Legend Of The Highland Dragon (24 page)

“There’s a boy at the door, my lord,” said Baldwin.

Events over the last few days had left the household reeling. Baldwin’s face was drawn with weariness, despite Stephen telling him to rest, and the latest development had clearly both baffled and worried him.

“He says he has to speak to you.”

“A boy?” Stephen turned from the last of his preparations and blinked. “I don’t know any boys these days.”

“No, my lord.” Baldwin swallowed. “He says it’s to do with Miss Seymour.”

The world stopped.

“Where is he?” Stephen asked. He was already walking toward the doorway.

“The kitchen, my lord. I didn’t—”

The stairs presented little obstacle; Stephen took them two at a time. He burst through the door of the kitchen and saw a boy rise hurriedly and shakily from a seat by the hearth.

Between a tall ten and an undersized fourteen, the boy straddled the gap between poverty and respectability as well. His clothes were clean, but patched and very plain. He snatched a gray cap off his head when Stephen entered, revealing a curly mass of brown hair, and looked up at the new arrival with a pair of dark blue eyes.

They were Mina’s eyes. And they were terrified.

Stephen froze.

“Sir. My lord. Sir?” The boy looked confused. Men like Stephen generally didn’t enter kitchens, and he was old enough to know it. “I—I need to talk to Lord MacAlasdair, sir, right away.”

“That’s me, lad,” said Stephen, as gently as he could manage. “What’s wrong?”

“I. It’s Mina. My sister. Miss Seymour, she would’ve been to you. My lord. She said she worked for you. She went out and she’s not come back, and Mum said as how she said she was coming up ’ere to talk with you.” The boy’s mouth worked silently for a second and then he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing on his skinny neck. “And they say there was gunshots earlier, m’lord, and screaming.”

When Stephen’s heart went still, experience took over, freezing his brain and his blood, constructing an icy wall of action behind which his rage and regret became distant. When he spoke to Mina’s pale-faced brother, it was with all the calm he’d ever used to lead men.

“Near you?”

“A street away, maybe. People couldn’t see well for the fog.”

“Is that all you know?”

The boy nodded.

Action beckoned. Stephen held back. “Why was she coming back here?”

“It was about Florrie, m’lord.” Mina’s brother gulped. “Um. Our other sister. She’s sick.”

“I know. And Mina said I could help?”

“She said you might.” Now he looked hopeful as well as frightened, and Stephen felt an intense desire to put his fist through a wall.

Ward had set this up neatly.

“I’ll try,” said Stephen. “See here—Bert, isn’t it?”

Even in his panic, the boy’s eyes widened a little. “Yes, m’lord.”

“Stay in here. There’s jam in the pantry. I’ll be back before very long, or I’ll send someone else for you.”

Colin met him outside. “I heard the disturbance,” he said, “and the wards seem to be fine all over the house, so I take it the problem’s physical?”

“Mina’s gone,” said Stephen. “Her brother’s here. From what he’s said, it sounds like Ward’s taken her. And that her sister’s illness wasn’t natural. A trap, likely as not.” He let his breath hiss out between his teeth. “I should have known.”

“Yes, you really should be more omniscient one of these days,” Colin said. “Now, if you could flog yourself a little later, you can get me a bowl of water and we can get to work.”

“Scrying? Don’t you need something of hers?”

“I’ve already got it.” Colin grinned. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

A few minutes of hasty activity produced the bowl in question and sent Polly to the kitchen for supervisory and jam-distribution purposes. Then Stephen stood, his hands clenched at his sides, and stared into the bowl as clear water gave way to blue mist, which in its turn parted to reveal grimy walls and huge metal vats: a factory of some sort, obviously, though Stephen didn’t know what it had made. At present, it was sheltering Ward and five of the hybrid manes, who stood in a ring around a female figure lashed to a pipe.

Mina.

Stephen growled and felt his lips draw back, baring his teeth in a threat as instinctual as it was ineffectual. His nails lengthened into claws, cutting into the still-unchanged flesh of his hands. He felt dim pain and didn’t care. Rage was much closer, and much more vivid.

No. Not yet.

As Stephen watched, Mina struggled, and while the desperate energy in her movements tore at his heart, it also reassured him. She still lived. She still had enough strength left to fight.

Unless he could get to her soon, though, that strength might not do her any good. Stephen didn’t know what Ward had planned, but several horrifying possibilities sprang to his mind—and he didn’t know that he could get there in time to stop any of them.

