtures,” Jonathon began, still keeping his voice hushed, “my father became rather entranced with the secret passages and with their possible advantage. I always thought he was a bit paranoid, but now I wonder if he actually was on to something. He was so protective of Mother, all my life, terrified of losing her, that I thought he was going a bit mad over it. I wonder if some part of him foresaw their doom...” Jonathon looked at the wooden landing beneath our feet. “I know Mother had a suitor early in her life that had caused her trouble. She’d only mentioned it briefly, when she was instructing me how to be a proper gentleman. It would seem he’d proven the very opposite. I hope I wasn’t blind, that there was something I should have seen, been forewarned—”

I placed my hand on his arm. “You mustn’t think like that. There’s nothing you could have done, truly. And you have become the good and proper gentleman she’d be so proud of...”

He offered me a strained smile before shaking his head as if casting off something he didn’t wish to consider further. He continued. “Father had a device fitted here”—he gestured to a little open-faced dial with a needle—”that tells us if any of the gas lines have been turned anywhere in the house. The needle is down, so that indicates no lamps have been turned. And he had every room fitted, even the kitchens. Told no one but Mother and me about this little area, as we were the only ones to know about the passages themselves. I never dreamed I’d actually have cause to use them. So by the lamp theory, no one is here at this hour, as staff, if any were here to attend to anyone present, would always be awake at this time.”

I nodded. I nearly offered the critique that demons could likely act in the darkness, but I wasn’t sure if that would be helpful. My body seemed to know when they were present before my mind had any registry, and while I was tense, there were no telltale hairs rising on the back of my neck. Not yet.

“And now we listen,” he added, gesturing to a small phonograph-like bell. “There is a pipe from each room to carry any noise. It’s frighteningly sensitive. Father never made it a habit to hide here, he wasn’t mad about it, but he did threaten me never to keep secrets, as he said he’d hear everything like the ear of God.” He chuckled again, and this time didn’t bother to blink back a tear.

The poor man still had never had time to grieve. There had been no proper funeral for his parents. There had been no closure. My heart seized with an ache and a love so pure and raw. He hadn’t spoken of them much since we’d met. I could see now that was only because speaking of them was so fraught with melancholy and wistfulness for the time wrongfully stolen from their lives.

“Do keep quiet and your breathing shallow, friends,” Jonathon bid, “and let’s see if anything picks up.”

We listened. Only the occasional creak of an old house. No stirring of any presence, no footsteps, no words, snores, no rustling or shifting. An uncanny blanket of quiet.

“It would seem we are indeed alone, but I still say we proceed with caution. If anyone finds us, we play our parts. However, I’m not sure the bindings will be necessary. I’d rather do without them,” Jonathon said, and in a moment I was free once more.

“I’ll hold it in case,” I said, keeping the fabric clutched in one of my hands.

With my other hand, I pressed against the stays and laces of my corset and felt the ridge of the small, sharp scissors I’d been yearning for earlier. I undid one hook and eye of my bodice near my navel to allow for a quick plucking out of the blade. The small comforts were profound.

Nathaniel untied Lavinia’s wrists, and I wasn’t sure which of them lost control, but suddenly their lips were as locked as their arms were around one another. Perhaps the quiet tension simply had been too much for them. In unison, Jonathon and I turned away as if we didn’t notice.

But I thought I saw Jonathon smirk as he took my hand and led me forward, pressing his hand into the darkness. With the drop of a clunking lever, a panel swung forward into the library we’d been scouting. We left the panel open for the entwined couple; they’d see to it as they would.

I looked around in wonder at the dim library, rectangular and tall, with floor to ceiling books, lit only by the moonlight streaming in from behind the arched French windows curtained in lavish fabric. But Jonathon didn’t linger here. I think he was too concerned with getting to the heart of the estate to truly take stock, for he moved forward with specific intent. The library led into a grand corridor with chandeliers dropping down periodically throughout the length of it, sweeping out into an open area beyond, likely the main foyer.

Everything ahead was shadowed and glittering silver, all the finery, all the mirrored and crystalline surfaces, the golden frames around still lifes and landscape paintings and well-polished wood. It was the hallway of a palace, with arches marching forward, everything dim save for a wildly bright moon that sent light in at odd angles to bounce off any responsive surface and make the hall look as if it were enchanted. I was, certainly.

He looked back to me, to why I’d paused, and his furrowed brow eased. He bowed slightly and tried to hide the pain in his expression, but I was too accustomed to that beautiful face to miss it. “Allow me to welcome you to Rosecrest, my lady.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

As he righted himself, I curtseyed deeply. “My esteemed Lord Denbury, it is an honor to be here,” I replied with soft earnestness. He broke into a smile. A genuine smile like I’d not seen for some time, a flame of his pride returning, and it was as if one of the gas lamps had been lit in the room. But it was only his eyes. The moonlight did all the rest. “I love the name of it,” I added eagerly. “Rosecrest...”

“Dates back in something of our lineage to the War of the Roses. I’m not sure what’s fact and what’s familial aggrandizing.” He chuckled.

And at the mention of family, there again came the pain, like a veil being drawn over those seraphim features of his. He reached up to turn the key of a gas lamp before thinking better of it, keeping signs of activity at a minimum. There was moonlight enough.

We set to wandering the quiet, dark, enormous old house. To say it was eerie was perhaps the understatement of my life.

And yet it was so arrestingly exquisite. Eerie didn’t bother me. Eerie was enticing, the kind of setting where a soul could give over to romance, a place for passionate whispers and stolen clutches in dark corners, surrounded by shadowed beauty on all sides. Frightening was a different story, a shade darker on the palette. At the moment, we were firmly in the color of eerie, and I was content to stay in its entrancing hue.

Rosecrest was the kind of grand, palatial manor that would be its own character in a famous tale. Old and mid-eighteenth-century Gothic, it was everything a Brontë would have written about and that in any other case or company, I’d have unabashedly swooned over.

But I didn’t need to make a show of any of that here, as it would have been a bit much. For Lavinia soon caught up with us and took that particular helm, her black layers as slightly askew as her coiffure, Nathaniel looking a bit smug behind her. His long black coat swept the floor as he stalked into the main foyer, making him look like these surroundings were one of his stage sets.

As my far more theatrical compatriot, Lavinia did all the sighing and exclaiming over the manor for me. Nathaniel was quite used to the place but seemed to love seeing it through Lavinia’s eyes, and their impassioned, nearly childlike wonder was so refreshing against the anxieties that had my shoulders so tensed.

Allowing for momentary curiosity, I watched them. After that furious kiss of theirs in the underground corridor, I wondered if Nathaniel Veil, the Gothic Don Juan, was growing to favor Lavinia in the ways that I hoped, as I wanted her to be his foremost paramour. She was too much of his kindred spirit not to be, and her unbridled rapture at the estate was endearing and contagious. After a particularly rhapsodic ode where Lavinia exclaimed about the moonlight through the massive, arching window that illuminated the grand wood and marble staircase to upper floors “as a portal into the night court of the realms of faerie,” I did feel compelled to add my own compliments to her panoply.

“It is so very beautiful, Jonathon,” I murmured. “Breathtaking. All of it. And it is yours. That must not be in doubt. I know everyone involved will make sure justice is served for you and for this wondrous place,” I reassured with all the confidences I could muster. I was sobered by how hard this all had to be for him. I reached out and pressed his hand in mine as he took us through the length of the main foyer.

“Why would the Society just abandon this treasure?” Lavinia exclaimed.

