London, September 29, 1889
LADIES’ COLLEGE OF LONDON

7:35 p.m. Sunday

TWO DAYS OF SLEEPING, EATING, AND SLEEPING AGAIN HAD done much to restore Nick’s energy. It was a good thing, because the Ladies’ College of London was about as easy to access as the average cloistered nunnery. Not that Nick was in the habit of accosting nuns—it was bad enough being a pirate without diving for obvious clichés. Still, dusk found Nick on the outside looking in—a familiar vantage point for an orphan who never had actually acquired a last name.

The buildings—and hence his Evie—were guarded by a high wall topped in nasty spikes. The gate was something out of a Gothic prison, and some enterprising gardener had removed every bit of vegetation that might have provided access over the wall. If he wanted in, he was going to have to prove his resourcefulness.

Fortunately, this was the sort of thing he was good at. He began a tour of the perimeter, looking for suitable drains to climb. Something underground might have done, too, but one never liked to burst in on the love of one’s life smelling of sewers. After all, he had gone to the bother of borrowing some of the Schoolmaster’s smart clothes. In fact, he hadn’t been allowed out the door until he was inspected and deemed to be in a fit state for wooing. For all his air of mystery and action, Edmond Baskerville had a sentimental streak.

Nick had stopped to inspect a likely looking downspout when a large raven landed at his feet. The size of the black bird was startling enough. The fact that it was wearing a tiny steel helmet had Nick blinking in surprise. He hadn’t expected to see his old ally here.

Greetings, Captain Niccolo. You have long been in a place none of the ash rooks dared to fly.

“Fair winds, Gwilliam, Lord Rook.” Nick used the bird’s formal title. “It has been too long.”

The creature spread his impressive wings—larger than the common raven’s—and bowed his head. The seed-pickers and eaters of worms sent word of your flight from the pit of fire. We dared not believe it was true.

“There is a proverb among the ash rooks that those who cannot soar gather more facts.”

If what they saw is not pushed aside by the sight of a tasty bug. The bird cawed at his own joke. Sparrows are not the most reliable spies. Do you return to the clouds, Captain Niccolo? You fell like rain the night the flying ship burned. Some of my flock still cannot abide the sight of flame. We did not all fly home to roost that night.

“The ash rooks fought bravely, as always. I mourn for the loss of your comrades.”

We are sorry that we could not do more to help.

“I had Athena with me. I was safe enough.” Even trapped inside a cube of steel, the deva had the power of flight—enough for two.

You buried her spirit in the cold ground.

“I hid her from the soldiers that took me. I did my best to protect her.”

So the seed-pickers say. We honor your intent, if not your methods. Air devas do not belong beneath the soil.

What else could I have done? Annoyance shot through him, confounding his tongue as he searched for a particularly blistering reply. But he never had the chance to make one.

Gwilliam launched himself from the ground with an enormous flap.

“Where is she?” Nick cried. “I can’t remember where I was!”

But the bird thundered through the air until he was sailing high above. He drifted over the wall with a rattling croak, and was gone.

“Fine,” Nick muttered, backing up enough that he could see the section of wall where the ash rook had disappeared. It had, in fact, lost a few of its spikes. At least the bird had shown him a way over. Nick braced himself, rubbing his hands together to limber his fingers. Here was his way in.

Nick got over the wall, across the grounds, and found the building where—according to the Schoolmaster’s notes—Evelina slept. He circled around the outside, waiting for someone to come or go so he could slip through the door behind them. When that didn’t happen, he pulled out a set of lock picks he’d taken from the Schoolmaster’s rooms and forced the issue.

His Blood gave him a talent for gliding unnoticed through rooms. He made good use of it, ghosting through the halls until he caught the whiff of Evelina’s magic. It was a warm, familiar scent drawing him home—and reminding him of the days, and nights, they’d last spent together, tangled in the bed of a Whitechapel brothel. Not the setting he would have chosen for their first such interlude, but now he would ever have a sentimental fondness for Miss Hyacinth’s establishment. He paused outside the door, forcing his mind away from that memory and to something far less disruptive to his concentration.

He knocked softly, fingering the lock picks in one hand. The dark-paneled walls of the college pressed down on him, disapproving. The very air of the place reminded him that he was no gentleman. The only way he would have set foot on school grounds was as the gardener’s boy. What right did he have to be there?

