A Breath of Frost (34 page)

Sophie sat next to Emma. “I can heal those if you like,” she said nodding to the bruises on Emma’s arms and ankle.

“You can?”

“Yes, it’s my magic.” She stretched out her left palm, witch knot facing down over Emma’s bruises. Emma noticed her knot was considerably darker than other girls’.

“You must heal a lot of people,” she pointed out. Sophie didn’t reply. She was too busy concentrating, sending a pulse of warmth through Emma’s arms. It felt like sunlight. There was a flash of pain, like a burn, and then the bruises faded.

“Thanks for that.” Emma ran her fingers over the unmarked skin. It didn’t hurt at all.

“Daphne’s not as hard as you think,” Sophie said apologetically, shaking her hands out. The bruises had transferred to her but only to drip off like ink being washed away. “It’s only that she prizes control and independence over all else. Her father is—”

“First Legate,” Emma supplied. “Believe me, I know.”

“It’s a lot of pressure.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Or so I gather.”

“What about your parents?” Emma asked. “Do they think you’re at a finishing school, or do they know the truth?”

“I don’t have parents,” she replied very softly. “They died a long time ago. Surely you’ve heard the gossip about my being an orphan?”

“I’ve heard a lot of gossip recently. Most of it is ridiculous.”

“Well, in my case, it’s true. I used to come up here all the time when I felt lonely, or the others were teasing me about being an orphan. Daphne is the one who made them stop.”

“Daphne?”

“You sound surprised. If she counts you as a friend, she’ll do anything for you.”

“Oh.” It didn’t quite sound like the Daphne she knew. But then again, they certainly couldn’t be counted as friends. And that was true even before Cormac was a factor.

“That poor seamstress. I keep seeing her face. Do you think they know who the murderer is yet?”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t know. But I hear the Bow Street Runners are looking into it as well. They might not know about witchery, but it was still murder.”

“And Margaret.” Sophie shivered. “Did she not say anything? Give you even the smallest clues as to who attacked her?”

“I’m afraid not. With the chaos of the fire and everything … she died before she could say anything.”

Sophie rubbed her arms as though she was chilled. “It’s not safe anywhere, is it?”

Emma snuck out
just before dawn, when the darkness was thick as dust in an abandoned cottage, covering every surface and hidden corner. Even the stars had faded, now too few to count. The school was quiet, the windows reflecting only faint moonlight and fog. No one raised a cry or chased her down the lane with more questions. She wore a dark-brown cloak over her dress and kept her face hidden until she climbed inside the waiting hackney. She sat back against the cushions and breathed a sigh of relief.

“I knew you were up to something.”

Cormac’s voice made her yelp. Her heart thumped, shaking her bones from the inside out. Thunder shook the sky.

“You kicked me!” Cormac yelped back.

“What are you
doing
here?” she demanded, catching her breath. Rain pattered upon the roof of the carriage, then stopped.

“When I saw the unmarked hackney pull up to the school, I knew you must be involved,” he explained drily, rubbing his shin. “I know how you like sneaking about in rented carriages.”

She made a face. “Very funny.”

He stretched his legs, making himself comfortable. “Where are you going?” His lazy gaze wasn’t quite so comfortable. It seared the space between them. “Who are you visiting in the middle of the night, Emma?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going to Berkshire.”

He blinked slowly, having expected a different answer. “Pardon?”

“I’m going to visit my mother,” she said, irritably. “Now go away.”

“You’re going
now?
Alone? With a murderer at large? Not to mention ghouls and hellhounds?” He sounded so aghast, she nearly offered him smelling salts.

“I’m involved in these murders somehow, and it’s more than just accidentally opening the gates. I need to know what’s really going on before the Order binds me up like they tried to do to my mother, like they did to Moira’s brother.”

“Moira’s brother broke the law,” Cormac pointed out. “Several in fact. It was the Order or the mundane law, and the law would have hanged him as a thief.”

“Perhaps. Still, I need to know why my mother cast so many spells, including one she
knew
would drive her mad.”

“I can understand that,” he said calmly.

She stared at him. He raised an eyebrow. “Cormac, go home. If I don’t want to be caught, I need to go
now
.”

“I’m going with you.”

“You are not,” she blurted out. “Why would you?”

He leaned forward so suddenly she edged back. “Emma, don’t be obtuse. I’m not about to let you do this alone. You don’t have to do everything by yourself, you know.”

She tilted her head. “You could get into trouble.”

“I’ve been in trouble since the day I met you,” he replied, banging on the ceiling with the flat of his hand. The coachman responded immediately and the carriage lurched into motion.

The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves echoed around them. Emma couldn’t look away from his shadowed face, his cheekbones sharp in the very faint lantern light. He wasn’t smiling one of his usual smiles, only watching her as if she was a mystery, as if she was precious. The memory of their last kiss burned between them. Emma shifted, suddenly feeling nervous. What was it about him that made the world narrow to a pinpoint?

He reached out, his hand sliding along her arm. She shivered and he grasped her elbow and tugged her forward so she was sitting next to him on the seat. The carriage rolled on, jostling them together. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“We may as well pass the time,” he whispered back, his voice husky and sweet. His eyes were dark as a moonless night, dark as a midnight lake closing over her head. She could drown and not care. She’d have suspected him of using some sort of magic if she didn’t know better. He leaned closer, glancing at her mouth with a ghost of a smile.

“What’s changed?” she asked, before his lips touched hers.
He froze there for a moment and her breath was hot in her throat. Her mouth tingled as if he’d already kissed her.

“What do you mean?” he murmured.

“You kissed me at Christmas.”

“Yes,” he whispered, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. Her breath trembled.

