Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3) (13 page)

It wasn’t eight, but Gwen wasn’t inclined to point it out as they strode down the stairs and out of the tradesman’s exit. No one barred their way as they walked out of the alleyway and down through Pall Mall, heading towards the river. It would be a while before night fell over London, Gwen knew, but the fashionable men and women were already out, taking the breeze and chattering to one another about the forthcoming war. She gritted her teeth, wondering briefly if she shouldn’t simply Charm Raechel into turning around and going back home. But someone as strong-minded as Raechel would need a great deal of Charm to convince her to give up and she could hardly fail to notice Gwen’s manipulations.

Raechel stopped outside an unmarked door and knocked three times, counting five seconds between each knock. There was a long pause, then the door was opened by a man wearing a white suit and hat. He nodded to Raechel, then gave Gwen a long considering look. Raechel brushed past him, her eyes fixed on the door at the far end; Gwen followed her, wondering if the doorkeeper would try to stop her. Instead, he just closed the door behind her.

The second door revealed a large dance floor, pulsing with the sound of a band playing tunes she didn’t recognise and dozens of young men and women, some of them dressed even more revealingly than Raechel. Raechel passed Gwen her cloak and sallied out onto the dance floor, capturing a young man from his partner and pulling him into the dance. Gwen sighed, stood against the wall and watched as Raechel span around the dance floor. Here, free of her aunt and uncle, she seemed almost relaxed and happy. Gwen felt a sudden stab of envy, just as a hand touched her shoulder.

“You don’t have to stand here,” a voice said. To her shock, Gwen recognised the speaker as one of the more scandalous aristocratic rakes. At least he’d never been formally introduced to her. “You could always dance.”

Gwen shook her head, firmly. The rake eyed her, his gaze passing over her dress in a manner that made her want to pick him up with her magic and slam him against the wall, then he walked away, twitching his bottom as he moved. Gwen looked away, her eyes following Raechel; one dance had come to an end, but another had started almost at once. Raechel was still dancing with her partner. His hands, Gwen realised to her horror, were creeping down her back towards her buttocks. And he wasn’t the only one groping their dance partner.

The music changed, becoming more sensuous. Gwen felt her horror rising as she realised that several of the couples were practically making love on the dance floor, their hands exploring one another as they held each other tight. One girl had opened her dress, allowing her bare breasts to bobble free; another had worn a skirt so high that it barely hid the underside of her buttocks. Gwen flushed brightly, unsure of where to look, remembering how far she’d gone with Sir Charles. But they’d been in private when they’d kissed ... here, anyone could see what happened between the couples.

She looked back at Raechel and swallowed as she realised that Raechel’s partner was stroking her breasts through her dress. Raechel didn’t appear to be objecting; she seemed to move like a cat, pressing her breasts into her partner’s hand. That was going too far, Gwen knew, yet she found herself unsure of how to intervene. If she’d been there as the Royal Sorceress, she could have cowed Raechel into obedience, but as her maid ...

But she had to do something. She concentrated, drawing on her magic, and lashed out at the display of expensive bottles at the bar. They exploded, sending pieces of glass and alcohol everywhere. The dancers turned to stare; Gwen took advantage of their attention to knock one of the candlesticks into the alcohol. Flames spread rapidly, glowing an eerie blue colour as the alcohol caught fire.

She plunged into the panicking crowd and grabbed Raechel’s arm, pulling her away from her partner. He started to object; Gwen braced herself, then yanked at his legs using magic, sending him sprawling to the floor. Raechel offered no resistance as Gwen pulled her away from the growing fire, heading out of the door as fast as possible. The doorkeeper eyed them with some surprise, then heard the sounds of panic from inside the dance room and headed to investigate. Gwen opened the door, led Raechel out onto the streets and tossed her the cloak.

“Cover yourself,” she hissed. The sounds of panic behind them were growing louder. It wouldn’t be long before the Bow Street Runners and the London Fire Brigade came to investigate. If she knew the government, quite a few young men and women would be very embarrassed if they were found in the hall. “And come on.”

