Lord of Sin (22 page)

All but Sinjin and Ioan Davies, too focused on their hunt to notice.

By late afternoon they had dispensed with all the locations that Ioan had searched before, and Nuala knew that Bray would not be discovered in the usual
way. She found an excuse to stand a little apart from the men and began to chant a spell of finding, drawing up the words from memory, allowing her power to infuse each syllable.

The spell was more successful than she could have hoped. She found the dull, cruel spark of the creature named Bray and reached a little further into her memory. She added phrases to the spell that she’d never dared use before, felt a peculiar grayness enter her mind.

Then it was done.

“I know where he is,” she said.

I
OAN, HIS FACE DRAWN
with exhaustion, stared at her with incomprehension. Sinjin’s jaw was set. Perhaps he knew. Perhaps he had only guessed. But he would not try to stop her now.

The men followed Nuala, one to either side of her. She stopped at one of an endless row of half-fallen houses, rank with rot and rubbish. Sinjin moved ahead to stand before the door, which was nearly broken from its hinges.

“He is here,” Nuala said.

“I’ll fetch him out,” Ioan said grimly.

“We shall go in together,” Nuala said.

“He may be armed,” Sinjin said.

“He will not be able to fight.”

The men exchanged glances. In silent agreement, they pushed the door open.

“Upstairs,” Nuala said, when Ioan would have searched the ground floor. He and Sinjin ran up the rickety stairs. A series of thumps and a faint cry echoed from an upstairs room. Nuala reached the landing and followed the sounds.

A woman in a much-mended red dress stood in
one corner of the room, her hands clutched at her nearly naked bosom. Bray crouched beside a sagging cot. His face was twisted with rage and fear, his body contorted as if he were fighting against invisible bonds.

Sinjin lifted him to his feet. Ioan raised a clenched fist. The man made no move to defend himself.

“Please,” he whispered, his gaze darting to Nuala. “Please.”

But the very concept of mercy was alien to Nuala then. She chanted a spell, and Bray’s body went limp, then bounced up again like a marionette dancing on a string. In the space of a heartbeat he was flung across the room, striking the wall with a crack.

Sinjin turned to Nuala, expressionless. No, he would not stop her. Neither would Ioan, if he began to guess what was happening. They both wanted revenge. But
she
deserved to mete out Bray’s punishment.
She
was responsible.
She
had failed Deborah, in every way.

No one struck a single blow, but when it was finished Bray’s wrist hung at an unnatural angle, his face was dark with bruises and he had soiled his trousers. Nuala compelled herself to stop, though the darkness raging inside wanted nothing more than to silence him once and for all.

“You shall never trouble Lady Orwell again,” she said.

Bray groaned through swollen lips.

“You shall go to the papers and retract everything you said about Lady Orwell,” she said. “You shall see
that an apology is tendered by the editors, or you shall suffer for your failure.”

“Nuala,” Sinjin said quietly.

“Do you understand?” she asked Bray.

He nodded, curling into the wall. Nuala glanced once at the nameless woman in warning, and left the room.

“Duw,”
Ioan muttered as he fell in behind her. “I should not wish to be your ladyship’s enemy.”

Nuala paused on the staircase to lean over the banister, afraid she might be sick. A vast weakness had overcome her, and the room had begun to spin.

Strong arms lifted her and half carried her out of the house. Sinjin’s string of curses was so much babble in Nuala’s ears. Between them, Ioan and Sinjin got her to the carriage. She slumped on her seat, seeing nothing but gray.

Someone issued instructions to the coachman, and the carriage began to move. When they reached Nuala’s house, only Sinjin was still with her.

In silence he helped her into the hall. She had an impression of shocked faces staring after as he carried her up to her room. She felt those strong hands lay her down on her bed, a voice calling for her maid. Immediately, Booth entered the room, and Sinjin retreated.

Some time passed, and Nuala’s dizziness receded. Booth sat beside the bed, bathing Nuala’s forehead with a cool, wet cloth; gradually the nausea eased, as well, and Nuala was able to open her eyes.

“Sinjin?”

He was still with her, standing in a corner well out of the way. “I’m here.”

“Thank you.”

