Darker Still (23 page)

“Natalie, it’s insane for you to be in his presence—”

“If we delay, more girls will die and there will be nothing left of you to save!” He opened his mouth to protest, but I continued. “I will need your help—”

“Anything, tell me.”

I gestured for him to sit at his desk, and I perched on the side.

“I need you to recall
exactly
what was said to banish you here. As it stands, the spell is incomplete. When the beast struck you with that phrase, did he attach a name to it? This creature is driven by names. The power of the name is the oldest magic of all. He’s collecting something he’s attached meaning to, targeting victims with the names of saints.”

Jonathon clenched his fists. “That’s why he liked to call me John, all that forty martyrs of England nonsense! There was something else. After the Latin phrase he added, ‘John the Doctor,’ but my mind was fixed upon what I thought were ‘soul’ and ‘door.’”

“You see, this is a door,” I explained, gesturing to the window portal that was the picture frame by which I’d come and gone. “A door he created to separate your soul from your body. Mrs. Northe had the good sense to pry beneath the nameplate outside on your frame. Below the nameplate was written the word ‘ba.’”

I snatched a pen whose slender length struggled against me, this physical world wanting to rebel, and wrote the word upon the blotter.

“Ba?”

“It’s Egyptian. Mrs. Northe sorted it out. Otherwise I’d have been lost. That pendant of yours is an Egyptian cartouche. The pendant names you as a vessel. The ancient Egyptians believed there were seven parts of the soul, all of them small words like ‘ka’ and ‘ab’—each has a different name. “Ba” is the part of the soul that flies in and out of the tomb, sometimes as a bird—”

Something struck Jonathon. “Small words, you say? What are the others called?”

I thought about Mrs. Northe’s note where she wrote them all out. I had been so intrigued by the words that they had lingered in my mind, but I didn’t recall them precisely. “They’re all brief, one-syllable words, like those I mentioned—”

“Ren? Is one of them ‘ren’? If the devil entwines his spells among so many traditions, perhaps the part that confused me, the Latin
animusren
is actually ‘soul,’
animus,
and
ren
as separate words—”

“Yes!” I cried. “Yes,
ren
is one of them—that must be it! I wonder which of the seven soul parts that refers to. Mrs. Northe will know. Oh, Jonathon, you’re a genius. That’s it!”

He flushed. “You’re the genius here.”

But it was like he was a whole new man, having empowered himself with knowledge, with deduction. He’d seized the bars of his prison and rattled the cage. He looked almost entirely himself again. I couldn’t stop smiling.

“What a team we’ve made, you and me and Mrs. Northe!” I exclaimed, and he grinned with me. “Mrs. Northe will help us make sure
every
word will have power we can use! And ‘Doctor’—that’s yet another piece. Naming as power is starting to make sense.”

“How so?”

“He called you ‘Doctor’ because it’s what defines you. It is something important to your soul, your essence, your conscience, and that’s what he banished here. He needed to separate you, your higher being, from raw materials.”

Jonathon took in a sharp breath as if he’d seen something wonderful, but he was looking around me, not at me.

“What?” I asked warily.

He took me by the arms, leading me into the center of the room where things seemed most sharply in focus.

“Colors, Natalie, when you speak of the counter-curse! A flurry of green and purple light, like a garden full of life. Freedom. If the red, sulfuric fires of Hell crackle around the demon as he speaks, and the opposite happens when you talk of curses, it must mean you’re right, and the magic is telling me so.”

This gave us both immeasurable hope. We could feel it as if it were a humming vibration in the air. Our hands reached for one another. But there was still one missing piece in the way. With so many little pieces to keep track of…my head spun as they danced just behind my eyes.

“But what name do I reverse upon him?” I said, turning to pace around him, thinking. “He deliberately left it out…”

The words “left” and “out” clicked for me, and my eyes widened. I stopped in my tracks. “Oh!”

The final piece.

