Alec woke to a landscape of white. Snow had fallen during the night. Across the street in Green Park, children in bright mittens and scarves screamed and waged war with each other. He splashed his face in a basin, then went downstairs and let the cat inside. She arched against his leg.
This particular cat never made a sound, unless she was hissing at one of the neighboring bulldogs. She didn’t believe in mewling for her food like other cats. But the significant look she cast at the hall leading to the kitchen indicated that Alec should fetch her something as she had been out in the cold all night.
He obeyed, thinking he might make himself a pot of tea. He still felt strange asking Quimby to carry out such simple tasks. Alec wasn’t used to having servants. He preferred to do for himself, even though he knew Quimby found it a bit scandalous that Alec refused a valet to dress him. Apparently, it simply wasn’t proper that an English gentleman should button his own trousers.
But Alec wasn’t a gentleman, and he wasn’t English, and he wouldn’t put up with it.
The grandfather clock in the hall issued ten chimes. Quimby was usually polishing the silver in the formal dining room around this time. He’ll never know I snuck behind his back….
Alec heard voices as he approached the kitchen, which lay at the rear of the house. One belonged to the cook, a sweet woman of middle age who lived in Camden Town. The other was deeper, a rich, silky baritone. There was a moment of silence, then mad giggles from the cook.
Alec pushed open the door. Mrs. Abernathy was kneading dough on the counter, her plump arms floured to the elbows. Seated with his long, booted legs sprawled beneath the well-worn wooden table, the Marquess of Abergavenny, Viscount of Nevill and master of Eridge Castle spooned jam into his mouth with boyish glee. He had dark blonde hair and eyes so electrically blue they were almost unsettling to look at.
He spun in his chair as Alec entered, the smile dying on his lips.
“Where’s my wife, you cad?” he demanded stonily.
The cook stopped kneading, looking between them uncertainly. Alec blinked. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The Marquess roared with laughter. He bounded to his feet and seized Alec in a bear hug. Nathaniel Cumberland had the broad shoulders of a boxer and Alec found himself enveloped in damp wool that smelled of wood smoke and horses.
“By God, Alec, does everyone sleep all day around here? I’ve been up since five-thirty, and waiting for you to come down since seven.” He returned to the jam, pulling out a chair for Alec. “Since you won’t visit for Christmas, I had to take a trip to London.” He waggled his thick eyebrows. “Viv’s letter piqued my curiosity.”
“Hold on, Nathaniel. I have to feed the cat.”
Alec found a bit of ground meat in the icebox and put it in a bowl. He set it next to the table. A black streak arrived on silent paws, pushed it around for a minute, then began to eat.
“How about a big bang-up breakfast, Mrs. Abernathy?” Nathaniel said, flashing his trademark lopsided grin. “Eggs, toast, bacon, kippers, the whole lot? I’m starving.”
The cook brightened. Vivienne existed on coffee in the mornings, and Alec never asked Mrs. Abernathy to make anything at all. If he was hungry, he usually bought a hot pie on the way to wherever he was going.
“A ‘course, my lord.” She made a shooing motion. “But you mustn’t hang about in here. I’ll ring Mr. Quimby when it’s ready.”
Even Alec knew most cooks wouldn’t talk to a marquess that way, but most marquesses weren’t Nathaniel Cumberland.
“Splendid!” Nathaniel gave the spoon a last lick. “How I’ve missed your strawberry jam, Mrs. Abernathy. Nectar of the gods.”
The cook blushed and waved her rolling pin at them.
They passed Claudine on the way to the conservatory. She gave a curtsy when she saw Lord Cumberland, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground despite his warm greeting. Vivienne refused to talk about Claudine’s past, but Alec could guess some of it. It was clear she feared men. She probably had good reason.
“I’ll tell Lady Cumberland milord is here,” Claudine whispered.
“Tell her she’ll miss breakfast if she doesn’t rouse herself,” Nathaniel said with a laugh. “Party last night?” he asked Alec with a knowing wink when Claudine had gone upstairs.
“Not exactly.”
Alec wasn’t sure how much he should say. He was still adjusting to this surprise visit. Nathaniel knew about ghouls, of course, and the S.P.R. But he didn’t know Alec wasn’t human, or any of the rest. He seemed to think they hunted the undead for the fun of it, which, to Nathaniel, made perfect sense.
“Don’t hold back on me, Alec. You’ve got that look. The one you wear when you’re trying to decide which lie to tell.”
“Unfair. I’ve never lied to you.” Which was true, mostly.
“Another ghoul at the palace?” Nathaniel asked with unseemly hopefulness. “That poor woman.”
“Worse.”
“Worse?” The marquess rubbed his hands together. “How perfectly awful. Let’s hear all about it.”
Nathaniel stretched out on one of the extra-long couches, hands interlaced behind his head, while Alec produced a version of events over the last five days that omitted how badly he’d been hurt on the tower and a few other minor details. He laughed long and hard when Alec described his luncheon with Lady Frances Hake-Dibbler.