He didn’t know exactly where Ward’s den was. In human form, it would take him at least an hour to find it. When he got there, he’d have five of the hybrids to fight, which would be no small task even with Colin—and he couldn’t bring Colin.

“He doesn’t have one hostage,” Stephen said. “He has two.”

“You think he’d kill the Seymour child?”

“I think he’d let her die. Can you break a curse like that?” Stephen swung to face Colin, prepared for another round of argument about throwing his life away for a human he’d never met.

“Does a full house beat a pair?” Colin winked. “I’ll come find you once it’s done. Try to whittle them down a bit, will you? Five of those things might be a bit much for me at the moment.”

“I’ll let you take your ease this time,” said Stephen, though his voice was thick for a moment. “Bert’s in the kitchen. Mina’s brother. He’ll take you to Florrie. And take this.” He held out the derringer. “I doubt I’ll be able to use it.”

Colin pocketed the gun, then clapped his good hand to Stephen’s shoulder. “Stay alive,” he said, serious for a second.

He closed the door behind him, but there was no time for Stephen to lock it. As Colin left the room, Stephen had already begun to change shape, not caring or even really noticing as his clothing shredded around him. He did notice when he burst through the closed window, but he didn’t care any more about the shattered glass than about his ruined shirt.

Launching himself into the fog, he sped toward the docks, only hoping that he’d arrive in time.

Touch was the first sense to return. Mina awoke to the feel of cold metal against her back and rough ropes cutting into her wrists and ankles. Her hands were behind her, and when she wiggled her fingers, she felt more metal, pitted and flaked with age. She could smell old metal too, as her head cleared, and a vague hint of rotten eggs.

Sulfur was not a good smell, considering the circumstances. At least Mina didn’t see any flames when she opened her eyes.

Demons, on the other hand, were clearly in stock. Half demons. Five of the creatures from before surrounded her, human features variously afloat in shadow. Each had a different arrangement of…bits…but their eyes were all the same, gray-white and completely expressionless. Mina would almost have preferred rage or hunger—or eyeless faces like the manes had. She wasn’t fond of the middle ground.

She wasn’t fond of anything about this situation. She rather wanted to be sick.

It was important to keep calm. It was also important, she realized after a breath or two, not to
look
too calm. The less Ward thought she knew, the more likely he’d be to overlook something. So she shrieked and threw herself about, imitating the heroine of every three-penny melodrama she’d ever seen, calling for help even though she knew there was nobody to hear.

Screaming and thrashing against the ropes relieved her feelings a bit, too.

At last, Mina let herself slump in her bonds, hanging her head as if exhausted. Blood was trickling from her wrists where the rope had rubbed off some of the skin. Feeling it, she thought she might have overdone the hysteria a bit.

Footsteps came toward her, echoing in the sudden silence. Mina looked up under her eyelashes. If one of the half manes was approaching her, actual hysterics became a very real possibility.

The half manes stayed where they were. The figure approaching was human, at least, although the man had very little else to recommend him in Mina’s eyes. He was tall, stout, and well-dressed, his coat and hat rather absurd given their surroundings.

He stopped in front of her: not, to Mina’s relief, within arm’s length. “Don’t bother with another show,” he said. “Nobody will hear.”

That wasn’t just a threat. He knew what he was talking about. Mina could tell as much from his voice, and she was glad of the dim lighting. There were several dark patches on the floor that she didn’t want to see clearly.

“I hope you’ll be a sensible girl. I’d like to do this quickly, and I don’t really
need
to hurt you. Someone
should
teach you a lesson about sticking to your place and keeping your nose out of the affairs of your betters,” he added, and in the flexing of his fingers and the light in his eye, Mina saw a rage that had passed rationality long since. She shrank back as much as she could.

Whether her fear had sated him for the moment or he’d just turned his mind to more practical matters, Ward cleared his throat and went on. “But it doesn’t have to be me. Not if you’ll be smart.”

Mina widened her eyes and raised her head. “Who are you?” she asked, letting her voice slip back into the accent she’d grown up with. “What do you want with me? I ’aven’t done you any ’arm.”

Ward was a big man, and past middle age, whatever spells he used to keep himself from growing any older. Mina saw his open hand lash out and had time to turn her head so that the blow missed her nose and mouth. It was still hard enough to make her cry out, and it knocked her head back into the pipe, which hurt worse than the slap.

“Don’t
lie
,” Ward snarled. “Don’t think you can get away with it. Not gutter scum like you. I can see right through you.”

