A Distant Magic (29 page)

The crowd applauded as the new MP moved forward to speak. Trent was a sleek, heavyset man, expensively dressed and reeking with self-satisfaction. Evil in its most respectable form.

Nikolai's attention sharpened when he saw a lean African a few steps behind Trent. He had ebony skin, military bearing, and a sharp gaze that roamed over the market square. Beside him, Jean gasped,
"The African is a mage! Look at his energy field."

Nikolai adjusted his vision, and suddenly the African flared with dark pulses that mirrored the city's dark light. Did the mage create that energy, or feed from it?

"Adia mentioned that Trent always had a dangerous-looking African
with him, a man named Kondo. He beat other slaves and helped in the slave
catching. This could well be Kondo. Since he's a mage, I wonder if he helped in
Trent's victory?"

"Very likely. After all, he was willing to brutalize his own people in return for special privileges." Nikolai had known such men. They were particularly hated by the slaves they terrorized. He probed at the African, wanting to learn more. Kondo was from East Africa, it appeared, and Trent had taken him into his crew even before the slave ship had reached the Indies. Trent had recognized a kindred evil spirit, perhaps.

He probed deeper, trying to get a sense of the man's nature—then staggered back under a shattering blast of power. He would have fallen if Jean hadn't grabbed his arm.

"What's wrong?" she gasped.

"Not…sure." It was difficult to form words. He felt that he was suffocating in foul-smelling black tar.

She pulled him into the alley and pressed him against a brick wall. Just around the corner, hoarse voices were shouting approval of the new Member of Parliament, but in the alley there was privacy and calm. The dark energy began to leech away, leaving him weak and shaken.
"Are you doing something?" he managed to say.

"Shielding you. Protection and shielding are what I do best. It saved us after Culloden." She spread her right hand across the center of his chest with firm pressure. The darkness retreated farther.

He managed to say, "You have become more adept at using your
magic."

She smiled wryly. "I've always been good in times of disaster, and
you, Master Gregorio, are currently a disaster. Are you strong enough to walk?"

He collected himself and tried to step away from the supportive wall. His heart hammered like drums, and he almost fell again. Jean pushed him back against the bricks. He drew a long, ragged breath.
"Apparently not."

"Whatever struck you drained away most of your energy, and it will
take time for that to return. I wonder..."

Her arms went around his chest and she tilted her face up into a searing kiss. It had been—thirty years?—since they had kissed like this, and he tumbled headlong into the passion they had so carefully banked. Her slim body was pressed full length into his, and he was profoundly aware of rich femaleness hidden beneath corsets and petticoats.

"Jean…" He breathed, his hands running down her back to cup her beautifully rounded backside.
"Why have we been waiting?"

Flushed and laughing, she pulled from his embrace. "We can discuss
this later. If you're recovered, let us return to our inn."

Most of his strength had returned, he realized. He felt as if he'd just arisen from a fever bed—tired but whole again.
"I want to look at Trent and Kondo before we leave."

"That would
not
be wise," she said firmly.

He allowed her to take his arm and steer them away from the market square.
"What happened in the square? I've never felt anything like that, even during
initiation."

"I have a theory. That we can also discuss later." She tucked her arm in his, sending quiet strength as she did.
"Liverpool is turning out to be most interesting."

Chapter
THIRTY-ONE

L
uckily it was less than a mile to their inn. Jean made a swift transaction with their landlord for a bottle of brandy on their way up to their rooms. When they were safely behind locked doors, she gave Nikolai a straight shot of the brandy and mixed a watered drink for herself.

The jolt of the brandy burned away the last of his scrambled wits.
"Your theory about what happened?"

She curled up in a chair opposite his, turning her glass restlessly between her palms.
"Remember Lord Falconer saying that passionately held beliefs can create a kind of spirit that is an expression of people's emotions?" When he nodded, she continued,
"That pro-slavery energy hovers over Liverpool like a poisoned cloud. You are
particularly aware of it, perhaps because of your experiences with slavery. I
feel it also, but not so intensely as you."

He cautiously sampled the energy that saturated even this quiet room.
"That explains the pervasive negativity, but what about Trent's rally?"

"Kondo is a dark mage, and I think he magnifies the city's
darkness. He used it as a weapon against you, though I don't know if he realized
he was doing that. He might have just instinctively shoved against your
intrusion. Since you both have African magic and that is rare in these parts,
you may be vulnerable to each other."

"A charming thought." He frowned. "Adia and her friends created
the bead spells to find people to protect the abolition movement. She said that
at the beginning the movement was so fragile that the death of a single man
could cause failure. Having met Thomas Clarkson, I can see how vital he is to
the cause, and no doubt there will be others who are equally vital. But as I
feel the voracious evil energy of this city, I wonder if part of our job is to
defend against the pro-slavery spirit. Is that possible?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." She sipped her brandy absently.
"I wonder if the evil spirit of slavery is what possessed the sailors to attack
Mr. Clarkson. They could have easily passed on by. In the middle of a gale,
ignoring him makes more sense than trying to murder him. But the circumstances
were right to do murder. Perhaps the slave demon was drawn to their anger and
resentment, and it triggered the attack."

