Her Majesty's Necromancer (14 page)

"My God." The captain shuffled backward and fell on the bed. The figure in it groaned but didn't move. He was still alive, but an air of death hung around him. I could sense it, despite my addled brain.

I got to my feet and lurched to the bed. I rested a hand on the man's chest and felt for a heartbeat. It was terribly weak and slow. He wouldn't last much longer.

"What were you doing to him?" I shouted.

But the captain wasn't listening to me. He was intent on Gordon. He looked as appalled as he was fascinated. "Thackery?" he squeaked. "What trick is this?"

"No trick."

"My god!" The captain set aside the syringe and got up again. "Come here so I can see you. Are you Gordon Thackery's twin?"

Gordon chuckled, and the brittle sound sent a chill down my spine. I was glad I wasn't the focus of his attention at that moment. I was the focus of no one's attention. My legs once again felt too heavy to hold me up, so I sat down on the bed. My foot hit something solid. A bag, like the sort doctors carry. I bent down to inspect its contents but it was whipped away by the captain.

He clutched it to his chest. "Who're you and what do you want?" he snapped at me.

"I want to know what you're doing to these men." I indicated the near-dead fellow on the bed, and Gordon. "Tell us why you're killing them? What are you doing with them? What do you want with them after their death?" A thousand other questions and thoughts flittered through my head like bees, all buzzing about. My mind would see one, run for it and try to grasp it, but the bee would dash off before it could be caught. It was maddening, confusing. I pressed a hand to my forehead.

"Answer her," Gordon growled. "I'd like to know what you want with me too, now that I'm dead."

The captain hugged his bag tighter and tried to edge past Gordon toward the door. Gordon blocked his path. The captain swallowed heavily. Now that he was closer to Gordon, he must be able to see the signs of decomposition. He'd gone quite a bit paler.

"Y—you're…Gordon Thackery."

Gordon nodded. "I have no twin."

"Y—you're dead."

"Quite. Tell me, Captain, did you kill me? I don't seem to recall much from that night, except that you visited me here."

The captain began to shake all over and a drop of sweat trickled down the side of his face. "Let me out! Let me out of here!"

Nobody came to his aid.

He tried to dodge Gordon but couldn't. Cursing, he opened his bag and pulled out a gun. He didn't point it at Gordon, however. He pointed it at me.

"No!" I cried. "Don't shoot!"

Gordon put up his hands in surrender and stepped aside. The captain ran past, flipped the curtain aside, and disappeared.

"You promised me discretion!" he shouted at someone, presumably Mr. Lee. Then the main door slammed shut.

As I once more struggled to stand, the Chinaman who'd been guarding the downstairs door suddenly appeared. He held a pistol, although at first I thought it was a black lizard. The part of my brain still functioning normally realized that it was a hallucination.

"You, out," he ordered Gordon and me. "Mr. Lee want no trouble."

"We'd better do as he says, Miss Charlie," Gordon said. "Mr. Lee may have sent for you, but I'm assuming this is more than he bargained for."

"Agreed." I was about to get up when the body on the bed gave a final gasp then went still. A moment later the spirit rose from it, glanced around, and was about to take off when it saw me watching him and not his body.

"Good evening," I said. "My name is Charlie Holloway. I'm a necromancer."

"A bloody what?"

I waved my hand. It was too difficult to explain. "Can you tell me what that man wanted with you? The man known as the captain?"

"Jasper? What's it to you?"

Jasper! I must remember that. "It's a long story, but he's linked to some grave robberies."

He shrugged. "Why should I care?"

"Because your body may be the next one he steals from its final resting place."

That got his attention. The spirit swooped closer. "Did he kill me?"

"I don't know. He might have, or you might have died anyway. I do know that he's feeding a substance to opium addicts while they are barely conscious, then, after their death, digging up their bodies. Can you tell us any more than that?"

The spirit's features bunched into a frown. "That bloody cur. If he hadn't run off like a coward, I'd bloody kill him."

"Sir? Answer my question, please."

"I don't need to answer nothing, now. But I can tell you this. If that man had anything to do with my death, I'll come back and haunt him until he's out of his mind. If you find him, you tell him that from me."

"I'll be sure to." I sighed. "So you can't tell me anything more?"

"No." The mist looked at the ceiling and I thought he was about to disappear when he added, "He fed me something on a spoon sometimes, and said my sacrifice would be worth it."

"Worth it? Worth what?"

