A Study in Ashes (50 page)

“No.” Nick had been on the road, and then in the air.

“The building and most of the workers were destroyed by an attack coordinated by the Parapsychological Institute.”

As the words soaked in, Nick experienced an odd moment of displacement, as if his reality had shifted. The laboratories hung over the head of everyone with a drop of the Blood. To find out they were gone was …

“Of course,” said the Schoolmaster. “Holmes knows more of the details.”

“What did he have to do with it?” Nick asked, and then it became clear.
Evelina! That’s why she was here!
And, he realized with a wrench, she hadn’t told him anything about this.

But his rising anger was forestalled by the look in the Schoolmaster’s eye. “Holmes was present,” the Schoolmaster said. “I will receive his account of the event when I return to Baskerville Hall tonight. But for now I’m sure you’ll be interested to know that it was arranged for Miss Cooper to go with the members of the institute when the deed was done. Their representative sent a runner with news that the mission was a success, and not one of our number was injured.”

“Where are the representatives of the institute now?” Sir Simon asked.

“In hiding,” the Schoolmaster replied.

Evelina is free!
A rush of hot joy spilled through Nick, making it nearly impossible to remain in his seat. She might be in hiding with the other magic users, but she was out of
the Gold King’s clutches. He closed his eyes, a wave of impatience and energy lending him hope.

The Schoolmaster carried on. “Gentlemen, we’ve already struck a decisive blow against the Steam Council with the destruction of one of their favorite weapons of oppression. It has a literal value, but also a symbolic one. And we’ve done it just in time, because now is the critical moment when the citizens of the Empire must choose their leader.”

He paused, his gaze traveling around the table and touching on each man there. “I have a piece of news that changes the game entirely. A telegram arrived this morning. By now you have all heard that the last of my brothers, the Prince of Wales, is dead.”

His brother?
Nick stared, as stunned as if someone had knocked him on the head. He wasn’t the only one—Penner, Smythe, and Yates were also wide-eyed with confusion.

The Schoolmaster pulled a telegram from his pocket and held it up. “But there is more you may not know. The word from Mycroft Holmes is that Palace physicians have confirmed that the crown prince died of poison, and not from typhoid as the newspapers report.”

A general babble erupted around the table.

“Just a moment,” Nick said, his voice rising above the others. “
Athena called you
vasiliàs.”

“Yes,” said the Schoolmaster, his face pale. He pulled off his tinted glasses, abandoning them on the paper-strewn table. “Athena was correct. I’m the last living prince, and now I’m taking back my throne.”

Southwest Coast, October 6, 1889
SIABAHTHA CASTLE
5:12 p.m. Sunday

PANIC ONLY TOOK A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS SO FAR, AND EVELINA
was impatient to be on her way. She wasted no time in investigating every crack and corner of her room—a process that took the remainder of her first day in Magnus’s castle aerie. She repeated the entire process the second day, just to be sure she had missed nothing.

The door was locked with a heavy iron affair that belonged in a dungeon. Evelina wasn’t sure she could lift the key that opened it, much less pick the wretched thing. Access to the chimney was blocked with an iron grate. The casement window was not locked, but looked over a sheer drop to the crashing waves below.

The floor and walls were all solid, unless one counted a few chinks in the mortar large enough for rats. The tapestries hid no secret doors or listening holes, and, though faded, appeared to have been recently cleaned. Lifting the carpet—a threadbare affair of Persian design—revealed nothing, either, outside of a hidden pile of dirt one of the maids had sought to disguise.

Defeated, she sank to her knees on the carpet before the fire. Her fingers traced the geometric pattern of the border, wishing its symmetry would help her think. Weariness pawed at her, seeking to smother her in a gray fog of despair. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around
them, hugging herself. At least she had basic creature comforts—fresh clothes, a warm room, and adequate food. She had the key to her bracelets so that every twelve hours she could fend off their pain. The wood fire—so rare in the steam barons’ London—gave off the comforting scent of well-seasoned pine. Magnus’s plans depended on her continued health—but those were about the only positives.
It was bad enough being Keating’s prisoner, but at least he let me attend the college
. There would be no smuggled notes to her uncle here, and the only lessons would be of Magnus’s devising.

Evelina closed her eyes and propped her forehead on her knees. She’d spent the night crying and was wrung out, her emotions worn thin as a garment sent too often through the wash. Now was the time for a clever plan—except she had no idea where to begin.
Do I really not know? Or does some slippery part of me not want to know? How do I trust my own impulses now that Magnus has already given me a taste of power?

There had to be a test, some objective measure that her uncle Sherlock might design, but he wasn’t there to guide her. She could feel the hunger coiled inside her, quiet for the moment, but alert to any opportunity to hunt.

She’d wondered what would happen without the restraint of her bracelets. Now it seemed she would find out. Twelve hours was almost up again, and the silver bracelets were tingling, ready to be deactivated one more time. Evelina drew out her necklace with the tiny key Dr. Watson had filched from Tobias and turned the key in each of the locks.

But instead of fading away, the sensation coursing up her arms increased. Panic surged through her. The key wasn’t working anymore. There must be a limit as to how many times the bracelets could be stalled, or maybe there was another trick she didn’t know. The tingling had become prickling, and that had swelled to a stabbing that reached from wrist to elbow. The key slipped from clumsy fingers, falling useless to the carpet. Evelina staggered to her feet, tripping on her hems because her hands were too numb to lift her skirts.
I don’t know what to do!

