Poison in the Blood (4 page)

“Three days. I feel terrible that we didn’t send word, but—”

“Why are you here?” I interrupted.

Simon took a seat across from me and folded his hands in his lap. “As I said, we are conducting an investigation for the Order.”

“Yes, but why are
you
here? It is my husband’s place to lecture me, not yours.”

Simon scowled. “Michael has not mastered his hunger yet. You are not to be in the same room without supervision, and you are most certainly not to touch each other again without permission.”

“Permission? Now I need your
permission
to touch my husband?” I repeated, incredulous.

“I would never hurt her.” Michael took a step forward, and Simon pointed a bony finger at him in warning.

“You are not yourself,” Simon said.

Michael sighed. “This is ridiculous. There was no harm done, and I was not about to let Emily fall and hurt herself.”

“And you could have lost control, bitten her and torn her throat out. You aren’t ready yet.”

My throat tightened with too much emotion as I studied my husband. He hadn’t completely changed. Michael’s dark eyes were as expressive as always—filled with heartbreak at the moment—and his black hair was tousled despite his attempts to tame it. He always appeared a bit rumpled, and now I supposed he would continue to do so for all eternity.

“Does that mean you will not be staying here while you conduct your investigation?” I asked.

“We had not planned on it, but it appears you cannot be trusted to be left on your own,” Simon replied.

“Oh, honestly. I finally find something useful to do in this city and you appear to chastise me within an hour. Do you have nothing better to do with eternity than to meddle in my affairs?”

“Emily, please,” Michael said. Ever the peacemaker. “This is dangerous. Someone has murdered six women.”

“And that is why I have involved myself in aiding Miss Dubois’s investigation. As a seer, it is my duty to use my magic to aid others. I can do so much more than matchmaking. I can discover the identity of the necromancer responsible before he strikes again.”

“A member of the Order cannot become involved with necromancer matters. We are already risking crossing the line as it is just by investigating these murders,” Simon said.

“I am not a member of the Order.”

“As my wife—” Michael began, but I had no patience for him.

“As your wife, it has been made quite clear to me that I have no place within the Order. They do not want the aid of an
outsider
.” I hissed the word like an angry snake. The baby stirred at my tone, and I rubbed his back soothingly.

Michael winced, and I nearly regretted my words. “The Order had good intentions.”

“Oh, hang the Order. I am so tired of hearing about the bloody Order,” I said in a strained whisper. “Is that what you’re concerned about? You’re worried that I might damage your standing by helping Miss Dubois?”

“No, I’m concerned about the safety of you and the children while there is a killer on the loose. I want you to return home,” Michael said.

Though my heart leapt at the idea, it felt like a trap.

“Now? Before Samhain?” I asked.

“Yes. Immediately,” Michael replied.

My eyes narrowed as I turned and studied Simon. “But you just said that Michael hasn’t mastered his hunger. If it is not safe for me to be alone in a room with my husband, how is it safe to bring the children home now?”

Michael appeared offended. “Em, you know I would never harm the children.”

“Yes, and I know that you would never harm me either, but your mentor seems to be worried by the idea.”

“I feel it is best to be cautious,” Simon said. “But you and the children will be returning home while Michael and I conduct our investigation.”

“Your concern for my welfare is touching,” I said icily. “If you are truly concerned for my safety, then the two of you will return home and I will return at Samhain as we originally agreed. I’m certain Miss Dubois has the situation well in hand. She is a guardian, after all, and that is her duty. Not yours.”

Simon shook his head. “The Scrivener is not convinced that she can handle this matter, and I cannot allow you to aid her investigation.”

“
You
cannot allow it?
I did not marry you
! You are not my husband, or my mentor, and I very much wish that I had never met you. I don’t care how much of an honor it is to serve the Order, because
I am not a librarian
. You should remember that, because all of you seem to harp on it endlessly.”

Michael stepped toward me as though he intended to embrace me, but stopped at a warning glance from his mentor. “All I want is for you to be safe,” my husband said.

“That was never all you wanted. I was an afterthought. All you ever wanted was to become…that.” I gestured at him with a shaking hand. “Congratulations on your success.”

“Please, you’re not being fair,” he said.

“Neither are you. All I am asking for is a little faith in my abilities. Is it so much to ask that for once you take my side and not his? You may as well be married to him.”

He stood dumbstruck, and with an annoyed sigh I turned and headed for the door. Michael would have had the good sense to allow me my retreat, but Simon was always one to twist the knife. He stopped me before I reached the door, grabbing my shoulder, and I whirled and slapped him with one hand as I juggled the baby with the other.

“I hate you!” I poured all the venom I had for him into the words. “Touch me again and I will make you regret it.”

I stormed from the library and hurried to my room, where Robert and I shared in a good cry until we both fell asleep. I loved Michael. He was my soul mate, and his absence was a shadow on my heart that ached every day we were apart. Yet even our time together could not change the fact that Michael had always been committed to the Order first and foremost, and I couldn’t join him in that due to the unique nature of my magic. I was an outsider even in my own marriage, and that would never change.

Chapter Three

The household had been in an uproar all morning, due in part to my rambunctious children, though the arrival of the chroniclers during the night deserved much of the blame. I escaped to the safest place—the garden—and sat among Josephine’s badly neglected roses, trying and failing to read a new collection of poetry I had procured the week before. No matter how much I concentrated on the words, my thoughts kept returning to Michael. Despite my best efforts to prepare myself for the sight of him as a chronicler, there was no preventing the shock of seeing the man I loved so changed. He wasn’t human anymore. Undead. A monster who couldn’t be trusted to be alone in the same room as myself or the children.

A monster like his mentor, Simon St. Jerome. Lord and Lady, I hated Simon with every inch of me.

