Spirited (4 page)

Specters despised the cold, lacking the warmth of life. When on our plane they sought heat. They’d be attracted to Mr. Knightly’s machine with its red-hot lights.

At the edge of the crowd, one of Rumsay’s footmen greeted us with a stern, “Guests are requested to remain in this location for the duration of the performance.”

Nora retreated a step. “Let’s try another way.”

“There is no other way,” I said. “Can’t you see they have all the exits covered?” I turned my attention to the guard. “In case your mechanical eyes fail you, this is Miss Rumsay, your master’s daughter. She is no guest. Now let us pass.”

“Guests are requested—”

“I beg of you, a nourishing beverage of some sort,” I changed tactics, trying my hand at appearing delicate and weak. Hard to do when one was twenty stone heavier than was fashionable. “I fear I may expire from the stifling heat.” I put a hand to my throat. “Though atmospheric, the suffocating fog that Mr. Knightly has graced us with is clogging my airways. I have a sensitive constitution. My physician would be most displeased.”

The footman whirred in place, shifting on its base, but despite my theatrics, the blasted thing remained unmoved.

“Get going, you blathering clockwork dandy, before I tell my father of your insolence!” Nora gave the guard a swift kick with her pointed lace-up boot. The guard sputtered and then whirled off to do her bidding. Terror had made Nora intimidating.

“I was handling that,” I muttered as she dragged me toward an archway leading to the main hall.

“Not from where I stood,” a squeaky voice countered as Jefferson slipped out from behind a marble column. “No wonder my sister remains unattached if she’s taking advice from you.”

I put my hands on my hips, wondering how long the rotter had been skulking around the ballroom when he’d been strictly told to remain in his chamber. “You’re lucky I have little time to devote to you, Jefferson, or I’d challenge you to a duel.” I scowled at Nora’s brother.

“Exactly what I meant,” Jefferson said. “Girls don’t go around challenging boys to duels, Amelia. It’s just not done.”

“Isn’t it? How sad.” I ushered my charges through the first floor parlor and stopped at a closed door. “All right, down you go.” I pushed the door open. “Jefferson, your sister’s had about all she can take of your father’s nonsense. I need you to keep her down below until I come back for you.”

“In the wine cellar?” Jefferson’s eyes brightened with interest. “But I’m not allowed to go there.”

“You are now.”

Needing no other invitation, Jefferson grabbed his sister’s arm and descended a step.

Nora balked. “Amelia, do be careful.” She bit her lower lip. “Whatever he’s done, Father hasn’t been himself since mother died.”

I gave my friend a reassuring smile. “I know. I’ll make this right, don’t you fret.”

Nora hung on my every word. Her expression cleared only after I promised to keep her father safe, even from himself if necessary.

As I closed the door behind them, screams pierced the air from the ballroom. My Hylo derringer sparked to life, burning my side, making the promises I’d made weigh heavy on my heart.

The tongue might be a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts.

~*~*~

I returned to the ballroom, moving with stealth thanks to the cloying fog. I weaved undetected through the line of automaton guards, and it was as if I’d entered the gates of hell.

A heavy fog swirled drifting between the lavishly costumed guests with purposeful, demonic energy. The undulating mist held New York’s finest fixed with terror, knotting the air, making it difficult to breathe. Above diamond-studded, feathered coiffeurs, whitewashed specters dove and swooped at the crowd, revealing features best left in the grave. Gaping jaws, empty eye sockets, blackened teeth, bones, and rotting flesh.

“Rumsay, you go too far.”

“Knightly, turn that blasted machine off.”

Cries of terror rang out from the crowd. Rumsay paid little heed, his lips moving as he recited a silent chant.

A sudden heat, unrelated to the warmth of my derringer settled along my spine. I shot a glance over my shoulder to find Warren standing protectively at my back.

“Nora and Jefferson safely ensconced?” His breath thrilled along my nape.

“Just in time, I see,” I said, withdrawing my Hylo and holding it high. I traced the movements of the dancing spirits, but refused to fire.

