Poison in the Blood Read online

  Dedication

  To Diana, Elizabeth, Karrin, Phyllis and Rebecca, who always had faith in me (and Emily). You ladies rock, and I’m grateful for your friendship and your feedback. To my family, for your continued love, support and inspiration. And to my editor, Jennifer, who challenged me to make this book even better and helped me to make it so.

  Would talk about the haunted glen,

  The wicked quaint fruit-merchant men,

  Their fruits like honey to the throat

  But poison in the blood;

  (Men sell not such in any town)

  —from “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti

  Chapter One

  Due to my wild reputation, one might think corpses appeared at every social gathering I attended, but that was certainly not true. The murderous blame simply lay in the nature of magicians. My personal attendance had nothing to do with the chance for bloodshed, because seers aren’t the violent sort—at least to my knowledge, for I have never met another of my kind.

  The Midsummer celebration was no different from the rest of the miserable gatherings I had attended since my flight to London. The ballroom was loud, the heat was oppressive and the weight of so many auras smothered me in an onslaught of desires, plots and schemes. London’s constant bustle was hellish for a seer because the city was tangled in knots of magic due to centuries of magician habitation. I longed to return to the relative quiet of our home in Yorkshire, but that wouldn’t happen until Samhain, which was months away.

  “Emily, you are being melancholy again,” Josephine scolded me.

  “Am I?” With a deep breath I forced a brave smile for my sister’s benefit. An empty smile, like the painted face of one of my daughter Lillian’s porcelain dolls.

  “Quite. Thomas could dance with you again.” She looked toward her husband, who was speaking with a group of other librarian gentlemen. Thomas laughed, his face a bit flushed from too much wine, and it tightened the ache that squeezed my heart. Michael would never have that blush of life again.

  Michael had become a chronicler last Samhain, an immortal member of the Order who would continue recording magician history long after my bones had turned to dust. I hadn’t seen my husband since just before his transformation, because the children and I had been sent away to stay with my sister Josephine in London for our safety, but I was certain he was now pale like his mentor, Simon St. Jerome. Cool and distant, as though trapped within a glacier.

  “No, thank you. I will be fine.” I fidgeted with the fingers of my black silk gloves.

  “You should try matching more couples,” Jo suggested.

  She meant well, but she couldn’t know how painful it was for me to match people at the moment. Under normal circumstances I didn’t mind it, because matchmaking was the main role I had for my magic. As a seer, the only one in all of England, my magic was considered rare, but because I was a woman it wasn’t taken seriously. It would be unseemly for me to become involved in magician politics, so my abilities went to waste. Thus I sat on the outskirts of gatherings, smiling politely while my head pounded and I wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.

  “Mrs. Black?”

  I looked up to see a gentleman approaching. He looked somewhat familiar. He had short, light ginger hair and soulful green eyes, and was of average height—not as tall as Michael or Simon, but taller than myself, which wasn’t very difficult. It was the exceptionally strong witch’s aura that allowed me to recognize him.

  “Dr. Bennett. How lovely to see you again. Surely you’re not still traveling after all this time?” I asked.

  It had been seven years since I saw him last. He was an American, and when we met he had been touring Europe. We had become acquainted at the same spring ball where I first learned Michael was my soul mate. At the time I was a spinster suddenly faced with the impossibility of loving a man destined to become a chronicler, and Dr. Bennett had offered me the opportunity of becoming an investigator in the service of a guardian he worked with. Though I enjoyed my role as wife and mother, there were times I wondered what might have happened had I taken him up on his offer.

  Dr. Bennett smiled, pushing a pair of gold wire spectacles up the bridge of his nose. I didn’t remember him wearing them at our last meeting. “No, I have relocated to London permanently.”

  “How marvelous. You must come to tea sometime,” I insisted. My sister made a soft, strangled noise, likely scandalized by the idea that I had just invited a bachelor to visit her home. She would come to terms with it. After all, Dr. Bennett had saved Michael’s life once, so I owed him a great deal.