"Lord Falconer said that such spirits tend to attack those who oppose what the spirit stands for. He also said that the struggle against slavery will take place on many levels." Nikolai reached for the brandy bottle and poured more, feeling the need for fortification.
"We can't help with the politics, nor in raising public awareness of slavery, so perhaps our chief task is fighting the pro-slavery spirit." He closed his eyes, feeling the corrosive energy gnawing at his soul.
"I don't know if I am strong enough."

Jean leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. "We were sent
together because we have complementary abilities. You are sensitive to African
magic, including this wicked spirit, but that also means you are specially
gifted in fighting them."

He opened his eyes, wondering how he had ever thought her fragile.
"What is your part of our task?"

"I'm the expert on Britain and how it operates," she said promptly.
"Plus, it's my job to keep you in working condition since you are more central
to this task than I."

"Is that why you kissed me? Part of your maintenance program?"

"Of course," she said primly. "Why else would I want to?"

He laughed, his dark mood lifting a little. "After we've seen a
bit more of Liverpool, I'd like to visit Manchester and see if the energy really
is different there."

"That's a good idea. The more we know, the better."

And the more they knew, the more difficult their task seemed. Fighting drunken sailors was straightforward. But how did one fight demons of greed and violence?
"We need a name for this force that supports slavery," he mused.

"Can't we just call it the Slave Demon?"

He thought a moment, then shrugged. "Very well, the Slave Demon he
is. The Demon for short."

"From now on, we will fight for the safety of key abolitionists, and against the evil of the Demon." Jean sighed.
"It's easier to fight drunken sailors than wicked spirits."

He caught her hand and kissed it. "And perhaps someday there will
be time for just us. Thank you for saving me today, Jean."

She blushed and her hand curled into his. "Any time, my captain.
Any time."

Manchester was indeed very different from Liverpool. It was a city of hope and new ideas and hardworking people who expected to do well by the labor of their hands. Though there was no strong pro-abolitionist sentiment visible, Nikolai and Jean agreed that Manchester would be fertile ground for the abolitionists.

After several days exploring the city, Jean suggested, "It's time
to activate the next spell. Shall we see if we can do it on our own? The energy
in Manchester is strong and positive, and it might help us move forward without
having to go to London to find Kofi and his daughter."

He nodded. "Let us gather our possessions and find a quiet place
to try."

They found their quiet spot outside the city, in a copse off a small road.
"Why here?" Nikolai asked.

"There is a ley line—an energy line in the earth," she said when they reached the quiet clearing.
"Can you feel it?"

He concentrated. "Yes, but not well. I wonder if Guardians are
more in tune with the energy?"

She skimmed her palm a yard above the earth, feeling a strong buzz from the ley line.
"Perhaps. We really need to write about the differences we're finding between Guardian and African abilities. My sister-in-law, Gwynne, is a scholar of Guardian lore, and she would love to know." She stopped short, overwhelmed by feelings of loss.
"That is, she would be interested if Gwynne still lives and there was a way to
get the information to her."

"Let us write up our experiences anyhow." He settled his travel bag over his shoulder.
"We can't know about your sister-in-law, but we can leave the information at
Falconer House and know it will reach the right hands."

His words steadied her. No one lived forever, but the Guardians had existed for time beyond measure. Even if their information didn't reach Gwynne, every generation produced keepers of the lore. Knowledge endured, not like frail humans.
"Are you ready?" She positioned the next spell bead in the middle of her palm and clasped Nikolai's hand.

They took turns speaking the ritual, and she could feel the energy rising around them. Personal power, nature energy, the positive energy of the nearby city. The vortex formed and swirled around, but it was not strong enough.
"We're so close!" Jean exclaimed. "Just a little more energy and we would
be able to trigger the spell!"

Nikolai's dark face was tight with strain. Then he suddenly laughed. Still holding her hands, he said,
"We have another method of raising energy."

He bent to kiss her, and sexual energy exploded between them. She gasped, dizzy, exhilarated, spinning through time and space….

They landed in a churchyard, so closely wrapped that she was barely aware that they had moved through time until Nikolai pulled away from her, slowly. His mouth quirked.
"We have found the secret of raising our energy enough to travel through time by
our own efforts."

Every part of her body was pulsing with the most personal and primitive of energies.
"It was smoother and less unpleasant than the other times, at least for me," she said, trying to sound calm rather than burning with lust.

"It was better for me, too," he murmured, his eyes dark with promise.
"I think the right time for us to come together is near."

He turned his attention to the churchyard. Ragged tufts of grass grew around tombstones and a chestnut tree shaded one corner. The church was on a hill, and from their vantage point they could see streets and buildings spreading into the distance.
"Where are we now? London, I think?"

She scanned the horizon. "I believe so. I wonder when."