He stepped back. He also rubbed his hand, which tempted Mina to smile, as stupid as that would have been. “You grew up in Bethnal Green,” he said. “Then you somehow learned to speak a little bit like a lady and you worked for Professor Carter—until two months ago, when you showed up at MacAlasdair’s in the middle of the night and got taken on as his personal secretary.”

There was no point asking how he knew. Any of the servants or the servants’ friends or their friends’ friends could have told him. Mina had never tried to keep any of that information secret. Clearly it was time to revise her tactics; the old ones had earned her a bruised face and a throbbing skull.

She swallowed and managed to get words out of her throat, though it felt clamped shut. “What do you want with me, then?”

“He wouldn’t have employed you for your personal charms or your skills,” said Ward, and Mina wasn’t sure whether he meant to insult her or Stephen, or both. “You must’ve found out a thing or two about ‘Laird MacAlasdair.’ What was it?”

The ropes were securely tied and the pipe was solid, with no sharp edges that Mina could find. The half manes stared at her blankly. Off in the distance, a rat squealed.

She cocked her head to the side. “What’ll you do if I tell you?”

“Let you go,” said Ward. Mina didn’t believe that for a second, but she tried not to look openly skeptical. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll let them go to work on you.” He gestured to the half manes. “They like live meat.”

That, Mina believed.

Her nails scrabbled against the pipe’s surface. Her hands had more hope than her mind, it seemed.

Looking down, she bit her lip. “I don’t know everything,” she said, very small and very frightened. She didn’t have to fake that. “He didn’t tell me very much.”

“No,” said Ward, “he wouldn’t. Not even MacAlasdair would be that stupid. Start at the beginning. What did you see that made him hire you?”

Mina closed her eyes and speculated. “He—he was in a big room. There was chalk on the floor, and—and blood. I think there was a chicken in the corner. And there was something in the middle of the room.”

“Something?”

Building from what she’d heard of with Stephen and Colin, she filled in the rest with imagination. “It was a bit like a man.” She talked slowly, trying to sound frightened and reluctant. Every second she took was one more second that she was alive, one more second in which the situation could change. “It had arms and legs and,” she swallowed, “a head. Except its hands had claws, and its head was…it looked like a big frog. With teeth. Its eyes glowed. I remember its eyes glowed.”

After a moment of silence, she opened her eyes. Ward was still in front of her, but now he was scratching his head.

“What was it doing?” he asked, finally.

“Talking to Lord MacAlasdair. I, um…” Mina thought swiftly. The beast she’d constructed wasn’t formed for peaceful work, and Ward would have noticed any mysterious deaths in London, just as Stephen would. “I think he was talking about affairs back in Scotland. An uncle, maybe? I didn’t hear very clearly. I was scared.”

“When you served him, did you have the full run of the house?”

“Not his bedroom, of course!” That got her a glare. Propriety was not a consideration here. “And there was a room in the attic.”
Thank
you, Florrie
. “He always kept it locked, but he went up there every night.”

“Oh? Alone?”

“Mostly,” said Mina, keeping her options open.

“What do you mean—”

THUD.

The sound had come from above. Mina looked up, but the ceiling itself was too high for her to see. Whatever had landed on the roof was heavy; she could tell that much.

So could Ward. He seized her by the shoulders, glaring. “What was
that
?”

“I don’t know!”

Metal squealed above them.

With no place to retreat, Mina endured. Ward’s hands felt like claws; his breath reeked; and the eyes that stared into hers were almost as inhuman in their rage as the half manes’s. Mina shrank back and turned her face away, the best she could manage.

“What are you doing? What are
you
?”

“A girl. His secretary. I’ve nothing to do with this!” It was the first truth she’d spoken in five minutes, and ironically, it did nothing to convince Ward.

He hit her again, which she’d more or less been expecting. This time it was in the stomach and with a closed fist. A coldly rational part of Mina supposed that, if she
had
been casting a spell, that blow might even have been effective—physical pain to disrupt mental concentration. The rest of her knew only pain, breathlessness, and the sudden heat of blood flowing from her nose.

Much as she would have liked to blame Ward, that last wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t come near her face.

“It’s not
me
!” she cried.

He curled his upper lip at her like an angry dog, released his grip, and stood back. “I don’t feel like taking chances. Kill her,” he said to the half manes.

As one, they surged forward. Terror broke over Mina, flooding her mind beyond rational thought. She shrieked and thrashed, surging against the ropes with the full weight of her body, knowing it wouldn’t be enough.