I have every right. She and I have been inseparable since we were children. But that wasn’t true, was it? She’d left the circus to become a lady. Well, I’ve loved her longer than anyone else. And there was no reason for them to be apart ever again. Nick braced his feet a little more squarely and knocked again, refusing to be cowed.

This time the door opened, and Evelina’s heart-shaped face appeared. She looked pale, her eyes circled by lack of sleep. She stared at Nick a long moment, her lips parted. Then her hands flew to cover her mouth as if stricken. Nick’s chest tightened at her look of obvious shock. Then she fell back a few steps, eyes welling.

This isn’t how it should go. She should be happy. He pushed into the room.

“Evie, I’m sorry,” he said. “I said I’d come back but …”

“You’re dead!” The lift of her voice made it a question—or so he thought; the words were almost too muffled by her hands to make out.

He strode forward, taking her wrists and pulling her to him. “Not quite.” In fact, he wanted to prove exactly how alive he was. “Just a bit late. I never was good with dates.”

She made a noise like an angry cat. “Late? You left last November!”

Tears trembled in her eyes until one at last escaped over the curve of her cheek. Her mouth, always so full and soft, quirked up and down in turns as if she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or break his nose. Nick’s chest melted in a warm ache. “Sorry.”

She felt slight, almost weightless, or maybe that was the strange euphoria filling his brain. He knew her scent, the way her hair curled around the shell of her ears. He knew the way the white flesh of her throat dipped above her collarbone, leaving a hollow that begged to be kissed.

“Bother you, anyway.” She pulled her hands away, rushing to the door and closing it. The lock clicked with authority, and she put her palms to the door, as if reinforcing the barrier against the rest of the world. Her shoulders began to shake, and then she sucked in a long, ragged breath. “My heart broke for you, Niccolo. What happened?”

Happiness and regret wrenched hard. Nick inhaled, but there were no words for this. He took her in his arms, turning her around so that she could bury her face in his shoulder. She collapsed against him, nearly boneless.

By the Black Mother. His own eyes stung, and he clenched his teeth hard to hold in the wave of misery he’d banished ever since his ship had crumpled to the earth. There would be time for him to grieve later, when everyone he loved was safe.

“But the Red Jack went down,” she whispered.

“It did. I made it, though. I’m not sure who else.”

She pushed away just enough to look up. Her face was wet, glistening in the gaslight. “I prayed I would die, too.”

Nick folded her tight again and kissed the top of her head, at once weary and thoroughly filled with life. He was aware of coming to a resting point, like an arrow finally finding its mark. Waiting for this moment was why he had survived.

“Where were you all this time?” she asked.

In hell, away from this. “In the Scarlet King’s prison. I escaped.”

Her face turned up again, blue eyes wide as a child’s. “How?”

“Let’s not talk about it now.” He’d already given a recital to the Schoolmaster, and one journey through that ugliness was enough. He wanted to keep this moment clean in his memory. “What about you?”

“Me?” She sounded almost nervous.

Nick eyed the closed door, feeling a twinge of claustrophobia. At least he was on the right side of the locks this time. “What’s this I hear about Jasper Keating? I thought we’d got him out of your life.”

“Forget him,” she brushed her lips against his. “I don’t want to talk at all.”

He was fine with that, at least for that moment. He dipped his head, catching her mouth with his. She still tasted wild, filled with the rough sweetness of roadside berries—this time salted with tears. The intoxicating softness of her lips pulled him in, melting the anger that had crusted around him after so many months of captivity. She filled him like water finding a desert creek bed.

Instantly, he was little more than primal instinct. He ran his hands down the arch of her spine, feeling the delicate wings of her shoulder blades beneath his palms. Something about her seemed more fragile than he remembered, and a protective heat snagged his breath. As if she felt his emotion, she pulled away enough to wrap her fingers around his and put those petal-soft lips to his fingertips.

And then his power rose, responding to hers. A silver light formed between them, a bright fur of power gloving their hands where skin met skin. He barely had the will to hold his magic back, keeping the leash of it tight—because when their wild magic rose, things could get unpredictable. There was only one way to contain it, and they weren’t there quite yet.

