Chapter Twenty-seven
Horrid little beasts.” Poppy fought a violent shiver as Win shoveled the last pile of frozen spiders into the roaring hearth to assure that they were destroyed. The spiders popped and crackled in the flames, and she swore she could hear tiny screams. She shuddered again, her stomach turning sickly.
Win caught her eye, and though a touch of humor lit his gaze, he spoke with solemnity. “You were very brave to face them.” He knew how much she detested spiders. She’d rather face a horde of undead than those little creatures.
They’d been all over him, swarming and scurrying. She rubbed her arms. “Are you injured? Did one of them bite you?”
Win set the coal scuttle back on its stand. “No.” Shadows rippled along his face as he stared into the fire. “That wasn’t Mrs. Noble, I gather?”
“No.” Now that the spiders were gone, Poppy dared to come farther into the room. The gilded little sitting room appeared too lovely, too proper to have witnessed such horrors. In fact, it was almost peaceful now, cozy and quiet. She stopped beside Win and let the heat of the flames seep into her freezing skin. Cold did not bother her, but this cold was in her bones. “Mrs. Noble’s body is currently stuffed in a vat of bath salts.”
“Jesus.”
“The demon you were tangling with used her blood to take on her form. Although from the condition I found Mrs. Noble in, the demon got a bit carried away. Most demons have better control when stealing blood.”
Poppy glanced at Win, noting that despite the casual way he stood, his muscles bunched with tension. His look of fierce concentration worked away the coldness better than the fire had. Frowning, Win massaged the back of his neck with one hand. “She killed the colonel.”
His fingers tightened on his neck until his knuckles stood out white, the skin around them too red. “The colonel said he was invited here. But Mrs. Noble—or whatever that was—claimed he was an unwanted visitor who needed to be silenced.” He flung his arm down. “I think Jones brought the colonel here because he wants us to find Moira Darling, but someone else does not. Mrs. Noble was most unhelpful before she turned into a mountain of spiders…” He ran a hand over his face. “Hell, I can barely bring myself to say that aloud.”
Yes, that had been most… She gave his arm a light nudge, lest she think too hard about spiders and be tempted to faint. “I gather the lady found you intriguing, Mr. Lane.”
Cool blue eyes pinned her with a glare. “You knew perfectly well what she would be about, did you not?” When she pursed her lips, he leaned in, and his breath caressed her cheek. “You never truly answered me before, sweeting. Were you curious to see if I’d rise to the occasion?” He moved closer, his hard chest pushing against her shoulder, his lips tickling her ear. “Or did you simply long to see my cock manhandled?”
Futile and hot jealous anger surged. The bloody woman had touched Win.
Win read her emotions well, for his eyes lit with satisfaction. He pressed into her, and the length of him was hot at her hip. It was all she could do not to grind back or beg for release like a wanton thing. His lids lowered a fraction, hiding his thoughts from her. “Let me assure you, wife. I’ve only one master—”
“Yes, I know. You.” She rolled her eyes and pushed away from him, her skirts sliding about her legs as she strode to the door. “You’ve made your point. Now may we return to London before I expire from another lecture? We’ve a false limb to investigate.”
He caught up to her easily with his long legs and determined gait. His hand closed over her upper arm, halting her retreat. “If that is what you think the answer was, Boadicea, then you’ve missed the point of this morning entirely.” His grip grew possessive. “It is you. No matter how much both of us wish to ignore the fact, I have always been entirely yours.”
Winston and Poppy kept a brisk pace as they headed for their rooms.
“Mary,” Poppy called as they entered, “start packing. We are to leave posthaste.” She turned to Winston, who was busy gathering his own things. “What of your brother?”
His back tensed. “What of him?” A shirt landed in an open portmanteau, and he just kept himself from rubbing at the hollow spot that formed in his chest. “He was lost to me long ago.”
Her efforts stilled. “I am sorry, Win.”
He did not turn but lifted his shoulders. “What is done is done. It was my doing, in any event. No use crying over it now.”
Mary glided into the room, and Poppy turned to her. “We found the demon. Posing as Mrs. Noble, I’m afraid. What of you and Talent?”
“Mum.” Mary Chase lowered her voice as she approached. “About Mr. Talent.”
Poppy tossed a pair of throwing knives into her valise. “If you are about to tell me that you do not trust him, Miss Chase, that has already been duly noted.”