He said nothing. His face was a stony mask, his disapproval—no, something much worse than that—hanging like a cloud in the room.

“Please help me sit up.” Nuala asked Booth. The maid did as she asked, fluffing the pillows to provide a firm support for Nuala’s back. “You may go, Booth. Please tell the others not to worry.”

Booth shot a wary glance at Sinjin, clearly about to protest at the inadvisability of allowing an unmarried man of Sinjin’s reputation to be alone with her mistress. But she accepted the inevitable defeat, curtseyed and left the room.

“You can speak freely now,” Nuala said.

Sinjin moved to stand in front of the door. “You can’t go on this way, Nuala,” he said softly.

She had known this was coming, had tried to prepare herself while she was recovering under Booth’s ministrations. But she was
not
prepared. The part of her that instinctively desired to explain, to apologize, was not nearly as strong as the part that rose to meet Sinjin’s chastisement with defiance.

“You are not my husband,” she said. “You have no right to tell me what to do.”

“You’re correct, of course. I have no right. But I can warn you, Nuala.”

“Warn me? After the way you have acted?”

He was unmoved. “You’ve gone too far.”

She sat up higher on the pillows. “Because I
wished to protect an innocent person from a fiend bent on her ruin?”

“Protect her? Is that what you think you were doing?”

“And how was what I was doing any different than what you would have done had you been in my place? Do not try to tell me that you and Ioan would have shaken the man’s hand and asked him politely to leave Deborah alone.”

The muscles in Sinjin’s jaw flexed and released. “
One
of us would have done the job, and the blackguard would have had a chance to defend himself. It would have been a fair fight.”

“He didn’t deserve a fair fight.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, kicking her skirts out of the way. “He will heal eventually, but he’ll not forget what can happen to him if doesn’t heed my warnings.”

His eyes were bleak. “Nuala, you might have killed him.”

“But I did not.” She glared at him with contempt. “I can see now that your former delight in Deborah’s predicament was the more genuine emotion. You were never really interested in helping her at all.”

“Do you think she’d welcome your kind of help?”

“She would rather suffer than defend herself because she doesn’t wish to hurt her friends. Well,
I
shall speak for her. If anyone dares to mention these slanders again, I shall—”

“Thrash everyone in Society to within an inch of their lives?”

His voice was too still, too calm. Nuala tried to
catch her breath, recognizing that her anger was spiraling out of control.

“Please understand, Sinjin,” she said. “I must rely on my own judgment in these matters, just as I have all my life.”

“Your judgment isn’t sound. Not now.”

“And
your
judgment is? I don’t even know who you are, Sinjin. You are two different men, and I understand neither.”

“I have been wrong, Nuala. At least I am trying to make out what is happening to me. You are refusing to look into your own heart.”

She rose abruptly, finding that she could stand without suffering an assault of vertigo. “Perhaps you ought to go home. You may still bear me a grudge because I refused—”

“You were quite correct,” he said. “I was wrong to have asked you.”

“Then on one point, at least, we are in accord.”

“Damn it, Nuala…” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Listen to me. This behavior can only lead to trouble even you cannot anticipate.”

“Trouble from whom?
I
have no enemies.”

“You’ll be the one to suffer. Next time you might not be able to stop yourself.”

“Please leave, Lord Donnington.”

He turned his dark, unreadable gaze on her. “It can’t end like this, Nuala. I won’t permit it.”

“You have no power to permit or not permit anything, Lord Donnington.”

His mouth tightened, and Nuala was reminded
that this was a man who could be dangerous in ways she might have yet to learn. “You are making a bad mistake, Nuala,” he said.

“That is no longer your concern. Good night, Lord Donnington.”

With an almost unconscious thought she chanted a brief spell, and the door at Sinjin’s back flew open. It was not easy to move him; his will was very strong. But in the end, her magic propelled him backward, forcing him to comply or fall. She slammed the door in his face.

There. He is gone and will never trouble you again.

Gone.

Nausea flooded back into Nuala’s throat. She sat down again, bracing her arms on the mattress. Defiance and anger vanished between one breath and the next.

