The Conquering Dark: Crown (29 page)

The house at Gaunt Lane was silent. Simon quietly closed the front door behind him. Nick had never been an unobtrusive man, and in their years together, he could always be heard bustling about. There was nothing.

He stepped past the sitting room on the right and something caught his attention. In the center of the room was a swirling portal. Simon had established a new link here a week ago and now it had been activated. In the quivering oval, he saw the shuttered window in the room in the Palais-Royal.

Simon walked into the sitting room, looking into the rippling view of distant Paris. If Nick had stolen the key, as Ash said, and used it to open the portal, he was gone now. Simon could follow, but the odds of finding one man in that teeming city were very thin. And, if Nick was trying to lose himself, he would likely open a second portal from Paris and vanish into that.

Perhaps there was another reason that Simon wasn't seeing. Just because Nick had worked for Ash, just because he had secretly watched Simon for her, just because Nick lied about it all, didn't mean Ash was telling the truth now. Malcolm warned him, wisely, not to trust her. Ash lied out of habit and with a long-game agenda that few could penetrate. Perhaps Simon just couldn't fathom the perverse leverage Ash was trying to exert on him and his team.

Simon lifted a hand to the portal and brushed the softness of the otherworldly surface. The evidence that shimmered in front of him was inconclusive. He muttered, “Nick. Did you want me to follow? Why didn't you close the portal behind you?”

“Because,” came a voice from the corner, “I didn't leave.”

Simon spun to see Nick lounging in his usual spot on the tattered sofa. The older magician looked exhausted. His eyes were ringed with dark circles. There was a whiskey bottle and empty glass on the table next to him. Nick lifted one hand off his chest and tossed an object across the room.

Simon caught the gold key out of the air. He slowly looked up from the glittering device in the palm of his hand to his friend. Nick couldn't meet his gaze and threw his forearm over his eyes. Simon waited for the explanation, however twisted, however disappointing, that would strike Ash's lie into the dust.

“Why did you take it?” Simon asked.

Nick glanced from under his arm with a look of curious annoyance. His confusion dissipated when he realized Simon was still searching for excuses. He took a deep breath. “Ash told you, didn't she? You wouldn't be here looking like that, asking me stupid questions otherwise.”

A coldness slipped through Simon's body. What little vigor his spell had given faded. He was losing touch with the room, with his thoughts. He was staring at Nick but seeing someone different. Not the man who helped him, who advised him, who toasted innumerable drinks with him and carried him home after nights that went on a bit too long.

“Tell me, Nick.” Simon could barely make himself heard.

Nick sat up. He let his hand rest on the neck of the bottle but then released it. “You already know. Why drag it out?”

Simon took a step toward him. He couldn't feel the floor under his feet. He seemed to be floating in another world. “You tell me.”

“Simon, I'm not going to fight you. I'm tired. Do what you want to me. I don't care.”

“Tell me, Nick.” Simon lost all sense of place in a haze of confused rage. “
You
tell me!”

Nick looked up. “I did it.”

“Did what?”

“For God's sake, Simon.” He glanced away. “I killed your father.”

“Why?”

Nick laughed and shook his head. “Ash told me to do it.”

“That's all? You didn't hate him? Some past wrong he did you? Some old grudge to settle?”

“I'd never seen him until that night.” Nick started to shift, but Simon leaned forward slightly as a warning so he settled back. “There was a war in the Order of the Oak. I was on Ash's side then.”

“Why did you come to me when you knew I was his son?”

“I had no idea at first,” Nick retorted angrily. “I didn't know you were Edward Cavendish's son until last year. You told me when you were drunk.”

“And you didn't tell Ash?”

“No, of course not. By then, I knew I wasn't going to let her have you.”

“Even though she would kill you for failing?”

“I didn't want you to be like me.” Nick rolled his eyes as if he was going to cry from the memory. “Just kill me and be done with it.”

Simon stared at his old friend for a long time in motionless silence.

Finally, Nick rubbed a hand over his face and looked up, almost in anger. “Don't play your games with me. Either kill me, or stand there while I walk through that portal.” He struggled to his feet and faced Simon.

“No, you're not running away this time.”

“I'm not going to rot in that new Bastille of yours.” Nick jabbed a finger at him. “I swear to you, I'm not.”

“Don't you dare fight me.”

Nick sneered and started toward the portal when an arm rose in front of his chest like an iron bar. The two men stood nearly nose to nose. Simon stared, dark emotions locked under the surface. Nick sighed and quickly raised his hand, trailing flame. Simon ducked as the fire surged past him.

