Chapter Twenty
“T his is not somewhere I’d expect to find witches.”
They were standing on the pavement outside the Natural History Museum at nine o’clock the following morning. Josef had been all for racing down there immediately, but they’d both been exhausted and filthy, and instead they’d bathed and collapsed into bed ‘for a few minutes’. Three hours later, they’d woken up tangled together with the sun streaming in through the window.
Josef had cursed the wasted time, but he could see that Alex was better for the rest. They both were, although the stiff way Alex moved his arm suggested he was in pain. Neither of them mentioned it.
Taking the steps to the museum two at a time, Alex said, “You need to adjust your expectations; the days of blasted Scottish heaths are long gone. Dr Wolsey is a botanist.”
Josef hurried after him. “The witch is a man ?”
At the door, Alex turned with an amused lift of one brow. “The doctor is a woman.”
“Right.” Josef felt his cheeks heat. “Of course. Stupid.”
“For your sake,” Alex said as they went inside, “I’ll keep that little slip between ourselves.”
They were met on the other side of the door by an elderly museum guard, moustache bristling as he bustled over with one hand raised in protest. “Beg pardon, gentlemen, but the museum isn’t open yet. Please—”
Alex dipped two fingers into the breast pocket of his coat and produced one of his cards, wafting it beneath the guard’s eyes. “Yes, I’m afraid we are a little early,” he explained with that infuriating self-assurance that wealth and privilege bought men of his class. “Lord Beaumont. Here to see Dr Wolsey.” He pocketed his card and kept walking, Josef doing his best to remain unobtrusive at his side.
The guard hurried to keep up. “Yes, my lord, but I don’t know whether she—”
“Don’t trouble yourself to show us the way,” Alex went on blithely, heading for the sweeping staircase in front of them. “I’m quite familiar with the route. Good morning.”
And up he went, overcoat flaring out behind him. Josef touched his cap to the guard and followed, conscious that Alex was breathing harder than he should have been as he climbed the stairs. How long, he wondered, before it was too late to help him?
At the top, Alex paused, evidently catching his breath before leading Josef away from the public galleries and into a very ordinary corridor that wouldn’t have been out of place in a tax office. Green-painted doors with frosted glass windows lined each side, and Alex stopped outside one, about halfway along the corridor. Taking off his hat, he smoothed down his hair and then knocked. Josef snatched off his own hat and waited.
He was about to meet a witch. It seemed incredible. It was incredible. In fact, everything that had happened to him since first meeting Alex had been incredible.
Logically, he should wish he’d never laid eyes on the man, that he’d never snuck away for a quick smoke that morning in the salient. Logically, he should wish he’d never heard of any of this supernatural nonsense.
But logic must have deserted him because as he glanced over at the man by his side, his determined, impatient gaze fixed on the door, Josef felt a betraying flutter in his chest. What did it mean that Alex had defied The Society to protect him from Dutta? What did it mean that all Josef could think about was saving Alex from his fate?
Something, surely. Something men like them weren’t supposed to have.
A noise came from behind the door. It sounded like a chair being pushed back, voices, and the stomp of heavy feet. Then the door swung wide, and he was met by the sight of a red-headed woman, solidly built, dressed for an office. Her expression was pure disappointment.
“Rats, I thought it was the tea trolley.” Then her expression changed. “Oh, beg pardon, m’lord.” Her gaze slid sideways to Josef and narrowed. She recognised him, and he recognised her.
“Violet?” he said, putting the pieces together. “I thought you worked on the ambulances.”
“I do. Some of the time.” Over her shoulder, she called, “Lottie, it’s Lord B and that bloke what was asking questions at St. Thomas’s.”
Josef was struggling to keep up, but then another woman appeared at Violet’s shoulder, and he knew her too: Lady Charlotte Wolsey.
Dr Wolsey, he presumed.
“Mr Shepel,” she said, eying him sharply. With a warning glance at Alex, she added, “He’s a journalist, works for the Clarion .”
“Yes, I know. May we come in? I need your advice about something... Society-related.”
Her lips tightened. “I assumed as much.” Her gaze flicked to Josef again and stayed there, astute and assessing. “Close the door behind you.”
With that, she crossed the room—a reasonably sized office—to the bench on the far side where an assortment of jars and bottles held various plant specimens. The walls were lined with shelves crowded with similar bits and bobs, along with more books than Josef had seen outside of the library. “Find a seat,” she called while she rummaged in a stack of papers, apparently found what she was looking for, and turned back around.
Meanwhile, Alex had pulled out a chair at the large table in the centre of the room. It was equally cluttered with papers and specimens and any number of things Josef couldn’t identify. Josef did the same, sitting next to him.
Lady Charlotte—Lottie—took a seat kitty-corner to Alex. She wore her light brown hair piled up on top of her head, not cut short in the modern fashion, and had a narrow, inquisitive face. Intelligent eyes of a wishy-washy grey. “Well,” she said, “my first question is what’s happened to you? And my second is does The Society know you’re here?”
Alex set his hat on the table, atop a pile of papers. “No, in answer to the second question. As to the first...”
He glanced at Violet, who’d stationed herself at the bench, leaning back against it with her arms folded. There was something of the guard dog about her, Josef thought.
“As to the first,” Alex repeated doggedly, “I had the misfortune to be bitten by a ghoul last night.”
“Bloody hell ,” Violet hissed, starting backwards, staring at Alex in alarm. “And you came here ?”