She pulled on Raechel’s arm until they’d put some distance between themselves and the fire, then relaxed slightly. Raechel stared at her in shock – Gwen found herself wondering if Raechel had some sensitivity to magic – then Raechel found her voice. And then she started to complain.

“You shouldn’t have dragged me away,” Raechel protested. “I was having fun ...”

“And you could have been caught in the flames,” Gwen snapped. Honestly! Had
her
maids seen her as a useless piece of flesh, suitable for looking good and nothing else? Raechel had a great deal of potential and she was
wasting
all of it. “If you were smaller, I’d put you over my knee and thrash you with a hairbrush.”

Raechel sneered at her. “My Aunt tried that,” she said. “It didn’t work.”

“No,” Gwen sighed. “It probably didn’t.”

But Raechel offered no further argument as Gwen led her back to her home. As they entered the house, Gwen was relieved to hear from Romulus that Lady Standish had gone to bed with a headache. At least it would give Gwen the night to decide just how much to tell her mistress. And Raechel ...

“Go to bed,” Gwen ordered, sharply. She allowed a little Charm to slip into her words, just enough to make Raechel more inclined to do as she was told. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Somewhat to her surprise, Raechel obeyed without question.

Sighing, Gwen headed back into the servants quarters. She needed to eat, then sleep, and be up early. No doubt there would be an interrogation from Lady Standish about the night’s events.

But what could she tell her about what her niece and ward had been doing?

Chapter Eleven

I
trust that you are feeling better,” Gregory said, as he bounded into the room. “There is work for you to do.”

Olivia shook her head, miserably. Ivan had taken her to a smaller room, allowed her to wash and then fed her bread and cheese, but she still felt awful. She could
hear
the creature she’d created, even though it was a long way from where she’d been taken. Its whispering seemed to echo in her head, taunting her with the sheer danger of its existence. One mistake, it seemed to whisper, and the undead would be unleashed upon the land. And then all hell would break loose.

Gregory muttered something in Russian to Ivan, who sighed and stood. Olivia saw the writing on the wall and followed before he could compel her, either mentally or physically, to do what he wanted her to do. Outside, there were more armed guards, wearing masks and suits of armour that seemed oddly out of place. But, against the undead, they would provide more protection than the red uniforms that British soldiers wore when they went into battle. The Russians, she realised as she was hustled down the corridor, had been planning how to make use of her for a very long time.

Or perhaps they hoped to find a Necromancer of their own
, she thought, as they passed through another set of solidly armoured doors. Inside, she heard the sound of people crying further down the corridor, but saw no one apart from her two escorts.
They might have birthed one of their own, but never known it
.

She gritted her teeth. Necromancy wasn’t as flashy as Blazing or Moving ... and it wasn’t so easy to discover as Charming or Talking. A Necromancer might go their entire life without realising that they had magic, let alone what it actually did.
She’d
certainly had no idea what she could do until she’d come face to face with the undead, even though Jack had realised she had powers and urged her to develop them. The Russians or French might have a dozen Necromancers and simply not know what they had.

Gregory stopped in front of another armoured door, smiled at her and then opened it, allowing the stench of death to drift out into the open air. Olivia swallowed hard, trying desperately to breathe through her mouth as he led the way into the darkened room. This time, the corpse inside the cage had clearly been dead for quite some time. Even in Russia’s notoriously cold weather, it had managed to decompose quite badly. Olivia shuddered, recalling bodies she’d seen in the Rookery. Few of them had ever been so bad ... but then, even the hardened denizens of the Rookery had cremated bodies, no matter how they’d died.

They wanted to avoid giving a Necromancer bodies to play with
, she recalled.
And it was not enough to prevent an outbreak in the heart of London
.

“This was once a dissident who dared to speak against the Father Tsar,” Gregory said, a note of heavy satisfaction in his voice. Up close, it was clear that the body had been brutally beaten and then strangled. “In death, he will serve the Father Tsar as he never did in life.”

He looked down at Olivia. “Bring him back to life.”

