His Lordship Possessed (25 page)

kerchief-wrapped stone out of his greatcoat and regarded

it. “I have some knowledge of the warlord Zarath, and

how many armies he commanded during the Aramanthan

wars. His power to control had almost no limits. He is

one of the greatest mages of all time.”

“He was.” I took the kerchief from him and heaved

it into the waves. It sank out of sight. “Now he’s just

another rock sitting on the bottom of the bay.”

He blinked. “Th at won’t kill him, Charmian.”

“He’s immortal,” I said, nodding. “Nothing can. But

no one else saw, so only you and I know he’s there.” I

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glanced up at his stern face. “I’ve no reason to dive in

after a rock, and you can’t swim. Isn’t that nearly as good

as dead?”

A rusty sound came from his throat, and it took a

moment before I recognized it as a chuckle. “Yes, I

believe it is.” He faced me. “Are you ready to tell me

about the future?”

I wasn’t going to enjoy this as much as chucking that

Aramanthan jackass in the drink, I thought, wrapping

my arms round my waist. “What do you want to know?”

He took off his greatcoat and draped it over my

shoulders. “Why did I confi de the most private details of

my personal history to you?”

“I can’t say.” I tried not to breathe in the delicious

scent he’d left on the wool. “You weren’t yourself at the

time.”

Dredmore pulled up the collar so it shielded my ears

against the wind. “What made you stop despising me?”

“I met him.” I nodded toward the water. “By

comparison, you are a saint.”

Dredmore tipped up my chin with his hand so I

had to look into his eyes. “Why did you save my life,

Charmian?”

“You’re not dead,” I countered. “Do you want me to

promise not do it again?”

“I want to know”—he bent his head and touched

his lips to mine—“why you’re not slapping me, or

threatening to push me off a cliff , stab me in the heart, or lock me in my carriage and set it alight. Why you looked

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so terrifi ed when I came out of Morehaven this morning,

and then in the next moment, so relieved. I want to know

what changed things between us, Charmian, and how.”

I had to tell him something, but the future that we’d

shared no longer existed. It didn’t matter what we’d done;

all that mattered was what we would do now . . . and then

I knew exactly what to say.

“I had a dream, a few days from now,” I lied. “I was

buying peaches at the market, and I stumbled over a curb

and twisted my ankle. You helped me up and off ered to

take me home. After that we became great friends.” I felt

him go very still. “Th at never happened, of course, but

when I woke from the dream, all I could think was how

much I wished it had. Th at you and I had become friends

instead of enemies.” I smiled. “It was all downhill from

there.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, and then he

nodded slowly. “We could try to be friends.”

“We could.”

“Th en as a friend I should tell you, that was a terrible

lie,” he added. “Someday I will make you tell me the

truth.”

I lifted my brows. “Is that what friends do?” I saw how

he was staring at the spot in the water where I’d thrown

the stone. “He’s gone, Lucien. Forget about him.”

“I wish I could, but Zarath was not the only warlord

among the Aramanthan.” Dredmore’s voice grew as icy

as the breeze. “Th ere are many more out there. Th ey

are waiting, and watching, and plotting their return to

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power.”

Something rose up in me, something that almost felt

like icy burning of the spirit stone Zarath had forced me

to swallow. “Do you expect me to burst into tears and

clutch at you and wail about how powerless we are against

them? Because we’re not. I’ve seen how we are, and we

are . . . formidable.”

“We are mortal,” he corrected.

“Oh, very well.” I tossed up my hands. “I don’t think I

can cry, but if you like I could swoon. I’m actually getting rather good at faking that.”

“You’re not afraid of what’s coming.”

“Among other things, milord, I am a spell-breaker,

and a time traveler.” I turned my gaze to the sea. “Let

them come.”

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“Disenchanted & Co.,”
the sign painter read out loud from my offi ce window. “Th at’s a right strange name for this

sort of business.”

His young apprentice began mixing up some paint in

a small can. “Sort of a pun, isn’t it, miss?”

“Sort of.” I handed the painter the shilling we’d

agreed on for the job along with a slip of paper. “Th ere’s

the name of my new partner. Make sure you mind the

spelling.”

“Whatever you say, miss.” He read the note. “Now

this one’s mum must have known he’d go into the magic

trade.”

As he and his apprentice went to work, I retreated

into my offi ce to sort out the mail. On top of the pile I’d taken from the tube lay a thin gray envelope sealed with

silver wax that bore the impression of a spike-wielding

fi st.I sat down behind my desk and used my letter dagger

to slice off the seal and remove a single sheet of thin silver vellum folded in thirds.

Th e paper exuded a faint scent of ripe peaches, which

made me smile a little. Who would have guessed the

most powerful deathmage in all of Toriana had such an

infatuation with fruit?

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Charmian,

Come to dinner tonight and you may have some.

Dredmore

P.S. Please.

Two of my former clients had sent referrals, one for

a haunted carri, and the other to remove some wardlings

that had become wedged in a doorframe. Rumsen

Main must have missed those; upon learning from an

anonymous source that nearly all of the talismans in

the city were counterfeits containing a very dangerous

raw stone, the cops had been very busy confi scating and

smashing them.

