Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3) (12 page)

But it didn’t seem to reach beyond her flesh and bone.

Opening her eyes, she looked at the dead body and realised, to her horror, just how to awaken it into a semblance of life. She inched forward, reaching her hand through the bars until she was touching the body, then closed her eyes again. This time, she was aware of her living flesh ... and the dead corpse she was touching. And it was the easiest thing in the world to take some of her life energy and push it into the body. She felt it jerk under her fingers and yanked her hand back, her eyes snapping open. In the cage, the body was slowly coming to life.

Her head swam as the whispering grew louder. She toppled backwards, expecting to slam her head against the stone floor, but Ivan caught her before it was too late. Tears fell from her eyes as she clung to him, seeking comfort even in his arms. Ivan patted her back softly, his eyes never leaving the creature in the cage. Olivia forced herself to stand on her own two feet, then turned to look at what she’d done. The whispering seemed to grow even louder as she saw the undead creature slowly making its way to its feet.

It had been human once, she knew. Now, its skin was grey and its eyes were an eerie yellow colour, as if it had long lost all traces of humanity. Its hair seemed to be falling out, although she couldn’t tell if that was merely a side effect of what limited decomposition had happened or something to do with necromancy. It held out one long hand and examined it, without a trace of interest or curiosity on its face, then held up its head and stared at the four humans watching it.

And then it moaned.

Olivia moaned too as the sound sliced into her head. It was a cry of hunger, a raw lust for sustenance that ran far beyond a desire for food and drink. It wanted something else, she knew; it wanted the living energy running through them all. She understood, now, why the undead had reacted the way they did. When they weren’t being directed by a Necromancer, their lives were consumed by an endless desire for life energy. And, when they ran out, they just waited until they were reanimated by human contact.

She shuddered, then vomited, throwing up everything she’d eaten onto the hard stone floor. Gregory didn’t even seem to hear her. He was too fascinated by the undead creature as it made its shambolic way to the bars and stood there, staring at him. It looked to have been thwarted by the bars, but Olivia knew better. The creature was waiting. She could feel the link between herself and the creature, even though they were no longer touching. It was hers to command as she saw fit ...

But the more she touched it with her mind, the louder the whispering in her head. Sooner or later, it would overcome her and then ... perhaps there was some sense in having all Necromancers executed, no matter what they were before they developed their powers. It threatened to pull her into its undead mind ...

“Take her to wash and then feed her,” Gregory ordered. His voice was excited, as if he was
pleased
to see the undead creature. Olivia thought he was mad. Couldn’t he understand how dangerous it was? “We will do more tests later.”

Ivan helped Olivia to stumble towards the door, his hands gently holding her upright. Behind her, the creature moaned again. The further she moved from it, the weaker the link between them. But she knew it wouldn’t last ...

If they let it loose
, she thought grimly,
there will be hundreds of others all too soon
.

Chapter Ten

G
wen couldn’t help feeling some relief as Romulus introduced her to the remainder of the staff. Cook, a jovial woman fat enough to make three women, was friendly enough, even though she didn’t bother to share her real name with anyone. Rosie, Lady Standish’s social secretary, seemed pleasant, but distant. She probably was far too aware of the gulf between herself and a simple maid. But Janet, Lady Standish’s other maid, seemed friendly and quite happy to chat.

“Help her settle in,” Romulus directed, with another brilliant smile. “And then prepare for dinner.”

Janet smiled at Gwen. “This isn’t such a bad place once you get used to it,” she said, as she led Gwen into a tiny room with a pair of beds pressed against the wall. “As long as you do as you’re told, Her Ladyship doesn’t mind you.”

Gwen nodded as she picked up the bag and carefully unpacked it, placing the clothes in the drawer under the bed. The room was tiny, too small for one person, at least for an aristocrat. Her room at home was easily five or six times as large as the room she was expected to share with Janet. She had a nasty feeling she was going to find it hard to sleep with Janet in the same room, even if her new friend didn’t snore. She’d never had to share a room with anyone in her life. Even the new students at Cavendish Hall didn’t have to share rooms.

