“It’s not like she’s human.” Tears streaked her face.
“Not any longer, no. But that seems a technicality.” He ignored her quizzical look. “Anyway, I believe I’ve made my point. We’re both doomed. We’re trapped here with the insane Earl, and we may remain here for some time. He has recounted his time in Jamestown every day for the past four hundred years, and I’m fairly certain he could keep going. Do you know about the first time he ate a girl? Rebecca—” He stopped himself. George had said someone named Rebecca was holding his athame.
She sniffled. “I miss the rush I got from Blodrial’s blood. I’ll never taste it again.”
“Quiet for a second. I’ve just had a thought.”
She looked up, wiping a hand across her face. “What?”
“Do us both a favor, would you? George has a bottle of 1971 Old Fitzgerald in one of his parlor cabinets. I think we could both use a bit.”
“It couldn’t hurt.”
“And while you’re out there, would you please have a look at that painting of the plain girl? The one above the fireplace. Perhaps it detaches from the wall.”
“Why?”
“I need my knife back,” he growled, losing patience.
She frowned. “I’m not snooping around. What if George catches me? He might do that tree thing again.”
Jack crossed to her and lifted her chin, staring into her gray eyes and whispering a quick spell. He didn’t like having to control people’s thoughts, but he wasn’t exactly averse to the idea either. Munroe’s eyes widened, and her shoulders relaxed. Gods, he wanted to sink his teeth into her. “Munroe. I need you to look behind the painting. Find me the knife, and bring it here. Then search through the herbs in the china cabinet. Bring me cinquefoil and wolfsbane. And the whiskey, too. Don’t forget the whiskey.”
She nodded, pulling open the door and slipping out.
Jack ran a hand through his hair, pacing to the bed. Maybe the Purgator girl was right. He was meant to lead. If the gods couldn’t be trusted to create a fair world, he’d have to take matters into his own hands.
He crossed to the window, pressing his hand against the cool pane to look at the James River rolling beyond an overgrown bank. The sky had darkened, and a crow cawed. This house felt like a cemetery.
But he couldn’t die here. If he was going to shuffle off this mortal coil, it would be in a blaze of sunlight and ripped throats, with one last embrace in the arms of a beautiful woman. He could do that, at least.
Something the succubus had said percolated in the back of his mind. Amauberge had said she didn’t even know what kind of information the Voynich contained. And yet a few moments later, she’d mentioned its location. If he hadn’t been so desperate for death, he would have noticed her slip right away.
He needed to speak to her alone. He’d have to renegotiate the terms. To hell with George’s ten wives. He’d get the succubus her freedom, and face George’s wrath if he had to. He just needed to find the old hag.
A floorboard creaked outside his room, and Munroe pushed the door open, bourbon in one hand and the bottled herbs and athame in the other. She took a swig from the bottle, grimacing. “A knife and some booze. This is how our new life begins.”
43
Fiona
She rolled over, watching as the morning sun brightened her cabin. She hadn’t slept. Each time she’d closed her eyes, a vision of the blood on her hands had greeted her.
And of course, she couldn’t stop thinking about Tobias. He’d finally kissed her, but as it turned out, she’d been treading on another woman’s territory. He belonged to the Queen. Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, the feel of his hands on her hips and his soft lips against hers. One kiss was all it took to completely shatter her, and she had no idea if Tobias felt the same.
She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. She shouldn’t be thinking about him now. Not when she still had to make it through the Proserpine’s trials.
Last night, after her encounter with Tobias, she’d flown back to the ship, half delirious with lust and frustration.
She’d found the crew waiting for her by lantern-light. Nod hadn’t seemed pleased. He said he’d been watching her, which was deeply unnerving on a number of levels. Not to mention extremely embarrassing.
Ostap had drunkenly staggered around the deck, trying to argue that her little escapade constituted desertion. When Nod had tried to calm him, Ostap had shoved him away. That had earned him an entire night of scrubbing the deck, and for hours Fiona had listened as he’d run a brush over the old boards above her. At least it meant the bloodstains would be gone.