“No. Medieval mystics described a fifth element, ether, that they claimed was kept from our eyes only by the thin skin of reality. Many held to those beliefs until they were declared heresy. Perhaps Howard Mickelmas and Mary Willoughby opened a portal into that fifth element.”
“Never thought so practical a lady would accept such mystical theories.”
I obviously couldn’t tell him I’d discussed said theories with Hargrove. “Then where do you suppose such huge carnivorous beasts came from? Portugal?”
“I suppose your theory is better than the archbishop’s belief that our Ancients are the seven deadly sins made flesh.” He shuddered. “Is that great blob Molochoron the embodiment of Lust? Truly, nothing makes me more excited than the sight of moldy jelly.”
I laughed. “I read an article by Blackwood’s father, actually, about that seven-deadly-sins idea. He called those beliefs hogwash. Did you know he was the first to name them Ancients in print?”
“Yes, Blackwood’s father was a great sort. Pity the son’s such a grim sort.” Magnus swiped at the ward, creating a line of sparks. I frowned, pressing my hand to the surface. It gave, almost like rubber. For a while it had been firm again, but now it was getting worse, and fast. Agrippa had brushed it off when I’d mentioned it, but I continued to worry.
“We shouldn’t be so harsh. I think he has a great deal on his mind.” Since our discussion in the library, my relationship with Blackwood had improved. The angry, hateful thoughts I’d had about him now made me uncomfortable.
“There’s his brooding lesson at dawn, followed by instructional despair at teatime.” Magnus walked backward to look me in the face. “I didn’t imagine you’d be so masochistic as to like someone who dismissed your lowly birth.”
“Don’t say it out loud!” Really, I told Magnus too much these days. He looked about dramatically.
“No one nearby. Though perhaps we should turn back. Our shift is near done.” We turned and started walking the way we’d come. All Incumbents took turns patrolling the ward as part of the training. It had been three weeks since my triumph before Agrippa, and I was now allowed to participate in all areas of Incumbent life. Before, it would have been unthinkable for me to go about with Magnus unchaperoned in the middle of the night. That no one objected proved that people had begun to take my abilities seriously. Perhaps I was finally stepping out of Gwendolyn Agrippa’s shadow. “I wouldn’t blame you for getting a bit soft, of course. Blackwood is the Earl of Sorrow-Fell. Most girls would give their eyeteeth to claim that prize.”
I groaned, the only appropriate response to such an idea. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m here to be commended, not to catch a husband.”
“But it would be so nice to check both off your list at once, wouldn’t it?”
“First of all, I wouldn’t marry Lord Blackwood if he were the prince of plenty. I don’t dislike him anymore, but that’s hardly a love written in the stars.”
“Very nice. What’s the second-of-all?”
“I’ll never marry. No man could want me in battle, and I wouldn’t want anyone who might keep me away from my duty.”
“Don’t be so hasty to rule out gentlemen’s understanding,” Magnus said. “There are some who admire a capable girl. One of them might be closer than you think, if you’d take the time to notice what’s before you.” He leaned closer. For a second, I didn’t dare breathe. Since our moment in the library, Magnus had returned to his old, harmless flirtation. I’d half hoped it would stay that way. He sighed gently and said, “Can’t you see the way Palehook looks at you?”
He laughed. I was so relieved that I joined him.
“So who should I marry?”
“Someone confident, charming, insanely handsome, brilliant, who dances well and who can order the correct wine with any dish. Also, make sure he owns a horse. There’s no use marrying if you don’t have a horse. You’ll have to travel to your honeymoon on the back of a turnip cart.” He sheathed his stave. “Enough marriage talk. What say we pop round the coffee stalls at Covent Garden?”
Before I could respond, a scream pierced the darkness.
We pressed our hands against the invisible wall to peer into the streets. After a minute, the scream came again, high and wailing. It sounded like a little girl.
Magnus sliced through the barrier without a moment’s pause. I grabbed his shoulder. “We need to wait for the others.”
“It could be too late if we do.” He stepped through and ran in the direction of the cry. Idiot. Well, he was going nowhere without me. I shot three streams of fire into the air and waited until I heard the watch bell toll. Someone would come. Satisfied, I followed Magnus.
He’d disappeared. My echoing footsteps were a lonely sound as I ran along the empty street. I began to think this was a bad plan, then the child screamed again. Down an alley to the left, I found the little girl, pale, thin, ragged, and all alone. I crouched beside her.
“Are you all right? Where’s your mother?”
She shook her head. I noticed that her right fist was clenched. When I opened it, I found myself staring at a bright new guinea. How on earth did she have so much money?
“Sorry ’bout this,” the little girl whispered. With that, she turned and ran.
Something struck me on the back of the head. Porridge rolled away from me as I fell forward and skinned my palms on the ground. Hands grabbed me by the hair, pulling me to my feet. Black figures loomed. Someone kicked me in the stomach. My breath left me in a rush, the pain so intense I crumpled into a ball. Struggling pathetically to breathe, I heard them mutter to one another.
“Make it quick.”
“Not yet. Bloody her up a bit first.”
The voices. They were horribly familiar.
As I unfolded myself, a boot struck me in the side. Sparks and stars danced on the edges of my sight. Bile flooded the back of my throat. I swung wildly, blindly, trying to fend them off.
“Where’s the knife?”
A startled third voice: “What? We’re not going to kill her, are we?”
I knew that voice. Hands reached for me.
Flames rippled over my body. A boy screamed as I crawled forward on my stomach, still burning, daring someone to touch me again. There was a cacophony of footsteps, racing toward and running from me. In my confusion, it seemed that footsteps pounded along the walls. Somewhere, Magnus shouted, “You filthy bastard!”
Now I caught the sounds of struggle, of men at each other’s throats. My vision seesawed from one bizarre angle to the next as Magnus threw someone to the ground. Sitting up, I found an unconscious Lovett sprawled beside me. There was a cut across his forehead, bleeding fresh.
“Bastard,” I gasped, my voice a strange wheeze. I clawed at him, shook him, but he didn’t wake up. Above, Magnus struggled with someone else. I expected to see Hemphill as I turned my head.
Cellini hung in Magnus’s grasp, a smear of blood beneath his nose. Something fell out of his hand and clattered across the ground. A knife.
My stomach rippling, I fell to my hands, heaved, and vomited. My head throbbed. Cellini couldn’t be here. He couldn’t have attacked me. He was my friend. He was one of us.
“Why?” I moaned. Cellini breathed heavily while Magnus held him by the collar, dumbfounded.
“I don’t understand.” Magnus’s voice was small.
Cellini began to cry. “It had to be done. Don’t you see?”
“Give me some excuse.” Magnus’s voice was pleading. “You don’t really want to hurt her. They forced you.”
Cellini’s normally handsome face twisted in rage. “You choose her over us. Over your own kind. Can’t you see how freakish she is? Or are you always this soppy once you get them on their backs?”
It was like he’d kicked me again.
Magnus punched him. There was a gurgling cry, and Cellini spit blood onto the ground. One white tooth lay gleaming in the gore. Undeterred, Magnus continued the vicious beating, all traces of his humor gone. I hadn’t thought him capable of such fury. Cellini’s face began to resemble a slab of bloody meat.