“Oh, they haven’t abandoned it, it was overtaken by a nouveau riche family that fancied themselves landed and titled—or at least are trying to be—in a home they had no right to buy as it was stolen not sold, though they changed our family crests anyway,” Jonathon growled. “The Society acts as landlord. Per Brinkman’s exterior surveillance, it would seem that both the family and Society persons do come and go, but no one here has kept any permanent staff on retainer,” Jonathon replied. “Considering the Society’s penchant for experimentation, we need to be prepared for any number of things to be taking up space in my estate.” The grim resignation in his tone spoke again of his amazing resilience. I took his hand again, and this time I just didn’t let go of it as we continued the tour.

Thankfully, there were no obvious vials of “The Cure.” No apparent wires leading to reanimate corpses stowed away in any of the upstairs guest rooms, fine set after fine set as they were. It would seem the Society kept the grand home as it was, rather than using its great resources as another testing ground. At least we hoped. Jonathon and Nathaniel ran downstairs to the kitchens and cellars and came back up shrugging, the place empty. For Jonathon’s sake, I was so glad, though it continually felt like a calm before a storm. Like we were missing something.

I grew utterly overwhelmed by the vastness of the place, two long wings of bedrooms, studies and sitting rooms interrupted by the occasional alcove or balcony that looked down over the main foyer or the elegant ballroom, the whole of the house done up in a synthesis of dark, carved wood, archways, and stained-glass accents.

Eventually, we descended to the west wing and swept into the dining room. It was lavish, immense, full of dark woods and sparkling crystal, hard to take in at once for all the details and finery.

But it was all the portraits lining the walls, hung above the wooden paneling in grand, gilt frames that caught my eye.

It was a family, a well-heeled gentleman of middle age, two youths standing as if they were already adults to his left, a boy and a girl, bookended by a wide-eyed woman in lavish gown that seemed to be trying a bit too hard. The whole presentation was a bit too ostentatious to be tasteful, a sign of the striving classes I’d learned from one of Maggie Hathorn’s rambling monologues.

I blinked. And in that moment, my vision swam a bit, as everything went out of focus within the frames. My throat went dry.

“Oh no, Jonathon,” I said, suddenly dizzy with the further descent of dread that pitched my stomach. “The house isn’t empty.”

I pointed to the paintings. All of which had changed when I blinked. Each stoic form had suddenly shifted. All of them reached out their hands, open palms, desperate. Reaching out to me. Souls reaching out for help. Just as Jonathon had done when he was imprisoned in canvas. So the Society had brought its evil unto Rosecrest after all.

“This house isn’t empty at all,” I said in a choking whisper. “It’s full of trapped souls.”

The four of us, collectively, shuddered in that quiet, lavishly appointed dining room with those four tragic portraits.

“Is it...just me...” Lavinia began hesitantly, “or did the paintings...”

“Change,” I replied. “Yes. They are alive. In a way. The souls of those persons are trapped inside the canvass. Perhaps that’s the family that took over the estate?”

I asked Jonathon, but he had turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look.

“It’s what happened to me,” he murmured bitterly. “My soul was trapped within while my body was overtaken by a demon. The family that the Society sold this place to were mere vessels. Cursed into servitude to the Society’s ungodly bidding.”

“But, Jonathon, my love, we know the countercurse,” I murmured, going to him, finding that looking away from the paintings was much better than looking at them. “Hope is not lost. The Society can’t know the basic weapons we have.”

“But we need their bodies,” Jonathon said mournfully. “To throw the demons into the frame and rip the souls back where they belong...”

“Then let’s be sure their demon-ridden selves are invited to our little dinner party,” Nathaniel replied.

“I suppose that is the only option we have,” Jonathon muttered. “Throw the counter-curses before the police make arrests. I just hope the spy Brinkman and my solicitor contact, Mr. Knowles, have evidence enough no matter what the devils may try.”

Jonathon stalked away. I gestured with a look to Lavinia and Nathaniel that it might be best if I went after him alone.

“We’ll be in the foyer,” Lavinia whispered. “As being here is just too...” She stared up again at the imprisoned family with an expression of horrified pity and shuddered once more, darting out in an opposite direction from Jonathon, Nathaniel behind her.

I took the route Jonathon took, listening to his footfalls, ignoring how much the corridors of his estate reminded me of my dreams. Dreams where something was always coming after us or keeping us apart. But unlike my dreams, here I could move. Here I could be active. Bold. Cross distances, be they physical or emotional.

I finally found him at the end of the next hall, as the door was open and I could see his silhouette near the doorway, a lamp lit in a small but grand little room...a study...

The study.

This was the room that Jonathon had been painted in. The study whose likeness had been his prison.

I recognized every detail of the finely appointed room, the stately furniture, expensive Persian rugs, the desk with gold-plated implements, leather chair, towering bookcases, the mantel with fascinating instruments and treasures, the grand window looking out to the darkened lands beyond, I recognized every detail. He turned a lamp, and everything took on the hues I’d been accustomed to. So much... So much had happened in this place. In the likeness of this place... It was surreal to see it real...

He must have heard me approach as I hadn’t tried to quiet my footfalls and spoke quietly: “I wasn’t sure I wanted to see it again. But now that I do, it’s all right.”

He turned to me, his beautiful face increasingly haunted the more time he spent in this house, and I moved to his side, reaching up as if magnetized to caress his cheek with my fingertips, to try and erase those wearying lines and darkening circles below those arresting eyes.

“It is all right, Natalie,” he insisted. “Because you’re here and we’re on the other side. I am reminded of what was always real. The demons can’t take my love of this place away from me. I won’t let them. Nothing can take my love away, be it this place or you...”

He dragged me into the room, to the center of it, the axis of where our love had blossomed.

And there he seized me and kissed me ravenously, hungrily, and I gave over to him, giving him my weight, letting him hold me, responsive to him in my sighs and in the way I let my mouth tease his, a conversation of the flesh.

This was so much better than my dream, in the throes of that storm. Here—he was right—I was reminded of what was real, and our passion was the most real thing I knew; it burned in me with a flame that could rival the fires of every fireplace in this grand estate. This desperate embrace was so much more vibrant and raw than when our souls had kissed, and I had been pressed up against the very bookshelf near us.

The situation we were in was so intense that it needed release, it needed love. Declarations of it. Displays of it. I understood what had driven Nathaniel and Lavinia to just such an explosion; it was far better than the alternative of fear and loneliness. I suddenly felt invincible, as there was nothing in the world but him and he wanted me as achingly as I did him.

And then suddenly he withdrew and I wobbled on my feet, having given over so wholly to his hold. He dropped to his knee, staring up at me, his previously haunted face now flushed with desire, given new life.

“Here. Now,” Jonathon said, his breath between words coming in hitches. “You can’t deny me, Natalie. I need to know that we face the horrors ahead together. Till death do us part. Marry me. Please.”

He fished in his breast pocket and plucked out a beautiful rose-gold band set with a deep garnet in it, a gorgeous and elegant piece. I stared at it, at him, frozen in a sudden and overwhelming bliss, drinking in his glorious words as he continued: “I’ve kept this in my pocket every day, undaunted. Waiting for the right moment to make this right, to make us right. Heaven sent you to me, and I must have you. We’ll be stronger for our union. On this day and for what lies ahead. I need you now to make a pact, together, here our love takes a stand against our enemies. Here in this haunted house, I need you to become my Lady Denbury—”

“Yes,” I gasped. “I will.” I dropped to my knees beside him, taking his trembling fingers up in mine and helping him slide the ring onto my finger where it fit perfectly as if he’d had it made for me. Perhaps he had. I stared into those beautiful eyes, and for the first time in a while, I smiled with sheer joy. “I do. My lord. My love. I must be your Lady Denbury...”

I kissed him with the kind of passion I’d only dreamed about, allowing everything within me to channel through my kiss. This kiss was a medium to call forth all the spirits of my adoration, hopes, dreams, desires, and needs.