“Most of the staff are at the Hall,” Janet explained, as Gwen finished unpacking and straightened up, checking her appearance in the mirror. “But we’re the lucky ones who get to go to Russia.”

A bell echoed through the house. “That’s dinner,” Janet added, climbing to her feet. “We’d better go to meet Cook.”

The food smelt nice, Gwen decided, although it looked as though Cook preferred to feed her family on traditional English food rather than anything foreign. It was clear that the mania for Indian or Turkish food hadn’t reached the Standish Family. She picked up the plate of roast beef, already sliced into multiple pieces by Cook, and carried it through the door into the dining room. Behind her, Janet carried the potatoes and a small bowl of vegetables, then returned to bring up the rear with the gravy.

Gwen carefully kept her eyes on the meat until she put it down in front of Lord Standish, but then glanced around as she stepped to the back of the room. It was as fancy as any she’d seen, although it was too small to host more than five or six people at table. She couldn’t decide if that was because of the size of the house, which was small by aristocratic standards, or if Lord Standish had deliberately designed the dining room to make it harder to invite large numbers of guests. Gwen’s own father had done the same and
he
had a wife who had been reluctant to invite guests to her house. There was too great a chance of visitors seeing her devil-child.

She saw Raechel Slater-Standish sitting at one end of the table and felt an odd moment of kinship, a sense that she would have liked the young girl if they’d met before she’d gone to Cavendish Hall. Raechel was tall, wearing a dress that showed the shape of her breasts even if it didn’t reveal any skin, with a strong face that gave her a ruthlessly indomitable look. She didn’t have the soft features that were considered fashionable these days, but it was easy to see why she would turn heads. Long red hair – naturally red, if Gwen was any judge – drew attention to her face and hands. And she was surprisingly muscular for her sex.

She grew up in the countryside
, Gwen thought, recalling Lady Mary’s notes on Lord and Lady Standish and their ward.
Her parents would have taught her how to ride and take care of herself, even if she’d also had a restricted life.

She shook her head and stood beside Janet as the Standish family slowly ate their way through a surprisingly large amount of food. Lord Standish was as tall as his wife, with a distinguished attitude that befitted a government minister, but it was clear that he was slowly losing the battle against his weight. Even sitting down, Gwen could see that he was developing a paunch that would eventually leave him as overweight as Lord Mycroft. But his eyes were sharp and there was nothing wrong with his mind. She just hoped he didn’t pay close enough attention to her to realise that there was something wrong.

Janet seemed to remain perfectly still as they waited, but Gwen had to fight down the urge to fidget. She remembered all the long boring meals she’d endured with her mother and father and felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of the servants just standing there, waiting for their lords and masters to finish. It hadn’t been much better at Cavendish Hall, particularly as young magicians couldn’t resist showing off their powers at the expense of the servants. It had been hard to convince most of the young men that it would get them in real trouble if they did it publicly.

Finally, the dinner came to an end and the family withdrew into the drawing room. Gwen allowed herself a moment of relief, then helped Janet clear the table and carry the remains of the food to the kitchen. It seemed like a waste, she thought, until she realised that the staff would keep the food and devour it themselves. On Cook’s command, she picked up a tray of three glasses and carried them into the drawing room, careful to ensure that she offered them to Lord Standish first. He was, at least in theory, the head of the household.

“Raechel,” Lady Standish said. “This is Gwen, the new maid. She will be your maid. You will take her with you if you leave the house.”

The younger woman looked rebellious. Gwen found it hard to blame her, even though she knew the risks of being alone and unattended in the streets of London. Rumours didn’t have to be true to ruin a person’s life. Hell, there were stories about the young Gwen turning people into frogs right, left and centre, when anyone with any experience of magic would know that such things were impossible. It was extremely rare for one person to be turned into an animal, let alone dozens of them.

Gwen bobbed a curtsey, trying to look attentive and obedient. Raechel stared at her for a long moment, her eyes studying Gwen’s face as if she’d seen it before somewhere, then nodded sharply.