And yet he couldn’t keep his free hand still. He felt himself growing unpredictable as he traced the round buttons leading up to the prim collar of her gown. Knowing what lay beneath was sheer torture, and after so long without even the sight of a woman, he was about ready to chew those plump little buttons right off. “Evie,” he murmured, burying rationality and wondering where the bed was.

“You never did know how to move slowly,” she teased, winding her arms around his neck.

“I’ll send flowers next time.” His gaze searched hers, looking for the invitation to take the next step. But instead of desire in her dark blue eyes, he found fear. His heart all but stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re going to want me to go with you,” she said.

“You’re damned right,” he said without thinking. It was what they’d promised one another that last night together, tangled in the warm sheets and lost in the novelty of being safe and sure. “I’m going to live up to that promise.”

But this time when he took her arm, he felt something odd. His eyes traveled down to where his hand met hers. Beneath the lace cuff of her long sleeve was a band of silver. It was giving off a peculiar trickle of magic. He hadn’t felt it before this moment, but that might have been due to the first shock of their reunion having passed. “What is that?”

She held up her other arm and he saw there was one on that wrist, too. “I’m a prisoner here. Jasper Keating knows what I am, and he intends to use me to do whatever skullduggery requires my magical expertise.”

Nick dropped her arm from sheer surprise. Even the idea of Evie back in Keating’s claws suffocated him—and that had been bad enough before the Gold King knew what she could do. Now she was in unspeakable danger at every tick of the clock, just waiting for Keating’s whim to result in imprisonment and—if she was lucky—death. “How the blazes did he find out about your Blood?”

Her expression was unreadable. “I made a deal. He could have me if he withdrew the order to destroy the Red Jack.” Then she turned away.

Nick fell into a chair, his limbs went utterly numb. She’s here because of me? “Black Mother of Basilisks, Evie, why?”

“I love you,” she said simply.

Damnation. Guilt choked him. He’d wanted those words to come so many times, so many ways, but not like this. He put his head in his hands, black despair warring with an ingrained need to make her safe. Is this what loving him got her? “So we break you out.”

“If I cross the boundary of the college, the bracelets let the Yellowbacks know where I am. Plus, they hurt like blazes if I even get close to the wall. I’ve tried cutting them, and I’ve tried acid. I can’t even smudge their shine. Tobias has a key that deactivates them for twelve hours, but not one that will take them off.”

Nick lifted his head, his stomach going sour. This was getting worse and worse. What was the Golden Boy doing in the picture? “Tobias Roth?”

Her face twisted. “Keating made him my jailor.”

Bloody hell. Nick leapt to his feet. “I’m going to kill him.”

“It’s not his fault! He doesn’t want it any more than I do.”

Evelina pushed him back into the chair and leaned over him, putting her hand on his knee. The silver bracelet gleamed softly through the shroud of lace like a veiled accusation. “I want to go. I want to get out, but it’s not going to be simple. I have to trick Keating into letting me go.”

“How?” A haze of rage filled Nick. He’d expected to grab her and run, barely stopping to pack. But that wasn’t going to happen now. He’d escaped his prison, but as long as Evie was trapped, he hadn’t escaped the steam barons’ chains.

She ducked, turning her face aside. “I’ll find a way. Keating’s starting to trust me enough to let me outside the walls.”

“When?” Nick rose, making her fall back a step. When she didn’t answer right away, he grew cold inside, as if he were slowly leaking life while she hesitated. “What’s going on, Evie?”

Her eyes darted away from his. “When he wants to use me to track down people like us. Magic users.”

“He what?”

She read his face, her own going pale with concern. “Don’t doubt me, Nick. I won’t be his bloodhound. I’ll go through the motions, but I won’t take the scent.”

“And if you’re out, can you get away?”

She put her hands on his chest and looked up into his face, her breath soft against his skin. “I haven’t figured that part out yet, but with the bracelets turned off, I have a lot more power. Maybe more than I want.”

Nick frowned, sensing a new obstacle in his path. “What do you mean?”

“There were things Magnus showed me. Doors I opened that I can’t quite shut.” Her face tightened. “You said yourself that I was tempted by dark power. Maybe keeping me on a leash is the wisest course.”

“You’re not Keating’s dog.”

She looked up, her eyes wide with distress. “I frightened myself. Nick, you don’t know what it’s like.”