We sunk from our knees onto the floor together, wrapped up in layers of fabric and tangling sleeves and locks of hair that caught on buttons and ribbons and latches and laces as our caresses and kisses travelled. This time I didn’t need to dream the storm. We were the storm.

Eventually, he drew back, as there was a line we did not dare cross though our bodies betrayed our intentions in a way that was unmistakable. Not yet. Not here. Not on the floor of a study.

In the instant we both pulled away, knowing that if we didn’t we’d pull away clothing instead, the rush of cold air in contrast to our built up heat sobered us. The slow, creeping dread of what we both knew lay ahead and the roles we had to play was like a ghost haunting us out of the corners of our eyes. I could see my own sentiments reflected upon Jonathon’s lovely face. My poor heart had swung in sickening pendulum swoops, careening from frightened to exhilarated, lovesick to impassioned, panicked to joyous. My life as presented to me was one of extremes.

I glanced to the side, out the door of the study. That was the corridor of my nightmares. Precisely. I stood, attempting to smooth my dress, my hair, all my undone strings and clasps. As I did and Jonathon rose to stand beside me to do the same to his own rumpled layers and undone buttons, I stared down at my new treasure.

“Should I hide the ring?” I asked, biting my lip. I blushed with pride and excitement to see it there.

“No, it’ll keep me strong, seeing it there, as I have to play the part of the wretch. It will remind me that you trust me. It will remind me why we’ve taken the fight to this house. Because you will be Lady Denbury. Because Mother would approve...” His voice cracked as he said it, but he stared at me with adoration that pierced through his still-fresh pain.

I dived in again to press my lips to his before stepping back once more to smile, radiant; no threat could take the purity of this love away from me. I would be Lady Denbury. I would fight for this love. This house. For what God had brought together, let no demon sunder.

Still, there were details to consider.

“What if one of the ‘Majesties’ sees or asks about the ring? How attune to detail are they? Will an affianced woman affect their ‘ritual’...” I shuddered.

“I’ll say it was a pretty bauble I gave to you in order to toy with you,” he replied. I shuddered again.

“Do you have any idea what will be asked of me? As ‘bait’?”

“Nathaniel and I will be theatrical, make suggestions to appease the Majesty and any who might come with him, but Brinkman will send in the brigade before anything is actually done. We’ll keep things vague, I promise. It’s your presence that I think he’ll assume is done in good ‘faith’ as it were.” He sounded very confident, but I wasn’t sure if that was for my benefit or his own reassurance.

He continued: “Tonight we’ll stay at the cottage. Tomorrow, I go into London, meet with the Majesty, and set a time for a party,” he said with false cheer. “There we encourage others within his Society to attend, as the scope of the organization and its possible members has been impossible to track down or ascertain. Then, I meet with Brinkman and the helpful solicitor Mister Knowles to update them. Together we’ll see if we’ve enough straight evidence to arrest more than one person. We’re trying to drive as many roaches out with light as possible, but the stage theatrics might be necessary for the results to be more damning.”

I nodded. It was as sound a plan as I could hope for. We would have friends on our side. And hopefully the police. But in matters such as this, where every belief was wholly tried, I wasn’t sure I could count on traditional law enforcement to quite be the security force it should be. For an age so obsessed with death, with mourning and spirits and the sciences of the unexplained, when something actually defied what was known about the natural world, a majority of people turned interest into frightened rejection and clung to the normal over the paranormal.

But true believers knew the truth because the truth had happened to them. Undeniably. But the truth was oft stranger than fiction in cases such as ours.

I lamented that Mrs. Northe wasn’t here. I always felt safer when I knew she was with us, on our side, my mentor and spiritual guardian. I no longer worshipped her as a god like I’d once done. I knew now that she couldn’t solve every problem and that she wasn’t perfect. But we’d truly abandoned her. And I felt certain that she actually wanted to be here. Surely she knew we were here, she knew us too well...

But at the same time I didn’t know what she could have done to help, other than to be another frightened heart watching, wondering, waiting... She needed to remain in New York, keeping an eye out on that front line of the Society’s unnatural warfare. Jonathon left her with addresses to inspect. I was sure she was up to something productive. Father, on the other hand...

I couldn’t think about Father. I just couldn’t. I embraced Jonathon so he could not see the pain on my face. When I got through all this, because I had to get through all this, I’d never again scare my father like this. We all deserved better than we’d been dealt, and him as much as any. Though he never faced the horrors we did directly, I knew his pain and anguish over me was as rife as any, and his confusion far greater. Being left out was the worst thing in the world, I knew it, and I hated having done that to him. But he was not to be involved. He was never a part of the equation on the supernatural side. However, his love was a force to be reckoned with, yet another reason to fight for love to win over evil.

Jonathon hugged me back, fiercely, and it was as if he read my mind. “We will get through this, Natalie. My Lady Denbury. And then I promise you a life so full of light and so far from all this haunted pain...”

“Yes, my love. My lord. We shall see that day together, until then we fight, stronger for our union.”

We kissed once more and reclaimed that study, the place that had been used as a prison, for the freedom of our love. I ignored the corridor of my nightmares that awaited just outside.

Chapter Twenty-Three

 

It would seem that my nightmares waited to strike. At least, during the course of our time within the estate, which was drawing to a close for the evening.

However, I refused to get too comfortable. My nightmares weren’t to be dismissed so easily. The worst kind of terrors were those that lay in wait.

Jonathon and I returned to the dining room. With determination, I went up to the paintings and examined them. They did not change for me this time, but they were still beseeching in the same pose as before. That was problematic, as it indicated a presence had been in the house. The Society would realize some sort of unknown variable. They might not trust Jonathon’s invitation. I glanced behind each frame.

“Runes?” Jonathon asked. “Carved into the frames?”

“Indeed.” I replied. “It’s all looking just the same as it was done for you, to you. I imagine that once the devils realize what worked in your case, they would not have deviated in others. It seems like the same pattern, perhaps the same poem driving the spell, I’m not sure. I can only hope the countercurse will still drive to the heart of the matter, no matter what the runes truly say. I wish I’d brought the translation book—”

“We’d not have the time even if you did. We’d best not stay here any longer and should not be caught here sleeping. Back to the cottage we go, and on to London in the morning.”

I stared back at the paintings. I couldn’t leave them like that. Jonathon watched me, sensed my thoughts or emotions, and took my hand.

“You can’t help them right now,” he murmured gently. “Not tonight.”

Something occurred to me. “I know. But I think I can give them hope. And you know better than anyone how desperately their trapped souls need it. Paper and pencil. Can you get that for me, quickly?”

Jonathon didn’t question me; he just darted off. And for that, that simple respect of my agency, for his trust in me and my wits, I was grateful.

When he returned with page and pencil, I wrote a note and held it up for interminable moments before each portrait. The note said: Return to your positions. Help is on the way. Patience.

Due to Jonathon’s internment and my experience within his painted prison, I understood the basic principles of what the suspended lives of these subjects were like. Sight beyond the frame was somewhat hazy but possible. I patiently waited before each portrait until the bodies returned to their poses as originally painted. The children were the last to return to their stasis.

When they did, I scribbled. Thank you. Keep patience and faith.

And then I walked out without a second glance behind me, as I could not bear their pained eyes. Neither could Jonathon, even though they were the unwitting souls who had usurped his property. They had been duped. We’d all been victims. But I didn’t want to relegate myself to that and neither did Jonathon. Neither did any of us fighting the good fight.

We found Lavinia and Nathaniel sitting on the wide window ledge of the downstairs foyer, bathed in a shaft of moonlight that made them look like they were in a stage photograph, all in grayscale and silver light. Their hands were clasped together. All I heard was Lavinia respond simply.

“You didn’t drag me into this. Our Association was sought out.”

