Chapter 9 #2
Their lips meet, and I suck in a slow and silent breath, my eyes widening as I watch my brother passionately kiss another man. His hands release Ichabod’s hair when the man climbs into Cornelius’ lap, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it from his shoulders to leave him bare from the waist up.
Cornelius sits up, wrapping his arms around pale skin that almost glows in the flicker of the firelight, swathes of golden freckles highlighted by its flames.
One of them moans, and I hesitate. What is going on in that room is not for my eyes, and the least I can do for my brother is give him his privacy and hold my tongue.
“I know you’re worried about Cordelia,” Ichabod grumbles softly as he unbuttons Cornelius’ shirt. “You’re so tense, your body feels like granite and not in a good way.”
“I know,” Cornelius exhales loudly. “I can’t stop thinking about Cordelia though. Dr Whyte seems more determined than I gave him credit for. He’s already filed a motion with the courts to return Cordie to his custody and give him control of her care.”
“Hadley and Mason won’t let that happen,” Ichabod replies. “We just need to trust them.”
“I do, but Whyte has friends in high places and keeps a lot of secrets for them. We haven’t been able to ascertain what hold he has on them, but the reach goes very high up the chain. There are hints that some of the royals are involved.”
“Surely not,” Ichabod says sharply.
I swallow hard. I know exactly what Cornelius is talking about.
I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Dr Whyte and his Demon Club.
I could tell Cornelius the truth, that Dr Whyte allows his very select members access to the patients of Crowscroft, allows them to play out their sickest desires and perversions.
I know this because on several occasions Whyte forced me to watch while a very prominent member of the House of Lords abused and mutilated a young man.
That’s what Whyte does. He peddles flesh and opportunity for privileged men to play out their grotesque fantasies. He keeps their secrets, which makes him almost untouchable.
But I can’t tell my brother any of this. It will only put him in danger, as well as Constance and her child Evangeline.
No, I won’t speak of it. But I will make sure each and every one of those men are punished, and I don’t mean in a prison cell or by the short drop at the end of a rope. They are going to suffer. They are going to pay for every second of their victims’ agony.
I swear it.
“There’s nothing more we can do right now,” Ichabod soothes Cornelius. “She’s here and she’s safe.”
“But for how long?” Cornelius murmurs. “I wanted her home so badly. Here, where she belongs with her family, but now I’m not so sure this is the safest place.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m wondering if it would be better to sneak her onto a ship.
She was always happiest when we were in India.
Maybe going back will give her a chance to heal, not just her body but also her soul.
” He sighs. “I have contacts in the Foreign Office. We could get her a new identity and smuggle her out.”
“You might never see her again,” Ichabod replies. “If they’re watching you–”
“But she’d be alive, safe, and most importantly, out of that dreadful place and beyond the reach of Whyte. He can’t have her if he can’t find her.”
Ichabod cups Cornelius’ jaw, holding his face tenderly. “We’ll make sure he never gets his hands on her again. I promise.”
My brother nods as his lover leans in and kisses him slowly. Then Ichabod pulls back and slides slowly off his lap until he’s kneeling between Cornelius’ spread legs. He fumbles at the fastening of his trousers, then lowers his head into Cornelius’ lap, bobbing up and down slowly.
I know what he’s doing. Hadn’t I been on my knees more times than I could count? Not like this though, never willingly.
Turning my back, I step away from the door, giving them their privacy. My mind is caught on the words I overheard. So Whyte has already set the wheels in motion. I have less time than I thought.
I reach my hand up to where my head throbs, only to find an uncomfortable stubble covering my scalp from where they’d shaved my hair off.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I cross the foyer and head through the archway into the main parlour.
I don’t stop until I am at the back wall.
Pushing one of the chairs aside, I pause to catch my breath.
My whole body is shaking from exertion, and I fight the urge to collapse into the chair I’ve just moved. Only my brother’s words spur me on.
I can’t afford for Whyte to come for me while I’m still in this weakened state. I need my magic; it’s the only thing that can save me now.
Placing my hand against the solid wall, I reach down inside myself. My mind may be clearer, but I’m still dreadfully weak. A panicky feeling begins to flutter in my chest.
Where’s my magic?
Trying to force back my anxiety, I search for it again.
It can’t be gone.