“And then you acted as if you barely knew me.” She was embarrassed to bring it up but she couldn’t go on thinking all these confusing thoughts about him and feeling these confusing feelings. He’d protected her and betrayed her too often. She had to take responsibility for her own heart, before it was too late. She forced herself to keep speaking, even though her voice felt too loud and too real in the soft warmth of the carriage. “Is this just a game to you then? Another girl on your list?”

“You’re not just another girl.” He didn’t pull away from her, only leaned over onto the cushion.

“Aren’t I?” She touched her antlers lightly. “I suppose not.”

He sighed, jerking his hand through his hair. “Last Christmas, when I kissed you, I didn’t know you were a Lovegrove. I only knew you as Emma Day.”

She frowned. “So?”

“So then I joined the Order. If I stayed with you and they saw we had a connection, they would have ordered me to exploit it.”

She bit her lower lip. “Even then? Before the gates? Before everything else?”

“Yes.”

“And in the goblin markets? When you let them cage me?”

“Especially then. They would have sent someone else, someone a lot less gentle. People are afraid of your mother and her power, and so they’re afraid of you. She defied the Order. You don’t know how rare that is.”

“I’m beginning to think she was right.”

“Maybe she was. But if the Order knew I had any sympathy at all that night on the ship, they would have suspected
you
of that murder. You don’t want to end up in Percival House on the moors—a kind of magical prison,” he explained before she could ask.

“Or bottled and bound,” she added.

“Yes,” he replied grimly. “They’ve been watching you since you were born. The only thing that shielded you and your cousins was your mother’s spell. Not only did it bind your powers so you couldn’t be hunted, but it made it so no one could talk to you about witching families with any kind of sense. You simply didn’t understand. She was clever, your mother.”

“She’s not like that now,” she said in a small voice.

“She paid the price willingly,” he said, digging his fingers in her hair and tilting her head back so she had to meet the full force of his gaze. “I would too.”

She smiled sadly. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? You won’t forgive me? Even knowing why I did what I did?” His fingers tightened.

“I won’t have anyone else hurt because of me,” she told him.

“Not even a Keeper?”

“Not even a Keeper.”

He closed the distance between them slowly, his eyes never
leaving hers. She had every opportunity to stop him, to move away, to break the moment. Instead she leaned in as well, until his mouth was on hers, or her mouth was on his, it hardly signified so long as they were together, breathing the same air, sinking into the same moment, closing any gap that might lay between them. His arms went around her, crushing her to his chest. Her hands slid around his neck. His tongue touched hers and for a blessed brief moment it no longer mattered where they had been or where they were going. There was only his mouth, his hands, and the way they fit together.

Outside the carriage, the roads slowly changed as they left the city for the outskirts. Dawn turned the sky pink and glittered on the dew. The mist was soft and birds sang from the hedgerows. The air changed, blowing crisp and clean into the open window. It smelled like leaves and damp earth and home.

When the carriage rolled to a stop, the thump of the coachman as he vaulted off the seat jerked Emma back to reality. “Wait.” Cormac caught her hand. “There might be Keepers watching the house.”

“But I’m allowed to visit my own mother, surely.”

“Yes, but we need to keep up the deception that we are nothing to each other.”

She took a deep breath, willing away the nervous twitch of her scalp around her antlers. He curled his forefinger under her chin briefly. “Forgive me?”

She nodded once. They didn’t speak as the footman opened the door and lowered the steps. Cormac stepped down first
and then motioned sharply for her to do the same. He scanned the area warily.

She descended into the courtyard. Emma looked at the house, turning her Fith-Fath ring around her finger nervously. Her mother’s spellbox was tucked under one arm. Cormac closed his hand around her elbow, propelling her forward as though she were his prisoner. He looked as he had when he’d turned on her over Margaret’s body. She lifted her chin and shot him a rebellious look. He winked at her from under the brim of his hat.

Mrs. Peabody answered the door with her bright smile. “Bless me, back again so soon? What a good girl you are.” She moved aside to let them in. “Lady Hightower is still abovestairs, but she’s awake. She had a bit of a wild night, I’m afraid, but she’s calm now. No doubt seeing you will be a balm.”

Emma swallowed, not as sure about that as the housekeeper seemed to be. In the privacy of the house, Cormac’s hand slipped reassuringly into hers. He squeezed her hand hard and she glanced at him. He was looking at her antlers. She winced and shoved so much power into her glamour that the clouds raced over the sun for a moment, darkening the stairs. Mrs. Peabody blinked. “Strange weather today.”

Theodora was curled up on the same fainting couch where she’d reclined the last time Emma had visited. Her hair was neatly brushed this time, but her eyes were slightly feverish.

“Is she ill?” Emma whispered.

“No, just a bad night,” Mrs. Peabody assured her. “She’ll be right as rain, don’t you worry.”

Emma approached cautiously as the housekeeper shut the door behind her. “
Maman
?”

Theodora didn’t look away from the window and the woods beyond.

“I want to ask you about your spellbox,” Emma continued carefully. She held it out and Theodora finally glanced at her.

“It’s pretty.” She stroked it like a pet bunny, before flipping the lid open. She recoiled. “Smells like iron.” She stuck her tongue out. “But I like this,” she added in a reverent whisper, lifting the antler charm bound in black thread. The rings clinked together. She slipped the silver one over her finger, heedless of the cumbersome charm.

“Why did you bind my cousins and me?” Emma asked, watching her carefully. “Can you remember?”

Theodora blinked. “I like to keep things in bottles.”

Emma froze, looking at Cormac. “What kind of things?” She tried to keep her tone light, not wanting to scare her mother with her impatience.

“All kinds of things.”

“Like magic?”

“People go in bottles. So does dirt. And teeth. And medicine.” Theodora nodded proudly. “I collect them.”