“I dragged you into this,” Jonathon declared. “All of you. Though I certainly didn’t do so wittingly. I promise I will repay you however I can for all we’ve endured. Come, let us return to the cottage. A night here is…” He looked about. “Unwise. But, give me a moment. I’ve something by which to cheer us.”

He darted off past the dining room, and I heard a door open, heard feet down stone stairs, and there was silence in the house for long, interminable moments before a slow tread up again, a door closing, and footsteps upon the wooden hall led Jonathon back to us once more.

He appeared in the moonlight of the foyer with a bottle in his hand. But he was ashen faced, changed in the silver shadows, a haunted look on his face I knew all too well. In his other hand, he’d drawn his pistol.

“What… What did you see, Jonathon?” I asked, dread in my tone. He gestured to keep voices down.

“We need to leave,” he whispered. “Come on. Keep quiet.” He gestured Nathaniel and Lavinia back in the direction of the library, and they quickly moved on ahead, impressively keeping the noise of footfalls at a minimum. I rushed with them, Jonathon at my side, back past the dining room once more where I refused to look even past the threshold.

“What is wrong?” I whispered again as he grabbed my hand and we darted back to the library. The maw of the door that was a bookcase opened on its side to reveal the secret passage stood before us; the dim golden torchlight of the underground corridor beckoned eerily from below. Jonathon shut the door behind all of us, gesturing for us to go on ahead, Nathaniel in the lead. We were many paces into the earthen and stone corridor before Jonathon answered.

“What we saw in Preston’s office,” he replied gravely. “That’s what was down there.”

“Oh God…” I swallowed hard. “They’ve a corpse below? One they’re trying to reanimate?”

“No corpse. But everything else was there. The table. All the wiring and equipment. And small, suspicious boxes. Bottles of fluids, medical and funereal. The scent of decay. All in my bloody wine cellar,” he said, spitting out the words like venom as we darted up the long corridor.

The scenes of Preston’s basement hospital wing, yet another dread corridor, came back to me in the forceful way terrible memories resurfaced. Either they were preparing to reanimate a corpse and tether numerous spirits to its form to power the animate force of the thing, or they had already done so. And if they’d done so, the whereabouts of the creature were cause for great concern.

Finally, we resurfaced in the cottage. Jonathon bolted the iron door behind us. Next he checked the whole of the cottage, pistol drawn, then surveyed outside. Nathaniel joined him outside, going to check on his horses.

I sat down upon the dusty but plush velvet window seat of the bay window and looked through the glass, trying to appreciate just how beautiful the moon was.

Lavinia went searching about for something. I wasn’t sure what, until I heard a “pop.” And then the clink of glasses. She returned to me, two wineglasses filled with deep, dark red in her hands. She handed me one.

I had never been one for alcohol, save in communion at church, but this seemed the thing to do right now. One glass to calm the nerves. Some distraction. Some reminder that we were with friends and lovers. I was in a new country, something I’d never done before. I wanted to feel like there was some excitement. I was engaged to the man I loved. I smiled at Lavinia, feeling some of my tension ease before I’d even begun to sip the glass.

The gentlemen soon returned to us. Lavinia had poured for them, and they glided, as if magnetized, to two more crystalline goblets she filled upon the golden lacquered center table that she’d cleaned of its layer of dust, leaving the surface to glimmer in the candlelight.

“To sending devils back to hell,” Jonathon said, lifting his glass and looking each of us in the eyes, mine last. We all toasted gladly to that. His eyes burned into me, and I felt the pledge of our engagement swell in my heart. I thought about telling Lavinia and Nathaniel about it in the moment but thought better of it. Somehow I knew it would sting Lavinia, and I couldn’t have her feeling insecure when she was called upon to do something so brave.

`“It’s a good thing this bed is enormous,” Jonathon stated nearly draining the glass in a few long drinks. “Because I’m not sleeping on the floor.” He grabbed me around the waist and dragged me to the grand alcove where the vast four-poster bed was visible behind its open red curtains. I let him. He spoke over his shoulder to Nathaniel. “Come on, you two, there’s room for all on here. And that will force us to behave ourselves.”

“Normally I’d object and find some dark corner to drag this one off to,” Nathaniel replied, grinning at Lavinia. “But I’m deathly tired. I’m sure we all are.”

It was true. I was utterly exhausted, and I allowed myself to acknowledge it, finally, as I felt a modicum of security. The cottage did feel safe, an unused place the Society clearly hadn’t gotten its hooks into, a piece of lost history, a secret put to good use as an encampment before an upcoming battle rather than a clandestine affair.

The temperature was nearly perfect, and so I didn’t need to crawl under the velvet duvet. I simply allowed Jonathon to drag me onto one side of the bed, and I lay back in his arms. Sleep overtook me almost immediately. The ability to breathe deeply in a setting that didn’t have all my hairs on edge, coupled with the glorious protection that was being in his arms, was enough to sweep me into much-needed rest.

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

I didn’t demand to go with the gentlemen to the Majesty’s office, but I did demand to go to London. What else would they have done with me? Lavinia had a dear friend she wished to visit, desperate to have something of normalcy. I had no plans, but I didn’t dare miss London.

During our carriage ride, the gentlemen took turns driving. Jonathon was quiet and introspective when he rode with us, his hand entwined in mine. Lavinia stared at the new engagement ring with a wistful envy that she did not voice. As we’d readied in the morning, she noticed the piece, and I told her what had happened, my initial rejection of him, and the second chance in the study. She had embraced me and congratulated me. But I could feel the pang then and saw it now as she turned away from the garnet treasure upon my finger.

Nathaniel entertained us ladies with new material, blatantly overjoyed to have a captive audience. Thankfully, in this case, it was no trouble to be captive, as he was exquisite in his rendition of Shelley’s Ozymandias. It was an interesting narrative, the epic poem, as epic London grew before us, beginning in modest outlying villages to clusters of greater population in a radius around the heart of the matter and unto the great, gargantuan golem of a city that was London...

Ah, London. What a beautiful mess. What a terrifying wonder and mystery. Did newcomers look at New York this way? Utterly overwhelmed?

Nothing could quite have prepared me for the scope of what I was seeing out the carriage windows. Manhattan, while vast, was an island, so simply its space had limits. London seemed an endless sprawl that was utterly confusing. There was no grid. No numbered streets. Everything was at twists and turns. And nearly all of it covered in soot. Though I wasn’t sure what of that lens was made a shade darker by the gray, overcast sky.

The city grew narrower in brick alleys and confining arches over our carriage head and then expanded to grand lanes in dizzying instants, devastation like I’d seen in records of Manhattan’s Lower East Side, but then palatial stretches much like our Fifth Avenue. They were sister cities in their own right, I supposed, centers of the world very much in many ways. But I was left with no idea where I was or how I could ever orient in such a tangle of streets and masses of people. It was vibrant and dark, grand and guttered. Impressive and terrifying. And it seemed without end.

The carriage made its rounds, Nathaniel first escorting Lavinia to a mutual friend, leaving me alone in the cab while Jonathon stayed with the horses. Next, I was taken to a friend of Mrs. Northe, Mr. Knowles, who would keep me until the gentlemen came back with news of their plans. We were in a business district; I could tell from the pristine streets and the lack of human bustle. If there were residents in the area, they kept their lamps trimmed low or were not yet home from being out and about on what had turned out to be a fine day with a brightly setting sun.

Nathaniel stayed with the horses, and Jonathon led me through an iron gate and up a stoop of a well-appointed building that had several names etched in gold upon the glass door. He plucked a key from his pocket and opened the office door.

“You’ve keys?” I asked, incredulous, as if all of London might be at Jonathon’s disposal.

“Knowles and Brinkman have availed many resources to me,” he explained. “As the Society is a sincere threat to crown and country, I’ve secret allies and places to hide.”

“And yet you’re confronting the Society directly, tomorrow,” I said ruefully.

