Chapter 10
May 1, 1847, Boston, Massachusetts
Four Years Ago
Nearly there. He was nearly there !
So long, he’d been trying to drag this broken spirit and breaking body to them . To wring the life from their necks as he’d failed to do before. He’d tried to find a water spell to restore what he was, but there was nothing in this blasted country to help him, and he’d failed time and time again to stow himself upon a ship to his homeland. If he couldn’t have his supplemental spells back, then he’d skip right to revenge.
He breathed hard from exertion, both from travel and from suppressing Charlie. Their breaths were the same, but Silas could hear the echo of the other spirit’s thoughts behind his eardrums. Could feel the man’s nails raking down the underside of his skin. Charlie didn’t want to kill. But Charlie was weak.
Gritting his teeth, Silas pressed his hand against a light post and closed his eyes, mentally swallowing to force his unwanted companion down. When he opened his eyes, he realized he recognized this place, even in the thick of night. The Boston Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms was down this street and around the corner. He cackled, though it hurt his raw throat to do so. Nearly there. He was nearly there, and then he would slaughter Hulda Larkin. Not slowly. He wouldn’t even give her a chance to beg. Oh, he wanted her to suffer, but her death was more important than her suffering. He could mutilate her after, then go for the man and the dog.
He staggered forward, legs stiff as though he’d used a kinetic spell. A moan coursed up his throat—not from him. Silas swore. Get back! Leave me alone!
Charlie pushed at him again, sending murmurs of wrong , wrong , wrong into his skull. With an open hand, Silas beat the side of his head. “Get back!” he snarled. “Get away from me!”
“Pardon?”
The word wasn’t his, and it wasn’t Charlie’s. It took Silas a moment to realize he wasn’t alone on the street; a large bearded man in a linen work shirt addressed him. He stood on the porch of an alehouse, with three companions playing cards at a table nearby.
Silas ignored him. Focused on the end of the street. Focused on smothering Charlie. He was so close—
“Hey.” The bearded man grabbed Silas’s shoulder and whipped him around. Lack of food made Silas’s vision swim with the action. “You talking to me?”
“I think he was, Dan,” said one of the imbeciles at the table, a lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “This is public space, chap. Show some manners.”
Growling, Silas jerked from the bearded man’s grip. “You know nothing,” he spat, and started down the street.
“Now we’re stupid?” chimed in one of the men. “Hear that, Gerry? He thinks we’re dumb.”
“In the way and stupid,” the bearded man agreed.
Silas quickened his step.
“Didn’t we fight a war to rid ourselves of pompous Englishmen?” one of them asked.
“I think we did,” said the bearded man.
“I didn’t get a chance to fight it,” said the last. “Might take that chance now.”
Silas was so focused on his destination, so focused on Charlie and her that he didn’t realize the men had followed him until a low chuckle sounded behind him. Silas turned, and a fist pummeled his gut.
“Curs!” he spat as he doubled over and reached for his magic—
Charlie stayed his hand. Wrestled Silas down even as a second fist slammed into his jaw, and a kick to his leg sent him face first into the cobbles. Silas fought against Charlie as the thugs beat into him again and again and again, until the pain was so much that, this time, Silas gladly stepped into the dark.