The Etsey Series 1: The Seventh Veil (30 page)

Whitby nodded, unabashed. “It is. How have you managed it?”

Jonathan tossed back the shot and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d known. Whitby had known. And he’d known it was the
demon
too, the family daemon turned dark. A question that had hovered at the back of his mind for a decade was answered. Whitby had known Jonathan left the country with the demon. And yet he wouldn’t even admit it, not even now, unwilling to pretend it was anything more than an Elemental spirit.

“I don’t carry it any longer.” Jonathan stilled his tongue to keep himself from saying more.

But now he had his grandfather’s attention. “Don’t carry it? What the devil did you do with it?”

“I don’t know where it’s gone to. And I don’t care.” Jonathan didn’t meet his grandfather’s eye. “Madeline removed it. I didn’t ask her where she put it.”

Whitby began to turn purple. “You stupid fool.”

“She’s a witch now,” Jonathan shot back. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“That magic is older than that watered-down Craft nonsense.” Whitby lifted his cane and waved it angrily at Jonathan. “
Two Houses
! Two Houses contained in that daemon! And you’ve given it to an
Elliott
! To the
last Elliott
!”

“
Demon
, Whitby. And there’s a world of difference in that missing vowel.” Jonathan leaned over the desk and glared at his grandfather. “There are no more daemons, no more benevolent guardians of magical elements. The Houses are all but dead, old man. The spirits are turned to rot, or worse, they are mad. And it’s just as well, because our blood is nearly spent. Carlton is already gone. Unless Charles and Stephen start popping off bastards or take wives, the Perry and Whitby blood ends in my generation. Madeline is a witch. She is celibate, and so Elliott is gone too.”

He thought briefly to the other night, to their lovemaking during the spell, and he paused, realizing for the first time the sorts of laws they had broken. Jonathan straightened, worried now. Could the Council find out? What would they do to her?

Whitby curled his lip in distaste. “Celibate. Yes. Odd you should mention that, given the rumors flying around town. Did you think people would forget what the two of you were to one another?”

Jonathan ran a hand through his hair, torn between worrying about her and throwing his grandfather off her scent. “This is all nonsense. Madeline will do nothing with the Perry demon. Even you must admit that.”

“You keep forgetting the alchemist,” Whitby said tightly. “He’s roped your half brother into his schemes. I thought it was just more of that nitwit’s perversion at work at first, but that little runt Smith knows the old magic, and he’s using it on your brother. He doesn’t know much, but what he does, he knows well. And now he has you and Charles performing like his monkeys in the middle of the damned inn yard!”

“I was ill,” Jonathan said. “I vomited blood and passed out as soon as we left. I didn’t do anything.”

“Witnesses say you attacked him,” Whitby said darkly. “In fact, they say you turned into a monster.”

Jonathan ran a hand over his face and stared worriedly into the fire. He’d forgotten about that. “Smith is gone, and so is Charles, so stop worrying about Smith. As for the demon, it’s fine. It’s contained.”

“Fool!” Whitby hissed. “Contained by an Elliott!”

Jonathan jerked up his head and glared at his grandfather. “Don’t you preach to me, Whitby. You didn’t carry it.”

“You worthless creature. How the devil this line has produced so many spineless males is beyond my comprehension.” Whitby aimed his cane at Jonathan, his face red with anger. “You don’t think I carried it? You don’t think so? Who the devil do you think gave it to your father?”

Jonathan drew back. “What?”

“Every Whitby heir has carried it, boy, for over two hundred years.
That
is how we survived. That is why
we
are still strong and the others have died. We have cared and tended our daemon, while the others have lost theirs or been consumed or imprisoned.” Whitby sneered. “I gave it to your father with pride, thinking it would make a man of him, as it made me. But he was weak.”

Jonathan gripped the edge of the desk, struggling not to reach out and wring his grandfather’s neck then and there. It hadn’t turned demon inside his father. It had been demon for two hundred years! “It’s a wonder he lasted as long as he did! And it’s a miracle I haven’t followed right after!” Jonathan’s fingernails cut into the wood. “That was what drove him mad.
You
. You put that beast in him, and you destroyed him. You let him kill and rape and hurt—You
knew
!”

