The Royal Sorceress (11 page)

Slipping back into the little room he’d hired was easy. Few people asked questions in the Rookery. He stumbled over and collapsed into the hard bed. Using magic so often was very tiring. Jack promised himself a late breakfast in the morning, before he headed to find his next target. There were thousands of aristocrats to kill in London. They would all come to fear his name.

Chapter Nine

C
harm is one of the strangest magical talents,” Doctor Norwell said. The theoretical magician, Gwen had discovered, loved lecturing his audience. And he didn’t seem to hold Gwen’s sex against her, once he’d gotten over the shock. “It is more effective if worked gently, rather than with force. The most dangerous form of Charm comes from a slow infusion of suggestions into the victim’s mind. A strong-willed person can break Charm if they realise what is happening to them, but if the effect is subtle they literally never realise what is happening to them.”

Gwen scowled, inwardly. She knew what happened when a Charmer came into his or her powers, because Charm had been the first talent she’d used. The young Gwen hadn’t had the slightest idea of what she was or what she could do – and the effects had been staggeringly bad, bad enough to ensure that rumours continued to swirl around her even as a teenager. Master Thomas had used brute force to demonstrate Charm, yet she knew that that was far from the most dangerous form, even without Doctor Norwell’s lecture. She’d proved it herself as a child.

She glanced over at Lord Blackburn as he sat on the opposite chair, staring at her. He was unmarried, Gwen knew, but he didn’t seem to be sizing her up as a possible bride, not like some of the other students. His gaze made her feel as if she was an insect trapped under a glass, unable to avoid his stare – or to resist him when she was finally pinned down and placed in a box. There was nothing, but coldness in his eyes, a coldness that sent chills down her spine. Lord Blackburn was a very dangerous person, even without a peerage that linked him to the highest families in the land.

“Charm is also the most feared of all the talents,” Doctor Norwell continued. “The Houses of Parliament have passed strong laws against its use, with a number of cases being brought to the Old Bailey. However,
proving
the use of Charm – particularly subtle Charm – is extremely difficult. As always, it is hard to prove what a magician is capable of doing without actually witnessing them using magic.”

“And that concludes the lecture,” Lord Blackburn said. His voice was cold, almost dispassionate. He took an interest in politics, Gwen recalled suddenly. It might be worth writing to her mother and asking for a briefing on his life and prospects. Her mother knew everyone who was anyone, or who thought they were. “We will now proceed to the practical part of the lesson. You may leave us.”

Doctor Norwell scowled at him, but accepted his dismissal without comment. “Master Thomas wishes to see you after this part of the lesson,” he told Gwen, as he picked up his case of papers and headed to the door. “You will report to him before lunch.”

“Yes, sir,” Gwen said, automatically. Doctor Norwell wasn’t usually so rude. Lord Blackburn had definitely put him out of sorts. The door closed behind him with an audible thump and she turned to look up at Blackburn. His face was expressionless, but there was something in his eye that made her fear being alone with him. She couldn’t have put it into words, apart from a desire to run for her life.

“Charm requires dedication and focus on the part of the magician,” Lord Blackburn said, flatly. His eyes had never left her face. “To reveal that one is using one’s Charm is to lose an advantage. The human mind does not take well to having suggestions pushed into it by a Charmer. Even the weakest of souls will fight Charm if they are aware that it is being used on them. And pushing too hard can break their minds.”

His gaze fixed on her eyes. “Why don’t you stand up and take off your dress?”

Gwen was on her feet and unbuttoning her dress before her mind caught up with him. He’d used his Charm on her…and done it so subtly that she hadn’t even realised what was happening, even though he’d spoken his outrageous orders out loud. Her mind hadn’t registered them properly…even though she knew what had happened it was still hard to force her treacherous fingers to stop. She buttoned up her dress, sat down and glared at him. The force of her glare made absolutely no impression on him at all.

“You realised that something was wrong,” he said. “Had I suggested something a little less...unpleasant, you would probably not have noticed until it was far too late. A suggestion implanted in a receptive mind becomes impossible to distinguish from a genuine thought, rendering it very difficult to notice, let alone defeat. You must always bear in mind that highly emotional people are easier to Charm. A person who thinks through every step, bit by bit, and seeks logical reasons to justify his actions is far harder to Charm. The intent is always to push them into accepting the Charm without thinking or close examination.”