A powerful fist drove into Nick's jaw and sent the man sailing across the room. He crashed into a desk, overturning it in a noisy pile. Nick was quickly back to his feet with fire flying from his waving hands.

Simon was struck by a bolt of flame. He didn't cry out and spun around, his coat afire. Ignoring it, he clapped his hands together in front of him and sent out a powerful concussion. The force blasted Nick off his feet. The room shook and books flew from the shelves.

Simon didn't move closer. He stood in the middle of the room and slammed his hands together again. The windows blew out. The flames were snuffed. The floor started to buckle. The walls cracked. Another wave rolled out and shoved Nick back as if an elephant had kicked him.

Simon slammed his hands once more. Nick was crushed into a large mahogany bookcase, cracking the sturdy shelves. Another blast buried Nick into the plaster.

And again Simon struck. The ceiling showered down across the smashed floor. Nick was crushed deep through the wall like an insect pressed under a pane of glass.

Then again.

And again.

In the swirling clouds of dust, the sitting room was gone. The wooden framing was visible under the shattered walls, much of it cracked and splintered, along with the bricks of the outer wall. Simon shoved a heavy beam aside and pushed through the jagged hole in the wall into the disheveled pantry. With both hands, he tossed wreckage until he found what he sought.

Nick was limp. His face was bloody. His clothes were torn and the flesh underneath was blue and swollen as if he had been crushed for hours in the unforgiving gears of a heavy machine. Red liquid bubbled from his lips.

“Is this what you wanted, old man?” Simon pulled him up. Nick's limbs dangled like deadweight. Simon turned and dragged his friend over the wreckage back into the ruins of the sitting room. The portal stood shimmering in the dust. He shook his old friend. Nick's bruised eyelids slowly slit open. His mouth gaped, confused and disoriented.

Simon felt blood dripping warm across his belly. “My father helped make this key. He was a man who could have done things no one could've imagined. But he's not here.”

Nick was speaking, or trying to. He struggled to keep his head up. With a hard shove, Simon propelled Nick into the portal. The surface puckered and drew him in, then Nick appeared sprawling in the Parisian chamber. He blinked in shock and stared back at Simon. He shook his head as if wishing, even begging, that this would go a different way.

Simon heard a sound, and turned away to see Kate and Malcolm in the tumbled doorway of the sitting room. Charlotte and Penny stood behind them. They all had faces as if they had been watching a dangerous acrobatic act, and only now realized someone wasn't going to step off the high wire and plunge to his death in front of their eyes.

Simon knelt because of a stab in his chest. He met Kate's gaze, trying not to show pain. He couldn't think of anything proper to say. She dropped in front of him, checking him, then glancing over at the portal and Nick.

“The bastard really did kill your father?” Malcolm reached for his pistol. “I can take him if you wish.”

“No. Leave him.” Simon shook his head. The Scotsman withdrew his hand from his holster with a confused look. Simon held up the key without turning back to the portal. “Marthsyl.”

Nick Barker vanished.

Simon dropped the key to the floor. He leaned the top of his head against Kate's forehead.

Kate took his drained face in one of her hands; the other tentatively touched the bloodstain on his chest.

Simon shook his head. “I couldn't kill him.”

Kate's cool fingers slipped over the back of his neck. “Of course not.”

“Was it wise to let him go?” Malcolm asked, hovering over the pair. “One day you'll want to go after him.”

“Nick once told me to stay on the path I'm on. If I wander off, I'll never find my way back.” That memory hurt, and he wondered if those words of guidance had been nothing more than a cruel diversion to hide a monstrous act. Still, Simon had to cling to them as if they were truth.

Autumn sunlight streamed into every corner of Hartley Hall. There was little to block the rays with the gaps in the walls and roof. Repairs were under way most everywhere in the house. But the Blue Parlor was left alone for now to provide a refuge. Kate looked out over the open terrace that had been repaired. It now stretched fifty yards from the house to a wide timber bridge built to span the canyon surrounding the house.

Kate turned from the altered southern grounds. Everyone stood somber and alone, hardly speaking. The house had become much quieter over the last few weeks. Charlotte lay on the floor with Aethelred, her arm draped over his form, his large head pressed against her cheek, his thick fur soaking up the remainder of her tears. Simon sat on the sofa, staring into a past that threatened to consume him. Malcolm stood like a dark wraith with Penny silently nearby.

The room felt cold and empty. Kate couldn't control the terrifying premonition that everyone was drifting away. The moorings to each other were fraying. Lives had been irrevocably changed. Everything felt different.

