Belmary House Book One (13 page)

He reached over and opened his window, putting the back of his hand to her brow. “Are you unwell? You’ve gone quite pale. Here. Lie back.” He helped her put her feet up, moving to the opposite bench. “What is it?”

“You think the house controls the portal? If the house weren’t there, the portal wouldn’t be there, either?”

“Yes, I’m fairly certain that’s right. Good heavens, what’s wrong?” He patted her cheeks and she brushed his hands away, feeling like she might pass out.

“The house. In my time ...” She couldn’t form a complete sentence. “They’re closing it up. It’s going to be torn down to make a shopping center.” She wracked her brain for the deadline Dex had been so worried they wouldn’t meet.

“When?” Ashford demanded, the wild look of distress in his eyes not helping her think. “Will we be able to get you back?”

Three months, she was here in 1814 for three months. Dexter would have killed for that amount of time. “No,” she said bleakly. “Not even close.”

She rolled over and faced the back of the seat, unable to watch Ashford frantically looking through his book for another route home for her. But not before he patted the place where his gun lay hidden beneath his jacket, clearly as fearful as she was that she wouldn’t make it home.

Only a few minutes ago she’d been having the time of her life, certain she’d be safely returned to normalcy after having the most unique vacation ever. Now she might be trapped forever, with a madman who hunted unwitting time travelers after her.

Solomon Wodge tightened his grip on the woman, his skin crawling at the feel of her soft skin and hot tears falling on the back of his hand. Shoving her away from him, he kept a firm hold on her wrists, wishing he’d been better prepared with rope. He’d only come to this time to speak to one of Ashford’s people, make his offer once again. He’d failed, once again, and had been in a rather foul mood.

Running across this sniveling witch had cheered him considerably. He knew from encounters with others that she knew his father, and he grabbed her without a fully formed plan, hoping to get answers so this trip wouldn’t be a complete waste.

“Still don’t care much for appearances, eh, Solomon?” she asked, eyeing him impertinently from head to toe.

He glanced down at the clothes he wore, a collection of things that caught his fancy in different times. The truth was, a good lot of the time he wasn’t even sure what year he was in, and he’d learned a long time since that no one gave him a second glance no matter what he wore. He wasn’t of an imposing size, never could get an ounce of muscle to stick, and his gangly, slightly bowed legs were an aftereffect of the beatings his guardian made sure to regularly dole out, before he managed to escape that man’s clutches.

Despite his unimpressive stature, if anyone bothered to show any curiosity in his Converse shoes or his various smoking jackets from the mid-twentieth century, he could always make them change their minds with a look. No matter how he tried to suppress it, people seemed to sense the malice that coursed through his veins.

The witch looked like she was going to offer more opinions on his personal appearance so he stuffed his handkerchief in her mouth, giving her a long look.

“I’ll ask you again,” he said, taking out a silver lighter and flicking it open under her nose. Her eyes crossed with fear when the flame burst to life an inch from her skin. “Clever, isn’t it?” he asked, snapping it shut again and leaning back, giving her a moment to savor his seriousness in wanting answers. “So much tidier than the way you nasty creatures go about things, with your filthy incantations. You should pick one up if you’re in a time that has them.”

When she refused to speak, and only furiously narrowed her wicked green eyes at him, he knocked her in the side of the head, nearly snapping her neck.

“Once more, then. When was the last time you saw my father?”

She narrowed her eyes and made a muffled sound through the handkerchief. Irritated, he pulled it from her mouth.

“You know I’m stronger than you, right?” he made sure to remind her. “Don’t try any kind of spell or enchantment. I’ll break it before it’s past your lips, then break your jaw for the trouble.”

He felt the familiar wash of shame that he wasn’t lying, that his powers were as strong as any of them, stronger than most. He never practiced, he never wanted the sickening feelings that went with his raw knowledge. All thanks to his father. The man who’d abandoned him as a child, left him to rot with criminals, never warning him of the terrible power that continuously bubbled up within him, causing him to hate himself almost as much as he hated Liam Wodge. Almost.

Because he knew that if he could find him at last and finish it, he could be free. Perhaps everything would completely start over and he’d never remember a thing about this current life. That would be ideal, but if he was only set free, that would be enough. He knew his actions were justified. With every one of these monsters he rid from the earth, he saved a countless number of their victims.

“My father, Liam,” he said. “I know you consort with him. So tell me where he’s at right now.”

“I don’t know,” she said, wincing when he slapped her. “That is the truth. I haven’t seen him in months.”

“When was the last time you saw him.”

He watched her carefully consider her lies. It was sad, really, the way she thought she could fool him. He gave her a moment, staring at her as the wheels turned in her wicked head. She flinched and started to cry again. Fed up with the waterworks, he flicked her in the forehead.

“As hard as you say you try to find him, you do an awfully good job of staying hidden,” she said, rubbing her forehead.

It sounded cryptic enough to be a spell of some sort. She might have used her moment of silence to figure out a way to mask something with words he’d think were meant to be information.

He instinctively blocked her with a silent counter, feeling nauseous as he did, but there was nothing to block. They’d just been words, and in his anger at not understanding her, and at having to call on his powers, he hit her again, too hard this time. Her eyes crossed and she toppled over.

He almost cried himself, at the wretched turn this trip had taken. First he was tossed out of Ashford’s house, his overly fair and generous offer thrown out after him along with a string of obscenities. God, he hated them all. He’d managed to put a simple hex on the house while he’d been there, though. It wouldn’t last long, but he hoped it caused Ashford some trouble. Even that didn’t give him much satisfaction, reduced as he was to such childish measures. He wanted complete control, nothing less. Then he could end it all. End Ashford, end his father, end his own torments so he could start fresh.