“I will be leaving at eight,” she said, flatly. “Be ready.”

Lord Standish coughed. “You will have your work completed by then,” he said. “Or you will not be going out at all.”

Raechel glowered at him. “The work isn’t important,” she said, in a tone Gwen knew would have earned her a slap from her mother. “I have no intention of finding a young man and settling down.”

The young woman turned and stalked out before Lord Standish could say another word. Gwen found herself torn between amusement and sympathy, although she wasn’t sure who she was actually sorry for. Both of them, perhaps. Lord and Lady Standish had had no children, while his younger brother had had Raechel and then died young. And Lord Standish had been away in France at the time. By the time he’d got home to take his niece into his household as his ward, she’d developed a whole series of bad habits.

But I couldn’t blame her
, Gwen thought, as she bobbed another curtsey and then hurried after Raechel, already feeling harassed.
What would I have done if I’d been offered the freedom of the city and plenty of money?

She heard the sound of banging and crashing as she approached Raechel’s room and hesitated, before reminding herself that she wasn’t scared of anything and pushing open the door. Raechel had removed her dress and started to hunt through the vast hampers of clothing while wearing her underwear, which was revealing enough to make Gwen blush. It was funny, given how little real privacy she’d had at home, but it still bothered her. Raechel simply didn’t act like a young aristocratic woman. Or any sort of woman Gwen had met.

“You,” Raechel snarled. She turned to face Gwen, dark eyes flashing fire. “You will not get in my way, understand?”

Gwen knew that any normal maid would be cowering from her mistress’s rage, even if she reported to Lady Standish rather than the raging girl in front of her. But she had enough pride, despite her role, to stand her ground.

“My ...
Aunt
does not control my life,” Raechel grumbled, as she picked up a garment and pushed it at Gwen. “And neither do you.”

That
, Gwen knew, was not true. The terms of her father’s will compelled Raechel to seek her Aunt and Uncle’s advice in all that she did until she either married or turned thirty. On the other hand, they also prevented her Aunt and Uncle from touching her money, at least not without Raechel’s willing permission. But she wouldn’t inherit full control until she was too old to marry, at least by normal standards. And yet ... with so much money in her account, Gwen suspected that the rules would be rewritten for her.

She looked down at the garment and flushed. It was a dress, but one so sheer it might as well have been a nightgown, one far too indecent for her. Raechel snorted at Gwen’s reaction, then picked up another dress and tossed it at her. Gwen stared at her in surprise, then lifted her eyebrows. Raechel produced another snort, then pointed one long finger at Gwen’s demure dress.

“You’re not coming wearing that,” she snapped. “You can wear one of my older dresses and look as if you belong.”

Gwen sighed, inwardly, as she took the dress and inspected it. It was marginally more decent than the others, she decided, although it revealed far too much of her breasts for her comfort, along with her ankles. She made a mental note to don a cloak too, something she could wrap around her, as Raechel pulled on another dress that was almost translucent in far too many places. Gwen stared in shock. She could practically see the girl’s nipples clearly outlined by the dress.

“You ... You can’t wear that,” she stammered. No one, not even the most outrageous of the Trouser Brigade, wore anything so revealing. “Your Aunt will be furious.”

Raechel gave her a quick, unpleasant grin. “That’s the idea,” she said, nastily. “She may be able to keep me in her house, but I don’t have to make it pleasant for her.”

“Oh,” Gwen said, feeling as if she had passed beyond shock. “But ... But what if they try to stop you?”

She swallowed. Legally, Raechel was practically their property. Lord and Lady Standish would be quite within their rights to beat their niece if she kept acting like a common tart – or simply to lock her in the house until she married or turned thirty. But it looked as though they were having real problems coming to terms with their ward. Maybe they should have been more understanding from the start. But they’d never had children to teach them how to handle a teenage girl who’d suddenly been dropped on them.

“Let them try,” Raechel said. She picked up a cloak, wrapped it around her body, then headed for the door. She tossed a second cloak at Gwen as she stepped past her. “Let’s go.”