He’d been an acrobat and a pirate. He had a pretty good idea. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story. I had to fight …” She trailed off, visibly recoiling from the memory. “It was something very strong. Something evil. There was a roomful of people and I had to act.”

“By the Dark Mother, Evie!” He smoothed his hands down her arms in a gesture of comfort. He was going to get the whole story out of her, but for now she had to tell it in her own way.

She raised a hand, as if to fend off something he couldn’t see. “The power rose like some beast, and it was hungry—stronger and more ferocious than I remembered it. And it was …” She looked away. “It was satisfying. That’s what scared me. It was even worse than when I was in Whitechapel.”

Nick swallowed, the chill in his blood deepening to ice. He knew she had accessed a dark power he barely understood. The line between his kind of magic and a sorcerer’s like Magnus was like a thin but very deep crevasse, and she’d stepped over it more than once. But fear—his or hers—wasn’t going to help her now.

He returned to the practical problem of her escape. “Keating isn’t going to keep you safe from anything, least of all yourself.”

Her brows drew together. “And you will?”

And then he understood just how scared she was. Evie was strong, but she had been lost among enemies too often. Now—since this fight she spoke of—she saw her own powers as one of them. He had to remind her that she wasn’t alone. “Do you actually feel the need to ask if I’ll watch your back? After all we’ve been through?”

Her eyes were guarded, but he took her hands in his and kissed them each in turn. That made her lips curve into a sweet, wicked bow. “Just my back?”

He grasped her slender waist, pulling her close. “I could be convinced to patrol the other boundaries …”

She slid her arms around his neck. She was still tense, the lines of her body saying how deep her anxiety ran, and how much she was counting on him to set her free of it. “Show me exactly what you mean, Captain Niccolo.”

This was what he had been waiting for. “My lady.” He swept her up in his arms, the wealth of her skirts spilling over his arm like a graceful waterfall. And then he kissed her, drinking in the warm, sweet essence of her lips.

He found the bedchamber more by instinct than by any conscious intent, and set her down as gently as if she were made of spun glass. And that was the limit of his patience. He’d shed his jacket and shoes before Evelina had caught her breath. He stood over the narrow bed, regarding her with anticipation both reverent and filled with shameless greed.

“At the moment, you rather look like a pirate,” she said, her voice suddenly shy.

“And yet if I say something about pillaging, I’ll sail into turbulence for certain.” He slid onto the bed, remembering how much he wanted to undo all those buttons. How long had it been since he’d touched anything so fine?

“I think you almost have a carte blanche at the moment,” she whispered as his fingers remembered the art of a lady’s garments.

She reached up, her warm, soft hand cupping his face as she kissed him. Then her hands were in his hair, holding him as she took her fill. “The best thing about plundering you is getting plundered in return,” he murmured.

He brushed the silk of her throat and almost heard the threads of his self-control snap. He pressed his mouth to the curve where her collarbone flared, and the scent of her skin set him on fire. And yet Nick took his time, making a ritual of removing every article of her dress, appreciating each revelation as it came. If he rushed, he might miss the curl of hair that lay just below her ear, or the way her shoulder sloped when she leaned against the pillow as he tasted her breast.

But as he progressed, her urgency grew. And all at once, her hands were busy, too, helping him unwrap her layer by layer, the satin and lace and steel that was as much a metaphor for Evelina’s character as it was the fabric of her clothes.

And then his own shirt disappeared and she was caressing him, hot and needy. He felt the scrape of her nails and teeth, and they thrilled him like the brush of a strong wind. She was all contrasts, soft flesh and sleek bone, sweet perfume and the earthy musk of her desire.

And where they touched, there was the silver fire, binding them closer than any vow. Lights began to wink to life in the corners of the room, blue, and green, and red, as if all the colored gaslights in London had shrunk to bright pinpoints and swirled about the room.

“Devas!” Evelina gasped, but Nick had gone to a place beyond language. The spirits always came when they raised the silver fire, and if they didn’t get their fill they would tear the room to pieces. The phenomenon had kept him apart from Evie for years, until they’d figured out what they wanted—which was basically a whole lot more than just two scions of the Blood holding hands. But now he aimed to keep the wild magic flowing until the little beggars exploded.

He had tonight to make sure she remembered they belonged to each other, as no magic on earth was going to tell them what tomorrow would bring.