The Importance of Being Emily (2 page)

His brow furrowed as he considered my argument, and then he nodded. “You have a valid point. But if your father berates me for involving you, I am placing the blame squarely on your shoulders.”

I smiled. “That is usually what happens. I am quite notorious, as you know. Now, your mentor is accused of attacking Miss Morgan?”

“Yes, and Simon would never do such a thing. They are condemning him solely because he is a chronicler.” Anger surged from him again, and I took a steadying breath. He was affecting me too easily, and I centered myself to regain control.

“Were you with him when she was attacked?”

“No, I wasn’t. I was speaking with Mr. Castle at the time. Simon was alone.” Mr. Black sighed and ran his fingers through his short black hair. It gave him a charming mussed look, and I folded my hands in my lap to fight the sudden urge to straighten it.

“Does he have any enemies in attendance?” I asked.

“Not that I’m aware of. I’ve never seen him quarrel with anyone, but he must have some. Three hundred years is a long time to go without stepping on someone’s toes.”

“Well then. I would like to see the body before the energy of the room is too disrupted to be of use.” I squared my shoulders, seeking to appear as confident as I sounded. I had never attempted anything like this before, but I was certain I could do it. What sort of friend would I be if I didn’t do everything in my power to vindicate his mentor?

“Very well.” Mr. Black rose and held his hand out to help me to my feet, and I smiled up at him. Though I usually avoid touching people, even with my gloves on, I trusted him enough to take his hand. As I stood I was distracted by how tall he was, followed by how lovely his dark eyes were in the soft light of the library, but then the familiar but unwelcome dizziness of a vision shoved its way into my thoughts. My body jerked as I was blinded by a flurry of images, sounds and emotions, but I knew two things with absolute certainty before I was overwhelmed: Michael Black was my soul mate, and he would be dead within a year.

Chapter Two

I stumbled down a darkened hallway, drawn by the sound of a child crying, and I emerged into a vast, dimly lit library, the likes of which I had never seen before. Aisles of bookshelves stretched ever onward until they vanished into the shadows. There was no sign of the child, but its screams grew louder and more urgent, and I broke into a run. The skirts of my gown were heavy, weighing me down, and I struggled against them. My breath burned in my lungs as I ran past endless rows of shelves. Finally I tripped and fell, sprawling awkwardly across a hard wooden floor. When I looked up I spotted Michael standing a few feet away, his attention focused on the open book in his hands. Behind him was a cradle, and I winced at the wails emanating from it.

“Why didn’t you see to the baby?” I asked as I struggled to stand.

“This is more important.”

Cursing the idiocy of men, I hurried to help the child, but when I reached the cradle it was empty…

“Miss Wright?”

My head throbbed, and I struggled to catch my breath. Sadness weighed my chest down, as though my heavy cat Thomasina had decided I was the perfect place to nap atop again.

“Miss Wright, can you hear me?” Mr. Black repeated.

I opened my eyes, and when I blinked the room into focus, I discovered I was once again seated in the chair I had attempted to vacate. Mr. Black knelt before me, patting my hand with a worried expression. “Are you ill? Should I fetch one of your sisters?”

“Only if you wish to make me feel worse,” I muttered in reply, scowling at the idea. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Sarah would take such delight in the news that my soul’s perfect match was already spoken for by the Order of St. Jerome. Another woman I might have a chance against, but the Order? All librarians dreamed of joining the Order and spending eternity surrounded by books as they recorded magician history.

“A witch, then? You’re very pale. Someone should have a look at you,” he said.

“I am always pale.” Though not as pale as he would be once he became a chronicler and could no longer stand the sunlight. I studied his face, imagining his complexion changed by the pallor of death, and tears sprung to my eyes. Frustrated, I caught his hand and held it tightly in mine. “Why did you never ask me to match you?”

He blinked, obviously surprised by the question. “I never considered it. I’ve always wanted to become a chronicler.”

“But you’re
my
match. Oh, this is just awful.” My voice cracked, and he stared at me, dumbstruck.

“Your match?” he stammered.

“My soul mate,” I clarified.

“Are you certain?” he asked, and I glared at him. “Of course you are. I apologize.”