I penned a message to the desk sergeant at Rumsen

Main, attached the referral to it, and got up to send it by

tube, only to stop as the sign painter’s apprentice opened

the door.

“Gent to see you, miss.” He stepped aside as the gent

strode in.

Fair-haired and average-sized, Th omas Doyle wore

his plainclothesman’s long trench and low-brim. Past

his shoulder I saw a beater in dark blue hovering in the

hallway.

Th e inspector doff ed his hat, revealing the tough,

wind-weathered features and sun-faded blue eyes of a

former navyman. “Forgive the intrusion, madam—”

“It’s miss, To—ah, sir.” Barely remembering that to

him this would be our fi rst meeting, I sat down behind

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my desk. “And you are?”

“Inspector Th omas Doyle, Rumsen Station. I’m here

to speak to Mr. Kittredge,” he told me. “If he’s stepped

out, I can wait.”

“You’ll wait for a very long time, then, as there is no

Mr. Kittredge. I am the proprietor.” I held out my hand.

“Miss Kittredge.”

He gave me a fi rm but gentle handshake as he

inspected my features. “Surely not Charmian Kittredge

of Middleway?”

“Guilty as charged.” I pretended to study him back.

“Would you be related to the Middleway Doyles?”

“I am. I believe we played together as children, at my

grandfather Arthur’s home.”

I smiled. “I believe we did.”

He paid closer attention to my face. “I haven’t seen

you in years, not since you were a gel, but still you

look . . . familiar.”

“I haven’t changed all that much. Mostly taller.” I

folded my hands in front of me. “Now how can I help the

Yard, Inspector?”

“We received a report of some fake wardlings needing

collection, but my men are having some trouble removing

them. Our staff warder, Mary Harris, recommended

Kittredge of Disenchanted, Inc.” He glanced over at the

door. “But I see you’ve a partner now as well.”

I smiled a little. “Yes, he’s just joined the fi rm.

Unfortunately he works nights, so you’ll have to settle for

me, if that’s acceptable.”

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“Of course.” He seemed a little embarrassed. “We’d

appreciate any help you can give.”

“Let me get my cloak and keys.” I stood up and went

to the rack.

On our way out, I inspected the sign painter’s

progress:

HARRY MERLI

“Very nice lettering.”

“We’ll have it done before you get back, miss.” He

nodded toward the glass. “Th en you and Mr. Merlin will

be in business.”

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Acknowledgments

Th e only name on the cover of a book is the author’s, and

sometimes I wish I could change that. It took nearly four

years to make this novel happen, and while I’ve rarely

worked as long or as hard to get something into print,

with this one I never fought alone. Since I can’t give

everyone who had my back a byline, I’ll off er them instead

my gratitude:

Tim Kim and all the wonderful folks at National

Novel Writing Month and the Offi ce of Letters and

Light, who provided me with motivation for writing this

story, and followed up that with unstinting support and

enthusiasm. What you do for writers and kids all over the

globe is nothing short of miraculous.

Th e readers of
Paperback Writer
, who cheered me

on while I was working on the fi rst draft, and all of my

readers out there who have followed this journey with

enthusiasm and encouragement. You are a constant joy

and true blessing in my writing life.

New York Times
bestselling authors Gail Carriger and Larissa Ione, whose generosity and kind words kept me

going even when things fell apart completely. Ladies, I

will never forget that.

New York Times
bestselling author Darlene Ryan, who

has been there for me in so many ways that it would take

another three pages to list them all. Dust bunnies will

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never be safe again, and Bubba, you rock.

I wouldn’t be able to write anything without the

support of my guy or our kids, but for this book they went

above and beyond, and for four long years never once

complained. I love you, and you are my heart.

Th e art department, copyediting, and production

teams at Pocket Star, who collectively have done magical

things for this novel. I know how lucky I am to have you,

and I hope you all know how grateful I am, too.

Th ere’s one more person whose name should be on

the cover of this book, and I saved him for last because if

I could I’d put it there in fi fty-point font right now. For believing in me and this story, for fi ghting for it (twice), for restoring my faith in the creative partnership between

publishers and authors, for being so damn good at what

he does, and for giving me this marvelous opportunity to

bring
Disenchanted & Co.
into our world, I’d like to thank my editor, Adam Wilson.

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Torian Glossary

abstainers:
religious agnostics

across the pond:
When in Toriana, a reference to Great Britain or Europe; when in Great Britain or Europe a

reference to Toriana (“pond” being the Atlantic Ocean)

aid-solicitor:
legal representative provided by the Crown to defendants who can’t aff ord to hire a barrister

ambrotype:
photography that uses chemicals (silverblack) to etch images on glass plate negatives

annum:
year

apothecary:
pharmacy

Aramantha:
the island homeland of the Aramanthan,

destroyed by mysterious forces that caused it to break up

and sink beneath the sea

Aramanthans:
a race of superhuman magic practitioners who ruled the world before the rise of mankind

bacco:
tobacco

barrister:
attorney

bathboy:
a male attendant/masseur who works at public baths for women

beater:
a uniformed police offi cer who patrols the streets, usually on foot

believer:
someone who believes in magic

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