“Why can’t all those secret allies and those threatened take over instead of us running blindly forward at this point?”

“Hiding in plain sight is often the best strategy,” Jonathon replied with an impressive nonchalance. “Besides, prosecuting the Society’s aims needs as much evidence as possible. So much of it is paranormal circumstance you and I could not prove in a court.”

I nodded acquiescence as he led me into the first floor foyer and then moved ahead to a frosted-glass window that was lit from within. He knocked, was bid enter, and there was a conversation I couldn’t hear for a moment before he poked his head back into the hall to gesture me into the room. I walked into a warmly lit office well appointed in leather and books. A vast desk with matching mahogany chairs faced a wing-backed leather chair prominent before a grand fireplace. The trappings were similar to the finery of the Denbury study, but in a business setting, not residential.

At the door stood an elegant, patrician fellow in a well-tailored suit, the splash of a russet ascot offsetting the gray of his entire person: silver hair, eyes, frock coat, waistcoat, and trousers all the color of the English sky.

“Mister Knowles, this is my fiancée, Miss Natalie Stewart,” Jonathon said. As Knowles inclined his head to me, I smiled, for the first time hearing the word fiancée. The newness of it must have been evident in my blush, for Mr. Knowles’s wise-looking eyes sparkled in a way that was quite familiar.

“You know Mrs. Northe,” I said eagerly.

“That I do,” he replied. He turned to Jonathon. “I know you must be off, feel free to leave the girl in my care. She is under careful protection here. An officer has been assigned to this building with the precinct on watch.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll return with news.” He reached out and grabbed my hands in his and kissed them, one then the other. “I won’t be long, my brave girl.”

I smiled at him with a look that spoke of trust and care and stood at the threshold of the office to watch him go, my heartstrings tugging along after him. He looked back at me at the front door and pursed his lips in a kiss. I blew one back.

He caught it and reached into his coat, placing it in his breast pocket, close to his heart. “For safekeeping,” he said. “I’ll need it.”

And with that he vanished to go confront his enemy. “Be careful,” I called as the door shut behind him. I clenched my fists and tried to set fierce worry aside, as it would do me no good. I took my place in Knowles office, sitting in one of the fine wooden chairs he proffered to me.

Knowles looked at me with a wistful smile as he set tea before me, gesturing me to a seat across his desk. “She was Evelyn Rutherford when I met her,” Knowles began, “in her first ‘season’ in London, full of New York wit and vivacity, catching the eye of every available bachelor and married man alike. Who knew that quiet, unassuming Peter Northe would catch her in the end? Baffled everyone. But then again, aside from the man’s money, he was simply kind. She always said a man’s kindness was worth as much as his pocketbook. Thankfully, she earned double, then, while the lucky man lived.”

I smiled back. I thought of my father. That’s why she cared about him. A tear came to my eye.

Knowles pretended not to notice and instead leveled a gaze at me. “She’s not happy you’re gone, I’ll have you know.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “Oh, I’m sure she isn’t.”

“Not surprised, mind you, as not much surprises a woman as gifted as she. But she said if I ran into you, that there will be quite a talking-to that awaits you. Also”—his expression grew grave—”as you’re not a child, I’ll not treat you with kid gloves. But you should know that your friend Miss Hathorn has gone missing from Chicago.”

I blinked at him. “When? Why?”

“Neither Mrs. Northe or Miss Hathorn’s caretaker have any idea. But, obviously, if you in any way hear from her, do let Mrs. Northe know, she’s sick to death about it. About the both of you.”

I suddenly felt so guilty I hadn’t written to Maggie sooner. Had she run away? Was she homesick and simply decided to make a run for it? Had something called to her and lured her back to the erring paths? She probably didn’t even get my letter. A profound sadness hit me like a slap to my face. I was selfish. I wasn’t the only one going through troubled times. She needed a peer, someone with whom to commiserate. I vowed to be that more strongly and presently for her if I possibly could.

“Don’t keep Mrs. Northe in the dark,” I replied. “I’m sure she knows where we went. She tried to stop us. But she went into a medium’s trance, and we eluded her. The spirit she channeled guided us, warned us, Miss Kent and I. Feel free to write her about any of our goings-on if you feel they will arrive safe to her and not place her in any danger. Not having her at my side for this battle doesn’t feel right, but I’d not dare try to involve her. I feel this is Jonathon and my fight to see through on our own.”

“She told me you were a brave, dear girl. But no hero does his or her entire quest on their own.”

I nodded, allowing myself to take that in as comfort. We shared more tea. He told me of his late wife who had died in childbirth, and of her ghost that haunted him still. Evidently, ‘that was how he and Mrs. Northe had become close. Séances. He asked if I’d met Senator Bishop, and I promised I’d give the man my best whenever I saw him again at Mrs. Northe’s house. If I ever returned to her house…

No. I couldn’t think like that. Act like that. I couldn’t possibly manifest that even as a possibility.

“I’ve my mother with me,” I stated, invoking her as a ward and guardian to refuse thoughts of failure. “Much like your wife, I know she watches over me. I do know I’m not alone. And for that I rejoice. Loving souls are never truly alone, for those who have loved us are always connected. Even the death of a body cannot stop that tether.”

“Spoken like a true Spiritualist,” Knowles said with a fond smile.

“I’ve learned from the best,” I replied, sharing the smile.

Jonathon returned within the hour. Nathaniel was with him. They entered the office, elegant black-coated figures shifting the quiet energy Mr. Knowles had cultivated into something alive and on edge. I jumped up, impetuously embracing him. I was his fiancée. I was allowed to do such things in the presence of others.

His tensed shoulders eased a bit as I snaked my hands around them and clasped my lace-gloved hands about his neck. “Well?” I murmured, noting that the look on his face was tired and haunted, but not defeated.

“I think the ‘Majesty’ continues to believe me,” Jonathon said. “Nathaniel, too, but I believe the next step will be a test. Moriel is his name. He said he’d be delighted by a dinner party and would be sure a few of his ministers attend. We’ll have our quarry. Let’s make sure our trap is well set and in place. We must be able to draw out their strategy, and once they’ve confessed their plans to listening ears, we’ll strike to the roots of their insidious tree and uproot it as best we possibly can.”

“We have to take care in regards to the trapped souls in the dining room,” I cautioned, turning to Mr. Knowles. “The family that took over the estate, their souls are separated from their bodies in a painted prison, likely the bodies possessed by demonic energies, as Jonathon’s was. I do not know where the bodies are, I assume in the service of the Society, but the paintings, and the persons, cannot be harmed until body and soul are reunited. I cannot trust police to be delicate in those matters. That family will be collateral damage if we are not careful. We need to ensure the countercurse is landed before the police make the arrests.”

“Very wise,” Jonathon agreed, squeezing my hand. “See how sensible my lady is, Mr. Knowles? I am a blessed man.”

“You have been a cursed man,” Knowles said gently. “And so you deserve such blessings as she. It is only right and just.”

I simply smiled, squeezing his hand back, tightly.

“Let’s fetch Miss Kent and Mister Brinkman and ready the plan,” Knowles said.

And we were off to the proverbial nightmarish races…

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

Evidently, the British agent Mister Brinkman was just across the street, awaiting a signal. I suddenly felt that, at any minute, any number of persons could descend upon us from unseen corners. The intimate, singular horrors that the Society had perpetrated upon Jonathon and me were now becoming a crowd sport.

Knowles palmed a small, hand-held lantern that had been sitting as a lit globe upon his desk. He moved to stand before the narrow, tall window to the side of his bookcases, putting a hand to block the orb’s light and then removing it three times. A minute later, I heard a key turn down the hall, then the front door open and close quietly and then not a sound until an uncanny apparition was seen in the doorway: a distinct form in a black cape. The man set his hood back upon entering the room. Brinkman.

