Possession (10 page)

He meant beyond
the Waiting Area. All ghosts ended up there after death. Some remained until
they'd resolved any issues they'd left behind. Others moved on quickly. Where
they went depended on how they'd behaved in life. Jim Mortlock probably wasn't
going to a peaceful resting place.

I swallowed my
fear and forged on. "Why did they want you?" I asked. "What's
your purpose here?"

"Talkative
little bitch, eh?" He snorted in my ear. "He wants those toffs to
suffer like he did."

"Which
toffs?" But I knew. I knew.

"That lord
and lady and their girl. He wanted to humiliate them, make their boy watch as his
sister did some awful bad things because of me."

Oh God, oh God. Someone
had done that to Adelaide deliberately? But who? Why?

I didn't have to
think hard for an answer. Whoever had killed Jacob out of revenge was now
taking it further by putting his family through further misery. The one who'd
released the shape-shifting demon had also summoned Mortlock into Adelaide's
body.

"Too bad I
didn't want to stay in the girl." I could hear him grin in my ear. "Oh,
I liked what I saw in the mirror. Had a nice time that night alone in her
room." His hand gripped one of my breasts and squeezed. He grunted,
perhaps in disappointment that he didn't get a handful, and let go. His fingers
trailed down my ribcage to my waist.

"But you
didn't want to be in a woman's body?" I asked quickly. A moment or two
more and I would call Jacob, but first I wanted to learn all I could from
Mortlock.

His hand stilled
and his palm flattened against my stomach. "Nope. Didn't want no footman's
body neither. No better than scum, they are. I wanted to be the master. This body
was the best on offer so I took it."

"Do they
know? The people who summoned you here? Do they know you transferred to Mr.
Arbuthnot's body?"

"They do
now. Must have worked it out."

"Did they
ask you to do their bidding, whatever that is?"

He snorted. "I
do no man's bidding. No girl's neither." His hand dipped to my skirt and
he pressed himself into my side. I kept my gaze fixed on the opposite wall. "I
eat pretty girls for breakfast."

Just one more
question. One more. "What does he look like? The man who summoned you with
the little girl?"

"No more
talking," he growled. "We're nearly at the station and I want my
entertainment." Faster than a blink, he flipped up my skirt and pinched my
thigh through my stocking.

I gasped and
tried to shove him away, but he was too big, too strong, and he held the knife
against my thigh. He sneered and a chill seeped into my bones. He was going to
cut me, or have his way with me, or both.

And when he'd
finished, he'd kill me.

CHAPTER 6

"Jacob!"
His name was barely out of my mouth when he came. Cold fury deadened his eyes
as he took in the scene. He looked around for a weapon since he couldn't use
his fists on a live body. If we could draw Mortlock out of Arbuthnot, that
would be a different matter. Spirits could interact with other spirits.

"Knife,"
I said to Jacob, but he'd already seen it.

"You want
it, eh?" Mortlock grinned, but it was wiped off his face when Jacob grabbed
the blade. Confused, Mortlock glanced up and around, but he held onto the weapon
so they performed a tug-of-war over it. The knife would have sliced mortal
flesh to pieces, but Jacob could not feel pain or bleed anymore. "What are
you doing, witch? Stop it, or I'll gut you."

With Mortlock occupied
and off-balance, I did what Jacob couldn't do. I pushed the big body of Wallace
Arbuthnot off me. But in an attempt to steady himself, Mortlock pushed hard on
the knife. Jacob couldn't hold onto it. The knife cut my thigh.

I screamed as my
flesh tore open. The coach came to a hard stop. I rocked and Mortlock fell
forward. Jacob snatched the knife off him.

"Emily!"
He was at my side in a heartbeat.

The door opened
a mere inch and the wild-eyed driver peeped cautiously inside. With a grunt,
Mortlock pushed the door open all the way and the driver tumbled back to the
road. Both men swore.

"Jacob,
stop him! He's getting away!"

He shook his
head. "You're bleeding. Take off your cloak."

"But Jacob!"

"I'm
staying here with you. Tell the driver to chase him."

I gave the order
and the driver took off in the direction of Mortlock, but the villain had
already been swallowed up by the crowd of passengers outside Victoria Station
and I doubted the driver would have any luck.

"Your cloak,"
Jacob prompted without taking his gaze off the bloodied slash.

With my skirts
still bunched up, I was revealing a lot of thigh as well as the wound. The heat
of his gaze warmed me all over and I should have felt ashamed, but I didn't. Perhaps
it was because he was a ghost, or perhaps it was simply because he was Jacob,
my
Jacob, I didn't mind the way he looked at me—as if he wanted to kiss me there. I
wanted
him to kiss my thigh.

I removed my cloak
and handed it to him. He put the knife on the floor beside his knee and dabbed
the wound near the garter. It stung a little and I sucked air between my teeth.

He eased back. "Emily?"
The quaver in his voice concerned me more than the cut.

"It's all
right," I said. "It's just a scratch."

He inspected the
wound. "It's more than a scratch." His free hand cupped my thigh and
his thumb caressed my skin through the torn stocking. I sighed and relaxed. He
dabbed at the blood with the cloak some more. It had stopped bleeding and we
could now inspect the damage.

"My
stocking is ruined," I said, trying to be light.

He said nothing.
His thumb continued to stroke my thigh. I couldn't see his face, intent as he
was on the wound.

"I'd better
hide it from my sister," I went on.

Still he said
nothing. He bent his head forward and I thought he would kiss my knee, but
instead he rested his forehead there. He heaved a deep, body-shuddering sigh
and gently grasped my calf.

I stroked his
hair until he composed himself.

