Whisper the Dead (The Lovegrove Legacy) (17 page)

She rolled her eyes. “I was displaying sisterly affection.”

“Yes, and you usually do that with your fists.”

“Just come on.”

The main parlor could have belonged inside any of the gentleman’s clubs on St. James. It was stuffed with wealthy, titled young men, card games, food, and bottles of wine.

“Godric, who’s your friend?” someone called out.

“My cousin, Mr. Cove. He’s likely to join up when he moves to London.”

Gretchen gave a theatrical bow, enjoying herself immensely already. After that, no one paid them much mind, as long as Gretchen kept her hat on and tilted so the brim shadowed her features. She leaned against the wall with the studied ennui she’d watched her brother and his friends affect for years.

“Try not to look so happy,” Godric teased her as she surveyed the loud and jovial gathering.

The sideboard was well stocked with cheeses, meats, and olives. Rowan berries strung on white thread were wound around the curtain rods, and bowls of salt were scattered around like candy dishes. Someone had cast a white horse, and it cantered around the perimeter of the already crowded room, sparks of light flinging off its tail. It was meant to carry off the spirits of angry warlocks like the Sisters, should they come calling.

“You could cast a white horse too,” Gretchen suggested to Godric. “When there are too many ghosts about.”

“I considered it,” he said, grimacing. “But it seemed rude.”

She shook her head. “Truly?”

“Well, that and apparently it’s only really effective against
spirits who have been banished, not those who plain old died and haven’t the common courtesy to stay that way.”

“I’m going to circulate,” she said quietly.

“Don’t get caught.”

“Have I ever?” She sauntered slowly, enjoying the subterfuge the way Penelope enjoyed Shakespeare. She watched Oliver Blake lose two hundred pounds on a roll of dice. It would have felt like any other party, if it weren’t for the magic sizzling just under the surface.

Until Tobias arrived, of course.

His magical ability must be to sense when she was having fun so he could run right out and put a stop to it.

She circled back to Godric. “Killingsworth is here,” she hissed. He choked on his wine. “Very subtle. I can’t imagine why the Ministry hasn’t encouraged you to become a spy in the war.”

“He’s looking this way,” he muttered.

“Blast.” She rubbed her palm on her trousers, her witch knot suddenly feeling sweaty. Godric refilled his glass. “What are you doing? That’s not helpful right now.”

“I’m creating a distraction,” he replied. “Get to the carriage and wait for me.”

He raised his glass high, stepping forward into the room. His body conveniently blocked the view of the side door. “A toast!” he announced as Gretchen slipped out into the hall. She hurried toward the back door as her brother toasted some woman’s left foot.

It occurred to her that she was in a house full of Keepers. And Keeper secrets.

If they could spy on her, surely turnabout was fair play. Especially as they were all so very thoughtfully gathered in the drawing room. Really, who could resist?

She waited until the butler disappeared into the parlor with a new tray of wine bottles before she darted up the main staircase. She was so busy rolling her eyes at the very buxom mermaid newel post that she was nearly caught out by someone’s owl familiar. It sat on top of a potted tree, hooting softly. She stayed close to the wall, hidden by the leaves, and then went through the nearest door.

The room was barely lit by the embers of a coal fire in the grate. There was the usual assortment of tables and chairs and a writing desk. She made a hasty search of the papers and books but couldn’t find anything of interest. She left the room disappointed. But at the top of the staircase she noticed Lucius and Ian on the landing, drinking brandy.

“You’re watching Lady Penelope, aren’t you?” Lucius asked.

Gretchen froze.

“Aye,” Ian said. “Why?”

“She’s a beauty,” Lucius replied. Gretchen grinned. Penelope was going to swoon when she found out two very handsome men had been discussing her. “Would you be amenable to letting me take your place? I’d like an excuse to get to know her better.”

Ian grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. His brandy sloshed over the lip of his glass. “Sorry, mate, doesn’t work that way. The First Legate assigns the posts.”

She didn’t notice the glowing fox until it slinked right by her, his phosphorescent tail flicking her leg. “Someone’s up there,” Ian said suddenly.