It was the last coherent thought she had before pain dynamited through her. As if smashing a barrier, it no longer seared through her arms; it made her entire body an open wound. Evelina shrieked, the sound ringing against the high stone walls. Then sight and sound attenuated, as if the searing sensation in every nerve stretched them out of focus. She had no idea if she was still screaming. She was gasping for air, trying to move away from the agony, but direction had ceased to have meaning.

And then the smell of the room changed to a choking smoke. Hard hands grabbed her, dragging her from her feet to the floor. She was aware of something heavy smothering her and she beat at it feebly, her arms no longer obeying her commands. Dimly, she realized it was the blanket from her bed and someone was using it to put out whatever was burning.

“Did you mean to set yourself on fire?” Magnus barked harshly. “Fashion be praised, at least there were layers of petticoats between your skin and the smoldering fabric.”

Had she blundered into the fireplace? Evelina struggled to focus, but the world around her was a vague shadow beyond a searing wall of hurt. She tried to lift her hands and wasn’t sure she succeeded. Her mouth worked, chewing at the words before she could get them out. “Get these off.”

She felt his hand, cold as death, through the biting agony. He lifted her wrist, cursed, and dropped it again. A few heartbeats later, she realized he was gone. She surrendered, her limbs going boneless. There was nothing more she could do.

And then he was back, busying himself with tools. He spoke a handful of words she didn’t understand, and the right bracelet sprang open. He tossed it aside and began working on the left. “Buck up, my girl; this is the last of Keating’s hold on you.”

But Evelina remained sprawled on the floor, barely twitching as he worked. The pain didn’t stop immediately, and when it did begin to recede it left her like a drowned body washed up on shore. Magnus picked her up and deposited her on the bed.

“I apologize for not noticing the condition of the operating
spell before now. I should have seen it winding down, but there was rather a lot going on.”

And it was a sign of how much he had lost. The old Magnus would have spotted it in seconds. Evelina blinked, the first motion that didn’t make her nerves squeal. She realized that she could think again.

“Thank you.” She still wanted to stab Magnus through the heart, but she was prepared to give credit where it was due.

He turned, his dark eyes guarded. “You’re welcome. Those bracelets are a vile contrivance.”

Then why didn’t you take them off before?
But there was no point in asking—this was Magnus. “I had hoped somehow they’d break when the laboratories burned down.” Her voice was thready, and she coughed. That still hurt.

“I’m afraid they don’t work like that. There is a controlling mechanism operated by sympathetic magic. It probably sits on Mr. Keating’s shelf. No doubt it just put out a piercing alarm to indicate that you have slipped his leash.” Magnus propped her up with another pillow, but the motion made her dizzy. She lay back, closing her eyes in hopes the world would stop spinning.

“Let me get you some sherry,” Magnus said with a note of concern.

Evelina gave a weak smile and opened her eyes. Then she cursed softly. Now that she was sitting up, she could see the ruin of her dress. She’d been lucky he’d pulled her out of the fire.

He chuckled. “There are more clothes in those trunks.”

“I liked this dress.”

“Consider it a fair trade for disposing of your unwanted jewelry.” As if by magic—which was entirely likely—one of the taciturn servants appeared with a bottle on a tray, and Magnus poured out a measure, handing it to her.

Her hands were just steady enough to take a sip, but the smooth, sweet burn of it made her take another. It was very good quality, no doubt stored in the castle cellars for a very long time. She immediately began to feel better.

Magnus picked up the remains of the bracelets, opened
the casement window, and hurled them into the gathering dark. “Good riddance.”

She could tell he was putting on a bit of a show, but she was still grateful to have the bracelets off. “Will there be any lasting effects from those?”

“Outside of a dislike for silver bangles, I think not.” Standing with the mullioned window behind him, his features lost in the soft, firelit shadows, he looked like himself again. “I think we shall resume your lessons tomorrow, now that your collar and leash are off.”

Evelina finished the drink and set the glass aside. “I think not.”

“No?” Magnus asked, his voice silky.

She pretended a poise she didn’t feel. “I don’t want your instruction. I don’t deny that you taught me well, but your lessons come with a steep price.”

“Your innocence, perhaps?” he asked, the sarcasm plain. “By all means, let’s preserve that. No doubt the teachings of the Wollaston Academy for Young Ladies have served you better.”

“That is hardly a fair comparison.”

“But isn’t that what you mean?” Magnus made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Ladies turn the other cheek. But what is the etiquette for a war that threatens to extinguish your very species, not to mention whatever friends and family you call your own? If I sent you home to London, would the Gold King merely pat you on the hand and apologize for nearly exploding your skull with agony?”

Evelina bit her tongue, because he had a point. She’d thought to take vengeance on Keating once, but had let him take her captive to save Nick. She’d based her tactics on a fair bargain, and the Gold King had played her false.

Magnus lowered his voice. “You
need
what I have to show you, because you’re not going to survive out there any other way.”

“But is it worth it?” Sudden tears ached behind her eyes. “Every time I learned something from you …”

“Every time?” Magnus smiled.

“Many times that I learned something from you, my
magic grew a little bit darker. And hungrier. I don’t want to be a sorcerer, and I don’t want to know about death magic.”

“Your objections are noted, though I should make it clear that I didn’t bring you here at knifepoint for you to learn to crochet. This is your path, Evelina. You’re a fighter, and power is your natural weapon.”

He was right. Magnus usually was in these arguments—and yet it still might be better to lose than to win on his terms.

“There is the chance,” he added, folding his arms and taking a swaggering step forward, “that if you learn what I have to teach you, you might best me at my own game. I told you once that you might be my equal.”

Evelina jerked with surprise—and some revulsion—at the idea. Now that she was feeling well enough to move, she swung her feet off the bed. Lying there felt too vulnerable. “I know better than to think you would let me win.”