A Grave Inheritance (13 page)

A wet gurgling noise came from the boy’s throat. His small body convulsed and bloody sputum spilled from his mouth.

“Dear Lord!” I gasped. “He’s going to die!”

I closed my eyes in a desperate search for any scraps of power I may have overlooked. There had to be something left, tucked away in the deepest reaches of my core. A spark flickered, then a small flame began to grow, along with the unpleasant prickling sensation I had experienced a few days before. I ignored it, concentrating on keeping the little boy from death’s grasp.

By sheer will, I forced the fire to life inside me. Its familiar warmth flowed to my fingertips where it quivered for a moment on the surface of what now resembled a near sheet of watery pustules over the boy’s body. I pushed past this first barrier. Thick opaque fluid flashed through my mind, followed by layers of muscles and bone. Arriving deep inside the boy’s chest, I surrounded his failing heart while attempting to heal the inflammation that festered inside his lungs. The other organs would soon begin to fail if the poison was not cleared from his blood.

Hold on little one...I’ll have you out of the woods yet.

The prickling intensified. Rather than stop, I had no other choice but to release another small flood of power. Nausea swept through me as the prickling turned to searing nails. I cried out, my focus momentarily broken by the intense pain.

“Selah!” Henry yelled.

The boy groaned and his heart began to flutter erratically. I clenched my eyes tighter, and another spark gave life to a small flame. Nails tore at my insides, but I pushed on, knowing that to give in to the pain would mean the boy’s death. More power came to the surface, poured from my hands into his chest. Shaking, I fell forward, the warmth continuing to flow from me like water through an open dyke.

“Selah! Let go!” Henry yelled.

Bile hit the back of my throat as the pain ripped through me, threatening to tear me apart. I cried out again, an incoherent plea for help. Strong hands gripped my waist, pulling me up, and then everything turned black.

Chapter Seven

All Hallows by the Tower

The physical world slowly took form around me. I was lying on my back, stretched out on what felt like a soft cushion. The pain and nausea were gone. Warmth had replaced the crisp night air, bathing my skin, trickling through my veins. I felt a gentle rocking motion and realized that someone held my shoulder.

“Selah,” a woman called, her voice comforting and familiar.

I ignored her in a bid to reclaim the blessed darkness.

“Selah,” she called again. “It’s time to come back.”

Not yet,
I thought. It was perfect here—no searing nails or sickness, just warmth and contentment.

“Selah,” she persisted. “Henry is beside himself with worry. I know you’re awake. Open your eyes before he sends for the surgeon.”

This last part stirred my attention, and I reluctantly traded the darkness for candlelight and the fire crackling in the hearth. Blinking several times, I saw that I was lying on one of the drawing room sofas. Cate knelt on the floor beside me.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now drink this.” Without waiting for my consent, she lifted a small bottle to my mouth. The liquid hit my throat, washing away the taste of bile and putting me straight into a coughing fit.

“What is that?” I spluttered. My throat burned and my insides grew even warmer.

“A restorative for the nerves. Henry said you fainted outside on the stairs.”

“Where is he?” I tried to push myself up, but Cate placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

“Rest a moment longer. I sent him to the kitchen to fetch a cool compress for your head. He was so agitated by your condition that he needed a task to keep him busy until you came around. I thank you for obliging and sparing me the need to invent another task once he returned.” She lifted the bottle back to eyelevel. “Would you like some more?”

“What’s in it?” I asked, my throat still burning from the first drink.

“A little skullcap and St. John’s Wort, but mostly just brandy.”

Henry came into the room and hurried to the sofa where he knelt next to Cate. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Much better. Cate gave me a restorative.”

He didn’t say anything more, just stared down at me, his face taut with emotion. His eyes were darker green than I had ever seen before, filled with such a mixture of anger and pain it was difficult not to look away. I swallowed hard and wished not for the first time that I could read his thoughts. Then I would know just how much trouble I was in for healing the boy—if, in fact, I had done so before losing consciousness. For all I knew, he had died at the foot of the steps while I was in here lying so snugly on the sofa.