The dreadful sense was much stronger now. They had all just returned from the cemetery where Imogen was buried in a family plot alongside their mother and the servants who had given their lives in defense of the estate. This had been the first visit to the grave since the burial service, and it was so much worse for everyone. The reality that poor Imogen was gone and lying under the earth was undeniable now, and no longer obscured by the hectic events of a funeral. They knew now there was no magic that would bring her back to them. There were no miracles to be had. Kate's heart felt like it had stopped beating even though it rhythmically thudded beneath her breast. She was numb and disconnected. She hadn't been able to conjure any interest in working in her laboratory, which always brought her peace during troubled times. The reminders of her failure were thick there.

Imogen had gone through so much. She had transformed from a rebellious younger sister to a frightening monster to a stalwart protector. Despite the darkness that had enveloped her, she had bravely stepped out into the light. Imogen had embraced a new life no matter what trauma it threw at her.

Tears of pride welled in Kate's eyes. By her actions Imogen had changed all of them, from the cheerfully lonely Simon, to the wild Charlotte, to the brooding Malcolm, and even to Kate herself. Sometimes it was the journey that made the impact rather than the end. Her sister had shown them the way, and, by God, Kate would follow in her example.

She brushed her eyes with her sleeve and strode inside. She went over to Simon and curled up next to him. His arm did not instinctively curve around her shoulders. Charlotte looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes and Kate extended her arm toward the child, inviting her onto her lap.

Charlotte immediately came over, laying her head against Kate's chest.

“I miss her,” was her sob.

“Of course you do. We all do. We always will. Family must never be forgotten.”

“Family?” Charlotte's haunted gaze darted fearfully to Malcolm, as if expecting him at any second to pick up a bag and walk into the fog.

Kate held the child close. “Yes. You are as much a sister to her as I am. As you are to me. And for that reason, she would want you to have this.” From her sweater pocket, Kate produced the little hedgehog. Charlotte's tears fell harder, but she snatched up the little creature and placed her cheek against its prickly quills. Kate kissed the top of Charlotte's head.

Simon's arm now slipped around her and his hand gave her a gentle squeeze. It gave her hope that he was listening. Taking a deep breath, she regarded those in the room. “I am adding a new wing to Hartley Hall. Everyone has a home here. A place to call his or her own.”

Malcolm began, “I don't think that's—”

Kate cut him off. “Don't you dare. We haven't gone through all of this to scatter now. The original Order shattered because they were petty and self-absorbed, more consumed with abusing the power given to them. Even Pendragon.”

When Simon raised a cynical brow, Kate scowled at him. “Pendragon was perhaps the worst. He doubted the people he had once loved, people he should have considered family. Instead he chose to believe those who were callous and manipulative. That was his downfall. Order reigns when it is built on trust and love, not the lust for power and glory.”

Simon shook his head and glanced away. “I loved Nick and look what that wrought.”

Charlotte looked up from Kate's lap. “I don't understand what happened to him. Was Mr. Nick a bad man? He was grouchy, but he seemed to like us. Most of us. Wasn't he your friend, Mr. Simon? Why did he go away?”

“He was my friend, Charlotte.” Simon took the girl's hand. He ran his thumb over her soft palm as if marveling that her hands were still so clean. “He wasn't bad. He just couldn't stay.”

“Oh.” The girl sighed. “He was teaching me to play cards.”

“Cards?” Kate asked with bemused annoyance.

Charlotte looked worried. “He told me not to tell. That I shouldn't be gambling at my age.”

Malcolm gave the girl a hard look. “Did he teach you how to cheat?”

“A little.”

The Scotsman shook his head angrily. “Glad he's gone.”

“Charlotte.” Penny snorted an uncontrolled laugh, “Mr. Malcolm doesn't believe in cheating.”

“Oh, I can teach you!” Charlotte exclaimed.

Malcolm grunted. Penny edged a bit closer to him as the dark shroud around him faded.

Kate eyed Malcolm across the room. “Some things will always stay the same, like dour Scotsmen. Some of those traits define us. Some are more tolerable than others. Some even comforting.” Her eyes glowed with a fire that matched her tone. “This family will stay together. For Imogen's sake. For her memory. Without her, we would never have found each other. This group formed because of her.”

Charlotte looked up at Kate, suddenly her countenance a bit brighter. “That's right! You found me because you were looking for Imogen.”

Kate smiled at the young girl. She felt Simon take her hand and she looked back at him. “Imogen brought us together as well,” she told him, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

The deep creases in Simon's face finally relaxed. “You're right. Of course.”