“Just be grateful your thigh is the only thing she squeezed,” he confided. “I was at a weekend party once in Hampshire—”
“We all know that story,” Vivienne interrupted. “And frankly, you got off easy. I had to put up with that horrible bore, the Duke of Lancaster. I don’t think the man ever brushes his teeth.”
Nathaniel unfurled himself from the couch in one serpentine movement.
“My darling,” he breathed, drawing her close. “My ravishing angel. How I’ve pined for you these long—”
Vivienne chucked him under the chin. “I’ve missed you too,” she said. “Breakfast is ready.”
“Capital!” Nathaniel dropped her like a hot potato and bee-lined for the dining room.
“What did you tell him?” she whispered as Alec came to her side and they followed the marquess.
“Most of it. He pried it out of me.”
Vivienne rolled her eyes. “You just can’t resist his charms. It’s pathetic.”
Alec gave her a wounded look. “Nathaniel can keep a secret. He always has.”
“I know.” She cast a fond glance down the hall. “I would have told him myself anyway.”
The dining table was ridiculously long. They gathered at one end, Nathaniel at the head, Alec and Vivienne on his right and left hand, respectively. Quimby poured coffee all around and retreated to the sideboard. His face rarely altered in expression, but there was an added spring to his step. Alec wasn’t the only one who had difficulty resisting Nathaniel’s charms.
“So how’s life at Castle Blood?” Vivienne asked, reaching for a piece of bacon.
“Oh, you know,” he said airily. “Ghosts in the dungeons, icy drafts that arrive just as one steps out of the bathtub. It’s like a Collins novel. You ought to visit more often.” Lord Cumberland looked at Alec as he said this last part, sapphire eyes alight with mischief. “I promise you won’t find it dull.”
Alec grinned into his kippers.
“Now, let’s hear about your new case, Vivienne.” He buttered a piece of toast. “A daemon, eh? Sounds nasty.”
“It is.” She poked at her scrambled eggs, pushing them about on the plate. “We’ve no leads to go on. Nothing to do but wait for him to strike again.”
Nathaniel laid his knife down. “Haven’t you read the papers?”
“Oh God.” Vivienne sat stock still. “Don’t tell me there’s been some grisly killing.”
“Nothing like that. But you say this creature has a connection with Claudius Ptolemy?”
“What do you know, Nathaniel? Out with it.”
“Well, there’s a new museum exhibit opening in New York. Some American chap apparently found his tomb in Alexandria. It’s getting quite a bit of international press.” He shrugged. “Could be a coincidence, I suppose.”
“Or not,” Alec said. “Mr. Quimby? Would you bring in today’s Times?”
“Of course, sir.”
A minute later, he was scanning a brief article on page four. Alec felt a surge of excitement.
“It’s not opening until after the New Year, but there’s a gala planned for December 23,” he said. “The article doesn’t list the items found, but what if there’s a connection?”
“Dr. Clarence’s body was found in the Mersey River,” Vivienne said. “That’s near Liverpool.”
“The point of departure for transatlantic steam ships.”
“From what you told me, New York is this creature’s old hunting grounds,” Nathaniel put in. “Perhaps it’s going home.”
They were all silent for a moment.
“I’d like to speak with Harrison Fearing Pell,” Vivienne said. “She might know more than she included in her report.”
“And what if we’re wrong?” Alec asked. “What if it strikes in London while we’re in the middle of the Atlantic?”
“Then Cassandane will come down. She’s more than capable, as you well know.”
And that seemed to settle the matter.
The rest of the day was a flurry of packing and telegrams to Henry Sidgwick, D.I. Blackwood, and Cyrus and Cassandane, informing them of the latest developments. It seemed their luck had finally turned. A ship was sailing for New York on the following day. At first the agent claimed it was fully booked, but Nathaniel managed to pull some strings and secured them a first-class cabin.
That evening, when Lord and Lady Cumberland decided to go out to dinner at Claridge’s and scandalize polite society, Alec locked himself in his laboratory with paper and pen. He felt a foolish urge to write Catherine a letter explaining his sudden departure and that he didn’t know when he’d be back, but she oughtn’t worry. Foolish because she probably wasn’t thinking about him at all, and what they had should have been more than enough.
He could never tell her the truth: that Mr. Lawrence from St. Kitts belonged to another race of beings entirely. That she would grow old and die while he stayed the same. Alec had been down that path before and it always ended badly. It was why he paid for female company. Much better to keeps things businesslike.
Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about Catherine de Mornay. Not just her smooth skin and lush hips, but the light in her eyes when she looked at him. Her rich, unrestrained laughter.
Christ, Alec, don’t borrow trouble. You’ve got enough already.
In the end, after a dozen crumpled attempts lay scattered at his feet, he simply sent her the last verse of Love and Sleep. Unsigned, but she knew his handwriting.
And all her face was honey to my mouth,
And all her body pasture to my eyes;
The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire,
The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south,
The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs
And glittering eyelids of my soul's desire.
Friday, December 21
The Etruria waited at anchor in the Port of Liverpool, her two great funnels belching smoke. The lower furnaces had been lit the previous night and the top fires were burning hot since six that morning as she needed to run a full head of steam at least an hour ahead of departure.
