The League of Illusion: Legacy (8 page)

“Are you Evangeline Stokes?”

She nodded solemnly. There was a distinctive brittle sound as she moved. Dry bone scraping against dry bone.

“Do you know who I am?”

Again she nodded.

“We are searching for Sebastian. He’s gone missing.”

“Miss Sebastian,” she whispered, her voice like the cracking of electricity. It made the little hairs on the back of Jovan’s hairs stand up.

“You miss him?”

She nodded.

“Did you see him before you died?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “And after.”

Jovan looked at Rhys. His brother raised his eyes in question. “You saw him after you died? Here?”

She nodded. “He wanted me to forgive him.”

Jovan didn’t want to ask the next question, but he knew he had to. To find the truth. “Did…did Sebastian murder you?”

She shook his head. “An accident. A spell gone wrong. But he blamed himself.”

Relief surged over Jovan. He let go of the breath he hadn’t known he was even holding. He knew his brother could not be a murderer. He knew it in his gut, but confirmation of it made him feel better. “Do you know where he went after he raised you?”

She nodded. “To go back.”

“Go back where?”

“In time.”

Skylar went to speak, but Jovan put his hand up to stop her. “She’ll only respond to me. Let’s not confuse her.”

“You mean any more than she is. She couldn’t possibly mean Sebastian went back in time. Time travel’s impossible, Jovan. There are theories certainly. But nothing that’s been proven.”

“She can’t lie. The spell compels her to tell me the truth.” He looked at Evangeline again. “Why would Sebastian want to go back in time?”

“To save me. To stop the spell.”

“Where in London did Sebastian go?”

“Whitechapel.”

“Was he going to see someone?”

She nodded. “Carolin sd. >

“What is Caroline’s family name?”

“I do not know.”

“Do you know why he went to see this Caroline?”

“I do not know.”

Rhys moved beside him, taking up his hat and wiping his brow. “That’s enough, Jovan. Put the poor girl back to rest.”

In different circumstances, he would have argued with his sibling, but this time Rhys was right. The girl couldn’t give them any more information. He nodded, then reached in his bag for the pouch of salt. He procured a pinch and was about to toss it on the corpse when Skylar stepped in the way.

“Wait.” She took the locket out of her jacket pocket and draped it over Evangeline’s skeletal fingers. “This belongs to you.”

Evangeline tilted her head down to look at her hand. She closed her fingers, capturing the necklace inside, then turned to Skylar, acknowledging her. “Thank you.”

Jovan tossed the salt over her skeleton. “I release you. I release you. I release you.”

Evangeline’s corpse turned and stepped back into the hole she’d dug to get out. Once inside, she gathered the disturbed dirt and bits of grass and pulled it over the top of her skull as she disappeared. Within minutes it was as if she’d never come out of the ground. The dug-up grass and lumps of soil were the only indications that something was amiss. The candles blew out on their own. Jovan gathered them and
the rest of his supplies and put them back into his sack.

“Are we off to Whitechapel then?” Skylar adjusted her hat and smoothed down the line of her overcoat, as if they hadn’t just been conversing with the dead.

Chapter Eleven

She didn’t know what to expect from a necromancy ceremony, but it definitely wasn’t what had taken place. It wasn’t evil, as some would profess, like the council, but more maudlin. To see Evangeline’s decayed corpse and know she would never live again made Skylar sad. Especially when she could hear in the spirit’s harsh voice the yearning she still had for Sebastian. She suspected there was a great tragic love story there but she’d likely never know the truth of it.

She glanced at Jovan as they made their way out of the cemetery. They too had a great tragic love story, and she wondered even now if it was truly over. If there was any more to their tale. Did she want there to be, was the real question.

As if sensing her musings, he turned to meet her gaze. In the eerie glow of the firelight, she swore she saw the same questions in his eyes.

“Are you well, Skylar?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She set her gloved hand to her chest. Why was her heart pounding so fast? “Just a bit jarring to see her is all.”

“At least we got some answers.”

“Not much, if you ask me,” Rhys sniped.

“No one’s asking you,” Jovan retorted.

A rumbling sound came to Skylar’s ear, and she stopped on the path. She tilted her head to listen. It came again. Louder this time.

Jovan noticed she’d halted, and did the same. “What is it?”

“Do you hear that?”

“What?”

“It’s the sound of…digging. Like many people digging at once.” She turned around to face the graves behind her just as the two nearest them burst open, and two corpses crawled out.

“What did you do?” Rhys demanded of Jovan.

“It’s not my doing.”

Once the corpses were upright, they shambled toward her. Frightened, Skylar stumbled backward, running into Jovan. He put his arm around her shoulders to steady her.

“Come on, they can’t move quickly.”

