Chapter Eighteen
Eighteen
I arrived at Clarence House the next day unsure of my reception. Would he be sulky because of my refusal? Or would he be reasonable, given that we had a mystery to solve?
He was seated in the chair I’d found him in before, the newspaper hiding his face.
“Good morning, my lord,” I said.
He curled down one edge of the paper. “Good morning, Hastings.” I couldn’t tell anything by his tone of voice, but I wasn’t going to obsess over it—either he was going to be sensible or he wasn’t.
Either way, we needed to find who wanted to start trouble among the species. I had a job to do, and it didn’t include worrying about a demon’s emotions.
“I was thinking we should go somewhere away from here to discuss what we’ve learned,” he said, folding the newspaper and rising from his chair. “I don’t want anybody to have even a chance to hear our conversation.”
He seemed focused and determined, not at all piqued, and I relaxed. Good to know he wasn’t going to be a child about everything between us. Now, if only I could stop thinking about everything between us, like a constantly running refrain in my brain, everything would be wonderful.
“Where do you propose we go?” I asked. “Did your father wish to—?” I began.
“My father has other plans,” he reminded me. “Jirzinar and Keres have some unexpected work to do here, and he’ll be supervising.”
I shuddered to think of what the unexpected work could be and was grateful for the chance to be far away from it.
“Then let’s go to Oxford. It’s about half a day by carriage, as long as we’ve got fast horses. I don’t think we’ll be overheard there, and we can stroll around the town and see the university.”
He nodded. “I never went to university,” he said.
He sounded almost mournful. “I had access to all the best books—Ann Radcliffe, Goethe, your Mary Shelley, and penny bloods—but I never received any traditional education.” He grinned.
“Some authors live in Hell now, too, so we engage in conversation from time to time. Lord Byron, Coleridge, Blake—those are the ones I talk to the most.”
Well, that was hardly surprising, but I hadn’t actually thought about the real people who might be down there. “Would you want to go to university, if you had the chance?” I asked.
He looked startled, as though the idea had never occurred to him. “I don’t know. I’m always curious about things, but I can’t imagine a world where I’d have the opportunity for study. Did you?”
I snorted. “Have you forgotten I am female?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Certainly not, Hastings.”
I felt myself blush. Damn. I thought I might be getting over that unfortunate habit.
“No, I did not. My father taught me, however, and that is likely as good as, if not better, than what I would have gotten in university.” I glanced at my watch. “But we should be on our way.”
“Of course,” he said. He took my arm, and we walked to the exit.
A hansom cab had just pulled up at Clarence House when we got outside, which was excellent luck. It disgorged its passengers, and Marcellus gestured to the driver that we would be taking it.
Once inside, Marcellus took my hand in his and put both on his thigh. We looked down at our interlocked fingers.
“It’ll happen, you know,” I said softly. “Just not until everything is over. And not until I’ve got sufficient protections in place.”
It felt entirely awkward to be discussing barriers against conception with him, but then again, if I wasn’t comfortable talking about this with him, then I had no business doing that with him.
Lily would be able to advise me, though her particular makeup made it impossible for her to conceive. I’d asked, early on in our friendship, and she’d explained, in great detail, how succubi were different from humans, even though they often appeared the same.
I’d been embarrassed for a week after.
“Whatever is best for you,” he replied. “I realize I might have seemed snappish yesterday, and for that I apologize. I just—” he said, pausing to exhale. “Can’t seem to stop wanting. Wanting you.”
“Mm. I know the problem,” I replied dryly.
“Well, of course, I am accustomed to that,” he said in his normal arrogant tone, “but I am not accustomed to being the wanter, in this case.”
“You’ve experienced many new things since coming to London, my lord,” I said in an arch tone.
“Saucy wench,” he muttered, and I laughed.
“Let’s lay out what we know,” I said after a few minutes of silence.
“We know chaos is the point; we know the vicar from Saint Aloysius is one of the people behind the anti-Devil pamphlets and meeting; we know the Duke of Astelwyth is a prig who likely wishes to return to the old days and doesn’t trust your father. ”
“Nor should he,” Marcellus commented.