Cate took the forgotten compress from Henry’s hand. “This should finish the job,” she said, placing it on my forehead. Her sleeve brushed my nose and I sneezed. “First a fainting spell and now a head cold? Whatever am I to do with you?”

“It’s not a cold,” I said, sneezing again. “You’ve something on your sleeve.”

Glancing at her arm, she brushed a hand several times along the material, creating a small cloud of fine white dust. “I shall have to speak with Mrs. Hampton about that new parlor maid of hers. Sweet girl, but the dust grows thicker each time I visit.”

Henry took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to me.

“Thank you,” I said, giving him a tentative smile.

He remained silent, his own mouth set in a straight line.

Cate looked between us. “Gracious me,” she said, pushing up to her feet. “It’s getting late and I’ve another long day tomorrow. Henry, do you mind seeing yourself out?”

“Not at all.”

“I’ll check on you in the morning, Selah.”

“Thank you for the restorative. My nerves are much improved.” The brandy had obviously worked its magic, so well that I didn’t even have to force a reassuring smile.

She smiled in return and left the room. I sat up the moment the door clicked shut. “How is the boy?” I asked.

Henry gave me a dark look and got to his feet, leaving me in suspense as he went to a side table to pour a glass of wine. Throwing it back, he refilled his cup before returning to the sofa.

“The boy lives,” he said.

I gave him an expectant look. “Is he still sick or was I able to heal him?”

He threw back the second glass of wine. “You healed him, all right. There wasn’t a pox left by the time you were done. He ran off when I carried you into the house.”

This was somewhat surprising. I never imagined I had so much power left, unless...I pulled in a sharp breath, my hand reflexively covering my mouth. There was no other explanation for the pain—as though I were being torn apart.

Henry remained standing, his arms now crossed over his chest. “I’m a little new to this healing business, so if you don’t mind, I would like to know what happened out there tonight.”

We stared at each other, Henry glowering while I struggled to find the right words.”My power is gone,” I started, my voice small and frightened. “I’m not sure for how long now, but at least since I healed your hand.” I wanted to cry. I wanted Henry to take me in his arms and assure me everything would be fine.

“You’ve still plenty of power,” Henry countered, “or you wouldn’t have been able to heal that boy.”

I shook my head and a tear fell down my cheek.

That was enough to break through his anger. He rushed forward, kneeling on the carpet in front of me. Another tear spilled over, and he brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. “Tell me, Selah. I need to know what happened.”

“It’s been too long since I last replenished my power. What I used tonight must have come from my own life.”

Henry gaped at me. “Impossible. You can’t just drain your life for someone else. It defies the laws of nature.”

My very existence defied the laws of nature. “I’m goddess born,” I reminded him. “The same rules do not apply to my kind.”

“In that case, I thank God we found out tonight before it was too late.”

I should have kept my mouth shut, given him a comforting smile and left it at that. “What about next time?” I asked instead.

“There won’t be a next time. I forbid you from healing until we find a passageway into the Otherworld. Do you understand me? Not even a broken fingernail. I won’t take the risk.”

I glanced down at my lap, opting to bite my tongue rather than cause him more distress tonight.

“You’ve no intention to stop, do you?”

I kept my eyes down and shook my head.

“Damn it, Selah! How can you be so heartless?”

My head snapped up and I glared at him. “Do you really think I want to die? That it’s my preference to give up my own life for someone I’ve likely never even met before?”

“Then why won’t you stop? I’m not asking forever, just until you can replenish your power.”

The truth was painfully simple. “Because I can’t. I’m bound by law to help anyone in need, regardless of the personal cost.”

His eyes bore into mine. Seconds ticked on the mantel clock, ten or ten hundred, I had lost all track of time under his gaze. “Think hard about the cost,” he said at last, “for your life is not the only one in danger. If you die, you’ll be killing the both of us.”

My heart thumped into my throat. His tone, his eyes, everything testified that he spoke the truth.