What had come over her? She lay back and covered her eyes with her forearm. She had used her magic to attack and manipulate Sinjin as if he were a doll without volition of its own…as if he were a wretched beast like Bray. It was as if she, like him, were two persons in one body.

But if Sinjin’s other self was cynical and cruel, even capable of violence, hers was reckless and vain and equally implacable.
He
had been willing to overcome his pride and darker impulses in order to help her find Deborah’s tormentor…and to point out the perilous direction her magic was taking.

He knows nothing of magic
. He had no means with which to judge what she did, or why. And yet…

Nuala rolled her face into the pillow. Whenever
they were together, it was as if the worst was aroused in each of them. But that “worst” had become something almost deadly.

Not long ago she had considered finding a way to rid herself of those small but dangerous abilities that could so easily be used for ill. Now those abilities were no longer small. If only she had some way to purge herself of these terrible temptations…

No!

She pounded her fists into the pillow, struggling to silence the voice that fought to entrap her mind.
You cannot live without magic. It is in your very nature. You have a right to that which has served so many.

“But I’ve failed,” Nuala whispered. “I failed at Donbridge, and I have failed Deborah. The elders were right when they taught us that a single slip could open the Black Gate, and once we passed through…”

As long as you work for the good, you will never fall through the Black Gate. It is your choice, and no one else’s. Your power. Only yours.

Nuala rolled onto her back and sat up, a blanket of unnatural calm settling around her heart. For the good. There were so many things she might do now that her abilities had fully returned. First she would locate Deborah, and tell her that she was free to be with her young man. Then she would begin to seek out those hypocrites who so loudly condemned young women for any indiscretion or “moral” offense against Society when they themselves were guilty of the same behavior.

The Forties would make an excellent start. She would begin with Melbyrne, who had clearly injured
Deborah in some way before she had fled London. Then Ferrer, whom Sinjin had blamed for spreading the rumors, and Achilles Nash, who held such obvious contempt for the Widows. One by one each of the rakes, and others like them, would suffer for their treatment of the women who fell under their influence.

Nuala rose from the bed, a great wave of magic blowing over and through her like a fierce wind. Sinjin, too, must be punished.
He
was ultimately responsible for Deborah’s unhappiness.
He
had the effrontery to think he could dictate to a witch of her blood.

Fire danced on Nuala’s fingertips. She closed her eyes. With a gesture she set the bed alight. Flames rose, but did not touch her. She could not be hurt. Never again.

Her triumph shattered at the sound of someone pounding at her door.

“Your ladyship!” Harold burst through the door, staring in horror at the burning bed. He raced to Nuala, seizing her arm.

She flicked a finger. He cried out and snapped back his hand, staring in bewilderment at the red marks that banded his fingers.

Nuala blinked. “Harold?”

The footman recovered and bravely put his hand on her arm again. “We must go, your ladyship!”

She turned to stare at the fire she had created in her moment of insanity. In seconds it would spread to the walls and other furniture, and then quickly to the rest of the house. Someone might be hurt. Booth, Mrs. Addison, Jacques, Ginny…

Resisting Harold’s tug, she reached again for her magic. The fire began to devour itself, shrinking inward until it was once more confined to the bed. Another word and it sputtered out, leaving the bedstead a blackened skeleton.

“Cor blimey,” Harold whispered.

Nuala pushed past him and ran down the stairs. She rushed into the drawing room, snatched her portrait from behind the chair and threw it on the carpet.

When she was finished, all that remained of the portrait was a charred, twisted skeleton.

T
HE GHOST HAD BEEN RIGHT
.

Sinjin walked blindly in the direction of his house, neglecting to tip his hat to the ladies and gentlemen he passed along the way.

She is poison
.

He tripped over a bit of uneven pavement, clumsy as an infant. It was as if Nuala’s spell still clung to him, forcing him to move against his will, robbing him of the last shreds of peace he possessed.

She will steal your soul.

A laugh died in his chest. Why else would he have been driven to pursue her, even after the apparition’s warnings? Because he still hadn’t completely believed. It had seemed so much fantasy, with no more substance than the spirit himself.

Now his doubts were all but vanquished. And yet…

The creature hates Nuala. He meant to injure her when she and I were together.