Gwen felt…dirty. She’d known that her brother had had some fun with the serving maids, before he’d become respectable, and she hadn’t understood. But then, she’d been protected by her birth and the rumours surrounding her and no one had taken an interest in marrying her. Her mother had even talked about marrying the simple-headed Lord Percy, Heir to the Duchy of Northumberland. No one else would have wanted a magical wife. Blackburn had pushed a thought into her head and she’d obeyed. She knew now how the maids must have felt, when they’d been used for someone else’s pleasure.

“Don’t do that again,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended. The whole prospect terrified her. “I’ll…I’ll…”

“I’ll keep doing it until you learn how to defend yourself against it,” Lord Blackburn said, flatly. “And until you learn how to use it for yourself. I understand that apart from an…unfortunate incident, you have never learned to practice Charm. Like all of the talents, it requires constant practice to learn how to use it perfectly. And you will be perfect by the time you graduate from this school. Your blood demands it.”

He strode over to the door before Gwen could reply and opened it, beckoning for someone to enter the room. Gwen’s eyes went wide as she saw a scullery maid, wearing a simple white dress that was stained with food and drink. It was quite common for youngsters to enter family service and rise up through the ranks, leaving their families behind until they were completely dedicated to their masters. She had been surprised to discover that Cavendish Hall used a similar system, but then far too many of the servants handed in their notice after being the target of a handful of magical jokes.

The maid bowed. “You called me, sir?”

“Yes,” Blackburn said. His voice sounded as cold and harsh as always, even when the maid hastily lifted her dress in a curtsey. “Take a seat by the table and wait.”

Gwen frowned as the maid did as she was told. The maid’s body was trembling and her eyes were wide with fear. Somehow, Gwen knew what was about to happen before Blackburn closed and locked the door. They were going to use the maid as the target for their magic, practicing her Charm. And the maid was going to hate it. Cold logic told Gwen that she needed to learn and to understand; human sympathy told her that she should call a halt right now. The maid, she resolved, would be paid enough never to have to work again.

If Blackburn had any similar thoughts, he kept them to himself. “Your task is simple,” he said, looking the maid in the eye. “You will remain seated while Lady Gwen gives you orders. You will do everything you can to remain seated. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” the maid said.

Gwen winced at the frightened expression on her face. “What is your name?”

“Fiona, My Lady,” the maid said. Her accent was clearer now. She had to come from Ireland, or perhaps an Irish family who had immigrated to London in search of food, work and lodging. There had been riots a few years ago against Irishmen taking English jobs, if she recalled correctly.

“Very good,” Lord Blackburn said. “Gwen…you may issue a few orders.”

Gwen hesitated. The last time she’d used Charm had been a disaster.

“Go on,” he prodded her. “She’s here to serve.”

Gwen gathered herself. “Stand up,” she ordered.

Fiona didn’t move. “You need to really
want
her to move,” Blackburn said. There was an odd look of almost predatory excitement in his eyes, one that Gwen couldn’t understand. “You have to focus your mind on her motion.”

“Right,” Gwen said, crossly. But she
didn’t
want Fiona to obey. Charm had scarred her mind – and she’d been the Charmer. “Stand up.”

This time, Fiona half-rose to her feet before sitting back down. Gwen saw her eyes, wide with fear and terrified anticipation, and shuddered. The Church damned Charmers who used their powers on unwilling subjects, although she’d heard that Charmers were sometimes used for social control. And Blackburn...Blackburn’s eyes were still gleaming with a hellish light. What was he
thinking
? Master Thomas had warned her that she would probably never be able to read minds – that required a powerful Talker – but she thought she sensed his feelings. Something was pushing him onwards, something almost...unholy?

“Not too bad, but too mild,” Lord Blackburn observed. His voice shifted with a snap. “Stand up –
now
!”

Fiona rose to her feet, still shaking with fear. Gwen looked at Blackburn and saw him lick his lips. She shuddered as Fiona broke free of the compulsion and sat back down, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. How could anyone just sit and endure being Charmed by a pair of sorcerers? But then, the maid had no choice. If she didn’t obey, she would be put out on the streets.