Mary’s small nose wrinkled. “I trust him well enough, mum. At least in the capacity not to betray you or the inspector. It is he who does not trust me.” Her rosebud mouth twitched. “I simply do not like him.” The scent of cinnamon and ambergris drifted up as she leaned forward. “In point, mum, I am worried.”
Winston paused in the act of unloading the revolver Poppy handed him. “Why?”
Mary’s expression did not lose its serenity. “I do not think it is Talent in that body.”
That got Poppy’s attention. Her brows snapped together. “Explain.”
“I believe he is either hosting, or that is not him at all.”
“You base all of this on what, precisely?” Winston wasn’t about to confront Talent on something so flimsy.
Mary straightened with the offended dignity of a duchess. “He is not himself, sir. He is being… kind to me.”
Winston had to laugh. “And this is cause for alarm?”
Her brown eyes turned a shimmering gold. “Mr. Talent is nothing if not consistent in his behavior. Then overnight he is, well, let us simply say solicitous toward me. His voice is off as well.”
“He sounded right enough to me.” Win knew he was being argumentative, but one must consider all possibilities before making a judgment.
However, Mary Chase did not appear offended. She simply considered him with the same implacable expression. “Humans never give proper appreciation to the voice. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, the voice is its song. You can tell a great deal about a man by listening to him.” Her mouth pursed. “A demon may mimic another’s voice, but the shade and tone of a voice is colored by one’s life experience. Talent’s is hard like flint and dark grey with a core anger. It now lacks that driving force of inner rage.”
He’d underestimated this woman entirely. Win vowed not to do so again. Mary appeared to see the acknowledgment in his eyes for some of the stiffness in her shoulders eased. She turned to Poppy. “And there is his body temperature to consider. He touched me just a moment ago.”
Poppy’s fierce scowl remained. “Hot?”
“Feverishly so,” confirmed Mary.
Anger brightened Poppy’s eyes. “Given that poor Mrs. Noble was drained of her blood to host a demon, I’d say it’s highly likely they have done so to Talent as well.”
“Damn it.” Win paced. “Talent was with me when I questioned the colonel. If it is a demon, then it knew the colonel or suspected he might eventually help us with the case.” It rather made Win’s skin crawl to think of a demon being that close to Poppy all of this time. And that he’d exposed the colonel to the devil.
Poppy’s fingers drummed on her skirt. “Where is Talent now?”
“I do not know.” Mary said. “He was in his room about twenty minutes ago.”
“Well then,” Winston said, “let us have a word with Mr. Talent.”
He moved to go when Poppy’s hand touched his elbow. “Take him to the lake. I shall meet him there.”
“We shall both talk to him,” he countered.
Her touch stilled. “You must leave him to me.”
He frowned, and her grip tightened. “Win, if this is a demon, he is guilty of breaking the laws set down by the SOS. Which makes it my duty to destroy him. This is what I do.”
When he stared into her eyes, he saw not just his wife, but the warrior goddess that so beguiled him from the start. “Be that as it may, Boadicea. But from now on, this is what I do too.” He smiled with just enough teeth to show his determination. “Consider me your new partner.”
Poppy waited by the lake. As much as it was her duty to dispatch any rogue demons, she did not want to do so in the middle of a house filled with innocent bystanders. She knew in her heart Win would not fail her. He’d claimed himself her partner, growling the words as if she might protest. In truth, he’d unknowingly granted her deepest wish.
A breeze slid over the wide lawn, rippling the grass before it toyed with the edges of her skirt. She hadn’t dared to waste time changing and instead gathered her weapons, but now she regretted it. The chocolate wool day-gown, while elegant and slender, was also cumbersome. Damned if she could figure out why she stuck with wearing women’s clothes when she could just as well be done with all society and don lighter and more practical men’s clothing as the demon Mrs. Noble had done. She kept her eyes on the distant house terrace and cleared her mind. In her hand, the crossbow was a comfortable weight, smooth and cool against her skin.
She did not have to wait long. Two silhouettes appeared on the horizon, their shapes outlined in the morning sun. It struck her how similar Winston and Talent’s forms appeared, both broad of shoulder and lean of waist. The similarity ended there, however. Win’s walk was even, sedate, as if no one or nothing would rush him. Talent’s stride held impatience; it always had, so she could not be sure if it was truly him or an impostor. Besides, any proper demon would mimic Talent’s movements with precision.