“The poem!” I cried, turning to him. “The fiend wrote a poem, carved in runes, on the back of your portrait frame! A poem by Baudelaire—”

“I hate Baudelaire.”

“All the better for your captor,” I muttered. “The poem is ‘The Possessed’—fitting, don’t you think? And as it was carved, a word was deliberately left out. A word that in the original French is ‘
Belzébuth
—’”

“Well, Beelzebub! The Devil. If he had a name, he’d aspire to call himself Beelzebub!”

“Yes! Surely, in homage. That creature would like to think he is Beelzebub the Devil, though I wouldn’t give him as much credit as all that—”

“I agree,” Jonathon said, nodding. “The Devil can’t only be one entity. Too many terrible things happen in separate places.” He shuddered suddenly. “The beast has frequently mentioned a society, a new day and new world order, that the likes of him have already taken hold. I’d hate to think the Devil has an institution.”

“Indeed, but that is a problem for another day. First, we need to reverse your spell.”

“Now that we have the whole of it, it actually seems possible by evoking those Latin and Egyptian words and then naming him in turn.” A great weight was lifting from Jonathon’s shoulders. He would not waste away here, trapped in a canvas. “And look, I see your light again, telling me we’re correct! The mystery solved!” He picked me up and swung me around. “You are absolutely, unequivocally, incredibly brilliant, my beautiful,
exquisite
Miss Stewart!” he cried, and lowered me again.

In that moment, time slowed. The way his head was tilted, and mine…and then his lips met mine.

How can I begin to describe…explain…
rhapsodize
about this single most glorious moment of all my life? I am not being overdramatic. For once.

He tasted of a hint of bergamot, residue of his favorite Earl Grey tea upon his lips. This scent would compel me, surely, for the rest of my days. His lips, soft and full, gently shifted to cover mine, to leave no part of my mouth untouched. He was reverent and gentle, and the press of his lips was followed by the press of his hands, slowly closing over my shoulders and anchoring me to him. He tasted my tongue with his, and his fingertips danced across my collarbone, shifting the lace ruffles of my dress as his hands quested, perhaps still hoping for confirmation that I was real.

We breathed and gasped in unison. My body trembled in his hold, and I didn’t bother to hide it. I didn’t want to deny how much he affected me. I wanted him to know and to rejoice in his power over me. We sank to the ground, our kiss deepening and then migrating to travel over cheeks and brows, all with soft cries of wondrous abandon. I’d always dreamed of finding such passion as I’d read about in books. He breathed against my neck, kissing it gently, trailing his tongue along my earlobe, and whispering, “There is magic in your kiss indeed, Natalie Stewart.”

“Jonathon…” I breathed, blushing and tucking my face against his neck. I’d had no other kiss to compare to, and I couldn’t guess the level of his experience, but nothing was more amazing in all the world and nothing else mattered in that moment.

It was magical indeed, but…perhaps not magical enough. “If this were a true fairy tale, my kiss would release you from this prison.”

He shifted, cupping my cheeks in his hands, his eyes holding the power to stop my heart, to cleave my heart, or to make it race. “But if I can’t have you,
this
…” He brushed his lips over mine. “Then I don’t ever want to leave.”

I drew back, his words striking a chord. “That’s a dangerous thing to say. The demon would wish you to say so. You’ll leave this prison,” I insisted. “We have the counter-curse, and I will free you. We cannot live like this—”

He sat back, his brow furrowing. “Of course…I…”

I grasped his hands, desperately trying to maintain focus. The pleasure I felt destroyed my sense of time. I was moved to confess: “I was lost to you the moment I saw your portrait.” I touched his lips with my fingertips. “And now…I cannot imagine not having you with me. But this place has its dangers, and we’re so close to freedom. Mrs. Northe demanded I tend your spirit.

“Speak of something other than death and spell casting, Jonathon. We need ironclad souls for what’s to come. You’ve seen what’s in my nightmares. Give me something else to dream of. Tell me of England, reclaim life beyond this prison.” I moved toward the bookshelf, to that place hidden from the frame’s view.

