Poison in the Blood (5 page)

When I set the brush down a sparkle in the mirror caught my eye, and I placed my palm against the glass as I had against the wall in the alley where Mrs. Harding’s body had been discovered. Thankfully this contact did not cause another incapacitating vision, but it did send a strange ripple across the mirror’s surface, like rings created when skipping a stone across a pond.

“How remarkable,” I murmured.

“What do you see?” Miss Dubois prompted. I was suddenly beset with the feeling that I would be hearing that phrase from the guardian quite often.

“You did not see that?”

“See what?”

“The mirror. The glass moved like water.”

Her pale brow rose, and she joined me at the dressing table, examining the mirror. She ran her fingers across it, and the glass rippled again.

“Oh! Do you see?” I asked.

Miss Dubois frowned. “No, unfortunately not. Are you faerie-blooded?”

“I don’t believe so. Not that my family is aware of.”

“Faerie-blooded individuals often use mirrors as portals into Faerie to visit their kin there. I will ask Mr. Harding if he knows whether or not his wife had faerie relatives… Is there anything else?”

“Yes.” I glanced at the door and lowered my voice to a whisper. “I believe Mrs. Harding was having an illicit love affair. Do we know if she was displeased with the match that was made for her?”

“Not to my knowledge. I will ask about that as well,” she replied, and I winced.

“Perhaps you should allow me to handle that area of questioning. I could monitor his responses to see if he is being evasive in his answers.”

Miss Dubois considered the offer and then nodded. “Very well.”

“I should note that there is no sense of violence in this room, or in the areas of the house we’ve seen. She must have gone willingly with her abductor.”

“Or she was drugged. Any number of alchemist’s potions can dull the senses enough to allow someone to be led away without a fight.”

True, though I for one never dealt with alchemists, because they were an untrustworthy, mercenary lot. “Do you think the lover killed her?”

“Very likely. In many cases a victim is killed by a person that he or she knew. Murder is often a personal crime.”

I shuddered at the thought and assumed it was even more personal for a necromancer draining his victim, holding the woman close while he stole the lifeblood from her body. Surely Michael would never do such a terrible thing, but if the danger did not exist, then Simon would not be so concerned about him while he learned to control his bloodlust.

After a few more minutes of searching that did not yield any further results, I donned my gloves and we returned to the parlor where Dr. Bennett was consoling Mr. Harding. The poor man appeared so distraught that it seemed cruel to ask him if his wife had been unfaithful.

“Did you find anything?” Mr. Harding looked up at us with reddened eyes. I glanced at Miss Dubois, and she nodded at me to proceed.

I took a seat near them and folded my hands in my lap. “Perhaps a few things. May I ask, was Mrs. Harding faerie-blooded?”

“No, she wasn’t,” he replied.

“And you’re certain of that?” Miss Dubois asked.

“Well…no. I don’t believe that she has—had—any particular connection to a faerie family. If she did she never spoke of it. Perhaps you could speak with her parents,” he suggested, and Miss Dubois nodded.

Curious. Perhaps the mirror had a second purpose? Aside from Miss Dubois’s claims that it was a gateway to Faerie, there could be any number of other magical uses for a mirror. Dr. Bennett might know of a witch’s use for mirrors, and we could question him later.

“Did Mrs. Harding visit any friends or relations on a regular basis?” I asked. “It would aid us if we knew her daily routines.”

The husband nodded. “Yes, of course. She visited her Aunt Penny for tea on Wednesdays. And she was involved with a small circle who practice spellwork, and they meet during the full moon. Women’s magic, you understand.” Mr. Harding looked to Dr. Bennett, who seemed to know what he referred to. Admittedly I knew very little of the specifics of witch magic, and only encountered them when I needed the aid of a healer.

“No other hobbies?” I asked. Perhaps she could have been using her aunt as an excuse to meet her lover, but how had she met the man in the first place?

Mr. Harding frowned as he pondered the question, and then he sighed. “She had been attending these poetry salons. Her friend Miss Thistlegoode insisted that she go with her. I didn’t approve, but Clara had been a bit melancholy about not seeing her friends as much now that she was a married woman, and she seemed to enjoy attending them.”

Miss Dubois and I exchanged a meaningful look. That was a likely place for her to meet a lover, perhaps a poet. A lonely new bride could be swayed into an affair by such a romantic figure. Fortunately, as a poetess myself I had a plausible reason to attend such a gathering, which would allow us to investigate further.

We spoke a bit more with poor Mr. Harding before taking our leave and proceeding to Miss Dubois’s home near Hyde Park. I was impressed by the fashionable neighborhood and the stately exterior of the building. She must have quite a fortune to afford such a place, which might explain why Dr. Bennett had not acted upon his feelings for her. Judging by the worn and frayed state of his jacket, he could not claim the same. I wondered where he was living—surely not here, for that would be extremely scandalous—but I refrained from asking.

Dr. Bennett asked for permission to look something up in her library, and he left to pursue his research. Miss Dubois and I passed our time in the sitting room, waiting for dinner to be served.

“Your home is lovely. Is that painting American?” I gestured to a cityscape above the fireplace.

“It is, yes. It depicts the view of New York from the harbor,” she replied.

“Does your family still reside there?”

Her shoulders slumped slightly, and it was the first hint of emotion I had seen from her. “They do. It was difficult to leave them, but a guardian must go where ordered.”

“You have my sympathies. I am recently displaced myself, and quite homesick,” I admitted.

“I have never heard of a married chronicler before.”

“Neither had we, until now. But I am quite used to being unique, as the only seer in England.” I smiled as bravely as I could. “There were no seers near you in America?”

“No. I had heard rumors of one in San Francisco, but that is on the other side of the country.”