The Etruria was only three years old and fitted with a new single-screw propulsion system that made her the jewel of the Cunard fleet. She’d set a speed record for the Atlantic crossing earlier that year: six days, one hour, fifty-five minutes. With any luck, the ship would arrive well before the Egyptian exhibit opened at the American Museum of Natural History.
Their first-class stateroom on the Saloon Deck was appointed with every luxury, but Vivienne wasn’t looking forward to the trip. Not only was she impatient to get to New York, but Alec had annoyingly forbade her from smoking in their shared suite.
A porter took charge of their luggage on the dock. Now they stood on the forward deck as the great ship prepared to set sail. Crowds lined the pier, blowing kisses and waving white handkerchiefs at the departing passengers. The whole scene had an air of suppressed excitement, except for the crewmen, who’d made the crossing many times and moved efficiently about their duties. Windlasses spun, winches cranked. The white-haired captain conferred with a representative of the company on the bridge.
“Watch the man from Cunard,” Alec said, checking his pocket watch. “Any moment now….”
The pair shook hands. The man disembarked with a brief salute, and the captain gave a quiet order to the first officer. It was quickly relayed through the chain of command. The capstan began to noisily haul the massive anchor chain back home. Vivienne drew a deep breath of cold salt air. Seagulls wheeled over the bow.
The Etruria swung free of her mooring and the great engines thrummed to life. A long blast from the whistle claimed right of way in the channel, which was crowded with sailboats and cargo vessels. The schooner-rigged pilot ship guided them to the harbor mouth. And then nothing lay ahead but open ocean for more than three thousand miles.
“Let’s go inside,” Vivienne said, turning away from the rail. “I’ll never get a cigarette lit in this wind.”
Alec laughed. His skin glowed with raw vitality. Air had always been his strongest element. She suspected he’d missed standing under the wide sky, surrounded by nature rather than throngs of people and buildings. It was another difference between them. She preferred cities, but Alec loved the wild places.
“Is that really such a bad thing?”
“Yes.”
“You’re addicted.”
“Don’t be an ass.” She took his arm. “I know your leg hurts. Come rest it for a bit.”
They went to one of the lounges and found a quiet table with large windows overlooking the Upper Deck. A waiter in an elegantly cut jacket brought coffee and a plate of deviled eggs.
“I was thinking, Vivienne. If Claudius Ptolemy knew enough to map the Greater Gates, if he knew about the Dominion, there could be talismans in the collection.”
She nodded. “I think he understood all too well how dangerous those pages were. He made only one set and they were lost for more than a millennium.”
“Until that duke’s grandson found them and they went up for auction.”
“So our daemon somehow learns about it….”
“They’re here could have been referring to the map pages.”
“It snaps him out of his hibernation at the asylum.” She tapped a cigarette on the table but didn’t light it. Addicted? Ridiculous.
“So Clarence escapes and tracks them down. It all fits so far.” Alec frowned. “And how does he know about the museum exhibit in New York?”
“The same way we did.”
“The newspapers?”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “All right. The point is, the maps alone are no use to him. Not without a talisman of opening for the Gates.”
“Which is why he’s going to New York.”
Their waiter finally noticed Lady Cumberland fiddling with her cigarette and hurried over to light it.
“Thank you.” Vivienne took a long, satisfying drag.
“Can we expect full cooperation from the American S.P.R.?” Alec asked.
“Sidgwick says yes. He’ll send a cable warning them that something might be coming their way.”
The tinkling notes of a piano served as counterpoint to the muted conversation at other tables. Cunard had spared no expense to create the illusion they were in a fashionable hotel. The décor was modeled after a late-Renaissance Italian palazzo, with gorgeously carved oak paneling and a domed skylight depicting the signs of the zodiac. Without the faint pitching of the deck, Vivienne would never have known she was floating atop a thousand fathoms of frigid water.
“How much do they know about us?” Alec asked.
“Enough.”
“That I’m a daēva?”
“Yes, but only the senior officers.”
“Who are…?”
“Their president is a man named Benedict Wakefield. He’s some sort of wealthy financier. But the ones who manage day-to-day operations are the two vice presidents, Harland Kaylock and Orpha Winter. I’ve heard they can’t stand each other.”
“Well, that’s promising,” he said testily.
Vivienne knew Alec didn’t like people knowing what he was. Humans feared any power they didn’t share. The truth had been erased from history books, but Alec remembered. As a child, he’d been taught by the magi in Karnopolis to believe he was a demon himself. Impure. Druj.
“Do you trust them?” he asked.
“I haven’t met them, so no. Sidgwick does. Frankly, I’m more interested in meeting Harrison Fearing Pell and John Weston.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “This daemon we’re chasing, it was inside Leland Brady for at least a week. He was her client, Alec. I’d say she knows it better than anyone.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“You mean it might go after her?”
Alec didn’t answer right away. He stared out to sea, eyes fixed on the flat horizon. “There’s a storm coming, Viv. I can smell it. And we need to be in New York when it breaks.”