“And your apprenticeship is almost over, isn’t it?”

Mr. Black nodded. “It is. It will end on Samhain.”

My shoulders slumped in defeat, and I covered my face with my hands, hiding my sorrow behind a wall of black silk. I knew that the higher powers could be heartless and that having a soul mate did not guarantee happiness or true love, but this… I would have been much happier continuing through life believing I did not have a soul mate, rather than living with the knowledge that my soul mate was a man I couldn’t have.

“I am sorry. You know that I am very fond of you, but…” He trailed off. Dropping my hands, I shook my head, certain that crueler words had never been spoken.

“Don’t bother. I understand. Your work is important to you.” I smiled weakly. I had heard it often enough from my family, when they could not be bothered to spend time with me or listen to what I had to say. As a seer I recognized their obsession, but I didn’t understand it.

“Surely there must be some way,” he began again, but before he could continue he was interrupted by the library door opening. I glanced toward the noise and spotted Lord Willowbrook, the gathering’s host and owner of the estate. He stepped into the room and frowned at the scene before him as I hastily wiped away my tears.

“Mr. Black, what is going on here?” he demanded.

Mr. Black rose and stepped away, and I fished through my handbag for my handkerchief.

“Forgive me, Lord Willowbrook,” I spoke up. “I was momentarily ill from a vision, and Mr. Black was concerned about my welfare. But I feel much better now.” The lie twisted my stomach, but I dabbed at my eyes and put on a brave smile. I looked up at Mr. Black. “If you would be so kind as to help me up?”

“Of course.” He eyed me warily as he helped me to my feet, and I took hold of his arm. Though I did not want more contact with him, my legs were weak and wobbly beneath me and I needed the extra support.

“Mr. Black was about to escort me to Miss Morgan’s body so that I may examine it. Would you lead the way please, Lord Willowbrook?” I suggested.

Mr. Black’s gaze pricked my skin as he peered down at me, but I kept my focus on our host, intent on the task at hand. There was no point in dwelling on foolish things when there was a serious matter to resolve.

Lord Willowbrook’s bushy white eyebrows knit together as his frown deepened. “You wish to examine the body?”

“Yes. To determine the events that caused her death. It is important to do so as soon as possible while the energy remains.” Though my tone was reasonable, from the burning of my eyes I probably appeared a hairsbreadth away from hysteria.

“You’ll do no such thing. This is not a matter appropriate for a lady to investigate.” Lord Willowbrook shook his head as though he considered the matter closed, but I continued.

“I am afraid I must insist. I do understand that you would prefer to work with a male seer, but there aren’t any in all of England. The interests of justice supersede those of propriety in this case. You wouldn’t want one of your guests wrongfully accused of murder, would you?”

It was risky appealing to the honor of a summoner, considering that as magicians who consort with demons they are not known for it, but Lord Willowbrook turned a bright shade of red and nodded shortly. “Very well. This way.”

“That was brilliant,” Mr. Black whispered as we crossed the room.

“Pray that it works,” I whispered in reply.

I clung to his arm as we followed Willowbrook down the hallway, and I stared at the back of our host’s head and tried to regain my control. I knew I must have looked awful, but there was no remedy for that. My personal shields were in shambles, allowing stray thoughts and emotions of the party guests to flit about me like insistent butterflies. Fear was chief among them—fear that a monster had slithered into their safe celebration.

We drew to a halt outside the door, and I stepped away from my escort. The two men watched as I took a deep breath, centering myself. Once all the fluttering concerns were silent again, I nodded.

“I am ready.”

Lord Willowbrook opened the door. I followed him into the room and glanced about. It was a pleasant enough sitting room, though like the rest of Willowbrook Hall the furnishings were several years out of fashion. Two men stood inside, one of whom I recognized as Mr. Oscar Gryphon, a member of the prominent sorcerer family of the same name. He was fair haired and bad tempered, and I rather disliked him. Mr. Farrell was also in the employ of the Gryphons, though he was a member by allegiance instead of blood. The other man was a stranger to me, and he knelt next to the couch. From this angle I couldn’t see the body, but from the spill of golden curls over the arm of the couch I assumed Miss Morgan must be laid upon it.