But it didn’t have to be like this, a life or death decision. In all my panic, I had forgotten about the altar on Julian’s estate. I only needed to reach it in the next few days, cross over to the Otherworld and then everything would be back to normal. Though I would never leave without first telling Henry. He deserved better than that—he deserved the truth, no matter what promises I had made earlier.

“There’s another way—” A knock sounded on the door, cutting off my next words and bringing Henry to his feet.

The young footman who had taken to flirting with my maid came into the room. He held a basket, the top covered with a cloth. “Pardon me, Miss Kilbrid, this just arrived for you.”

“Who is it from?” I asked.

“I’ve no idea, miss. Someone left it on the porch and ran away before I could answer the door.” He handed me the basket.

I looked at it, dumbfounded.

Thank you,” Henry said. “That will be all.”

“Yes, my lord.” The footman bowed and left the room.

“Well, are you going to look inside?” Henry asked. “Or are you attempting to decipher the contents through the cloth?” He kept his voice even, but I could still hear the deep-seated anger beneath his words.

I pulled the cloth aside and stared into the basket, relief flooding through me. A bundle of dried herbs and a flint were nestled on top of a white linen sheath. There was also a note. Breaking the wax seal, I read the words written in elegant black letters.

All Hallows by the Tower

Brigid Buadach

I handed the note to Henry. “Do you know where this is?”

“It’s a church just off Tower Hill,” he said, looking up from the parchment. “What’s in the basket?”

I brought the herb bundle to my nose and took a deep breath, pulling in the familiar scent of cowslip, angelica, and goat’s rue. “Everything I need to cross over.”

“Who sent it?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t know of any other descendants in London.”

Julian,
I thought,
wonderful, devoted Julian.

“I’ve not the slightest idea. Someone must have recognized my surname and prepared the basket.” The fibs glided effortlessly from my tongue.

“How do you know it isn’t a trick?”

Because it’s from Julian.

“The note says
Brigid Buadach
and only a true
leath’dhia
would know what was needed to cross over.” As evidence, I held up the herbs with one hand, while using the other to pull the flint and sheath from the basket. Something fell from the linen folds, clinking loudly before landing with a heavy thud on the carpet.

Henry bent over and picked up two iron keys tied together by a leather band. From what I could tell, one of the keys was larger than the other. He turned them around in his hand several times, then tucked them into his pocket. “What time shall we go?” he asked, either convinced by the keys or just resigned to my stubbornness.

“Midnight,” I said. “It’s safer to go when people are abed.”

The front door opened, followed by footsteps across the stone entryway. I tucked everything back into the basket just as Nora came into the room. Her face was flushed and she hurriedly glanced around.

“Is my mother awake?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ve not been upstairs to check yet.”

Nora shot us a relieved looked. “Oh, she wouldn’t be sulking in her chamber if she suspected we had snuck out tonight. She would be downstairs in plain sight, girded for battle.”

“Where’s James?” Henry asked. “Did he take a chair home?”

“He’s out front in the carriage. I told him to wait for you there just in case my mother was in a rage.” Nora raised a hand to stifle a yawn. “I best get out of this gown before she wakes up. It would be bad luck, indeed, to be found out at the very end. Good night, you two. I for one will have very pleasant dreams tonight.” She left the room, taking the only semblance of good mood along with her.

Henry grabbed his greatcoat from a nearby chair. “I will return at twelve sharp.”

“Don’t go,” I said. “We’ve still so much to talk about.”

He ignored me and left the drawing room without so much as a backward glance.

Blast and curses!
I hadn’t even told him the most important part yet, that the boy’s attacker was the same girl who grabbed my arm at the docks. The mantel clock began to chime the tenth hour. Henry would be back soon, hopefully cooled off and ready to discuss how best to track down the miserable wretch. Not that I wanted to seek her out, but it was imperative we discover her true identity. Only then would we know the reason behind my burn and the boy’s sudden sickness. And, heaven forbid, if there was any connection with Mr. Chubais as Henry suspected.