"That's all I know." Without even a goodbye, the mist drifted off.

"Well, that was rude," I said, finally pushing myself to my feet. Except my feet wouldn't obey and I fell back onto the bed once more. I tried, and failed, again. I yawned and closed my heavy eyelids. "I might rest here a few moments."

"Not yet," Gordon said. "I got you, Miss Charlie." He scooped me into his arms and turned toward the door. I opened my eyes when he didn't move.

The Chinamen still barred the doorway, but he now shook from head to toe, his eyes huge as he stared at Gordon. Mr. Lee stood beside him, a gun in hand. He seemed more composed, or perhaps he thought the cadaver advancing on him was merely an opium-fueled illusion. Either way, he was unperturbed. He lowered his gun, bowed, and backed out through the doorway.

Gordon went to follow, but the young Chinaman wasn't quite so calm. Sweat dripped from his temples and beaded on his bare top lip. The hand that held the pistol shook as he raised it.

"Put it down." If I'd had any doubts that Gordon had been in the army, his command would have banished them. "Let us pass."

The Chinaman said something in his native tongue, shook his head, and fired.

The sound of shattering glass set off a sequence of seemingly disconnected events. The room went dark—or perhaps I'd closed my eyes. I spun around and around, like I was on an out of control carousel. But wasn't Gordon holding me? My head swam. My stomach lurched. I fell.

I landed on something soft, much to my aching head's appreciation. I passed a hand over my stinging eyes—they were definitely open—and felt around me.

I touched something. An arm, a shoulder, a face and hair. The corpse on the bed. I screamed, but it was lost in the din of noise that had exploded in the room. Voices blended together like an out of tune orchestra, some shouting, others groaning. I heard my name, but I couldn't be certain who'd called it.

I stopped screaming. I pushed myself up into a sitting position. The gunshot! I checked myself over, but I was unharmed.

A fight had broken out near the door where some light filtered through from the main room. Gordon wrestled with a man who seemed to be a match for him. But how could that be? The dead possessed superior strength when raised. No mere human could dodge his rapid-fire punches then get in pounding blows of their own that had Gordon stumbling backward. Gordon reacted by kicking out, but his opponent anticipated that too and jumped out of the way. A kick to the back of Gordon's knees unbalanced him, and in the blink of an eye, my bodyguard was pinned to the floor beneath—

"Lincoln? Is that you?" I squinted into the dimness then got off the bed, only to find my legs wouldn't obey me. I collapsed back onto the mattress.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his breathing a little faster than usual.

"Yes. But why did you attack Gordon?"

Gordon grunted into the floorboards. "A good question."

Lincoln leaned closer to Gordon's face then got off him. "I didn't know it was him." He came to the bed and knelt in front of me. At least, I thought he was directly in front of me. It was difficult to tell. My eyes seemed to be playing tricks on me, and at times he appeared to be several feet away. "We need to leave. Can you stand?"

"Not very well."

He glanced over his shoulder and said a few unintelligible words to the young Oriental man standing near the curtained doorway. He held the gun loosely at his side, but his wide eyes stared at Gordon as my bodyguard stood up. Gordon took a step forward and the Oriental inched back, muttering something under his breath. Mr. Lee was nowhere to be seen.

Lincoln picked me up and I snuggled into him, resting my head on his shoulder. "Thank you," I murmured.

Gordon held the curtain back and we passed through. Mr. Lee was once more sitting on his cushion, a pipe plugged into his mouth. Some of the other smokers were sitting up, their droopy-lidded eyes following our progress as Lincoln picked his way through the collection of bodies sprawled on the floor.

"Thank you, Mr. Lee," I said to the ancient Chinaman. "Please notify us again if the captain returns."

He made no acknowledgement, simply dragged on his pipe and blew out a long chain of smoke. Gordon, my jacket in his hand, went first down the stairs, and Lincoln and I followed behind. Outside, the blissfully cool air soothed my eyes and hot skin. I never thought London's air could smell so sweet, but after the thick fumes of the opium, it was the freshest air in the world.

The young Chinaman had followed us down. He said something to Lincoln in his own tongue, pointed at Gordon, and slammed the door shut.

"I don't think he likes me," Gordon said cheerfully.

"The Chinese don't like spirits of the dead walking through their homes," Lincoln told him. "They believe it brings bad luck."

"That's not very nice." I closed my eyes and breathed deeply again. "They ought to get to know the spirits individually rather than make a blanket ruling against them."