Penny let out a long relieved breath and went to a table where she pulled a sketchbook out of her satchel. “Since we're all staying, it wouldn't hurt to show you the new project I've been working on.” She opened the portfolio and handed out a piece of paper to each of them. The sketches on them showed decorated keys, each with a unique crest on the bow, distinctive in its design and linked to the individual holding it. A pair of crossed pistols for Malcolm. A pentagram for Charlotte. And, for Kate, an open book with one page inscribed with a stylized initial
I
to represent Imogen.

“Penny, they're beautiful,” Kate replied, staring at the sketch with a wistful smile on her lips.

Penny toed the fringe on the rug. “They're just my ideas of what suited everyone.”

Charlotte clutched the drawing tightly with both hands. She squirmed so much the little hedgehog crawled across her and settled in Kate's stationary lap. “You mean I get one too?” The child's bouncing made the entire settee shake.

Her infectious joy was so welcome that Kate didn't even reprimand her.

Penny took a final drawing from the case and extended her arm toward a small figure sitting in the corner. Jane seemed to glance up in surprise from her knitting but didn't react otherwise. Penny walked over and pressed the paper into the woman's hand.

Jane stared at the sketch. “But I didn't think to stay. I was only tarrying while—”

“You're here, Jane,” Kate interrupted. “You will stay as long as you like, which I hope will be a long while. Your father is actually quite at home here. He seems to think he is supervising the construction.”

“I'm sorry, Miss Anstruther,” Jane replied. “I'll tell him again to stay away.”

“Not at all.” Simon laughed. “He's doing a marvelous job. And some of his unusual suggestions lend extra character to the house.”

“God bless you all.” Jane smiled gratefully, glancing from Simon to Penny to Malcolm. She immediately returned to knitting. “I shall have to make each of you something.”

Malcolm patted the grey scarf Jane had given him months before. It hung from his coat pocket, as it usually did. “I'll take a case of these damn things. Saved my life before, and that's not bad for a bloody scarf.”

“Language, please, Mr. MacFarlane,” Jane murmured.

Malcolm nodded contritely. “Sorry.”

Simon chuckled as he kissed Kate's hand with unspoken praise and gratitude. He came to his feet and faced the small congregation. “Penny, you are, as always, the marvel of our age.”

The engineer shrugged and waved a cavalier hand. “We can start on the keys whenever you're ready. It will take all three of us.”

“They will be the miracle of our combined powers, an example of how we work together never against each other.” He lifted the gold key. “For Imogen.”

Everyone came to their feet, following his lead. “For Imogen,” they echoed.

Kate's eyes shone bright and her throat tightened. She had never felt so proud of her sister.

A knock sounded on the door and Hogarth entered. He stood on gleaming metal struts, rudimentary steel legs powered by tiny motors of Penny's ingenious design. He bowed awkwardly, still learning to maneuver with the strange devices. He straightened with a wink at Penny, who grinned broadly at his progress.

“I'll forge up a nicer set than these in no time.” She pulled a screwdriver from her pocket and knelt beside him to make an adjustment on the knee. Penny's face lit with possibilities as she eyed the metal. “Now that I have you up and about, I should be able to modify these plans for Charles. I can't wait to see his face when I tell him he can throw away that chair of his.”

Kate said, “Your mother would be proud, Penny. I want to be there when Charles takes his first steps.”

“You will.” Penny kept her faced turned toward her work but dragged her sleeve across her sniffling nose. Then she tapped the leg with her screwdriver. “So, Hogarth, you want to be able to jump across the Thames?”

Hogarth looked uncomfortable to have the engineer working on his legs. “Merely leaping a trout stream should suffice, miss.”

Kate regarded Simon. “You mentioned a private little stream in Scotland once. Does it have trout?”

The corners of Simon's mouth lifted. “I believe it does.”

“I think then we are in need of visiting it.”

Charlotte immediately began jumping up and down, and squealed, “A holiday!”

Simon leaned toward Kate. “I thought of it as our own private spot.”

Kate's eyes danced with mischievous delight. “Of course, dear, but family comes first.”

Hogarth cleared his throat with a calm professional demeanor. “Miss Kate, a messenger from the king. It appears a demon has been summoned near Cardiff and is menacing the Welsh countryside. What should I tell him? That you are in Scotland, fishing?”

Kate came over to stand beside Simon, her hand reaching for his. In her other hand she held her bandolier full of alchemical vials.

Simon looked down at her beaming confident face, then at the determined expressions of the others. Penny shouldered her rucksack. Malcolm slipped his pistols into their holsters as Charlotte grabbed his greatcoat.

“Tell His Majesty we are bound for Wales,” Simon announced with a telltale smile.