  “I would like that,” he replied. Anxiety rolled from him like the buzzing of a swarm of bees. “Mrs. Black, you offered once to match me. I was wondering if I might impose upon you to do so now?”

  Ah, that was the source of his nervousness. I smiled and nodded. “Of course, I would be happy to. Would you mind stepping into the garden with me? It will be easier to perform the reading there.”

  “Thank you.”

  He offered me his arm, but I politely declined. Though my black silk gloves aided in dampening my abilities, any touch could trigger a vision, and his energy was already too loud. We made our way from the crowded ballroom, and I felt better once we were free of it, though not by much. There was little relief for me within the city.

  “What made you change your mind? About being matched?” I asked.

  “Old age, perhaps,” he replied with a light chuckle.

  The garden was lit by lanterns for the occasion, and I stopped and inhaled the scent of roses in the evening air. I kept roses in my garden, though I had little talent for tending them. My garden was mostly a refuge from Simon, because he seldom ventured out of doors. Despite our best efforts to be civil for Michael’s sake, his mentor and I disliked each other.

  I removed my gloves and set them atop a stone bench. “May I see your hand, please?”

  Dr. Bennett extended his right hand, and I took it, studying his palm. My vision unfocused, and the colors of his aura bloomed like a flower. He was a powerful witch, among the most powerful I had met, which made his profession a logical choice. Witches were healers, and though their auras were usually calm and soothing, there was a great deal of agitation in his.

  “Take a deep breath and clear your thoughts,” I ordered.

  He did as requested, and as the irritation smoothed away I caught a hint of its source. A woman—a specific woman, with lovely blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. A bit like my sisters, who had all inherited golden beauty while I was cursed with dull brown hair and sullen gray eyes, but this woman had a fire about her that my amiable siblings lacked. Spirit. Interesting… Dr. Bennett was very taken with her, and he worried that I would name someone else for him.

  Closing my eyes, I searched through his energy, seeking possible connections to a suitable mate. There was something unique about his aura, a strong link to—

  “Dr. Bennett!” a voice shouted. The connection broke, and I lost track of the energy I had been examining.

  “Here,” he called in reply.

  My senses were still stretched as the man approached, and I caught a wave of dread that caused gooseflesh to prickle across my skin. There were so many magicians in London that I had difficulty keeping track of them all, but I thought I recognized him as a sorcerer of some importance.

  “Dr. Bennett. I’m sorry to interrupt, but Miss Dubois has sent for you. It appears—” He paused and looked at me.

  “Go on. I trust Mrs. Black,” the doctor replied.

  “It appears that there has been another murder. There is a carriage waiting for you.”

  A murder? Another implied more than one as well. How interesting. “Have you identified the victim?�
�� I asked.

  The messenger frowned. “We believe it is Mrs. Clara Harding.”

  Now that was a name I recognized, for I had matched the young woman with her husband, Edward, after my arrival in London last fall. Lord and Lady. My stomach churned—could my misery at being separated from my soul mate have so interfered with my abilities that I matched the girl with her murderer?

  Dr. Bennett nodded. “I will be there shortly.” Dismissed, the sorcerer left, and Dr. Bennett studied me. “Would you be willing to lend your aid, Mrs. Black?”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “You did marvelously well in discovering the murderer after the unfortunate deaths of Miss Morgan and Mr. Gryphon at Lord Willowbrook’s ball. I’m certain your abilities could help in this matter.”

  The mocking voice of fear whispered that I might be responsible. If so, it was my duty to see that her killer was brought to justice. But in addition to being a seer I was also a mother with five small children to look after. I couldn’t go traipsing about the city looking for criminals…could I?

  As though sensing my hesitation, Dr. Bennett stepped forward. He reached for my hand but stopped before touching me, looking sheepish. “My apologies. I don’t wish to pressure you. I’m certain you must have responsibilities to the Order.”

  “The Order?” I repeated, startled.

