Belmary House Book Two (17 page)

“Not until you tell me your name,” she said.

He sighed and slumped against the bricks. “Liam Wodge. Please don’t run.”

The only thing she heard was Wodge, and actually did run, remembering Ashford’s repeated warnings. When she got to the mouth of the alley, she turned back to see he was still sitting there, defeatedly running his hands through his salt and pepper hair.

She didn’t feel any overwhelming urges that suggested he’d put a hex on her. He only looked at her sadly, remaining seated in the trash strewn alley as if he’d stay there a good long time after she left. He dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the blood from the split lip she gave him, folding it over and then dabbing at the dirt from where she’d mashed his face into the ground.

“Liam?” she asked.

Not Solomon, but possibly a relation of some sort? As pitiable as he looked, she kept her distance.

“You know about Lord Ashford, so you must know about Solomon Wodge? I haven’t heard anything good about him.”

He nodded and frowned some more, looking embarrassed. “Nor have I, I’m afraid. Solomon’s my son. I haven’t seen him since he was a baby. I’m trying to get him to meet with me, so I can explain some things …” He trailed off, looking past her, then down at the ground. “Make some things right.”

“I swear to God, if you try anything, I will end you,” she said, hands on hips.

Holding out his hands as if she had a gun trained on him, he slowly stood. “If you’d like to go to the pub, I have currency for this time. I’ll explain over a meat pie and a pint. I’d be forever in your debt if you’ll only hear me out.”

She knew if she went without waiting for Ashford, he’d be furious. But her curiosity was in the highest possible gear and her heart raced to hear what this man from her time, her country, had to say. He trudged to the other end of the alley and collected her hats, dusting off the boxes and tentatively holding them out to her.

“I’ll carry them for you, if you like,” he said.

His face looked so devoid of hope, she felt sorry for him, and decided it would be safe enough to let him tell her his story in a room full of people.

“Carry the boxes and walk ahead of me.” She stepped aside so he could pass her.

“Certainly,” he said docilely, doing as she told.

She felt like a prison warden who’d gone mad with power ordering him around, but she firmly reminded herself he’d grabbed her not fifteen minutes ago. He did think she’d run the second she heard his name, though, and in fact she had run at first. If he was as desperate as he seemed to ask his favor, that could have caused a severe lapse in judgement. She looked down at the dried blood on her hand, and decided to call them even for the moment.

In the pub, she chose a spot that was well observed but not directly near anyone so he could speak freely. He ordered them a meal and sat quietly until she urged him to get on with it.

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to eat first.”

“Will whatever you tell me spoil my appetite?” she countered.

He smiled, quickly pressing his lips together in case it irritated her, and she felt worse by the minute. However, she refused to apologize. That would never happen.

“So, you’re Solomon Wodge’s father, and you can use the portals?” she asked.

“I am and I can.”

She rolled her eyes, wondering if she was going to have to use tools to wrench it out of him. “He was born in our time too, then?”

Liam shook his head. “No. I came to England for a semester of college, and met my wife. She —” he cut his eyes left and right, lowering his voice, “came from the past, further back than this even. She wanted to keep traveling, and I couldn’t do without her, so I followed her whenever she went. We had Solomon, and that’s when things went … wrong.”

He stopped, nodding gratefully at the waitress who served them their ale. He took a long swallow and sat staring into the glass, falling back into silence as if remembering, and not enjoying the trip down memory lane. She took a sip of her own drink and waited, tired of bullying the man.

He leaned across the table and spoke quietly. “We kept a very low profile. My wife never did anything except what was necessary for the time travel, to keep off the radar of this powerful family who—”

“The Povests?” she interrupted, and he pumped his head up and down eagerly.

“You’ve heard of them? I thought Ashford only used the portals?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of them,” she said. “And he does. But his family did magic, so I know about how they interfere.”

He laughed humorlessly. “Yes. Anyway, we never did anything to call attention to ourselves, we just liked looking at art, watching historical moments become historic as it was. After Solomon was born, we started hearing about witches getting killed, for no apparent reason. We confirmed it wasn’t the Povests and I got scared for the baby’s safety.”

“Well, sure,” Tilly said, finding she leaned over the table now too, engrossed in the story.

Liam Wodge was very much like her, just someone who happened upon a time traveler and fell in love.

“My wife was against it. She never forgave me, I don’t think, but I sent him away to live with a friend we’d made in the seventeenth until I could find out who was behind the killings.”

She smiled at the way he mentioned the seventeenth century as if it was merely a neighborhood down the street. Ashford often did the same and it always made her marvel how they could ever get used to it.

“This friend had no magical ability. She was a lovely woman, and I thought he’d be safe with her for a bit.”

“Did they find her anyway? The murderers?” she asked.

“No,” he said, looking bereft. “It was the seventeenth century after all. She died of a fever, quite common for that time. She was only twenty-three.”

“What happened to the baby?” she asked, fearing the worst. They were speaking of Solomon, after all, and she knew he didn’t turn out a pillar of society.

Liam swallowed hard, jumping at the arrival of their steak and kidney pies. “I don’t know. I lost him. I went back, but there was no trace of him. Margaret’s neighbor thought he might have been sent to an orphanage, but none in the area had a record of him.”

Tilly leaned back, not knowing what to say, uneasily feeling the worst of the story hadn’t come.

“I spent more than a year looking for him. I was unable to face my wife with the truth, and I’d made her promise not to use any spells, or even a portal, until I returned. But somehow, it didn’t matter, she still got found out. Maybe she did some little thing or spoke to the wrong person, I don’t know. But when I came back, it was to find her dead. It was only minutes, as if the killer waited for me. Or perhaps my imagination made me believe it. I’ve spent every moment since trying to find her killer.”