He prodded the witch, and shook her shoulder, but she was down for the count. All he could do was wait, or leave without the information he was positive she had. She hadn’t seen his father in months? He wondered if that was around the last time he’d seen him. The rare glimpses he got of Liam enraged and frustrated him, wanting nothing more than to wrap his hands around the man’s neck and squeeze, but he couldn’t do anything without the answers he needed. Not without risking his own existence.

His father had been clever enough to keep everything secret. He didn’t know his own birth date, let alone his father’s. If he could find the simple answer to his own birthday, he could finish this.

She groaned and tried to roll away, but he clamped his hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and sighed, and he had to admit he admired her resignation. So many of them wasted his time and energy with fighting.

“What did you mean by what you said?” he asked with an encouraging smile.

“Can you refresh my memory? You hit me rather hard.”

He laughed. “Something about how I look for my father, but keep myself hidden.”

“Ah, yes. You daft lad, he’s been looking for you for years. He wants to find you as much as you want to find him. Why don’t you just greet him the next time you see him? Or wait in one time long enough for one of us to get him a message?”

This wasn’t helpful, and didn’t interest him. If his father had indeed been looking for him, it couldn’t be for anything good. Wodge would be damned if he let her try to work his heartstrings, make him believe the demon who spawned him was really a man, might have human feelings. What a foolish trap. Did Liam or any of these witches he messed about with think he’d be so stupid?

“Perhaps I’ll do just that,” he said, not bothering to disguise the sarcasm. He helped her to sit up. “Now that you’ve wasted a good deal of my time, can you or can you not tell me when you last saw him?” He gritted his teeth and rubbed the side of her jaw where he’d whacked her. “I’ll let you live, if you have anything valuable to tell me.”

He knew she knew about him, and he sat patiently while a new round of tears rolled down her cheeks. To hurry her along, he took out a knife, and wiped the blade along his plaid wool pant leg, causing her to burst out in great sobs.

“Just tell me what you know of my father, so you can go about your business, and so I can go and greet him.”

“He really does want to find you,” she said.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt.”

He continued to watch her and polish the blade of his knife. He liked to let them believe he was always in a great hurry, but the truth of the matter was, he had all the time in the world. If he wanted he could come back to this very point in time tomorrow and do this all over again. The thought gave him hives.

“You’ll let me go?” she asked, wiping her face and looking hopeful.

“Do you know something?”

She wrinkled her nose at his non-answer, but he could see she was about to talk. “The last I heard of him, he was far in the future, at Belmary House.”

“How far in the future, what year?”

He couldn’t disguise his eagerness. What was his father doing at Ashford’s house? He didn’t need the portal to travel.

“I don’t know that,” she stammered. “I’ve never been able to go forward. But the house is to be torn down. Find out when that takes place and that’s when he went.”

“Belmary House is to be torn down?” He almost couldn’t believe it. He’d been trying to gain control of the place since he discovered it held the original portal. “When was this, that you heard Liam was there?”

“Just two days past,” she said. “That’s all I know, I swear it.” She tentatively rose to her feet and he stood as well.

“Thank you,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve been very helpful.”

Before she could utter another word, he sliced his blade across her throat, sidestepping the gush of blood. The look of surprise in her eyes before they went blank almost gave him a feeling close to guilt. He didn’t especially like doing the things he did, but it was all for the greater purpose. As he lowered her lifeless body to the ground, he consoled himself that whoever had been a victim of her spells would now be free.

“Leave us,” Ashford commanded Nora, after storming into the room.

As she scurried past him out the door, he looked over at Miss Jacobs— he was supposed to call her Matilda now, but how could he possibly when she sat against the headboard of her bed, with her nightgown riding up over her outrageously crossed legs. Those legs. They looked much longer uncovered as they were, and her skin looked torturously soft and almost cried out to be touched. He gripped his hands behind his back and looked up at her face instead. It didn’t help. Her freshly scrubbed cheeks were rosy and dewy and the tiny hairs at her forehead clung to her skin. Had she just got out of the bath? He swallowed hard at the thought of her stepping out of the tub, gloriously naked and dripping.

Coughing, he tried to greet her naturally, but now that Nora was gone, the inn room seemed strangely smaller. He couldn’t possibly call her by her first name, not when such treacherous thoughts as he was having were running rampant through his mind. And yet he remembered how she reacted when he said it in the carriage, as surprised as she was at her reaction to it. He hadn’t meant to fluster her, though it served her right after she all but served her delightful breasts up on a platter for him to see. The rapid spread of color to her cheeks was almost as enticing.

He knew she hadn’t meant anything with her teasing. He knew enough about people from her time that certain things could be done or said and not mean a thing. She was probably going stir crazy in the carriage day in and day out, but he had been serious when he told her she needed to be more reticent.

The thought of her acting so freely around someone other than him made his blood freeze up in his veins. Only because he wanted to keep her safe, and in this time she wasn’t used to, he knew he mostly had to protect her from herself.

Imagine her prancing about with no stays and no stockings around a reprobate like Nick. No, he didn’t want to imagine it. He definitely didn’t want her being so brazen with anyone else, but he had to admit he quite liked it. Too much, in fact. He found everything from her direct looks to her more direct questions fascinating. It was unnerving.

He couldn’t get over how unafraid she’d been when he let loose that he was descended from witches. She hadn’t recoiled or swooned or even blinked. And he was still grateful she’d forgiven him so quickly. He certainly didn’t deserve her easygoing friendliness.