“Mama, are you crying?”

I looked up to see my daughter Lillian peeking at me from behind a stone fountain that to my knowledge had never worked. I wiped at my eyes and tried to muster a reassuring smile. “No, sweetheart. My eyes are tired from reading.”

A simpler explanation than the truth, which no child should be burdened with. Of course, as a little librarian, Lily would likely grow up to be proud of her papa for becoming a chronicler, no matter what the cost.

“What are you reading?” she asked, edging closer. When she stepped out from behind the fountain I spied the source of her hesitance; Lily’s dress was stained with dirt from digging in the garden. I wasn’t about to scold her for it, for I didn’t have the heart for it at the moment, and I wanted to encourage her to continue playing out of doors. Librarians spent altogether too much time inside, hidden away with their books.

“A poem about what happens to little girls who get into mischief.” I pulled her close and tickled her, and she giggled with delight.

“Aunt Jo says Papa is here. Are we going home?” Lily looked up at me, her dark eyes filled with the same longing for home that I felt, but I shook my head.

“Not yet. Papa is visiting for now.”

She nodded, and though I sensed her disappointment I knew she trusted that everything would be all right again soon. I stroked her hair and worried for the girls who had been murdered. They had each been someone’s daughter once, and bright futures had awaited them. If I allowed Simon and Michael to spirit me away to Yorkshire, more innocents would die. I couldn’t let that happen.

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up before Aunt Jo sees what you’ve done to your dress,” I suggested.

Lillian smiled and took my hand as we headed back into the house. I squared my shoulders and held my head high, for I was not about to be sent packing without a fight.

Miss Dubois’s carriage arrived promptly at two in the afternoon as agreed upon, and I was grateful for it. I prepared to leave as quickly as possible, and nearly walked straight into Simon as I left my room.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“I am meeting Miss Dubois. If you’ll excuse me.” I pushed past him, but Simon pulled me up short by barking my name.

“I cannot allow you to go alone.”

Irritated, I glared up at him. “You have no control over where I go, or with whom. Now, you can go with me and risk leaving Michael here unattended, or you can stay here and keep watch over him.”

A vein twitched in Simon’s forehead, and a cold rush of fear doused my anger as I wondered if he would strike me. “You should take more care that your actions do not deprive your children of their mother,” he warned, his voice low.

“Why? Because you have already deprived them of their father?” I retorted.

“This is dangerous and foolish. You have no business taking part in a murder investigation.”

“I have done it before.”

“And Michael nearly died because of it,” he reminded me.

I winced, though I hardly thought that I was to blame for Michael’s injuries during that fight. Indeed, Mr. Farrell had been clearly at fault, considering that he had murdered two people and attacked us.

“What use do you suggest for my magic, then? I cannot stop being a seer any more than you could stop being a chronicler.”

Simon scowled. “It isn’t proper—”

“No one would question the propriety of my involvement if I were a man. How would you feel if the worth of your magic depended solely on the circumstances of your sex?”

I hurried on my way to avoid hearing his reply, and left the house without further interruption. Simon didn’t follow, and I assumed he stayed behind with Michael. As an elder chronicler, Simon could withstand the afternoon sunlight, but Michael could not, which I had counted on for my escape.

Dr. Bennett and Miss Dubois greeted me as I entered the carriage. She wore a smart periwinkle dress with another matching parasol, and she exuded unflappable calm. Dr. Bennett, however, continuously cleaned the lenses of his spectacles with a white handkerchief and never seemed pleased with the results of his efforts.

“I wasn’t certain your family would allow you to aid me,” Miss Dubois said.

“They aren’t allowing it. I am here of my own will.”

“I am grateful for your help. A seer’s talent should never go to waste.” She favored me with a smile of encouragement, and it strengthened my resolve to do my best.

We arrived at the home of Mrs. Clara Harding. I felt awful for her poor husband. Mr. Edward Harding was beside himself with grief, and the emotion hovered around him like a thick fog. My throat tightened, and I struggled to breathe while in his presence. Dr. Bennett agreed to sit with him while Miss Dubois and I investigated Mrs. Harding’s bedroom.

Mrs. Harding kept a room separate from her new husband, which I knew was the custom for many couples, but Michael and I had shared a room as often as possible. Then again, we had known that our time together was limited, where this young couple had not. Mrs. Harding had been seventeen when she married and eighteen when she died, and her room had a girlish energy to it. I almost expected to see dolls lined up along her pillows, and though there were none she did have a collection of figurines of dogs, mostly poodles.

I removed my gloves and handed them to Miss Dubois, who was watching me with great interest. So much so that her focus was distracting as I began reading the room, but I tuned her out with some additional concentration. The room was doused in drab colors. Mrs. Harding had been missing for several days before her body had been found, and as such the energy had faded to an alarmingly low level. Only the strongest emotions remained, concentrated around her pillows and her dressing table. I trailed my fingers across the crisp bed linens—no doubt a wedding present from a relative—and a flurry of images danced through my mind. The pleasant dreams of a new bride, excited about her future…with a man who was not her husband. Startled, I snatched my hand back and blinked. The man’s visage was blurry, but it was clearly not Mr. Harding, for even the hazy image did not resemble him in the slightest. Mrs. Harding’s lover was much fairer in face and hair, and perhaps a bit older.

Intrigued, I moved my attention to the dressing table. I picked up Mrs. Harding’s hairbrush, and heard the sound of her humming as she drew the object through her long, lustrous hair. The impression of her as young and alive tugged at my heartstrings, and I felt sorry for her, even if she was an adulteress. It made little sense to me—Mr. Harding was quite compatible with her, and he obviously loved his wife a great deal.