I had only one shot, and then the derringer would have to recharge, a necessity that took at least several minutes. Once I launched an attack, I hadn’t a single second to squander.

“Knightly is dead,” Warren said, dodging a screeching, clawing shape. “His heart appears to have stopped, though there is foam at his lips. He might have been poisoned.”

Biting down a curse, I spotted the phantasmagoria operator slumped over glowing dials. Knightly might have passed, but his machine continued to project its specters, blending false threats with the real.

“I can tackle Rumsay, break his concentration.” Warren took a step toward the would-be sorcerer.

I blocked his advance. “No. We have to wait until his bride appears. I have a lock of her hair. It must be incinerated to negate the spell.”

Warren held out his hand. “Give it to me, I’ll set it burning. You keep Rumsay distracted.”

I quirked a brow. “Leaving a woman to take on the enemy? Whatever would your father say?”

“I don’t give a damn what my father says.” Warren’s eyes were steady on mine. “Besides, you’re the one who’s armed.” He wiggled his fingers. “However, you are wasting precious time.”

I sighed and handed over the tight coil of blonde hair.

Warren slipped through the crowd toward the overheated lights of the phantasmagoria machine. My eyes narrowed with appreciation as he pried off one of the protective metal screens, exposing the direct source of light—glowing coils. He held the lock of hair as he met my gaze. He’d wait until my signal.

I cut through the mob.

Rumsay’s attention remained fixed upon a symbol painted on the marble floor in the center of the ballroom. I sucked in a breath, frantic to see the thing in full, yet knowing what I was likely to find. The Seal of Bune. The evocation of Bune, a spirit once entrapped by King Solomon himself, was necessary to complete the Widow’s Curse. Legend had it Bune could exchange a living soul with that of the dead. Sure enough, the seal lay at Rumsay’s feet. Drawn in blood.

Burning the hair wouldn’t be enough. I’d have to break the seal as well.

“Rumsay,” I called out, derringer trained on the center of his forehead. “I don’t think this is what Nora had in mind when she agreed to this fiasco.”

Rumsay lifted his chin. Stared me down.

I swallowed hard. The silver-infused holy water brewing in my Hylo wouldn’t kill Nora’s father, but it would deal his growing power a heavy blow. Hopefully giving Warren enough time to set the lock of hair on fire. If Rumsay didn’t attack me first.

“Amelia, I knew you’d make a timely appearance.” Rumsay’s smile was wrought with evil. “Come closer, my dear. I won’t harm you. You’re too valuable to me. Don’t you see?”

Loud as thunder Rumsay’s guards whirled into action, closing in on me before I could take my next breath. Herding me to Rumsay’s side.

“I won’t insult your intelligence with pretense. We both know what I’ve set in motion. “

I shook my head. “This won’t bring your wife back. She won’t be the same woman you buried. “

Rumsay laughed. “Of course not. Why would I wish that defective body on my beloved? No, she won’t be the same. She’ll be healthy. Strong. No more murmurs in her heart. Bune will see to that. Once he exchanges your soul for my long lost bride’s.”

I shuddered. Oh, the workings of this man’s mind were far more twisted than I feared. I put a hand to my stomach, sickened at the thought of losing my soul, my body to this monster. In the center of the seal, a dense fog swirled and took shape. The haunted eyes of Nora’s mother met mine. Her lips formed words.
Stop this.

And so I would.

“Your guests are right, sir,” I said. “You go too far.”

Rumsay smiled. “On the contrary, my dear. I doubt I will ever go far enough where you are concerned.” His gaze softened as if he were imagining some crazed future where I housed the soul of his departed wife.

My stomach lurched. “Now, Warren!” I screamed, jerking my arm downward. I squeezed the trigger and fired the Hylo. A blast of steam shot from the barrel, made contact with the bloodlines on the marble floor, obscuring the seal. Destroying its power.