It can’t.
Closing my eyes, I try once more, and this time I catch a little wisp of it. No more than a flicker deep inside me, but it’s enough. I grab onto it and feel it flare briefly. I feel the wall ripple beneath my palm as if it’s made of water, and I open my eyes. Then, bracing myself, I step through.
An unpleasant, cold trickling sensation engulfs me, but only for a moment. Then it’s gone and I’m standing in complete darkness. It feels vast, the kind of darkness that would fill a huge cavern. If I were to speak, even the smallest whisper, surely my voice would echo.
This was our place. It had always belonged to me, Cornelius, and Constance.
I don’t know if they remember or if they’ve closed it from their minds.
They were, after all, very young. They’d thought it was a game, but I’d sensed the magic in them even then—raw, undisciplined, and certainly not as powerful as mine, but it had been there.
I’d wanted to go home, and together we’d torn a hole in the fabric of our world, a rift to another place entirely.
But I’d erred. I hadn’t expected creatures from that other place to use it as a conduit.
I’d only thought to transport myself to the one place I wanted to be more than anything.
Away from this city, away from this house… away from him. My father.
It hadn’t worked. Instead, we’d been forced to close the portal to stop any other creatures from escaping, but it had never fully sealed. This cavernous place between worlds not only remained but–
I lift my candle and see a jagged slash of light hovering in the air. It’s an echo of the rift. A small wound in the fabric of existence that had never fully healed, like a pocket in time that only I know of.
Approaching slowly, I set my candle down on the ground, the ripple of light winking at me. X marks the spot, as Cornelius always said when he wanted to play pirates. Only this treasure is not jewels or coin but beyond anything imagined.
I reach out, pushing my hand into the strange little prism of light.
But instead of encountering thin air, my fingers curl around the spine of an old, heavy book.
The rift sparks and spits at me, almost as if it doesn’t want to let go, but I shove my other hand into the breach and grasp the book, giving it another hard tug.
The rift pulses, expelling it almost angrily.
I stumble back a pace, my arms trembling from the effort, and glance down at the book.
The Book of Lala Khal.
“Hello, old friend,” I whisper, my first real smile in decades curving my lips.
The book is wreathed in roiling black shadows which dance and swirl, almost completely concealing its cover.
Opening it up, I hold the tome in both of my hands and stare down into the pages.
Even in the dim light, I can see the looping archaic letters.
They don’t sit on the page like any other ordinary book.
No, these letters spiral and scroll across the parchment, forming and reforming words at random.
But I don’t need to read the book to use its power.
Because the book has its own consciousness.
“Heal me,” I command.
The pages fan rapidly, as if an unseen hand is flicking through them.
Then it falls open almost belligerently and a burst of light so bright it almost blinds me erupts from the pages.
Something punches through my chest with such force that it takes my feet out from under me, throwing me to the ground so hard that the air is knocked from my lungs.
My body feels like it’s on fire, and white-hot power sears through my veins, burning through me with excruciating agony. I open my mouth and scream, but in this place between words, there’s no one to hear me.
It feels like I’m being incinerated from the inside. So much pain. My head feels like it’s going to explode and then there’s nothing but darkness.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying on the ground, but when I begin to come to, I notice one thing immediately.
My body no longer hurts. The aches and exhaustion that have been my constant are gone. I sit up easily and look around. It’s still dark in the cavern, the light from the paltry candle I’d brought with me long since extinguished.
But another realisation comes to me. I can feel my magic pulsing through my veins.
Sucking in a sharp breath of delight, I lift my hand and snap my fingers.
Regular light floods the space around me, and I see my body is no longer rail thin and emaciated.
My curves and softness are back, filling out my nightdress and dressing gown.
A silky weight is settled against my back, and when I lift my hand to my head, it’s to find my long, thick hair falling in soft waves.
My gaze falls on the book, which now lays closed on the ground next to me.
“Thank you.” I stroke its old leather-bound cover, and for a moment, I could swear I sense a hint of annoyance coming from it.
Picking up the book, I cradle it to my chest with one arm and push myself up off the floor. I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck, and revel in the strength and magic coursing through my healed body. I clutch the book tighter.
Dr Whyte and the members of his Demon Club have been living on borrowed time for far too long.
Now, their bill has come due.