              I wondered how intently the spy had been watching us. Reading lips through binoculars, perhaps, poised and on sharp alert to all tells and ticks? When he crossed the room in a few measured strides, his eyes went right to us as if he’d known our positions. He made me feel as nervous as he did safe. I watched Jonathon’s face as he stared at the man, I assumed gauging his aura. As Jonathon remained cool and composed, the man’s aura must have remained positive…or at least neutral to us. I took a moment to thank whatever magical offsets had granted Jonathon that ability, as it was one of the more useful supernatural traits our situation could have afforded.

Brinkman could see me examining his oddly handsome face, trying to get a read on him. So many years of mutism had made me uncannily adept at reading moods, bodies, intentions, and more, just by look and physicality. This man was a compelling, blank slate. He simply smiled enigmatically at me, giving nothing away but that he was a man not to be trifled with. A consummate spy. I was no less nervous. But I was just a little bit impressed.

“Miss Stewart,” he said, bowing his head to me. I inclined mine in turn.

Knowles busied himself at a vast cherrywood credenza, making sure all the gentlemen had snifters of bourbon.

Brinkman turned to Jonathon. “From what you said upon our return ride from the Society office, it seems you laid the groundwork well, Lord Denbury. I’m hoping this little party will allow me to collar Moriel and his two top cronies. I’d like to cuff his whole cabal of six, but it would seem all the ‘Majesties’ are hardly ever in the same country, let alone the same room. Hopefully, the Society will fall out from under the top tier once we topple them.”

“What brought the Society operatives together in the first place?” I asked.

“The only consistent factor is that they are very old aristocracy from three different country’s traditions. Each of their line was at one point disgraced and remains relatively forgotten, with little money. However, they’ve gained traction in property.”

“Making a deal with the devil for a return rise to importance?” Knowles asked, taking his place at his desk.

Brinkman shrugged. “That’s the only thing I can figure about their aims.”

I heard a key in the lock down the hall and then Lavinia’s voice speaking in a pouting tone.

At the sound of movement at the door, Jonathon stalked out of the room and met them, lingering there at the mouth of the hall while Lavinia’s voice continued, getting closer as she said: “You do realize how much I’ve given up, Nathaniel, back and forth with you across the pond. I truly needed just one normal evening with my lady friends. Must we strategize at this hour?”

“We’ll address your sacrifices in time, dear,” Nathaniel murmured as they neared Knowles’s office door. “But that isn’t for here and now, with lives on the line. Everyone is here. Please appear as sensible as I know you are capable of being.”

Whatever Lavinia was feeling, she put on a calm and brave face when she entered Knowles’s now-overcrowded office.

The solicitor gestured to a decanter of some sort of rose-colored cordial and raised an eyebrow at Lavinia and me. Lavinia set her jaw and pointed to the bourbon instead. Knowles grinned and despite the departure in custom, included us both in the gentleman’s drink without question, a small courtesy that made us feel involved and respected. These were not times of common propriety. No one was looking to drown their sorrows in any substance; such behavior would not help our cause. But having something to hold and busy one’s hands with was a tiny comfort to take the edge off the tension in the room.

“I never thought I’d be grateful for anything that has befallen me,” Jonathon said as he reentered the room, stalking over to my chair and standing behind it to voice what I’d been thinking when he examined Brinkman. “However, the ability to see the lit aura, the incorporeal traces of any of my potential enemies is very useful. It would seem no one followed you here. I see no spark in the shadows outside.”

“I told you I’d be careful,” Nathaniel replied. Jonathon nodded at his friend.

“Friends,” Jonathon began, addressing all of us. “Let’s get to our points. The Society shall arrive at the estate at six tomorrow. I explained to Moriel that I would leave the proverbial ‘bait,’ the tokens, bound in the dining room.” He squeezed my shoulder over the back of the chair. “Do forgive me, my love, for referring to you as such—”

“I understand, Jonathon. That’s how they might refer to me. Not you. You will both have to play the part,” I reassured, even while I shuddered at the thought.

“They seem to be interested in blood tokens,” Jonathon said, clenching his jaw. “If you are bound at the table, my brave ladies, don’t worry what will befall you. Nathaniel schooled me in some sleight of hand. I don’t want you dreading anything that will be mere show, but please do react accordingly as though you’ve been affected.”

Lavinia nodded. She was used to this sort of thing more than I; surely, one of Nathaniel’s vampire bits on stage had her prepared for necessary theatrics. I swallowed hard and tried not to look ill.

Jonathon continued: “Nathaniel and I will meet the company at the door and lead them in, as it would be best they not find us all fraternizing in the dining room when they arrive. Tomorrow morning the Society said they’d return the staff to the premises to prepare the meal.” Jonathon turned to Brinkman to explain in a bitter tone: “Moriel confirmed, laughingly, that the staff they retain are possessed bodies. The family that overtook the estate per the Society’s coaxing is now enslaved to it. Moriel has taken those poor wretches on as his personal cook, footman, and the children as veritable slaves.”

“And their poor souls are trapped in the dining room portraits,” I added. “Before any arrests are made, we’ll need to invoke a countercurse to return souls into bodies and trap the demons. It’s not something I’d trust to leave to the average police officer. With all due respect.”

Brinkman nodded and tried to act as if the directives were commonplace, but his halting speech revealed his discomfort. “If you say so. I trust, then, that... you’ll handle the...countercurse?”

“We will, you must leave that to us,” Jonathon replied. “Natalie, I’ll trust you to later explain the principles of the countercurse to Nathaniel and Lavinia.”

I nodded again. I sipped the bourbon, and its sting was a nice offset against nerves.

“I’ll need a cue for my men to pounce,” Brinkman stated. “I don’t want it to come too early, but also not too late. I don’t want these bastards to try anything.”

“Or to let their magic build,” I added. “We can’t know just how many demonic forces they have, truly, at their disposal. Those we’ve seen have been embodied, but what about those awaiting a host?”

“We can’t allow anything in,” Jonathon murmured. “We don’t know exactly where these demons come from. How they summon them. If you’ve ever had a faith, now is the time to hold to it. We must not give those wretched, soul-sucking entities any room for entry.”

I nodded and thought of Maggie. I wondered what on earth could have happened to her. “Maggie’s gone missing, Jonathon,” I murmured. “No one knows where she’s gone. Mrs. Northe wired Mr. Knowles here to tell us. If she or Karen has any clairvoyant indications about what went on, we don’t know.”

“Well, she let the beasts in, Natalie,” he replied with a harshness I understood but didn’t expect, “and allowed the forces that tried to kill us to grow stronger by her reverence and favor. We can’t help her any more than we did. I can’t worry what’s become of her now. Not right now.”

I looked at the edge of Mr. Knowles’s fine desk and clenched my jaw, knowing Jonathon was right but still wishing there was something I could have done months ago to prevent her disappearance now. I said a prayer for her soul.

A slight movement of Nathaniel’s hand caught my eye, and I saw him clutching a beaded length with a crucifix in his palm, something he’d wound around his wrist, perhaps a rosary. Anglican England still utilized Catholic-associated tokens as they were very similar in structure, just as Reverend Blessing owed a great deal to the Catholic Rite of Exorcism. Every denomination, at its root, directed back to the same governing principles. Symbols of faith were the touchstones of our own retaliatory magic. Ours was a different color and weight, but no less powerful than the breed the Society perpetuated. I had to believe we were as powerful as demons, so long as we stood up to them.

Brinkman’s face was pinched; a slight crack in his facade indicated his own trepidation. I could empathize that a man like Brinkman didn’t appreciate supernatural variables in a carefully calculated plan. “My men will be instructed to wait for my whistle,” he stated, “but I can’t cue immediately. Not until there’s a bit of dirt under Moriel and company’s nails, otherwise we may not have as flush and solid of a case as we need to ensure their downfall.”