“Try again,” Lord Blackburn ordered. “Focus your mind on something more subtle.”

Gwen scowled at him. “Stand up and touch your forehead,” she ordered. This time, she felt the subtle magic weaving its way into her voice. Fiona rose and barely stopped herself before her hand touched her forehead. Blackburn snickered at the look of confusion and horror on her face.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, directly to her. “You are here to obey.”

“I am here to obey,” Fiona repeated. She sounded as if she’d been put into a trace. “I am here to obey. I am here to obey...”

Gwen rounded on Blackburn. “Enough,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “Stop it, now!”

Blackburn smiled, amused. “Make me,” he said. She could feel his magic woven into his voice, threatening to influence her thoughts. It was a devilishly subtle power – and all the more dangerous for it. “Use your Charm to command me.”

He leered at her. Gwen saw red and slapped him before she quite realised what she was doing. He staggered backwards, a bright mark appearing on his cheek. She watched his hands as they clenched into fists, wondering if he was going to hit her back. No gentleman would ever hit a lady, but she’d known long before Master Thomas had invited her to the Hall that few gentlemen lived up to their high standards. If he took a swing at her, she vowed to herself, she’d use her magic and send him flying right across the room.

Somehow, he kept his own temper under control. “You’ll regret that,” he snarled, as one hand rubbed his cheek. Gwen hadn’t thought that she’d slapped him that hard, but if she’d lost control there might have been magic in the force of the blow. “I’ll make you regret that...”

“Get out,” Gwen ordered. It was tricky to use magic to move two things at once, even though she’d been practicing – and she’d had the unexpected battle with the other students to hone her skills. She pulled the door open and pushed him towards the exit. He cast one last murderous look at her and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Gwen rolled her eyes, feeling her temper cooling. If Master Thomas felt that she should be punished, she would accept it. But only if he punished Blackburn for his cruelty to Fiona.

The maid cringed away from her as Gwen tried to help her to her feet. She practically ran for the door, as if she expected a bullet to hit her or a charmed voice calling her back. Gwen watched her go, feeling cold bitterness congealing around her thoughts. She was already isolated from the other students because of her sex and age; now she would be isolated from the staff too. But then, she couldn’t have shared herself completely with them. It was funny how she’d felt happier alone at home, but not now that she’d found her niche in life. Would she ever have magical friends?

She pulled herself to her feet before she lost herself in self-pity and walked out the door. Fiona was nowhere in sight, thankfully. Gwen headed down into the library, knowing that Master Thomas would probably be waiting for her there. The library was easily her favourite room in Cavendish Hall. It was big, with thousands of books on magic, books that Master Thomas had admitted were largely nonsense. Other books had been banned by various authorities and had only been stockpiled in the hall because the previous Royal Sorcerer had hated the very concept of destroying books. The librarian glanced up at her as she entered, and then pointed to a corner of the room. Master Thomas was seated at a small oak desk, reading his way through a sheaf of papers. He looked up at her as she took the seat facing him.

“You look unhappy,” he observed, as he closed the set of papers before she could start reading them. They looked official, with a seal she half-recognised at the bottom. “I thought you’d still be learning Charm.”

“I lost my temper,” Gwen admitted. The whole story spilled out, from start to finish. “I...why...why did that happen?”

“Charmers have a tendency to irritate everyone else,” Master Thomas remarked. He hesitated for a moment. “And Lord Blackburn, who may be the most capable Charmer in the world, has a habit of irritating people. The two don’t go together very well.”

He looked up at her. “But in Blackburn’s case...I’m afraid that slapping him was not the best way to deal with him,” he added. “Luckily, with you being an emotional woman, he will probably overlook it once his temper has cooled down.”

Gwen flushed. She’d heard her mother say that women were naturally more emotional and sensitive than men, but she’d seen plenty of evidence that the opposite was true. But then, women were more affected by their lives than men. A man who wenched every night was a hero to his fellows; a woman who took a different lover every year was a whore. It didn’t seem fair to her, somehow, but no men had ever shown any interest in her anyway. They didn’t want to marry the subject of such disturbing rumours.