Whitby rolled his eyes. “Fool. Sentimental fool. You always were. At least your father went mad with some dignity.
You
are hiding behind that bitch’s skirts.” Whitby snorted and took a few steps forward, punctuating each step with the point of his cane. “She’s an Elliott, boy. And she’s not a witch yet. Not in full. If she were the Morgan, it would be different. But she isn’t, largely through an odd twist of fate—and isn’t that just like the Houses and their damned magic, to fuck everything up at the last second?” Whitby shook his head. “The Elliott daemon is still out there. Don’t believe that tripe about it being lost or dead. It’s alive, and it’s hiding. It won’t let its last champion get away, and with an Apprentice’s power on its side, it’s nothing to dismiss. Our numbers are nothing if she chooses to go dark. And now you have given her our daemon!”

“She would never turn dark,” Jonathan said. But then he remembered the Elliott daemon in the bedroom, and he wondered if Madeline
could
withstand it.

He wondered if any of the daemons were anything but demons now.

Whitby looked at him with distaste. “You carried the Perry daemon, and you still pretend hers won’t try to convince her? It won’t let her slip away into the Craft. It will use the Craft against her. It will use her against you. And it will use your pathetic affection.”

“I resisted it,” Jonathan said, but he was beginning to feel doubt creep in. Only because of Madeline’s spell had he survived. Would her magic be enough? Or would that be what drew her in? He
did
know how strong the demons could be. He knew Madeline was strong, but he also knew where she was weak.
Pride
. The demons’ favorite feast.

Whitby grimaced. “And once again, there is the alchemist. He isn’t gone; he’s hiding so well not even those I’ve hired can find him. He’s biding his time, but he will strike again, boy, mark my words. He will use you all if he can. He already has your brother. He’ll come for you next, Jonathan, to tap the Whitby and Perry power and milk you dry.”

Jonathan frowned. “But I’m not the whole of the family power. There’s you,” he pointed out. “And Stephen.”

Whitby’s countenance darkened. “The alchemist must be stopped. And you must take the daemon back. Use the Elliott witch before she uses you.” When Jonathan stiffened, Whitby tapped the floor insistently with his cane. “You don’t have the luxury of sentiment, boy. She might well be our only chance.”

Jonathan stared into the fireplace. “I absolutely will not use her, not for anything.”

Whitby snorted. “Ten years in the army, and you’re still full of romantic delusions. Do you think she still loves you, you fool? Threaten her. Charm her. Confuse her. And if you discover she’s a legitimate threat, you take her out before she has a chance to do us any further harm.”

Jonathan set his jaw. “No.”

“Then you damn us all.” Whitby stalked across the room. “Goddess save us if that alchemist finds the sword too—”

Jonathan shook his head, relieved at least on this point. “He’ll never find the sword. No one will.”

Whitby looked dubious. “You’re certain of that?”

“It’s as lost as the Elliott talisman. There is nothing anyone can find on either score.”

Whitby nodded, looking pleased. “That’s a blessing, at least. But there is still plenty of danger here.” He waved his cane at the door. “Go back to the Continent if you won’t fight. You’re free of the daemon now. Marry and have children. Go and keep our family name alive. I’ll deal with this myself.”

Marry and have children? First Stephen, now Whitby. Jonathan shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then lifted his head and regarded his grandfather head-on. “I’m not leaving.”
I will absolutely not leave Madeline alone near a man who would drive his own child mad just for the sake of the House.

Whitby stopped halfway to the door. “The line is nearly ended. Do your part and continue it. I don’t care how you do it. Just have a son. Many sons. Many, many sons, and far, far away from here.” His face turned to glass again. “I look forward to hearing of your departure.”

Jonathan watched him go. Then he sank down weakly onto the edge of the desk and reminded himself to breathe.

Danger
. He had been so deluded by his recovery that he’d failed to see it, but now, after one visit from Whitby, the darkness was surrounding him again. If even one of Whitby’s portents of doom was true, they were all at risk. He was. Stephen was. Even Timothy was.

Madeline.