“If we’re drawing out their plan,” Jonathon piped in, “someone must be stationed to record what is said for evidence. If we place your men in my secret passages as we discussed, there is a pipe that’s perfect for listening in.”

“I’ll be sure one of my best court recorders takes notes,” Brinkman said eagerly. “If the paranormal aims of the Society are to be believed, we’ll need as much in the form of a confessional as possible, the madness and desire for chaos expressly stated so that the threat to queen and country cannot possibly be denied.”

“Jonathon,” I murmured, a dreadful detail resurfacing. “What about the cellar?”

He swallowed hard.

“What about the cellar?” Brinkman queried, looking from one of us to the other. “I thought you said the estate was empty?”

Jonathon took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “There’s also the possibility of a reanimate corpse as evidence. Be advised that the infernal magic the Society uses to reanimate the corpse makes the creatures very difficult to endure. There’s a terrible mental strain, an inner sound of screaming, as if they creatures are built to rip apart the very fabric of sanity. A horde of ghosts is tethered to a body to make it come to life. The ghosts are the animate spark.”

Brinkman’s lips curled in disgust. “How horrid. Ghosts as Doctor Frankenstein’s lightning?”

“I suppose. I’ve never seen anything like it before Doctor Preston’s work in New York. I discovered all the same equipment we saw in New York down in my wine cellar. So I don’t know what to expect.”

“The unexpected is all we can count on, it would seem,” Brinkman replied bitterly. “We’ll all have to play it very safe, moment to moment, and very close to the vest.” He bowed to us all and moved to the door, his tone allowing for a slight weariness. “Until morning, my motley battalion.”

We stayed the night in London, one of Jonathon’s finer carriages escorting the two couples to the Denbury flat, an exquisite set of gas-lit rooms in Knightsbridge. The place had a warm glow about it in all the golden flocked wallpapers, lighter woods, and gilt-accented furniture, a contrast to Rosecrest’s deep, dark Gothic charm. The flat was that of more modern romantics, more fanciful in color and lush fabrics.

Nathaniel, being familiar with the flat, led Lavinia off somewhere. I wondered if they’d separate as propriety would dictate or if Lavinia would indeed come away from this a fallen woman. It wasn’t my place to judge, she could make her own choices, and I hoped Nathaniel was man enough not to pressure her either way. Women were given little leverage in our world, and a girl’s modesty was not something to be given or taken lightly, and men would do best to always keep that in mind.

As I sat upon one of the lavish divans in the main room, I had no idea how in the world I was going to sleep, but Jonathon seemed prepared for that, having stoked a small stove in a rear kitchen and returning to me with teacups in hand.

“Have some tea. It’s... powerful tea,” he said, handing me a warm cup and saucer.

“What’s in it?” I asked, catching a whiff of a foreign scent.

“Some opiates and sedatives. I just took a draught myself. Else I’ll never sleep. You and Lavinia can take the far room. Nathaniel is taking my room.”

“You may have to untangle them—”

“I’m counting on Miss Kent to make an honest man out of Nat.” Jonathon chuckled. “I don’t let him play Don Juan in my home. I never have. He knows better.”

“Where will you rest, darling?”

“On this very divan, dear. While the draught calmed my nerves, if I need to pace in the middle of the night, I’d best do it away from those I hold dear. You need your rest to be sharp.”

“As do you...” I set down the cup and ran my fingers down the sleeve of his magnificent frock coat.

“When I was saving lives in my London clinic, sometimes my clearest decisions as a doctor came when I was truly exhausted and the drive of panic kicked in. Trust me, Natalie. I’ve faced many life and death battles. Just not necessarily my own. Not those most precious to me,” he said, trailing a finger down my cheek, resting a fingertip upon my lips. I kissed his fingertip delicately, slowly, and he closed his eyes and let me see the shudder of sensual delight that coursed down his body.

“You’re very brave,” I murmured as he trailed the fingertip down my neck.

He set his own teacup beside mine before moving closer to press his lips to where his fingertip had been. After a slow, languorous kiss he murmured, “Didn’t I tell you I learned bravery from the best?”

“You were brave long before me.”

“But together...” He kissed me again.

Together is how our fates were determined. The course of my life, since the Denbury portrait had entered into it and I was granted a peculiar magic and agency to save this dear soul, was inextricable with his. Whether brilliant or doomed.

That night, in a lovely guest room done up in a soothing pale blue, grateful for a fresh dressing gown in which to sleep thanks to stores Lavinia brought for us, I tucked a bible under my pillow.

Lavinia, to my chagrin, had no trouble falling asleep across the room, not even bothering to change. She just curled up like a black-winged bird upon a lush velvet chaise and drifted off to some uncharted inner waters. I wonder if she’d been drugged harder. Or if Nathaniel had managed to distract her into bliss that powerfully.

I lay back and murmured what had been my mother’s favorite psalm, number twenty-three, over and over again until the opiates finally took hold, first of my body, and then my racing mind.

Chapter Twenty-Six

 

The morning was spent in whatever preparations we could. Lavinia dressed herself, then me, in frilly white and cream lace gowns that she’d chosen, making us look as though we were either dressed for our weddings or our funerals. Which I supposed was sort of the point. Part of the theater of ritual. The gentlemen donned plain black frock coats and waistcoats with matching dark crimson undershirts with wide cuffs.

To Nathaniel and Lavinia, I explained the countercurse and the general properties of the magic as we knew it to be. Jonathon made sure the surveillance properties accessible from behind the library bookcase were in working order.

We tried knots and bindings that looked tighter and more restrictive than they were and set them in place. Jonathon explained any secret passages and their accesses. He and Nathaniel braved the cellar. It was still empty.

Time passed. We swallowed back dread. Jonathon ensconced Lavinia and me in a top servant room where a mirrored trap door offered a view of the downstairs foyer. At noon the family arrived; the four possessed bodies whose souls languished in the dining room paintings. The wife was a brown-haired woman who would have been pretty if she weren’t so vacant and dark-eyed. The husband had prominent jowls and bushy eyebrows that accented the sunken quality of his own eyes, reflecting strangely as he and the wife gazed about, sniffing like animals, behaviors signatory of the possession. The children, a boy in breeches and a girl in a white pinafore stained on the edge with a red substance I shuddered to imagine, trailed behind them like animate dolls, and behind them, additional staff.

A few frightened-looking underclass women completed their entourage. I assumed the lot was there to help with the cooking and preparation. When the paths were clear enough to do so, Jonathon moved Lavinia and me into a secret dining room passage behind the walls that connected in a confining path down the great hall and into the library landing. We watched the staff prepare, moving in and out of the dining room to set place settings and down the servants’ stairs to the kitchens, the pathway blocked by a large ornate screen the help would stand behind during dinner so as to be out of sight.

The possessed family that had inherited not an estate but a nightmare moved with a slight unnatural pattern that was impossible to look away from.

Just as Lavinia and I were about to be set into our places, thirteen officers filed silently into the passages, and as they passed I tried to bolster myself with the knowledge that the walls themselves were filled with support.

At five, Lavinia and I emerged in the library and were taken to our positions with a bit of a show and mock struggle. The gentlemen said nothing to us, other than the occasional order that we were to mind our place, lest the possessed bodies of the family tell tales of us that would not suit our plan.

We were placed across from one another at the midpoint of the grand dinner table, and our hands were gently bound behind our backs by our respective gentlemen.

“I am sorry to have to do this, beloved,” Jonathon murmured in my ear. “Forgive me.”

“I will,” I whispered. He stared at me achingly and left the room.

