The Twisted Tragedy of Miss Natalie Stewart (18 page)

***

Later that morning, I caught a downtown trolley car to Mrs. Northe’s so I could check on Rachel and translate the runes.

Mrs. Northe noticed me rubbing my arm as I entered the parlor and surmised the problem. Rachel was nowhere to be seen. “Nightmares manifest again?” Mrs. Northe asked.

“In more ways than one. If I’m not careful, could my own dreams kill me?”

“No. But something of that demon must be living in your subconscious. Feeding upon your nightmares.”

“Growing stronger?” I choked.

“Only if you let it,” she replied. I would have to enlist Jonathon to help me fight off the shadows as he used to do in my dreams. Something within me wasn’t allowing him to be the hero as he once was. She led me into her library, and we sat again with the book of runes.

“I am co—” the letters roughly translated. Still incomplete.

Mrs. Northe plucked a small, clear bottle of colorless fluid from a shelf of religious icons. She tapped a few drops upon my wrist and crossed my wrist with her long fingertips. Any lingering irritation completely faded.

“And that is?” I asked, gesturing to the bottle as she returned it to the cabinet from which it had come.

“Holy water, of course,” she replied.

Before either of us could wonder further about the message, a rough sound came from upstairs. Rachel had some capacity for sound but it was untried. We both rushed upstairs and found her lying on her bed, eyes closed but moving rapidly beneath their lids. We tried to rouse her but to no avail.

“She’s been like this now for a while,” Mrs. Northe explained. “I can only think that she’s receiving information, that she’s in a sort of trance. Spirits have hold of her and are keeping her in this stasis. I’ve tried to break through, but she’s resisting.”

It was like her body was comatose. I thought of Elsa and my stomach sank, wondering about Samuel and what would become of them both.

Looking tired, Mary stood outside the hall in the open doorway.

“Yes, Mary?”

She entered and handed Mrs. Northe an envelope. Mrs. Northe quickly scanned the contents, then handed me the letter.

THE TRANS-ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH COMPANY

Almost at port. Arrive at noon.

Jonathon
. I ducked my head into the hall where a gorgeous grandfather clock stood sentry. “It’s eleven thirty!” I cried.

“Well, you’d better take my carriage and go then!” Mrs. Northe called.

“What, without you?” I said in the doorway, watching Mrs. Northe place a cool cloth over Rachel’s forehead. My mouth hung open, a sudden blush blooming furious upon my cheeks, which only made her laugh.

“I remember being in love, Natalie dear. And I trust your virtue until I’ve reason to believe otherwise, so do take care of yourself.”

“Th-thank you,” I sputtered. I was more in debt to this woman than I could imagine. An uncomfortable thought. But Jonathon and I had become so used to doing things on our own for survival that it was hard to adjust back into the reality of chaperones and permissions.

Thrilled as I was for our reunion, the question remained: Was he forever entwined with the demon? What if in the next dream he did more than scratch me?

I need to stand strong for us both, to separate fact from fiction and realize dreams are not reality. Clues exist there, but what occurs face to face in the honest light of day is what matters. But the runes on my arm. Those were in the light of day. I wasn’t sure if the idea that I might be losing my mind was a comfort or an additional inconvenience.

I took a seat on a Cunard pier bench downtown near the Battery, the scene incredible and dizzying. The screech of gulls, the bells of numerous ships, and the calling of various vendors made the waterfront a festive carnival. Great, long, floating behemoths of steel and bright paint set off on any number of potentially life-changing journeys.

I sat with a thrum in my heart, watching the parade of passing ladies, gentleman, and children, all with anticipation on their faces. Do they, like me, wait to reunite with someone special? Or do they await a boat to take them to an exciting destination where someone expects them, awaits them, longs for them? A pier or a train station is a thrilling place of aching and impatience, eternally in its first bloom of love.

In my mind, this was what I
hoped
would happen when Jonathon stepped off the gangplank:

I
hoped
we’d fall into each other’s arms and into an embrace that couldn’t be troubled by the impropriety of kissing passionately on a dock. That’s what piers, docks, and train platforms were for. The playful, jovial couple I imagined we could be would act as if all anxieties were forgotten.

No. Instead,
this
was what really happened:

I stared at him as he exited the ship and came down the roped plank and onto the pier. His eyes sought the crowd and pierced me.
Oh
, he cut a handsome figure: black mourning jacket and crisp white cravat, wide-brimmed hat in hand, those eviscerating bright eyes brightening still at the sight of me, a delicious grin spreading across his face.

But despite this welcome, gorgeous sight, all I could think of was the moment in the corridor when he tore at me. My flesh still bore the scratches, and they once again throbbed in pain. How could a dream actually wound me? I looked him in the eye, knowing if I saw any of that telltale reflective quality the demon had worn.

“Natalie,” he said, approaching me, reaching out for me. Something on my face stilled him. He furrowed his brow. “What. Why are you looking at me that way?”

“You hurt me…” I blurted. It wasn’t the first thing I’d wanted to say. I’d wanted to kiss him.

He stared at me. “I beg your pardon?”

“The last dream, the loud corridor. You changed. You ripped at my gown. Look—”

I pulled the lace neckline of my bodice aside so he could see the marks. He hissed and reached out his fingers as if to touch them but then withdrew.

“Natalie, if you dreamed that, it wasn’t me. We didn’t share that. I remember seeing you,” he lowered his voice, “in your nightdress, but you faded abruptly. I know I didn’t…wound you…” He stared at the marks in horror.

“Then someone else has your face in my dreams?”

He set his jaw, bright eyes flashing. “Someone else
wore
this face, Natalie. You know that as well as I! And I hope you’d know me better than to think any part of
me
would ever hurt you, awake or asleep,” he snapped, turning away.