“Where are you going?” He called from the center of the room. “Stay, sit with me.” His murmur was like a purr. “I can think of many more pleasant things than talking.”

“From here, I can’t be seen. It’s safer, should someone notice the painting changed.” I took a seat against the shelf and gazed up at him. He maintained his position but shifted so that he could see me. “Stay there and tell me of England. I’ve always wanted to visit!”

“Only if you’ll tell me all about your great city that awaits us beyond this frame,” he countered, offering a look that thrilled me head to toe. “So we two may dream of it.”

“Of course!”

Jonathon spoke of his country estate in Greenwich (the pale imitation of which we were currently inhabiting). I told him of Greenwich Village downtown and what I found lovely there. We compared the bustling streets of London to those of New York, what new inventions were where, how many of our streets were lit by gas lamp and how much of the riversides were industrialized. I regaled him with the glory of Central Park and he did the same about Regents and the gardens in Chelsea. I confessed how many New York neighborhoods had borrowed British names, and he joked that Americans were child imitators.

We laughed and shared, dreaming up schemes and planning a future together. It was
thrilling
. A world existed outside this peculiar circumstance, and the more we talked about it, the more real it became. It was only a matter of time. Warmth fought his devilish contagion; every laugh and joke brightened him; and he complemented my wit at every turn, his just as sharp and engaging. Our limited world was aglow with appreciation.

And all I wanted to do was kiss him more. Of the same mind, he moved to stand over me.

“You say you can’t be seen here?” he asked, his voice low.

I looked up. “No.”

And suddenly he dove upon me with a flurry of action, kneeling over me, scooping me up to himself with a rain of kisses, and seizing caresses roving across my body. I gasped, arching myself to him and acquiescing to his exploratory touches, unable to help myself. The sensations were heaven.

“If it’s our
spirits
here, Natalie, beyond our coil,” he gasped, “what could be more glorious than the coupling of two spirits? The joining of our hearts and souls by the spirit of our bodies—”

“Coupling? Do you mean—”

“I want you so terribly,” he said, shifting to look at me, his eyes wide and his hands trembling on the buttons of my blouse. “It’s all I can think of.” He breathed me in deeply, dragging his nose and lips up my cheek. “You’re the only thing that’s real in this hell.” He’d managed to undo a few buttons of my high-collared blouse, and his lips were instantly at my throat as he moaned, “Good God, you’ve given me my
senses
again. I’m
starving
to feel alive…”

He tore at my blouse, and I couldn’t say that seductive abandon wasn’t appealing. I could still claim chastity. These weren’t
actually
our bodies, though we felt every sensation as fully as if they were; these were our souls. How beautiful was that? Here the laws of propriety were only as we made them. But still…I felt flush with furious desire, but my mind reeled with apprehension. “Lord Denbury, I don’t wish to deny you, but…is this truly the place for such liberties to be taken?”

“Jonathon,” he insisted. “You
must
call me Jonathon, and I’d never ask more of you than you wanted to give, Natalie.” He cupped my cheek in his hand. The apprehension on my face stilled him as if it were a slap or a douse of cold water. He drew back. “I am too bold, surely—”

“It isn’t that,” I breathed, touching his cheeks gently and knowing mine were similarly hot. “I want to be everything you need…But not like this, under mad circumstances.” I struggled to regain my sense, my focus, my power; the dangerous mission that was mine alone lay yet ahead of me. I straightened myself against the bookshelf and tended to my buttons.

The truth was that I hesitated because he hadn’t yet said he loved me.

And a girl could give herself only in love. Mutual love. Otherwise she’d ruin herself for nothing. A girl’s body was a prize. It had to be more than asked for. It had to be earned, worshipped, and avowed. Generally, rings and other oaths were a part of the bargain. Supernatural circumstances being what they were and with my life potentially on the line, I certainly felt I deserved a vow. A ring would be nice too.