“I see.” During our tour of Europe after our wedding, Michael and I attempted to meet with the seer in Italy to satisfy my curiosity on what it would be like to meet another of my kind. Unfortunately we were not able to do so, due to a problem with the local trains, and we had been forced to move on.

“Did you leave behind any suitors in New York?” I asked.

Miss Dubois laughed. “A few, but none I cared for. Most were simply interested in the acclaim of marrying a guardian.”

“It must be nice to be acclaimed. Before Michael proposed, I only had one suitor, who turned out to be a murderous vampire. Most people consider marrying a seer to be quite undesirable.”

“Men are odd creatures. As a guardian I would think it marvelous to have a seer as a spouse, for a seer’s abilities would be remarkably useful to aid in investigations.”

“It’s more of an issue that magicians prefer that their children inherit the same magic. A librarian wants librarian sons. I imagine guardians are much the same,” I said, and she nodded.

“I still find it odd that no one has sought your aid before. It seems as though you would be very useful in political matters.”

“It’s…a complex issue,” I replied with a slight wince.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Not at all. Politics are at the very heart of my circumstances. We have reached a sort of peace among the different magician factions at the moment, and there are those who would see my involvement in politics as an unfair advantage. My magic would tip the scales in favor of whichever side I shared my visions with.”

“I hope my request for your aid doesn’t cause you too much trouble.”

“I’m sure any sensible magician would not begrudge a guardian the aid of a seer.” I held my tongue on the subject of whether or not my husband and his mentor could be considered sensible judges on this topic. Instead, I turned the conversation to Dr. Bennett in hope of gauging her feelings toward him. “Dr. Bennett seems to be quite helpful to your investigations.”

Miss Dubois coughed, appearing startled by my statement. “Yes, he often is. He has remarkable skill in determining the cause of a victim’s death, and it is always helpful to have a healer present after a difficult battle.”

“The two of you have worked together for several years?”

“Yes, we have.” This time I thought a spied the slight pink stain of a blush. “Dr. Bennett has been instrumental in solving many troublesome mysteries. I am grateful for his aid.”

“He must be quite devoted to your cause to relocate here with you,” I commented with my most convincing expression of innocence. Miss Dubois coughed again, and I doubted that it was due to a sudden onset of consumption.

She smiled. “Yes, he is a true friend.”

A true friend? Poor Dr. Bennett. “It seems as though the two of you would make a smart match. Have you never considered making your partnership permanent through marriage?”

There was no mistaking the blush now. “Our partnership is purely professional, Mrs. Black. And, as you said, magician men want their sons to follow in their footsteps. I can’t imagine that a witch would be eager for guardian offspring.”

“True.” Though judging by the depth of Dr. Bennett’s affection for her, I doubted he would mind at all. It was encouraging that she didn’t seem averse to him, but she didn’t appear to harbor any romantic feelings toward him. Yet. “He once offered me employment in your service. It was quite tempting at the time.”

“The offer still stands, if you are interested. I think the aid of a seer would be invaluable in my work,” she replied.

“I couldn’t possibly. My children need looking after, and soon we will return home. Very soon, should my husband and his mentor get their way. I only wished to aid in this investigation due to the extreme circumstances of it. Could you tell me more of the other victims now?”

“Yes, of course. Each victim has been a young woman, either newly married or soon to be. Three were witches, one was a sorceress, one an alchemist, and the other a summoner.”

“That seems an odd assortment.”

Miss Dubois nodded. “It is. With such a wide range of magicians I would normally conclude that the murderers were hunters, not focused on any particular breed of magician but on magicians in general. However, the fact that the killer had ample opportunity to attack other members of the household and did not suggests otherwise. The draining of the blood points to a chronicler or master necromancer, but perhaps that is too obvious. An alchemist might have use for magician blood, or a summoner.”

“Could a demon have caused this sort of damage?” I asked.

“Perhaps. I still believe the necromancers are involved. I am hopeful that you will be able to confirm that when we speak with them later.”

I nodded. “I will do my best. Oh, I may also have an advantage in speaking with Mrs. Harding’s poetry group. I recently published a collection of poetry under a nom de plume.” It was something I was very proud of, though my librarian family didn’t understand why I didn’t focus on more practical writing, such as an essay on the theory of something or other. I was of the opinion that as a seer I had a poetess’s soul, for I could see both the truth and beauty in things in a way that was unique from the rest of the world.

Miss Dubois nodded. “That may come in useful when the time comes. First we will deal with the necromancers and see where that leads us.”

Chapter Four

Though I had lived for several years under the same roof as a blood drinker, I rarely gave the matter of blood much thought. Simon only required sustenance from me on the very rare occasions when no one else was available to donate. Like a living librarian, he spent most of his time in his library, engrossed in his studies, and kept normal hours. Daylight never seemed to bother him. He avoided it, but if he needed to enter a well-lit room or step out of doors he never hesitated to do so.

The majority of my problems with Simon revolved around his plans for Michael and not his preferred source of food. Blood might be essential to his existence, but said existence was focused on study, not feeding.

Therefore, I was not at all prepared for the experience of a necromancer gathering.

The Order of St. Jerome has little patience for necromancers, because though both chroniclers and master necromancers share the benefits of immortality, the Order is very particular about whom they choose for that fate. Chroniclers have a purpose—they record magician history and keep it safe from the prying eyes of those who would harm us. Necromancers have no purpose. They simply wish to live forever, and anyone who can find a mentor, complete the training and survive the ritual is allowed to become a master. It attracts an undesirable element of magician. The very worst of our society, as was evident when Miss Dubois informed me that the necromancer gathering was being held at a brothel—a “blood whore” brothel, to be specific, where willing magicians sold not only sexual favors but their blood as well.