Botheration; she wasn’t any better at this spying thing than her brother. Gretchen turned on her heel and took off toward the servant stairs. With any luck they would assume she’d been a footman or a servant passing by and Ian wouldn’t bother sending his fox after her. She crossed a stone terrace, her breath coming short. Adrenaline tingled through her.

So much better than being at a ball.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She knew those icy cultured tones. She didn’t turn around. And she certainly made no comment; he’d know her instantly if she spoke. She didn’t bother with the stone steps beside her; instead, she wrapped her hands around the rail and vaulted over it, onto the lawn below. She landed in a crouch in the long shadows cast by torches and the candlelit house.

But by the time she’d straightened up with a smug smile, Tobias was there.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

She took off her hat, bowing.

She rather enjoyed the look of complete shock on his face.

“Gretchen?”

As usual, her plan had turned to chaos.

But wasn’t it more fun that way?

“What the blazes are you doing, lurking about?” he demanded. The adrenaline was still singing through her as it must be through him, considering he must have thought he was apprehending a
warlock in the shrubbery. His eyes glinted with it, turning nearly silver. Gretchen’s mouth went dry, and she wasn’t entirely certain why.

“I’m giving you lot a taste of your own bloody medicine,” she replied cheekily. “Poorly,” she was forced to admit. “But it’s the principle of the thing.”

“Be serious. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be playing games right now?”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?”

He leaned closer. She could see the flecks of pale gray in his blue irises. “The Order doesn’t take kindly to spies.”

“The Order doesn’t take kindly to anything.”

“Why do you hate them?” he asked quietly. “Surely after the disastrous ball, you can see we’re only trying to protect the witches of London.”

“From us?”

“From warlocks, from each other, from themselves.”

She tilted her head. “Sounds exhausting. No wonder you look so cross all the time.”

“You don’t exactly make it easy.”

Her smile was crooked and wry. “I know.”

He was looking at her mouth. She had the strangest notion that he wanted to kiss her again. On purpose this time and not just to break a spell.

And that she might want him to.

His hair tumbled into his eyes. She lifted her hand to brush it back, then stopped herself. He tensed, his blue eyes snapping onto hers and flaring before he glanced at her lips again. She
could feel the warmth of him. Their mouths were so near, even a shadow couldn’t have fallen between them. Her lips tingled expectantly.

He dragged himself away, releasing her abruptly. “Go home, Gretchen,” he said hoarsely. “Go home.”

Morning in Hyde Park
made London bearable. Gretchen could ride her horse over the hills as fast as she liked with no one to scold her. In the afternoon, she was relegated to Rotten Row and hundreds of fashionable people riding at a snail’s pace to show off their new hats; but when the sun was burning off the mists and only children and nursemaids were wandering about, she could gobble up the sky. It was a fine warm day already, with a sky as pink as the inside of a peony.

It would have been even better if there weren’t a handful of Keepers thundering past her toward the Serpentine. Hearing the faintest of whispers, Gretchen nudged her horse into a trot. She wasn’t surprised to find Tobias already there. She’d assumed he was following her but was vexed to discover she couldn’t spot him. It was becoming a game to test herself with. Even this early in the morning, he was so put together he could have been on his way to a ball. She wondered if he even knew how to wrinkle.

Or if he thought about their moment last night in the garden.

She slid out of her saddle and approached him. She’d barely tapped him on the shoulder when his hand was around her throat. She froze, breath strangling. His teeth looked suddenly very sharp.

It took him a long moment to recognize her.

He released her abruptly, shame chasing away the light of battle in his face. “I’m sorry. That was inexcusable,” he added with a stiff bow.

She swallowed, still feeling the imprint of his fingers on her skin. He looked as though he was going into war, not strolling through Hyde Park just after dawn. His pupils were so dilated, they made his pale eyes nearly black. Blue shadows traced his lower lids as if he’d slept as badly as she had. Worse, actually. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” he said hoarsely.

She closed one eye against the sudden swell of sound in her head. “Tobias, please don’t lie to me,” she said. “It hurts.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said abruptly.

“What’s going on?” She peered around him as a vicious stab of sound seared her ears. She flinched, grabbing her temples. There were two Keepers wading into the Serpentine, holding lengths of iron chains. The water bubbled and boiled, like a giant kettle.