Gordon chuckled. "Your fairness knows no bounds, Miss Charlie." We walked a few paces and then he spoke again, the good humor absent from his voice. "Are you hurt?"

Lincoln's arms tightened around me. When he didn't answer, I realized Gordon was asking me.

"No." I yawned. "What happened? I heard a gunshot then everything went black."

"The Chinaman was about to shoot you, or me. I'm not entirely sure. I managed to turn you and put my body between yours and his, but as it turned out, the bullet missed us both and hit the lamp."

That explained the shattering glass and the sudden darkness. "How could he miss? He was so close."

"I knocked him as I entered the room." Lincoln's deliciously rich voice rumbled from his chest through my skin to my bones. I placed my palm against his chest to feel the vibrations, but he'd stopped talking. I felt his heart instead as it pounded a steady rhythm.

"Well done, both of you," I murmured. "But, Lincoln—Mr. Fitzroy, sir—why were you fighting Gordon?"

"I didn't know it was him. I saw him holding you then drop you on the bed. I thought it was the captain, perhaps."

I smiled as the vibrations of his voice met the thump of his heart. "You were saving me? That's very noble. I can ordinarily take care of myself now, but the opium smoke affected me. I wasn't expecting that."

"Clearly," he muttered.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I read your note. It was considerate of you to leave one, and not rouse Cook."

"I'm not so affected that I can't detect your sarcasm," I told him around another yawn. "I'll have you know that Cook was in no state to come with me. He almost cut off a limb tonight."

"We'll discuss this in the morning, after you've had a good sleep."

"By discuss, do you mean you're going to rail at me?"

"I'll let that be a surprise for the morning." He didn't sound in the least angry. His arms tightened around me and his warm breath fanned my hair. "Thackery," he said.

My jacket came around my shoulders and I felt like I was being tucked into bed. I must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing I knew, I was on the back of a horse, still in Lincoln's arms. Gordon rode beside us, holding my horse's reins. I still felt like my eyes had sunk deep into my head, and my mouth was bone dry, but my brain appeared to be functioning normally again.

I put my arms around Lincoln and sighed into him. He tensed and I tensed too, but after a few moments, as my body relaxed, I felt the tension leach out of him. Was that because he thought I'd fallen asleep again? I didn't dare look up at him or move a muscle. I didn't want him to feel anxious for holding me. I liked it when he was more relaxed.

Some time later, we stopped, and I finally glanced around. We were at the cemetery, near Gordon's grave. He walked ahead of the horses, a spade in hand.

"Where did you get that?" I asked him.

"One of the groundsmen must have left it out." He clicked his tongue. "They ought to be more careful. There are so many thieves in these parts of late."

He handed the horses' reins to Lincoln then began shoveling soil out of his grave so that he could access the coffin. The effort would have left a living man breathing heavily and sweating profusely, but he simply leaned on the spade handle and smiled at me when he finished.

"I have to go now, dear Miss Charlie. Thank you for the adventure. I enjoyed most of it." He gave Lincoln a flat-lipped smile. "You've got a lot of tricks up your sleeve, sir. I've never met anyone who fought like you."

Lincoln inclined his head in a nod. "Next time, declare yourself."

Gordon's lips tightened even more. "If I get an opportunity, I will."

Gordon bowed to me. "Good bye, Miss Charlie. Take care. Don't go inhaling anything you shouldn't."

I grinned. "Thank you, Gordon. I appreciate everything you did tonight." I held out my hand and he took it without hesitation. Some skin flaked off at my touch, but I pretended not to notice. He let me go and bobbed down into his grave, out of my line of sight. "Ready?" I asked.

I heard the coffin lid close then a muffled, "Ready!"

"You are released, Gordon," I said. "Return to your afterlife."

I watched as his misty spirit rose from the grave and hovered above the headstone. He saluted me then swept up into the dark sky.

Lincoln turned the horses around and we rode out of the cemetery. Now that we were alone, and I was fully awake, it felt somewhat awkward. I should ask him to let me ride on my own, but I didn't. Nor did he suggest it. He continued to hold me in his lap, although both his hands were now occupied with all three sets of reins.

"Lincoln?" I said, peering at him in profile. There was just enough light from the streetlamps to see him clearly at such a close angle.

"Yes?"

"I saw no other option." When he didn't answer, I added, "This opportunity might not have come again."

"I know."

"Don't be angry with me. I hate it when you're angry with me for no reason."

"It's always for a reason."

"It doesn't always seem that way from my position."