“We know the duke and the Queen both want audiences with you, rather than your father.”
“All of that just tells us nobody trusts the Devil when he’s in their midst, which we knew before we arrived.”
“True, but there’s also Az’gen’s presence at that meeting.
” I held up a hand when Marcellus was about to speak.
“I don’t necessarily think he was the mole, per se, but that he is casting about for something else to do means there might be other unhappy beings in the Devil’s employ. Can you think of anyone?”
He narrowed his eyes in thought. “Phenex was dead set against us coming to begin with. Maybe he wants to keep the walls in place?”
“The accountant? He seemed pleasant to me.”
His look was one of disbelief. “Hastings, no one is pleasant in Hell. Not even me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I am naive. So we should consider Phenex as a possible mole; maybe he didn’t know what he was saying when he revealed where the Devil would be. Or he did and thought if something happened, then all of you would be back home sooner than you thought.”
“Or he’s looking for a new position or a new boss,” Marcellus said.
I looked at him, surprised. “Do you think he would want to leave? Isn’t he in your father’s inner circle?”
Marcellus’s expression turned sour. “More reason for him to want to leave. Working for and with my father isn’t always easy. What with being the Devil and all.”
“I suppose not,” I said gently. I didn’t want to ask too much more, since I reasoned he would tell me things when he wanted. But again, here he was revealing information about himself I would not have expected to learn.
Marcellus, the Marquis of Hell, was proving to be more than just a pretty face.
The cab went over a bump, and we were tossed together, Marcellus automatically trying to keep me from falling off the seat. “Thank you,” I said as we righted ourselves.
I heard a faint hissing noise and glanced around; it sounded like a breeze rustling leaves on a tree, but of course there were no leaves and no tree.
“Hastings, I—” And then Marcellus’s eyes rolled up, and he slumped over, his head falling into my lap. I froze for a few seconds, and then I was banging on the roof of the carriage.
“Stop!” I cried. “Stop!”
But the driver either didn’t hear me or pretended not to; in fact, it sounded as though the horses were going faster. Meanwhile, the hissing noise was even louder, and I looked up to see a small tube coming down from the roof and a faint mist emanating from it.
“Marcellus,” I said, lightly slapping his face. He moaned, which was a huge relief—at least he was still alive. Though rationally I knew he couldn’t die, not in a human way, I didn’t know if there were other ways of damaging him. And I didn’t want to find out. “Marcellus.”
“Mmph,” he said, his eyelids fluttering.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. Not. It must be—” And then his head lolled on my lap, and he must have fainted again.
I banged on the carriage roof a few more times, but I knew it was likely in vain—if there was something being fed into our cab, chances were good that the driver wasn’t just a regular hansom cabdriver.
He’d have to have allowed the miscreant to tamper with the roof and insert that tube or whatever it was.
“Marcellus,” I said, louder. I slapped him harder this time.
“Stop that,” he said, his eyes still closed.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
“Possession,” he murmured.
“What’s that?” I said, leaning over him.
“Possession. If you let me inside your body—”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say we’d just discussed this, when I realized that wasn’t what he was talking about. “Possession? Like your spirit inside mine?”
“Mm,” he said in agreement.
“How can that help? You know what, never mind. I don’t need the explanation—we just need to figure this out now.
” I was speaking mostly to myself, since he was going in and out of consciousness.
“Marcellus,” I said, and he jerked his head up, his eyes opening for a moment.
“Do the possession thing, quickly, before you faint again.”
“I never faint.”
“Just do it.”
He groaned and then squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. I felt an odd pushing feeling on my head, as though it were being pressed on both sides. I heard his voice, too, coming not from his mouth but from inside my head. Let me in, the voice said. I can’t get in on my own. I’m too weak now.
How do I do that?
Just relax. Just—
I tried to slow my breathing, to relax, as he’d said, but it was hard with the carriage still going full tilt and Marcellus passed out on my lap. Still, though, I could feel the pressure on my head easing, and his voice growing stronger.