They came abreast of each other, and their heights aligned. A few months ago, Talent had been perhaps an inch shorter than Win. Now he was the same height. A year from now, she knew Talent would be taller. He was entering his prime, and as a shifter, he’d bulk up and grow a few inches more, most likely ending up on par with her brute of a brother-in-law Archer. Sadness filled her breast at the thought. If this was not Talent coming toward her, then he might truly be lost, never to become the man nature had planned to make him.
Her grip tightened on the crossbow. With her other hand, she slipped the gold throwing knife from her pocket and held it close.
“Poppy,” Win said as they walked up to her, “you have news?”
“Yes.” She flew into motion. The knife hissed through the air just as she raised the crossbow and shot. Talent barely had time to blink before both projectiles slammed into his shoulders, taking him down to the grass and pinning him there. Win’s start of surprise was lost as Talent roared. Not at all the roar of a shifter.
“Poppy,” Win shouted, “you haven’t given him a chance to defend himself.”
She did not take her eyes off the thing writhing on the grass, trying to free itself from the gold weapons holding it down. “It won’t do permanent damage,” she said to Win before addressing the demon. “Rise then, Jack Talent, if you can.” A shifter could be held fast by iron, but not gold. A demon, on the other hand, detested gold. What she did not know was whether this was Talent’s body or an illusion of it.
Talent’s eyes flashed with an inner fire before turning deep yellow. Demon eyes. She advanced on him, snapping another golden arrow into place. It whizzed and thumped into his thigh, and he screamed. Win stepped closer, horror etched on his face. Talent’s body arched, straining against the shafts.
Poppy stood over him. “Who are you and where is Jack Talent?”
Caught, the demon let his glamour go. Human in appearance except for his pale grey skin, he glared up at her with his yellow eyes. “Fetch my mettle, you bunter bitch.”
Win snarled at the foul words, and his foot slammed into the demon’s side. “Address the lady properly or I’ll have your tongue.”
The demon sneered as blood streamed down his lip. The gold was affecting his system now, turning the network of veins a deep black against his grey skin. “Get me out of these bonds, and I’ll make a capon out of you. Stuff your lobcock down your gullet, I will.”
Win moved to strike him again, and Poppy placed a staying hand upon his arm. “Do not bother. He’s merely a weak and pathetic raptor demon. They feed off the pain and misery of others and are notoriously foul-mouthed.” She glanced down at the demon. “And quite stupid.”
The demon on the ground showed his sharp teeth. “Go bugger yourself, you bleeding three-penny upright.”
Win looked capable of murder. Poppy tightened her grip on him, and giving the demon a pleasant smile, aimed her last arrow at its crotch. “If anyone is in danger of being a capon, it is you. Now talk before you spend the rest of your short, miserable life as a eunuch.”
A bloody grin worked over the demon’s face. “Can’t.” He craned his neck to reveal the image of a chain tattooed upon his skin. “Am bound by Master.”
“Which means he is physically incapable of divulging any information,” Poppy explained to Winston. “No matter what we do to him. That tattoo will literally choke the life out of him if he says anything against his master’s wishes.”
“Aye,” said the demon with a gurgling laugh. “But can tell you Mr. Jack is having good fun with my mates.” His dark tongue ran over his teeth. “Tasty is Mr. Jack. Been having fun with him since the boat.” At that, the demon shifted his appearance to the murdered ship’s officer, then to Mary Chase, before going back to his ugly, demonic self.
Something cold and dark passed over Winston’s eyes as he looked down at the demon. “If you have nothing to tell us, then you are of little use.” Tight-lipped, Win turned his attention back to Poppy. “Decapitation works with this one, yes?”
Below them, the demon began to writhe against his bonds, snarling and spitting like an enraged dog. “Shanker covered, whore pipe, pig-f*cking—”
“Are you sure you want to do the deed?” Poppy asked. SOS law gave her the right to execute any demon guilty of body theft and torture, which this demon clearly had done to poor Jack Talent. However foul the criminal may be, executing one still ate at the soul. She felt the weight of every life she took and did not like to think of Winston carrying that same burden.
But Win’s expression was set as he pulled his sword free from his walking stick. “Quite.” Dispassion etched his expression in harsh lines as he stared down at the demon, who still cursed a blue streak. Win raised his sword. “For Jack.” He struck true and clean.