I felt rather than heard his sigh. "You don't understand."

"Then make me."

Several heartbeats passed before he said, "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not sure I understand myself."

The ache in his voice plucked at my heart. I shifted a little to see him better, but he was staring straight ahead. I touched his jaw and gently forced him to look at me. His Adam's apple jerked fiercely and his warm gaze settled on my eyes.

I stroked the strong line of his jaw with my thumb, wishing I dared touch more of him. "I think you do understand," I murmured. "And I think you're afraid of what you feel."

He jerked his head away, breaking the connection. I didn't need to be touching him to know that his jaw hardened. "You're still affected by the opium."

I didn't bother to protest. I simply sighed and settled my head against his shoulder again.

We arrived home to a house that was more awake than asleep. Cook was nowhere to be seen, but Seth and Gus ran into the courtyard when they heard the horses. Lincoln handed me down to Seth, much to my disappointment. I tried telling them that I could walk, but when Seth set me down on my feet, my legs buckled.

He caught me and looped his arm around my waist. With his help, I was able to stumble to the house. Gus and Lincoln took the horses to the stables and Seth sat me down at the kitchen table. He poured me a cup of water and I drank it greedily.

"You don't look injured," he said, his narrow gaze eyeing me up and down.

"I'm not. The residual effects of other people's opium smoke did this. Apparently it affects novices. The dead are immune, fortunately."

His eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Who died? And did you kill them? Or did Fitzroy?"

"I took Gordon Thackery with me as a bodyguard."

"Ah, yes. I read your note." His eyebrows remained halfway up his forehead as he regarded me with more admiration than concern. "That was clever of you to summon him. Your note also mentioned the captain was at Mr. Lee's. Did you see him?"

"No more questions," Lincoln barked as he strode into the kitchen. "Charlie's exhausted."

I would have argued with him, but I was much too tired. "I think I'll go straight to bed." Both of them came to assist me, but I held up my hand as I rose. "I can walk, thank you."

"Have the effects worn off?" Seth asked, hovering nearby.

"It would seem so." I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and maintaining my balance. I yawned as I reached the doorway and had to grasp the doorframe as a bout of dizziness swamped me.

"Perhaps not yet," Seth said with a chuckle.

I thought it was his arm that circled my waist to steady me, but I quickly realized it was Lincoln's. "I'd know those muscles anywhere," I murmured, tucking myself into his side.

Behind us, Seth chuckled again.

I reached the main staircase before another jaw-aching yawn engulfed me. Lincoln must have become frustrated with our slow pace, because he picked me up and carried me up the stairs. I looped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his throat.

"I'm so fortunate to have you," I murmured.

"You're fortunate I'm not furious with you."

I pulled away and frowned at his profile. "Why aren't you angry with me? It's most unlike you."

He didn't answer and I forgot all about my question by the time we reached my room. He set me gently on the bed and, of all things, removed my boots. Having this important gentleman take off his maid's boots so he could tuck her into bed suddenly seemed like the most ridiculous thing in the world, and I began to giggle.

Lincoln drew the bedcovers over me. Even though my eyes had closed of their own volition again, I knew his fingers were near my throat. I could sense him close. "You've disarmed me, Charlie," he whispered. "That's why."

By the time I registered what he was talking about, and pried my eyelids open, he'd gone.

***

"Charlie, have you seen my coat and gloves?" Seth asked before I'd stepped both feet in the kitchen.

Gus glared at his friend. "Why would she know where they are? You left 'em somewhere, dolt."

"I can't have. I haven't worn that blue coat since last winter. And who leaves their coat behind, anyway?"

"Men who have to escape from ladies' bedrooms in a hurry."

Seth gave Gus a withering glare. Gus ignored him and turned to me. "Feeling better?"

"Much." I inspected the contents of the pots on the stove. One was filled with simmering beef broth and another contained warm water. "I thought I'd wake up with a headache, but I'm none the worse for my adventure. Is this broth ready?"

"Aye, help yerself."

I fetched a bowl from the cupboard and ladled thick creamy broth into it. "Where's Cook? How is his thumb?"

"More painful than anything that anyone has ever felt before," Seth said. He stretched his legs under the table and crossed his arms. "So he'd let you believe, with all that moaning and groaning."

"We sent him to the hospital," Gus told me. "We couldn't stand listening to his whining no more."

"And Fitzroy?"

"Working upstairs. He wanted to know when you woke up. Seth, go tell him."