  He blinked, appearing equally surprised. “I was led to believe that your husband is a member of the Order of St. Jerome. I assumed they must be utilizing your unique abilities.”

  My face heated with a fierce blush. “No, they aren’t. The council decided that it would set an undesirable precedent to allow someone who isn’t a librarian to work with the Order.” It was a rejection that stung my pride. When I married Michael I was certain that I would be allowed to help in their research, but bearing a new generation of librarians was the extent of my use to the Order of St. Jerome.

  “That is ridiculous,” he scoffed, and I silently agreed. “I am certain Miss Dubois would be most grateful for your help with this investigation. Thus far it has proved difficult.”

  It was risky, dangerous and altogether much too appealing to turn down. “Let me inform my sister that I am leaving… Actually, on second thought, perhaps we should send someone else to tell her.”

  I snatched up my gloves and tugged them back on. Afraid of Josephine’s scolding, I avoided the ballroom and collected my wrap, taking the coward’s way out by writing a note stating that I was leaving to aid a guardian, and that Jo and Thomas should not wait for me, for I would go straight home afterward. I asked a servant to deliver it to my sister before I departed, and Dr. Bennett and I were safely away in the carriage before Jo or Thomas could chase us down and demand that I return to my senses. Or to the ballroom, whichever she deemed more proper.

  “How many murders have occurred? I haven’t heard any gossip on the matter,” I said.

  Usually murders were quite the popular topic of conversation, though typically among the men more than the women. Most of the other women had sensibilities too delicate to discuss such a topic in public, but after surviving several years of living under a chronicler’s roof and bearing five children, there was little that could mortify me now.

  Dr. Bennett shifted uncomfortably, though I wasn’t certain whether it was due to the stiffness of the carriage’s seats or the subject matter. “This is the sixth victim we have discovered. Each was a young woman and a different type of magician.”

  “Six victims?” Well, that certainly couldn’t be my fault; though I had matched a great number of couples, surely six husbands could not have all turned on their wives. “And no one has said anything? How is that possible?”

  “Miss Dubois thought it best to keep the situation quiet, due to the potential for political unrest within the city.” I folded my hands, watching him with an expectant expression, and he sighed and continued to explain. “The victims have all been found completely drained of their blood. Not unlike the murders that occurred at Willowbrook Hall, but we have spoken repeatedly with the necromancer council and they are adamant that none of their people are involved.”

  Now it was my turn to shift uncomfortably. If not a necromancer, then the next logical suspect was a chronicler. Thankfully Michael was miles north of the city, under his mentor’s constant supervision as he adjusted to his new thirst for blood. To be fair, it is not blood that master necromancers and chroniclers crave, but rather the magic within it, which sustains their unnatural state. I had donated blood to Simon on occasion, and it was an odd but not unpleasant sensation. But no blood drinker in his right mind would kill to feed, for it was shockingly wasteful. Magicians were not in great enough supply to allow for such a thing.

  “You have spoken with the Scrivener?” I asked. The Scrivener was the chronicler responsible for London, a man so ancient that he made Simon St. Jerome seem like a mewling infant. I had met him once, and it was not an experience I cared to repeat.

  “Yes, and he has been accounted for during the time of each abduction. The victims were abducted from their own homes and were missing for several days before their bodies were discovered, each in a different location in the city.”

  Curious. The killer must be very bold to steal a young woman from her home. “If not a necromancer or chronicler, whom do you suspect? A demon? Or a shapeshifter?”

  “Perhaps. The summoner council and the head of the local canine shapeshifter pack also deny any involvement. I hope that you will be able to identify a clue that Just—ahem—that Miss Dubois and I have not.”

  His face reddened at the slip, and I wondered if Miss Dubois was the golden-haired woman so prominent in his thoughts. If so, I could understand his anxiety, for it must be difficult for a witch to impress a guardian. I knew very little of guardians. As a seer, I am driven by a curiosity that often leads me into mischief, but never so terrible that I’ve caught the attention of a guardian.