“What is she doing here?” Mr. Gryphon asked.

“Miss Wright intends to use her abilities to aid the investigation,” Lord Willowbrook informed him.

“We already know what happened here,” he countered.

“Obviously you don’t,” I said, “and I would prefer that you leave. You are interfering with the residual energy.”

“Amelia is my cousin, I will not leave her.” Mr. Gryphon folded his arms across his chest. I quirked a brow—interesting. Miss Morgan was a sorceress, but I didn’t know she was related to the Gryphons. If I remembered correctly, like many sorcerers their family did associate with necromancers. Perhaps she knew her killer…

“Then as her cousin I’m sure you want the right person to be punished for her death,” I replied.

“We know who did this!”

“Simon could not have—” Mr. Black started, and I held my hands up.

“Gentlemen, please,” I interrupted. “If you must argue, do it in the hallway.”

“I am not leaving,” Mr. Gryphon repeated.

“Fine. Then please stand over there and be quiet.” I pointed toward the door, feeling a bit like my mother ordering my sisters about. Her iron will must have rubbed off on me, for Mr. Gryphon did as he was told. That only left the gentleman kneeling next to the couch, and I frowned sternly at him. He appeared to be about my age, perhaps a bit older, with neatly trimmed red hair and vibrant green eyes. Healing energy radiated from him in a soothing wave, and I realized that he was the most powerful witch I had ever encountered. Impressive.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, Miss Wright. I am Dr. Bennett.” He rose and approached me, extending his hand in greeting, which I stared at suspiciously. The doctor spoke with an odd accent—American? It would explain his poor manners.

“Forgive me, sir, but I prefer not to be touched,” I informed him. “You determined the cause of death?”

He winced. “I did, yes.”

I nodded, words failing me as I forced myself to walk toward the couch. It was high-backed, upholstered in pale blue fabric and trimmed in dark wood. The pleasantness of the piece added to the strangeness of seeing Miss Morgan lying upon it. At first glance she appeared to be sleeping. Her head rested upon the arm of the couch, and her heart-shaped face was turned toward the fireplace, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted. One arm was bent above her, as though reaching to rearrange her hair, and the other hung lifelessly off the side of the cushion. Two clear puncture wounds pierced the side of her exposed throat, but there was no evidence of blood.

I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry, and I clasped my hands in front of me. My sight shifted, allowing me to read the auras in the room. Miss Morgan did not have an aura, and the lack of it was jarring. Her life’s energy was gone. I had never tried to read a corpse before, and I was not prepared for the experience. Nausea gripped my stomach, and I quickly looked away. My gaze travelled over the four men near the door, recognizing their auras in turn—summoner, sorcerer, witch, librarian—but I stopped when I reached Mr. Black. A silver cord stretched between us like a tightrope, connecting our auras. Would I have noticed it before if I had read his aura in the many times we spoke together in the past?

Ignoring the question, I continued my investigation. The rest of the room was quiet, subdued. It was probably too much to hope for blatant evidence of a spell, that perhaps a demon had ripped a hole into the room or a faerie had left a trail of mischief. There was an impression of anger left where Mr. Gryphon had been standing, and a general sense of shock permeated the air like the moment after a hunting rifle is fired.

“Do you see anything?” Mr. Gryphon asked.

I fought the urge to glare at him and returned my attention to the body. “Her spirit did not linger, if that gives you any comfort.” Not that I could communicate with her if she had. Spirits of the dead fell into the study of necromancy, and seers could only speak with living spirits, such as elementals.

Though Miss Morgan was devoid of energy, the couch around her seemed to retain something, which was odd. With her body in the way I couldn’t tell if it was a spell or an emotion, and I tugged my right glove off and placed my hand against the upholstery, expecting to feel the fading remnants of it. Instead, I foolishly triggered a vision as a rush of pure lust traveled up my arm and through my body. My eyes blurred, and as I struggled to focus, the sound of Miss Morgan’s voice startled me. She moaned in a very inappropriate fashion, and my cheeks burned bright red as the image formed to reveal a scene that no proper lady should view. Alarmed, I stepped back and spotted her undergarments piled on the floor next to her and the skirts of her gown hiked up around her waist as her lover…