"Tend to
this when you get home," he said, voice shaky. He drew my skirts down over
my legs but remained kneeling at my feet.

"I'll
try."

"Try?"
He looked up. His face was blanched. Not white, as there was no blood in him to
drain away, but pinched and drawn. He looked older.

"I don't
want to alarm Celia," I said. "Asking for salves and bandages might
alert her to something being amiss."

"I'll get
anything you need." He sat on the seat opposite me and leaned forward,
resting his elbows on his knees. He looked exhausted, although not even that
was possible for a ghost.

The driver
returned. "Slippery as an eel, that one," he said with a shake of his
head. "Sorry, miss. I alerted a constable but..." He shrugged.

"It's all
right. We'd better return to Victoria Dock and retrieve the others."

He tugged his
forelock, having lost his hat, and climbed up to the box. The coach rolled on.

"They are
still at the dock, aren't they?" I asked.

Jacob nodded. "We
were at The Three Knots when I heard your summoning." I wasn't sure if
calling out his name once could count as a summoning, but I said nothing. "George
and Theo were asking around about Arbuthnot when the footmen came in and told
us you'd been..." His eyelids lowered and remained closed for a few long
seconds. "I darted around looking for you, but...there are a lot of black coaches
in the area." He rubbed his hand over his eyes and when he removed it, a
light that hadn't been there before shone in them. "Why didn't you call me
earlier? You know I can't locate you until you do."

"I wanted
to get some answers from him first."

"Jesus,
Emily!" His outburst startled me and my nerves, already frayed, jumped. He
sat back, folded his arms over his chest, unfolded them and re-folded them. "My
apologies," he muttered. "But having a conversation with mad spirits
is a very stupid thing to do."

"I got some
useful information," I said, indignant.

The look he
focused on me was sharper than the blade still lying on the cabin floor. "You
should have called me immediately."

I sighed. "You
would have alerted him to your presence somehow and then he wouldn't have said
anything."

"I don't
bloody care, Emily. Never,
ever
do something like that again. Understand?
Otherwise I'll have to haunt you forever for your own sake."

I quite liked
the sound of that. The way his gaze softened and he quickly looked away told me
he realized his threat was pointless.

"If I was
capable of aging," he said quietly, "I would look about fifty right
now."

For some reason
I found that funny and I laughed. He didn't join in and stared out the window. His
jaw formed a rigid line in profile, his lips pressed tightly together. Neither
of us spoke the rest of the way back to the Three Knots.

***

Once George and
Theo joined us, my silence didn't last long. I told them everything Mortlock
had told me, including his suggestion that the Beauforts were being targeted by
the girl and the person with her, and my idea that it was the same villain
who'd released the demon.

Jacob swore and
punched the side of the cabin. George jumped, but Theo merely raised his
eyebrows then nodded in understanding.

"We'll warn
your family," Theo said. Not knowing how tall Jacob was, he spoke to Jacob's
chest rather than his face. "Don't worry. No harm will come to
anyone."

We all knew we
couldn't guarantee their safety. Without knowing who was behind the summoning, we
might as well have been blindfolded. What was to stop the girl and her
accomplice calling another spirit? What was to stop them going to the Belgravia
house and firing a pistol?

But something
told me our villain was playing a more subtle, supernatural game.

"I'll warn
Lady Preston, just in case," I added.

"I'll do
it," George said. "I can stop by on my way home."

"I'm not
sure your ways are delicate enough, George."

He pouted. "I'm
good at being delicate where ladies are concerned."

Jacob rolled his
eyes. I tried not to laugh, since it wasn't a laughing matter. I didn't want
Lady Preston or Adelaide to worry, but I did want them to be alert until
Mortlock was safely back in the Waiting Area and the people who'd summoned him
had been dealt with.

"Of course
you are," I said to George. "But even so, I'd like to come along. Shall
we go now?"

"Can you
drop me home first?" Theo said. "As much as I'd like to join you, I
must check on my aunt. I left her in a bit of a state this morning."

Jacob seemed to
brighten at this.

"As you
wish," George said. He pulled down the window and shouted instructions to
the driver.

The gentle
rocking of the coach would have been soothing if my mind wasn't in turmoil and
my leg didn't throb. I watched Jacob sitting in the corner like a dark thunder
cloud. He seemed in no mood for talking.

"We must
find Mortlock," I said. "Before he does something awful."

George removed
his hat and wiped his brow. "But how?"

"I'll
repeat my search," Jacob said, "starting immediately after you're
home safe."

"Jacob will
find him," I told George.

"Of course,
of course," he muttered.

Theo nodded. "We
must also find the girl who summoned the spirit, and the man with her. For the
Beauforts' safety."

"He must
think we're all stupid," Jacob mumbled.

I tried to
ignore him, but I wasn't very good at it. Ignoring Jacob was like ignoring my
arms and legs. He was so much a part of me.

"I think
the girl and her friend knew Mortlock when he was alive," he added.

I stared at him
then repeated what he'd said for George and Theo's benefit.

"Of course,"
George said. "Otherwise how would they know whom to summon?"

I rubbed my eyes
with my thumb and forefinger. He was right. It made sense.

Theo agreed. "So
find out more about Mortlock and we might find out more about the people behind
the summoning."

"There's
another way we can learn about them." I took a deep breath and repeated
everything Celia had told me about my father and how I suspected the girl was
his daughter too, and therefore my sister. I told them about Louis' father's
shop and that we might discover where he lived if we asked the current owner,
Mr. Graves. We might find the girl through him.

I steeled myself
for their reaction to my scandalous origins. I was a bastard, a child born out
of wedlock with African blood. I wasn't sure what to expect from the men who
belonged to the class of privilege and propriety. Scorn? Pity? Disgust?