Olivia stared at him, mutely. The last thing she wanted was to touch the body in the cage. It stank, far worse than anything she’d ever experienced, and she was sure that touching the body would be very unhealthy. But she knew that, if she refused, Ivan would just compel her to do as they wanted. Gritting her teeth, trying not to throw up as she crept closer to the body, she reached out with her powers and tried to form a link. This time, nothing happened.

“It isn’t working,” she said. She could feel her magic, pulsing through her body like a second heartbeat, but it wasn’t animating the body. It didn’t seem to want to leave her warm flesh and blood. “I can’t reawaken the body.”

“Try again,” Gregory ordered.

Olivia obeyed. Nothing happened, apart from a faint headache that flared into life and then faded away, just as quickly. She’d heard that some magicians developed headaches if they pushed their powers too far, notably Talkers and Movers, but she’d never heard of Necromancy having such limitations. But then, no one had really been interested in studying the power, merely slaughtering anyone unfortunate enough to be born with it.

Gregory muttered something in Russian. Ivan leaned forward, touching her shoulder with his hand. “Bring him back to life,” he ordered, Charm flowing through his voice. “Bring him back to life.”

Olivia’s headache grew worse as she tried to carry out the command – and failed. The body didn’t even twitch. There was a sudden burst of pain in her head, sending her stumbling backwards into Ivan’s arms, then she almost blacked out. The next thing she knew was that they were outside the room, Ivan holding her and stroking her hair in an almost paternal manner. He looked almost afraid, Olivia noted, blearily. What would happen to him if he were blamed for her death?

“Most interesting,” Gregory observed. “The body was simply too damaged to be brought back to life.”

If you can call that life,
Olivia thought, through the haze of pain. She wanted to be sick again, but she somehow managed to hold it under control.
All they do is kill and eat and spread themselves as far as possible
.

“Follow me,” Gregory ordered. He turned and led the way down the corridor. “There are more experiments to try.”

Olivia glared at his retreating back as Ivan helped her to her feet, then half-carried her down the corridor after Gregory. Her head felt awful, as if she’d drunk far too much in a single sitting, and yet he wanted to carry out more experiments? Of course he did, she realised grimly, remembering some of the researchers at Cavendish Hall. When they’d managed to get the bit between their teeth, they’d worked frantically to carry out experiments, even if their magician subjects had been tired and pushed beyond reason. At least one researcher had been discovered hanging from a flagpole after he’d insisted on carrying out more and more experiments on an exhausted Mover.

And he wants to experiment with Necromancy
, she thought, as Gregory led her into a new cell. This time, there was no smell of death.
He has so many plans and so little time.

She blinked in surprise as she saw the man sitting against the wall. He was short, dark-haired, with an expression of mild boredom on his face. Olivia wondered if he was drugged, then saw the bruises covering his face and realised that he’d been knocked silly. He cackled, loudly enough to make her jump, then called out something in Russian. Olivia flinched at his tone. It reminded her far too much of the whorehouse madams in the Rookery.

Gregory said something back, something Olivia didn’t understand, then turned to face her. “I want you to try to take him now,” he ordered. “Make him one of the undead.”

Olivia stared at him in astonishment. It had honestly never occurred to her – or any of the other researchers – that it was possible for a Necromancer to turn a living human into one of the undead. But then, if the undead spread by biting their victims, it might just be possible to do it directly, rather than having to start with a dead body. She hesitated, just long enough to hear a warning grumble from Ivan, then stepped forward and touched the prisoner’s forehead. It was hot and sweaty, despite the cold ... and, in its own way, as unresponsive to her power as the previous corpse. She could practically
feel
his life energy pushing her power aside as she tried to touch him.

She shuddered as the implications sank into her mind. She was Gwen’s adopted daughter, heir to Master Thomas’s considerable fortune, and few people knew her origins. It wouldn’t be long, she knew, until she was old enough to marry ... and she knew the aristocracy had plenty of poorer members who would be willing to overlook any discrepancy in her origins just to get their hands on her money. And she wasn’t entirely averse to the idea of marrying ... but what if she
couldn’t
touch another living person? Gwen hugged her, from time to time, but Gwen was a magician. Could a normal human touch her without pushing her away?