The dining room table before us was set with white bone china and soft linen, a red runner bisecting the wooden length where three golden candelabras glittered with tall tapers that set off the crystals of the chandeliers dipping down from above, making the whole room glow and glitter. While  places were set before us, we would not be able to partake unless someone saw fit to unbind us. Lavinia and I stared across the lit tapers at each other. I felt like I was a part of the upcoming courses, there as an appetizer for the demons. I kept reminding myself that the arrests would happen before any malevolent forces were summoned or allowed to wreak any havoc upon us.

The gentlemen took to the front foyer. In time, the summoners of hell arrived. Brinkman was with them. Whatever the Society had over Brinkman was evidently enough to make Moriel feel confident Brinkman was on his side. This leverage hardly bolstered my trust in Brinkman, but I had no choice. I heard voices engaged in a bit of pleasantries, the weather and such, all of it absurd considering the circumstances.

Jonathon, playing as though he remained possessed, a role he had done so well before, led the “Majesties” in, and I quelled my shudder.

A short, thin-haired, bulbous-nosed man I assumed was Moriel entered first.  He was too ugly to be so terrifying, and yet there was an air about him of power and privilege that was as undeniable as he was unattractive. His eyes were small, dark and beady. His gaze flitted about and pinpointing his attention like a fastidious but jittery hawk. Everything about him reeked of unpredictable danger, like a pervasive cologne gone putrid.

Another man followed close behind. Together, they made two specimens that had awoken on the wrong side of the genealogical bed. The other Society operative was a taller, thinner, jaundiced-looking man with similarly limp hair. Both men were dressed in ostentatious suit coats and trousers of a loud red and gold, looking like a bizarre graft of king and a court jester from another century that had long since passed them by.

Brinkman and Nathaniel flanked behind. The Society heads immediately stared at Lavinia and me with an odd, unsettling hunger and smiled sharp, crooked-toothed smiles. Jonathon pulled out the Master’s chair and then the second-in-command with a bit of exaggerated flourish. They sat.

“Welcome to what was once this body’s home,” Jonathon said with a little sick chuckle, taking the head of the table opposite Moriel. The vast dining room fireplace behind Jonathon yawned like a great marble mouth, a dark, unlit maw.

“Ah, these morsels will do nicely, Whitby,” Moriel said, appraising Lavinia and me up and down. “Majesty Vincenzi is en route with a third course, a little fly that wandered right unto his web at the office this morning. Three does make a more magical number for sacrificial flow. I do hope you’ve drugged them, boy. Women can be feisty. Not worth all the trouble, if you leave them unadulterated.”

“Ah, no, I’ve never had a trouble overcoming them, Majesty,” Jonathon said, raising the stakes of the Majesty’s perversion with an even uglier undercurrent.

“Nor I.” Nathaniel matched Jonathon’s tone as he moved to take a seat next to Lavinia, leering at her impressively.

“Ah, to be young and virile, then,” the Majesty said with a chortle.

I slowly breathed in through my nostrils at this to keep calm. I knew I’d be offended when face-to-face with the “Majesty,” and yet I remained impressed—and disturbed—by Jonathon’s aptitude for playing the part. Nathaniel’s theatrics had clearly rubbed off on his best friend.

I wondered what other poor girl would throw off our number and plan. This was not welcome information in the least. Brinkman surely felt it too, the frustration of another variable in our equation, but he remained visibly unruffled, simply standing to the side of Moriel as if he were a bodyguard, expressionless. Lavinia and I played our worried, scared-looking parts, which was truly not difficult. I tamped down upon my rage for the proper time.

“Come now, gentlemen,” the second Majesty said, his voice gravely as if a vocal chord had been cut, reaching into a breast pocket to flourish a small, sharp knife. “Fresh and sweet, give us something to use.” He made a piercing gesture that I tried not to jump at.

Jonathon nodded, snapping at Nathaniel. “Of course, Majesty Sansalme.”

Both Jonathon and Nathaniel rose, plucking knifes out of their pockets, tucking at their coat sleeves, and came over to us, Jonathon to me, Nathaniel to Lavinia. They bent over us, loosening the bindings of the hands respectively nearest to the Majesties.

“The blood of the martyrs,” Jonathon said, admirably trying on the demon’s tone. My eyes fluttered shut at the memories of the terror that had breathed down my neck in his visage once before. With a sharp and sudden move, Jonathon drove the knife toward my hand, clutching it between both of his, and I screamed. Lavinia cried out in tandem.

The knife punctured something up Jonathon’s sleeve and blood spurted onto my empty plate, and Jonathon moved our entwined hands over the glass goblet before me, filling a few ounces with dark red fluid. He dropped the bloody-tipped knife on the table, and Nathaniel did the same, with a flourish over another goblet. Their bodies slightly blocked us from the Majesty view. Jonathon was the first to rip the lace of my cuff, and he used it to bind up my hand as if stopping a wound. The choice of the gentlemen’s crimson cuffs smartly hid whatever telltale droplets sourced the blood. It had to be blood—it looked and smelled of it—I was just wondering whose it was.

I’d been prepared to offer mine in part, within reason and safety. We’d have to see if that was yet further called for. Hoping this was the last of our ‘”sacrificial’” role, I couldn’t help wondering at this impressive sleight of hand but doubted Nathaniel would give up his secrets were I to ask. Blood had been drawn from somewhere, perhaps predrawn, as neither of the gentlemen continued bleeding themselves, and though the source had come from them, they disguised it by tying off our hands, letting enough blood to drip around to make the whole thing seem more spontaneous and messy than it was. Jonathon and Nathaniel presented their glasses to the Majesties like an offering.

I thought at first Moriel—and his counterpart Sansalme—were going to drink the glasses and the blood therein. But neither did.

Instead, Moriel gestured for Sansalme to rise. Brandishing the knife, the associate moved to the wall behind the Majesty’s chair and drove the blade into the fine paper and the plaster behind it. He serrated the blade down the wall in a line, continuing unto the wood-paneled lower wall. He shifted a few paces, the length of a door threshold, and struck another line into the wall from above his head down to the floor. He then took one glass and tipped it at the top of one of the lines, blood pouring downward in a messy rivulet to pool at the baseboard. Next, he lifted the second glass and poured another bloody line. I heard him murmuring something unintelligible at the wall. The hairs on my arm nearest to that wall began to slowly stand on end.

“One should never waste blood,” murmured Moriel in a hungry tone. “It is too precious of a resource. But that is what your kind thrives upon, does it not, Whitby? Forgive me if I do not call you by a more ancient name. You have taken a body in this time, and that is how I shall refer to you, everything and everyone in their place.”

“Call me what you wish, but I hesitate at your making assumptions of me. What do you presume I thrive upon?”

“Waste, wantonness, disregard for life.” Moriel gestured to the spilled blood behind him. “See how we honor the desires of creatures such as you?”

“Ah. Yes. You have honored my kind perfectly, Majesties.”

“And it is how we reach out and call to you,” Moriel said with a deadly little smile. He rose. With a scuff of his boot, he kicked back a length of fine Persian carpeting beneath the dinner table, revealing the wooden floor. “Now you see how we built bridges unto you in the first place.”

I glanced down to see that the floor beneath the long, thick rug was covered in symbols of varying kinds, runes and numbers, a mess of different religions and traditions, symbols of faith inverted and perverted, some of the floor carved, some covered with chalky powder, some drippings of wax, some patches painted in tar-like substances and burn marks, some washed in an iron-red stain that was surely blood... A deal of it I recognized as being similar to what Maggie had hellishly fashioned inside her empty closet when she was recreating the demon’s likeness out of the scraps of Jonathon’s damaged portrait.

It was a mess of ritualistic offerings and evocations to bring terrible things to life... The pooling blood behind Moriel’s throne of a dining room chair began to dribble toward those grooves and carvings, soaking deeper into the damaged wood as if it were parched earth.

I shuddered. Why didn’t we think to look under the surface of things?