Together they turned and came face-to-face with another five undead.

“But it seems we are outnumbered.” Rhys took a distancing step back, nearly treading on Skylar’s foot.

“What’s the plan here?” Skylar asked, feeling the pressure as more bodies surrounded them. “Can you put them down, Jovan?”

“No, only the summoner can. There’s someone else here in this cemetery with greater skills than I.”

“I say let’s start swinging and hope for the best.” Rhys pulled on the metal handle of his walking stick and unsheathed a long rapier. The blade glinted in the glow of firelight.

Jovan grinned. “That’s the best idea you’ve had, brother.” He swung his cane at the nearest corpse, pulverizing its skull with one blow. “Follow me, Skylar, stay close.”

She did as instructed, nearly pressed against him as he moved through the undead, swinging his cane back and forth to clear a path. Her hands itched for her
bo
. She didn’t like having to rely on Jovan to see her safely through the corpse maze but she had no choice. It was either that or be torn apart by the undead. Which she suspected wouldn’t be a very pleasant way to die.

Then she remembered the device her father had given to her before assigning her to the Davenports.

Shoving her hand into the pocket of her overcoat, she found what she was looking for. The bamboo rod was no longer than her palm, but the size was deceiving. She pulled it out, pressed the button along the side, and two more bamboo pieces sprang out on each side, forming a
bo
the length of her arm.

Clutching it tight, she swung out at the encroaching undead. She knocked one over and then another, until there were only a handful following them.

By the time they made it to the gate, they had easily mowed down a hundred bodies. She looked behind her at the carnage in their wake. Some of the corpses were still moving on the ground, without legs or arms. One crawled toward her without a head. Before the corpse could grab her boot, Jovan kicked it away from her.

“We need to get out of here, they’ll keep coming until the practitioner releases them.”

“To do this kind of work he must be close, don’t you think?” she asked.

“Yes.” Jovan peered into the surrounding dark. “Too close for my liking.” He took her arm and pulled her through the open gate to their waiting coach.

Rhys was already there with the door open. “Get in. I’ll drive.”

Skylar didn’t hesitate. She looked over Jovan’s shoulder to see more undead shambling after them. He climbed in behind her and shut the door the instant a freshly dead corpse swiped at him, just brushing his jacket with the tips of {h t lengt brown decayed fingers. Rhys pulled the carriage away as soon as Jovan had shut the door.

Skylar pressed the button on the staff, and the pieces slid into themselves once more. She dropped it back into her pocket. “Do you suppose it was Hawthorne?” She stuck her head out the window to see if they were being followed.

She saw no following carriages only shambling corpses spilling out of the cemetery gates.

“Knowing the type of man Hawthorne is, I’d say he hired a very powerful necromancer to do his dirty work.”

The council would have to do some creative information dissemination in order to keep the incident contained. A bunch of undead roaming the streets would not go unnoticed, not even at this hour.

Skylar settled back in the seat. Folding her hands in her lap, she noticed a tear in her glove. She drew it off, surprised to see two gouges in the back of her hand. She must have been scratched by one of the undead and didn’t notice.

“You’re hurt.” Jovan reached for her, but she pulled away.

“It’s nothing but a scratch. It’ll heal.”

“Good lord, woman, you are stubborn.” He shook his head.

“No more than you.” After removing her other glove, she covered her wound with her hand and concentrated. She could feel the gash knit back together. When she lifted her hand again the wound was closed and a pale new-skin pink.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked.

“Just my pride.” She rubbed her fingers against the brocade of her jacket to avoid his gaze. “I’m sorry I couldn’t scry for you. I know this is why you called for me.”

“That’s not the only reason, Skylar. Surely you must know that.” He reached across the seat and covered her hands with his.

Surprised, she looked down at their joined hands but did not pull away. Not this time. It felt too good to have his touch, to feel the warmth of his skin against her own.

“Jovan, I…” But the carriage lurched sideways, cutting off the rest of her words.

Then Rhys was yelling and banging against the roof. “We’re being followed. Hang on!”

They lurched to the other side, causing Skylar to bump into Jovan, nearly knocking her head against his. Once righted again, she stuck her head out the side window to see what was going on.

There was indeed another steam carriage close behind them, two men sitting up top. One of them, a necromancer by the looks of his tattooed face and neck, was forming a ball of fire between his hands.

“Rhys!” she yelled. “We’re going to have a big problem in a moment.”

Up top, Rhys turned in his seat. His eyes widened. “Hang on to something!” He cranked the steering mechanism to the right.

Jovan pulled her back in just as they skidded around the street corner, in the process nearly taking out a gas lamp and an elderly couple out for a stroll. The poor couple likely thought they were under attack by enemy forces.