That’s it. Just a little bit more. And—there it is.
I felt him inside me, which was the most bizarre sensation I had felt yet in all my twenty-six years.
It was like being in a slightly too small space with someone you knew but weren’t entirely comfortable with, both of you glancing furtively around for something to do or say that wouldn’t be entirely awkward.
How does this help? I asked.
I can stay conscious. I can protect us, if necessary.
How can you protect us? You’re literally unconscious on me.
With your body.
I thought it was probably good I wasn’t prone to fainting, or I might have succumbed as well on hearing his words in my head. And then we’d be two unconscious bodies rumbling inside a hansom cab bound for who-knew-where.
I’ll just have to trust you, I said at last.
You will.
The next ten minutes were agony—Marcellus was roaming around inside my human form, commenting on various thoughts of mine I couldn’t keep hold of.
No, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, I promise…Yes, I could do that if I wished to, but I don’t.
Not entirely comforting, but I did have his promise, for what it was worth. Which was likely not very much, given that he was a demon from Hell.
But it was all I had, so I’d take it.
Thank you, the voice said dryly.
Rats. I’d forgotten he could hear some of what I thought. Thank God he couldn’t hear all of it.
But I couldn’t fuss about that now, because the carriage was slowing.
What do I do with you? I mean your body? I asked.
Just roll me onto the floor. I’ll be fine.
I gave him—or rather, his lifeless form—a dubious look but did as he said, easing his body onto the floor.
The carriage was almost stopped now.
Just let me take over and don’t worry about any of it.
Don’t worry? I replied. Are you seriously telling me not to worry? When you’re inside my head and on the floor at my feet?
Yes came the short reply.
We didn’t have time to argue, however, because soon the cab’s door was flung open, and two men, both wearing face coverings, came inside.
One held a small container that looked like a pitcher but with a smaller spout.
The same mist that was coming through the roof was coming through the container.
The other held a knife that I had to presume was made of iron, like the stiletto used in the assassination attempt on the Devil.
These two were not intent on making friends, I could tell.
You’re remarkably observant, Hastings.
Oh, shut up, I replied.
“They didn’t say anything about a human,” Container Man said.
Stiletto shrugged. “So just take the bloke on the floor and leave her,” he said. Both of them spoke in country accents.
“You will not take me,” I said, only it wasn’t me speaking. It was him.
“Wot’s that?” Container Man said. “We didn’t say we were! We’re just taking ’im,” he said, jerking his chin toward Marcellus.
Within seconds, I was on my feet and swinging my fist at Container Man. I clocked him in the jaw, and he reeled backward, but he rebounded. Huh. That was my hand, but it wasn’t my skill—that was all Marcellus.
Don’t forget, I have my cane, I reminded him.
Good thought, he said and snatched it from where it rested against one side of the carriage.
I bashed it against Container Man’s head—or rather, he did, but I could feel me doing it as well, which was disconcerting because I hadn’t intended to.
I’d never willingly inflicted violence on anyone before.
Container Man crumpled, his upper half falling onto Marcellus’s legs, his lower half falling to the ground.
Stiletto charged me, but I was apparently very quick with my hands, and I grabbed his arm, twisting it at an unnatural angle until I heard a sickening crack, and he dropped the knife as he screamed.
Then I shoved Stiletto out of the carriage and yanked Container Man—who was conscious but bleeding—upright and shoved him out as well. Both of them landed with an audible thud on the ground.
What now? I asked. Should we contact Mr. Connors and Lord Hennawi?
So they can know that someone is actively targeting the Devil’s contingent, when we don’t know ourselves who that is?
Well, yes.
No, we can’t.
Why not?
Hastings, we’re wasting time.
I got out of the carriage, stepping on the backs of the two would-be assailants as I shut the carriage door. I leaped up onto the driver’s seat and grabbed the reins, then urged the horses forward.
Do you know how to drive a hansom cab? I asked.
It can’t be that hard, he said.
That wasn’t an answer.