Rumsay roared and charged at me. His guards clasped my arms in a punishing grip. The slam of the back of his hand against my cheek caused me to stagger, but his guards kept me upright. My lip had split from the impact of the blow. A rush of copper filled my mouth.

A wail rose from the wraith, Nora’s mother, as she slipped back from whence she had come.

“Why?” Her voice whipped the air. “Why did you do this?”

Rumsay fell to his knees. “Because I love you, wife.”

“You never loved me. Power is your mistress, and you shall have it no more.”

A blast of lightning. The crack of thunder.

The room went black.

When the gaslights sputtered to life, the mist crept back into the shadows. The spirits, both real and those generated by the phantasmagoria machine, faded to nothingness.

Warren reached my side. We watched, hard-eyed as Rumsay threw himself over the barren, bloody seal, sobbing into his hands.

~*~*~

“Damn them to hell!” Hanson shoved away from the stereopticon, unable to bear witness to his master’s defeat any longer.

His hands moved in a blur as he flicked switches and twisted dials, shutting down the observation site. He grabbed a black satchel and thrust a mélange of tools inside. He paused at the secret entrance to the laboratory, taking a last look at the site of his birth. The smell of formaldehyde, the tick and chink of exposed gears.

He would create a new home.

One where he was master.

And they would tremble in fear.

~*~*~

The ballroom sat in the bruised heart of The Narrows, empty of guests.

“I can’t thank you enough, Warren,” Nora said, her eyes damp with tears. She clutched Warren’s hand to her breast. “Your quick thinking has saved us all.”

“Well, not everyone.” My lips slanted in a grimace as an officer draped a coat over Knightly’s corpse. I resisted the urge to place my necromancer’s touch on the man’s hand to determine his exact cause of death.

Curiosity killed the cat, now didn’t it?

Nora continued, “How clever of you to establish the cause of my father’s bizarre behavior as a malfunction of the phantasmagoria machine. That toxic gas spewing forth affected his mind and corrupted the mechanics of his clockwork guards.”

Warren pulled his hand from Nora’s death grip. “I’m sure your father will be recovered all too soon.” He transferred Nora’s pale hand to her brother’s.

“Jefferson, why don’t you see your sister to her rooms? Surely a rest would serve her well.”

Silence descended between us after the brother and sister departed.

“Each of the guards has been disengaged.” Warren said finally, scanning my face with a dark expression on his own features. “They won’t be able to harm anyone again.”

His words reminded me of my injury, a pain that had settled to a dull ache in my jaw. I flicked out my tongue, testing for blood.

His eyes flickered.

“What will you tell your father?” I asked, bracing myself for his response.

“The truth.”

I raised a brow.

Warren smiled. “That Amelia Strangeways is a necromancer to be reckoned with. That I request your name be officially submitted as a replacement for your father and be given the consideration of any other candidate. Sex notwithstanding.”

I flushed at his bold choice of words.

He stepped back and gave me a deep bow. “It has been a pleasure hunting with you, Strangeways. I do believe I’ll make my recommendation on one condition—that I am to be your only partner. Wouldn’t want to saddle any other man with your temper.”

I gasped. My hand shot out, but my intended blow to his cheek caught only air. Warren had already turned and jaunted away. I observed his fine form as he exited the ballroom. My heart leapt in my chest.

Warren would recommend me to the council. We’d hunt.

Together.

I pressed a hand to my heart, struggling to control its wild-horse pace.

Oh, this would not do. No, it would not do at all.

The Senet Box

Amunet.

The name is Ancient Egyptian. It means
the hidden one
.

That she was, indeed. That she still is.

Hidden forever from me.

I first saw her in Nicosia, in the year of our Lord, 1283, after having celebrated my sixteenth birthday. I had just returned from Jerusalem with my father, Hugh de Lusignan III, King of Cyprus and Jerusalem—also called
the Great
—after an attempt to sort through the many factions vying for the throne of the ancient city. A visit had been necessary to restore order, but Father had little patience for insubordination and finally left Jerusalem in the hands of his bailiff.