“It’s all right,” Josef said. “He won’t bite.”
She gave him a dark look. “Yet.”
“It was less than eight hours ago,” Alex told Lottie. “Is there time?”
Her expression grew keen, eyes glittering. “You want a cure,” she said, surprised. “That’s against Society rules.”
“I know.”
“I can see why they don’t know you’re here.” When Alex only inclined his head in agreement, she said, “You, of all people, know the risk of defying them. So why are you?”
Without looking at Josef, Alex said, “Mr Shepel is in some danger because of me. I intend to ensure his safety.”
Josef didn’t argue, however much he baulked at all the noblesse oblige crap; conveniently, it masked a more complex, dangerous truth.
“Laudable,” Lottie said, her attention turning to Josef. He had a strong feeling that she was seeing more than was visible to the naked eye. “And surprising.”
Alex gave a slight shrug. “Is it possible? Can you help me?”
After another moment of studying Josef, she turned back to Alex. “Show me the bite,” she said, rising.
With obvious awkwardness at undressing in front of a lady—he was such a toff—Alex slipped off his jacket and unbuttoned his collar to reveal the wound at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
“Usually,” Lottie said, “living victims of ghoul bites are close to death, either wounded or ill. It’s rare that they attack a healthy person. I assume you had it cornered?”
“We did. We had to stop it leaving London for Brookwood Cemetery.”
Lottie’s delicate fingers carefully peeled away the dressing Josef had placed over the wound. “Brookwood seems like a natural place for a ghoul.”
“You know what The Society thinks.”
Clearly, she did, because she didn’t bother to respond. “The infection spreads more slowly in a healthy body,” she said, probing the wound. Alex winced, jaw clenching. “That gives you more time.”
“More time for what?” Josef said.
Lottie’s grey eyes met his, sharp as steel. “To live,” she said simply. “And to find a cure.”
“ Find a cure? Don’t you have one?”
“Do we look like a pharmacy?” said Violet, her gaze still fixed on Alex. Ready to pounce, Josef supposed, if he showed any signs of ghoulishness.
Lottie was still inspecting the wound, tracing her fingers across Alex’s skin. Josef realised that down his left arm and up his neck towards his jaw, radiating from the bite, ran faint tendrils of grey, like veins beneath his pale skin. His stomach turned.
“I have the formula,” Lottie said, “but you’ll need to provide the key ingredient.”
Teeth gritted against the pain, Alex said, “Which is what?”
“Blood from the ghoul that bit you.”
He visibly paled, nothing but red spots of colour left on his cheekbones. “I killed it,” he said airlessly. “The body travels to Brookwood this morning…”
“I'll go back,” Josef said immediately. “The train doesn’t leave until gone eleven…”
But Alex looked grim, his eyes dark as midnight. “I don’t think—”
“If the ghoul is dead, its blood is dead too,” said Lottie. “No good.”
With a vehement curse, Alex dropped his head into his hands, elbows on the table.
Josef stared at him, heart thudding so loud he thought the whole room must be able to hear it. Mouth dry, he said, “Is that the only way?”
Lottie lifted her eyes to his. “Not the only way. The ghoul Lord Beaumont killed had been bitten by another, and that one by yet another, and so on. There are... connections between them all.”
“A spiderweb,” Josef said, remembering Alex’s description.
She nodded, mostly to herself. “Yes, I could use the blood of another. Less potent, the more distant the connection, but probably potent enough.”
Alex jerked his head up from his hands. “How the devil are we supposed to find one in time?” he snapped. “Christ, they could be anywhere in London.”
“You have one thing in your favour,” Lottie said, leaving Alex and moving to one of her bookshelves, studying the spines and then pulling out a book. Opening it, she began flicking through the pages.
“What?” Josef said, impatiently. “What do we have in our favour?”
Lottie looked up. “Hmm? Oh. Well.” She glanced over at Alex again with those too-bright, too-clever eyes. “You'll know it when one’s close. You’ll feel it. Feel drawn to it.”
“Drawn to it?” Alex sounded sickened.
Nodding, still leafing through pages, she said, “Blood to blood, as the infection takes hold. Ah, here it is.” Then, to Violet, “I’ll need lunar caustic, yarrow, comfrey root, sage, and honey.”
“You’re making a poultice?” Violet asked, with clear unease.
Lottie nodded. To Alex, she said, “It’ll slow the spread of the infection, and buy you more time.”
“How much time?”
“Half again as much.”
Clearly, that meant something to Alex because he gave a curt nod. Then, remembering his manners, added, “Thank you. Thank you for helping me.”
“I’ll need a vial of live blood,” Lottie said, pulling open a drawer and starting to rummage. “Remember, the ghoul must still be living for the spell to work.”
Josef let ‘spell’ go without comment. Frankly, it was the least of his concerns. “You’re saying we have to track down a ghoul, which could be anywhere in London, and not kill it but ask nicely for a cup of its blood instead?”
“That’s about the sum of it, yes.” Lottie retrieved a small glass bottle with a cork stopper from the drawer and held it out. Josef took it. “Now, be quiet the pair of you. Vi and I have work to do.”
As she and Violet began pulling jars and implements off shelves and out of drawers, Josef glanced over at Alex where he sat at the table. He looked ashy and exhausted, purpling shadows under his eyes, but he smiled when he caught Josef’s eye and murmured, “Don’t worry. It’ll be a doddle.”
Josef didn’t believe him for a moment.