I heard him begin to speak jovially, as if to someone else, staging how he thought our conversation should’ve begun. “Oh, Jonathon,” he said, affecting his neutral American accent, “welcome back. I’ve
missed
you. How
brave
you were!”

He shook his head and replied to himself. “Oh, Natalie, it’s been an awful business, playing the demon, alone. Thank God I have you—” He glared back at me as he began walking away. “
That’s
what I hoped I could count on.”

I watched him exit the Cunard gate, my throat dry and my cheeks burning with anxious embarrassment. I hurried to catch up.

We wove silently through the throng of passengers. On the street he stopped to gain his bearings. I gestured toward a line of carriages awaiting those who could afford them. We were provided for by our own “Northe” star, our guardian angel to whom we were increasingly beholden. I nodded to the driver as Jonathon helped me into the carriage. “I’m s-sorry,” I stammered as I took my seat, “I…”

“You can’t be responsible for your dreams?” he interrupted, climbing in after me and closing the cab door. “You
can
, Natalie. You can be the master of them. I’ve seen you banish demons. ‘I renounce thee,’ you’d say to what frightened you. But these days you let other men in and you wake up wounded. Where’s the brave girl who crossed a world to get to me? Won’t she believe in me? Won’t she fight the demon off?” He was as stung as he was angry. “Instead you assume I hurt you and not your own mind? You think higher of your nightmares than me?”

“Jonathon, please.” I did not expect such a vehement reaction.

He set his jaw. “I had a right terrible time in London, Natalie. I could use a friend. Some kindness and cheer. I’m tired of being frightened, so the last thing on earth I want to see is that sentiment reflected in
your
eyes. Dreaming of my friends is one thing. Being scared of the man you once claimed you love, for no founded reason, is another.”

“I know, of course…” But still, the marks. “How could the marks be my
mind
alone? Do I not have reason to be scared?”

“You do, Natalie. For that, I’m scared for you too. Perhaps we didn’t spend time enough away from the source of the dark magic.”

“It seems I didn’t. But if it’s lying in wait for me, where? What do I do?”

“We banish it as before.” He looked at me. “Together.” He tried to smile.

Not knowing what else to do, I threw my arms around him. Couldn’t we talk deliciously of flirtations? He tensed as I touched him. That only made me squeeze him harder, not wanting to be denied. “I should’ve just kissed you madly there on the dock.”

“I’d have
much
preferred that,” he muttered. I thought about obliging us both, but I wanted the tension to fade first.

“I was worried
sick
for you—” I murmured.

“It was the only thing to do. The Majesty couldn’t have known the results of your amazing reversal. He couldn’t know I was myself again, not the demon. Their confidence is their weakness. They don’t think of the faithful or those who might prevail against their magic as threats. They assume their darkness trumps all.”

“Jonathon, you were valiant and brave, but please don’t become confident as their…double agent. They were happy to rip you apart once. They wouldn’t hesitate—”

“I daresay they wouldn’t. But I plan on keeping them at a distance.”

“Even as they move ‘operations’ to this city?”

“Ah, yes, well…
Here
I have you. My secret weapon.”

“Do not endanger your ward,” I said, eyeing him.

“My ward? Ah, yes, Miss Rose, my ward.”

“You have to admit that’s a
delicious
plot, Lord Denbury.”

“Oh? Delicious?” He leaned over me and his lips were against my temple, sending hot, tea-scented breath upon my cheek. “Tell me, what does the handsome young lord do about his pretty ward very nearly his age?”

“
Torments
her,” I murmured, lifting my lips to his ear.

“Does he? How does he torment her?” he countered in mine.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me,” I whispered, and my body thrilled from the tips of my ears to my toes, delighting in the game.

“Ah. Well, then.” He pulled away and spoke very seriously, his eyes somber. “I suppose it’s time I told you that I’ve a fiancée back in London.”

There was a terrible moment as I stared at him. Was he serious? He looked serious. I didn’t know anything about how the aristocracy worked, and he was still in so many ways a stranger. It was completely plausible that his family had him betrothed since birth. I was suddenly dizzy, falling back toward the carriage door.

Jonathon caught my shoulder. “Oh…is that not the kind of torment you mean?” He grinned.

I hit him hard on the arm. “Don’t
do
that. I’m still reeling from that dream with all those society ladies draped all about you.”

“Oh, and Nathaniel had his arms about you,
kissing
your
neck
, and I’m supposed to just
ignore
that?”

“That was just his flirtation manifesting in a dream.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Natalie. What makes you jealous will make a man
crazy
. I’m sensible and level headed, but don’t test me. Play fair.”

“Yes, my lord,” I said, kissing his cheek, delighting in his title.

“My
ward
,” he said, chuckling. We fell into an awkward silence.

“Can we…can
I
begin again?” I asked timidly, clasping his hand in mine. “Jonathon, my love, welcome back to New York. I’ve missed you terribly.”

He looked at me, and I saw the haunted face I remembered from the painting. Yes, he was cured of the curse, but so much had been taken from his life and his reality had been shattered, a burden I could not reverse. He allowed his steeled armor to fall.

His delectable lips curved slightly. “Better. Come, torment your guardian, my pretty young ward…”

I leaned in and kissed him, finally. Slowly, deliciously, and thoroughly. I hoped my kiss explained how much I cared. “
Much
better,” he breathed, and his arms locked around me tight and strong. The reality of him was so sure, so solid and true. How could I have ever doubted him? Absence can indeed twist perception. So can the wrong sort of dreams. But this. This was the truth. A truth I’d gained my voice for and risked my life to save.