The petticoats of a woman’s skirt floated to the roiling surface.

She must have been a nursemaid, judging by the two young boys being pushed away from the shore. A toy sailboat
bobbed wildly near the woman’s body. One of the boys began to scream.

Gretchen had no idea what was lurking in the waters of the Serpentine; she only knew that the magical chains wouldn’t hold it.

“They’re doing it wrong,” she said through clenched teeth. She couldn’t stand the poor boys’ wailing, or the knowledge that the Keepers were walking into a fate similar to the nursemaid’s. She lifted the hem of her riding habit and broke into a run.

“Gretchen, no!” Tobias lunged for her but missed. She’d been outrunning Godric since she was seven years old. By the time Tobias reached the edge of the water, she was already wading up to her ankles.

“Those chains won’t work,” she told the other Keepers. She struggled to pick out the words in her head and they came a little easier. The words, however, were not comforting:
hungry, run, drown
.

“Of course they’ll work,” one of the Keepers scoffed, an iron chain wrapped around his wrist. “These were soaked in salt water under three nights of the full moon. After being buried in rowan berries and grave dirt. We know what we’re doing.”

“It’s not enough,” Gretchen insisted, even as Tobias reached her. “It won’t work.”

“You’d best listen to her,” Tobias said sharply. “She’s the reason all of London didn’t fall asleep this past week.”

Something began to fight its way out of the water.

A large muscular horse’s head broke the surface, green eyes
rolling furiously. It was sleek and vicious, with sharp teeth made for grinding bones. Gretchen had never seen anything like it. Even though it looked like a horse, it was clearly something else entirely.

“What is that?” She stared.

“A kelpie,” Tobias said.

She took a step back, slipping slightly. “A what?”

“Water horse,” he explained shortly. “They pull people under and drown them.”

“If you don’t even know a kelpie when you see one,” the Keeper said, blood dripping from his chafed hands as water around his legs frothed pink, “how are we supposed to believe you know anything about the chains?”

“Get out of there!” Tobias snapped at him suddenly, hauling Gretchen out of the pond. “Your blood is making it hungrier.”

The pond heaved, water slapping at the shores and turning over the body of the woman so she could stare unseeing at the sky.

Still, Gretchen found the kelpie strangely beautiful. Daisies, cornflowers, and wild violets were scattered through its glossy black mane. Its eyes were the exact color of new oak leaves, delicate and mournful. She reached out a hand to touch it, wondering if it was as smooth and velvety as it looked. The nursemaid hadn’t understood, she hadn’t shown this wondrous creature the proper respect. Anyone could see it only needed a gentle touch.

She stepped closer, the pond lapping at her toes.

“Don’t.” Tobias’s hand clamped around her arm.

Denied another victim, the water horse thrashed resentfully.

Gretchen was suddenly aware of the cold water in her boots and the sodden weight of her riding habit. The material was heavy and cumbersome. It would have been like going swimming with stones in her pockets. She exhaled slowly. “What’s a kelpie doing in the Serpentine?”

“A very good question,” he replied. “They’re only allowed in the Thames, under the goblin markets bridge,” he added.

“Like the White Lady?” she murmured, remembering her hungry white birds. “That seems to be happening a lot, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” he agreed grimly. “I would.”

The Keepers flung their chains out. The kelpie lashed back with deadly hooves. The whispering in Gretchen’s head turned to the sound of knives being sharpened against each other. The vibration made her feel awful. She thought she caught the fragment of a new word, then nothing. She locked her knees so she wouldn’t sway.

“Gretchen, stop,” Tobias said in her ear. It took her a moment to realize this voice was coming from outside her own body. “Your eyes.” They were bloodshot, irises rimmed with pink, whites veined with tiny burst rivers of red.

“Nearly have it,” she insisted, doubling over with her hands over her ears. “Kelpie,” she muttered. “Kelpie. Kelpie.”

She straightened abruptly. She’d have smiled, if she hadn’t also been trying not to be sick. “Ivy,” she said finally. “We need to wrap the chains in ivy.”