Jonathan picked up his hat and coat from the chair by the door and bolted down the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest. She might not be ready to see him, but it was clear now he could wait no more.

* * *

As Jonathan ran nearly all the way across the moor to Rose Cottage, he discovered he was not in quite the fighting shape he’d thought he was. Wheezing, he banged on the door and called her name.

No one answered.

“Madeline!” He jiggled the door, found it unlocked, and let himself inside.

No one was home. There were only four rooms on the first floor and two above, and no one was in any of them. He ran back through the garden and knocked on the door of her workshop;
this
was locked, but he peered through the windows, and it too was empty.

He ran back into the house one more time.

This time he looked more carefully, and he saw the cup of tea by the hearth fire. He touched it and found it was still almost piping hot.

She was here, or she had been.

She was hiding from him.

He swore and turned around, but of course there was no sign of her. Goddess alone knew what tricks she was using to hide. He stormed to the center of the foyer and shouted up the stairs, knowing his voice would carry through the house.

“Madeline—Madeline, please! Madeline, I must speak to you!” Silence. He ran his hand through his hair and swore heatedly in Catalian under his breath. “
Madeline
, this is no game! My grandfather—Goddess bless, Madeline, he’s more mad than my father was. You’re in danger.
Emily
is in danger. We all are, and I don’t know what’s happening, and I don’t know how to find out! I need you! I need to talk to you, to try and solve this—” He cut himself off and ran his hands over his face. “You’re not here. You wouldn’t ignore me this long, not with what I’ve told you. And if you are, and you—” He laughed bitterly. “Then we are truly lost.”

He started to leave, took four steps into the hall, then doubled back and planted himself again at the bottom of the stairs.

“Damn you!” He slammed his hand on the railing. “What the
devil
is this about, Madeline? What pride is eating you now? Is this some very delayed reaction to my stupidity with Andrea? Or am
I
now flattering my vanity?” He ran a hand through his hair. “No, it isn’t. This, woman, is your infernal
pride
.”

He gripped the banister and stared up to the empty top of the stairs. “You’re here. You’re in this house, and you’re probably under your damn bed. I bet you a handicap of twenty fencing points, Madeline.” He laughed, but it pinched. “Goddess bless, but what we would have been if I had not been such a fool. Of course, now that I know the family traditions, we were probably doomed even if I hadn’t made everything so expedient.” He curled his fingers into the wood. “Whitby put that demon in my father, Madeline. He knew it had gone into me. He was waiting for it to turn me into a man. I told him you had it now, which was a mistake. He’s going to come for you.”

He waited, breathless, for some response.

There was none.

He swore and kicked at the stairs. “
Damn your pride, Madeline Elliott
!” He kicked again. “Is it keeping you warm under your bed? Is it better than coming down these stairs, better than letting me help you?” He advanced a step, his heart pounding now. “Madeline, I would take you out of here. I would take you far away, to places no one could reach you. I have been so many places now, and there are things I have seen… Everything I saw, Madeline, every time all I wanted to do was turn to you and ask you if it made your heart dance with wonder too. And you were never there. You should have been. Let me take you now. Let me help you, Madeline.” He closed his hand over the medallion hanging from his neck. “I can feel you, love. I can feel you up there. I know you are there the same way you knew I was coming, so you could hide.” He gentled his voice. “Please—please, Madeline. Please come down to me.”

He waited again.

There was still nothing but silence from above.

Jonathan felt his heart catch, then ache; then, as he had taught himself with her so long ago, he let his heart harden too. He pushed off the stairs and backed away. “Very well. You have made your choice.” He put his hands in his pockets and walked back down the hall.

This time he made it as far as the kitchen.

He stormed back, slammed his fist into the wall, knocked the mirror to the floor, then tossed it across the room, making it shatter.

“
I loved you
,” he whispered angrily at the stairs. “All the time I was gone, all the time I was
in hell
, I loved you. I dreamed of you. I fantasized of you. Oh, the fantasies I had of you, of making love to you, of holding you, of dancing with you—of just looking at you, of touching your face, your hair. When I thought the demon was going to take you, I died so many times. Do you know what hell it is, Madeline, to die over and over again, but to never find peace? Do you have any idea what that is like?