Skylar glanced out the window again just as the fireball exploded on the cobbled road where they would have been if Rhys hadn’t maneuvered the carriage the way he did.

“That was close,” she said.

“We need to disable the other car {thent siriage.”

Skylar reached for her satchel. She hoped the mirror had not been broken. She opened up the bag and took out the six-inch long, narrow tube of bamboo she’d had fastened inside.

“I may not be able to take out that carriage, but disabling the driver might suffice.”

Jovan’s eyes widened. “A blowpipe? What are you going to use as darts?”

Reaching up to her hat, she plucked out one of the decorative feathers. She ran her fingers down the shaft to the point. “You’ll see.”

She took out a small vial of a clear liquid, uncorked it and dipped the tip of the quill in.

“Poison?”

“Curare. Tranquilizer made from
Chondrodendron tomentosum
plant from Peru.” She plucked a few more feathers and did the same, then put them back on her hat for safekeeping, careful not to touch the tips.

Jovan grinned at her. “You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

She smiled back, his compliment filling her with an unexpected joy. “Of course I am. I am a Druid tracker, for the sun’s sake.” And with that she leaned out the small carriage window. “Hold my legs, will you?”

He grabbed her as she perched precariously on the edge of the windowsill. With her right hand, she gripped the iron railing on top of the carriage. The other hand clenched the blowdart. Every bump sent a pang of pain over her derriere. She suspected she’d be bruised by morning.

“Hold me tighter, Jovan!”

“I’m trying.” He grasped her more tightly around the waist and pinned her legs under one arm.

Rhys glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes wide. “Good Lord, Skylar. What are you doing?”

“Saving our arses.”

“You’re going to fall,” he said.

“Slow down, Rhys.”

“Are you mad?”

“Possibly.”

But he did as she asked.

Releasing her hand on the rail, she plucked one of the treated feather darts from her hat and set it in the bamboo shoot. She put the gun to her mouth and steadied her arm, setting it a little high for the wind velocity and the distance of the pursuing carriage. Taking a deep breath in, she then let it out as forcefully as she could.

The dart shot out fast, breaching the distance between the two vehicles. Skylar clenched the blowpipe, hoping for a direct hit. But she didn’t get it. The feather soared past the sorcerer’s head, just brushing his ear and bouncing off the roof of the carriage.

The sorcerer gave her a grin that made her blood ice over. He then slapped his palms together and she could see the beginning glow of fire between them. And she was a prime target hanging out of the carriage the way she was. She’d have to be quick if she didn’t want to be charred and singed like a roasted leg of lamb.

She plucked out another feather and settled it inside the tube. Before she could lift it to her lips, the carriage wheel hit a stone on the road. The impact sent her reeling back, and Jovan’s grip loosened. Good thing because the fireball the necromancer had loosed struck the carriage where she’d been only moments before.

“Skylar!” Jovan shouted as he scrambled for h {ramhe rail,er through the tiny window.

The ground was quickly coming up and she struggled to break her fall on something, anything. But she only had one hand to work with; she didn’t dare risk dropping the blowpipe.

After what seemed like an eternity of falling but what was likely mere seconds, Jovan had her by the bodice of her ruffled shirt. It was not the most becoming of situations, but at least she wasn’t a casualty on the road.

“Keep me still, Jovan,” she said, hanging upside down.

Thankfully she hadn’t lost the dart, and she put the pipe to her lips and blew. This time she hit her mark. The dart lodged in the sorcerer’s throat. His eyes bulged and he dropped the newly formed ball of fire. It bounced on the driver’s leg and set his trousers on fire.

Skylar breathed a sigh of relief when the carriage careened off the road and struck a lamppost. The impact sent it tilting to the side and finally it lumbered over, the driver pinned beneath it. The unconscious sorcerer had been thrown off and lay motionless on the sidewalk.

“Pull me in.”

She scissored her legs to help her shimmy back into the carriage. Jovan pulled at her top until he could get a solid grip on her and help her back through the window.

Once she was safely inside, Jovan hugged her close, nuzzling his face into her hair just above her ear. A gesture he’d done so many times before when they were courting.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured against her skin.

His heart raced. She could feel it thumping against her chest. The heat of his body enveloped her. It felt too good to be in his arms again, to smell the familiar earthy blend of him in her nose. It would be too easy, too simple, to surrender to it. Especially now, with her emotions muddled, and the fear of her death still lingering inside.

But they were not courting, and the pain of Jovan’s abandonment still haunted her like the lingering remnants of a bad dream.

She pulled out of his embrace and straightened her blouse. “It will take more than that to lose me, I assure you.”

“Yes, well, let’s not tempt fate ever again.” He knocked on the ceiling of the carriage. “On to Whitechapel, Rhys.”