He stabbed his pie with his fork, then set it aside, clearly unable to eat. Tilly found her appetite was ruined after all, and stared at her pie with distaste. If anyone had told her a year ago that magic was real, she would have been delighted and longed to be a part of it, but now it only seemed rife with heartache. She was glad she couldn’t use it, even though she was still inextricably caught up in its troubles.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “But what does that have to do with Lord Ashford?”

He clenched his fists, moving them to his lap and visibly forcing himself to remain calm. “My son thinks I abandoned him. He won’t meet with me. No matter how I chase him through time, he eludes me. Even if I pin him down in one year, he’s just too … smart. I know he’s been hounding Lord Ashford, he’s quite persistent about it, I hear.”

“Yes, we’re aware.”

“Well, I’ve received word he took ownership of Belmary House, right around the time you disappeared from.” He mentioned the dates and she nodded, confused.

“But Belmary House is gone in that time. It’s been demolished.”

“No, Solomon bought it. He’s restoring it, for whatever reason. It’s not gone. I think he’s waiting for Ashford to go through it again.”

“Like an ambush,” she said, feeling angry all over again. The wicked jerk was toying with them.

“Exactly,” Liam said. “Solomon will run from me, but he’s been wanting to meet up with Ashford. That’s where my favor comes in.”

“You want to use Ashford as bait.”

He looked chagrined, then finally nodded. “I suppose there’s no other way to put it.”

“You’re crazy. Why would you think he’d help you?”

“Because I’m begging for help. I did everything wrong, from moving Solomon when he was a baby to making my wife stay in one spot like a sitting duck. I have to make one thing right. Just the one thing.”

Tilly was so tired of people thinking their irredeemable loved ones could be saved she almost got up and left without another word, but something kept her in her seat.

“Did you say you used the portal to get to this time?” Maybe he had a better schedule for it, and could be useful to them.

“Heavens no, that one is all but useless. I think the Glens put it there as a rude joke.”

“Then how?” she said, bubbling with impatience.

He got the faraway look in his eyes again, and dabbed at his cut lip. “My wife passed her powers to me when she died. I don’t know how, but since then I’ve found it’s not uncommon. At first I thought I was possessed— hearing voices, able to do things I never could before— but that’s all it was. There’s a few different spells for traveling and I can use them all. Well, I’ve never tried one, because it’s disgusting, but I feel confident I could do it.”

“You’re a witch too?” she whispered.

“Don’t be too impressed,” he said. “I’m crap at all but the traveling, and too scared to try any of the really good spells that might help me. I’m afraid I’m reduced to begging your Lord Ashford for assistance.”

“You think you could do them, though? If you practiced?”

He shrugged. “I imagine so, since my wife was singularly good at everything she tried, and theoretically I should be able to do whatever she could. But I have enough on my plate without calling the Povest’s attention my way.”

“Do you know other witches?” she asked doggedly.

“Yes, a few,” he said, his brows gathering together over his slightly beaky nose. “Why?”

“We’ve got trouble of our own with the Povests. It might be useful to know more people who have powers. Ashford’s up at the castle asking the Glens for help right now.”

He looked at her pityingly. “Oh, these Glens won’t help you,” he said. “They’re savvy and historically not nice people. They won’t risk their cushy position here.”

She shrank back in her seat and scowled. He seemed so certain that what little hope she had in her plan to enlists the Glens began to fizzle.

“Why would I suggest to Ashford to offer himself up with nothing in return?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“I can’t promise anything. I’ve never tried most of the spells I know. I could probably make some introductions, though. And my son’s in your time. I could definitely get you back. Surely that counts for something?”

After she’d all but given up on it, she got a dizzy sensation that it might be that easy to get home, then a sinking feeling in her stomach. If it was down to a simple choice, could she choose to leave Ashford? Would he make her go? She didn’t want to lose focus worrying about Ashford possibly rejecting her and sending her away. They still had to think about Kostya.

“Someone I care about is with the Povests right now, and they’re not happy with him.”

“God help him, then,” Liam said, looking truly horrified.

“We’re going to help him,” she said, poking the table. “If you want to be a part of it, I’ll introduce you to Ashford.”

He pursed his lips, wincing at the pain she’d inflicted earlier. “I’ll do what I can. You have my word. But like I said—”

“Yes, yes, you’re practically useless. I’m sure you just need confidence, though, and it’s always amazing what people can do when they have to.”

“Ah, it’s so nice to be around a modern American again,” he said, finishing off his drink. “Shall we go meet Lord Ashford, then?”

Tilly stood when he did. “He’s not meant to be back until tomorrow. Where are you staying?”

Liam looked abashed, unable to meet her eye. “Er, he’s back already. He’ll be waiting at the inn.” He grabbed the hat boxes and hurried toward the door.

“What?” she shrieked, hustling after him and away from the curious looks her outburst caused. “How do you know he’s back? He’ll be worried sick.”

“Ah, yes, sorry about that.”

“You did something, didn’t you,” she accused, wanting to hit him again.

Instead, she raced to the inn, hurrying ahead of Liam to find Ashford. She burst into their room to find him huddled in a chair, gripping his knees and staring at the door. His face sank into relief at seeing her and he jumped up, enveloping her in a suffocating hug, asking if she was hurt, and admonishing her for leaving, all in between raining kisses on her.

“I met someone,” she said. “You need to meet him, too. He can help us, I think.”

“God, Matilda, I couldn’t breathe for fear I’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing over his shoulder at the door where Liam stood awkwardly waiting for his introduction.