  I raised the shade of the window closest to me and peered into the night. The streets were dark and ominous, and the constant contact with the spells that crisscrossed the city irritated me. So many centuries of wards, blessings and powers knew what else piled on top of each other. The spells were a necessary evil, intended to guard magicians from the dangers created by living in such close quarters with the nonmagical majority, but knowing that did not make experiencing that magic less disagreeable. For me, traveling through London was like struggling through webs woven by enormous spiders, and each strand of magic tugged at me and muddled my perceptions. Since my arrival I had suffered from a headache that never went away but only faded into the background at times.

  We passed a building I thought I recognized, and I frowned at Dr. Bennett. “Isn’t that the Undiscovered Country, the necromancer’s club?”

  “It is, yes. How did you know that?” he asked.

  “My sister’s husband commented on it as we drove by one afternoon.” Though of course that begged the question of how Thomas knew that, but neither Josephine nor I had asked.

  The carriage stopped at the corner on the same street as the club, and we looked at each other in surprise. It certainly seemed suspicious that the body should be found so near to a necromancer establishment. The door opened, and Dr. Bennett helped me down. A gentleman I didn’t recognize waited for us, and from the unpleasant energy that emanated from him I guessed that he must be an apprentice necromancer—still living, but no less evil than a master. Unlike chroniclers, who sought immortality to record and preserve magician history, necromancers had no purpose. They were magicians who were afraid to die because a terrible fate awaited them in the afterlife.

  “Dr. Bennett, you are expected. Your companion is?”

  “This is Mrs. Emily Black, a seer. She is going to assist in the investigation,” he explained.

  The necromancer sneered down at me, as often happens when the nature of my magic is announced. “The Order of St. Jerome is not welcome here.”

  I made a great show of looking about m
e as though expecting to find someone else the target of his disdain. “I see no member of the Order here.”

  “It is well known that your husband has recently become a chronicler,” the necromancer said.

  “And he is not here. The Order has made it quite clear that I am not allowed among their ranks. You may ask them yourself to confirm it, if you like.” I let my vision shift for a moment, examining the greasy black and sickly green of his aura. His energy was an oozing bruise, weak and anemic. “Though I doubt that someone of your standing would be allowed to speak with a council of any sort.”

  He gasped, clearly offended, and Dr. Bennett coughed. “If you would be so kind as to take us to Miss Dubois. She is expecting us.”

  The necromancer glared at him but reluctantly turned and led us away.

  Dr. Bennett offered his arm, and this time I took it, wanting to present a unified front in case we encountered more disapproving necromancers. They were such disagreeable creatures.

  We turned just before reaching the Undiscovered Country and walked down a darkened alley beside the building. The energy that emanated from the club made me nauseous, as though I could smell the rancidness of the magic within. I took solace in the strong healing energy of Dr. Bennett’s aura, so much so that my headache momentarily lifted for the first time in months. That relief alone made it worth the risk of coming into contact with him, but it was short-lived. We stepped into a small circle of light cast by two men holding lanterns, likely also necromancers judging by the severity of their frowns, and as we approached a woman in a light pink gown holding a folded matching parasol, I became sharply aware of two things. First, that poor Dr. Bennett was madly in love with Miss Justine Dubois, and second, that she was oblivious to how he felt.

  Well. I would just have to do something about that, wouldn’t I?

  “Doctor, you are late,” she scolded without looking up.

  From her accent I gathered that she was also an American. I supposed that accompanying Miss Dubois was the motivation for his relocation to London from New York, for I knew that there was a new guardian in the area, but I had not yet heard the details of who or why. Miss Dubois’s focus was upon the naked corpse at her feet, the limp form of Mrs. Clara Harding, whose exposed flesh was pale as new-fallen snow. I had grown used to bloodless complexions thanks to Simon, but the victim would have made him look the positive picture of blushing health. Someone had draped a long crimson coat over the body, and the color was lurid against her skin.