Nikolai closed his eyes. "Not too much further into the future, I think, though I'm not sure why. I might be developing an ability to judge time similar to my ability to judge location." He offered his arm.
"We have become expert in arriving in new eras. Let us find an inn."

She took his arm and they left the churchyard through the lych-gate, finding themselves on a busy street. It wasn't long until they came on a respectable inn. The few people they saw on the streets wore clothing that seemed identical to what they had seen in their last time.

There was only one room available, not a pair of adjoining chambers. Jean eyed Nikolai warily, but nodded acceptance. Whatever might happen between them would happen even if they had separate rooms.

The innkeeper had a newspaper that had been left in the taproom, so she took it with them. As soon as they were in private, she glanced at the front page.
"It's April 1788, so we came forward only about six months. And we've moved past
Adia's knowledge."

She plopped into a chair and swiftly skimmed the pages, with occasional glances up to admire Nikolai as he prowled around, settling into the room. He moved like a graceful wild creature, and she never tired of watching him.

He caught her looking at him, so she said, "There are several
articles relating to slavery and abolition. This piece says that a lady spoke to
a debating society on the immorality of slavery, and was most effective in her
words. Naturally, no name is given, but the article says it may be the first
time a woman has ever addressed a debating society. Are you familiar with the
societies?"

He slung his bag over one of the bed's foot posts, then hung his hat on the top knob.
"Not really, though you've mentioned them a time or two."

"They are public lectures and discussions on topics that are likely to interest enough people to make a profit for the organizers. Entrance costs only sixpence or so, and people from all levels of society attend," she explained.
"Twenty years ago, I saw no debates advertised about slavery. Now half the
debates listed are about slavery and abolition. The one where the lady spoke
voted on the subject at the end and carried almost unanimously against slavery.
Public opinion has come alive and is on our side."

"Interesting, indeed," he agreed. "In our time, few people thought
about abolition because they assumed it was impossible. They are no longer
assuming that."

Before he could continue, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. He opened it to find one of the inn's maids.
"This note just arrived for you and your wife, sir." She handed over the message, bobbed a curtsy, and left.

Nikolai broke the seal and read, his eyebrows arching. "We have
been invited to a reception at the home of William Wilberforce, MP. The purpose
is to honor those who support abolition."

Jean's jaw dropped. "How do the ancestors do that? How did
they manage an invitation and know where to send it? We didn't know we'd be here
until half an hour ago! How did they get us an invitation?"

"Better not to think of it and get another headache," he advised.
"That's what I've decided. But if I had to guess, I'd say the ancestors are
weaving a great tapestry whose subject is abolition. The threads are interwoven,
so events connect. Wilberforce is obviously a force for abolition, and so are
we. As soon as we arrived here, we became part of the pattern, and that
connected us to the abolition movement."

"I'm not sure that makes sense, but it sounds good." She flipped the newspaper to another page.
"When is the reception?"

He glanced at the invitation again. "Tonight."

"Good God!" She shot out of the chair, horrified. "We need to find
suitable clothing!"

Nikolai frowned. "Is that possible? There is no time for proper
tailoring."

"In London, all things are possible. I'm sure the innkeeper here
can refer me to a shop that deals in quality used clothing and can do tailoring
in a few hours."

And so it proved. The rest of the morning was spent finding the shops recommended by the innkeeper, choosing garments that were proper for the occasion and a reasonable fit, then waiting while quick alterations were made. Jean found that clothing silhouettes were narrower for both men and women than in her own time. Assuming that the 1750s could still be considered her time.

Jean found an attractive gown whose fine cotton fabric had narrow stripes of white and two shades of green. The costume suited her without being dramatic enough to call attention. She also bought powder for her hair. Though she disliked powdering, covering up her red locks removed her most identifiable characteristic.

Nikolai was impossible to disguise. Women would notice him immediately in his handsome dark blue frock coat, and men would react to his aura of masculine power.
"You look splendid," she said. "I hope no one challenges you to a duel."

He looked startled. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Husbands will resent their wives hovering around you," she explained.

He laughed. "I doubt that. But I do wonder why the ancestors want
us to attend this event. Maybe Clarkson will be there and in trouble."

She fluttered the Chinese silk fan she'd bought to go with the gown, glad she hadn't lost the knack.
"More likely he'll be off in the provinces stirring up abolitionist trouble, and
more power to him."

Nikolai offered his arm and they headed down to the light carriage they'd hired. The reception was being held in Wilberforce's home in Clapham, a village three miles south of London, so it seemed best to arrange their own transportation.

They arrived to find a jam of carriages and a crowd of energetic people. As they walked from their carriage to the spacious house, Nikolai said under his breath,
"This area radiates light and positive energy."

"The newspaper mentioned that a number of Evangelicals live here, all of them working to improve society." Jean thought back to Adia's notes, which had two pages of information on Wilberforce.
"Mr. Wilberforce shares his home with a cousin, Henry Thornton, who is also an
active Evangelical reformer. So many good people in the area must drive off the
Demon's darkness."