The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2

Kim Lenox Answer The Wicked

Late afternoon, London, 1883

“I shall have a visitor today,” Mr Rathburn quietly announced.

Malise Bristol turned from the upper drawer of the walnut clothes press, where she arranged her elderly patient’s nightshirts. One of the hospital’s perpetually out-of-breath, red-faced laundresses had delivered them only moments before. The linen was still warm to the touch.

Mr Rathburn’s quietly spoken words had startled her — startled her because in the nearly two years she had been assigned as his personal nurse at Winterview, he had never once received a visitor. The other residential patients of the exclusive, elegantly appointed home for the aged often had visitors, even if only barristers with papers to be signed or family members with stylish hats in hand, begging for an increase in their allowances.

“A visitor, sir?” she enquired, closing the drawer.

He sat in his wheelchair peering out the window, which was framed by vertical swathes of burgundy silk. In the dim afternoon light, the silk appeared almost black in contrast to the grey sky on the other side of the pane. He appeared gaunt today. Frailer than in days before, and nearly swallowed by his green silk dressing robe.

“Indeed,” he answered, offering nothing more in the way of explanation.

“A member of your family?” she enquired hopefully. Though neither of them was an excessive conversationalist by nature, she had grown very fond of Mr Rathburn and wanted him to have a loving family. Only why wouldn’t they have made an appearance before now? Because, her mind supplied, they were obviously a terrible, useless lot.

“No, not family,” he answered evenly, sounding not the least bit disappointed.

“Business?”

“Thank God, no.”

“A friend then,” she prodded gently.

He was quiet for a long moment. “I suppose.”

Malise’s heart warmed with a vision of two elderly gentlemen, whiling away the remainder of the afternoon reminiscing about younger days. A visit from a friend would do Mr Rathburn good. She should not be his only companion in his final days.

Even from her perspective, as his nurse, a visitor would be a welcome distraction. Their days together followed a rather monotonous pattern, each day nearly identical to one before.

First, there was breakfast, then she would push Mr Rathburn in his chair for a walk about the grounds. If weather did not allow for such an excursion, they walked the halls instead. Next, the elderly gentleman would spend a few quiet hours squinting through his brass-rimmed spectacles at one of his many old books. Sometimes he would ask her, ever so politely, to read to him. Then it was time for luncheon and another walk. Afterwards, she would tidy his suite or draw in the sketchbook he had given her for Christmas while he wrote in silent concentration in one of his many leather-bound journals. Then, after a light repast of tea and whatever staid culinary selection the kitchen sent up, the male attendants would come and assist him into bed and she would retire to her tiny room in the hospital attic — except for Saturday evenings when she took the train into Chelsea. Sundays were her day off.

She made no complaints about the quiet predictability of their time spent together. Her life before coming to Winterview had been more eventful than she cared to remember.

Still, admittedly, she was more than a little curious about her elderly patient’s visitor. Anson Rathburn was an elegant, dapper old gentleman. His belongings — an exotic mélange of carved masks, primitive weaponry and foreign texts — suggested a life of adventure. There were also a few tintypes, some showing a smiling, handsome and young Anson Rathburn. But strangely, he had never spoken of his life before Winterview. She, as his hired nurse, had never presumed to press too invasively for details.

A sudden question occurred. How did Mr Rathburn know to expect a visitor? He had received no letter. No telegraph.

It was then she realized he did not simply look out the window now, at nothing in particular. His gaze was fixed on something there.

She crossed the room to stand beside him. Drops tapped against and drizzled down the panes, offering a distorted view of the grounds. The early spring rain had cleared the rolling, green lawn of patients, staff and guests, save for—

Stone benches lined Winterview’s central drive, and upon the furthest of these, nearly concealed by a thick canopy of trees, sat a dark-clad figure. The man wore a long raincoat and a wide-brimmed Western style hat that concealed most of his face, everything but a stalwart jaw and pursed lips. One leg was bent at the knee, its foot planted against the ground, while the other leg jutted straight on to the path before him. His hands rested against his thighs, completing a pose of pensive reluctance. Though difficult to tell much more from such a distance, she perceived a broad, well-turned pair of shoulders and fitted trousers over long, athletic legs.

“Is that your visitor, sir?” she asked, a bit breathlessly.

“It is.”

Excitement shot through her. Why? She couldn’t exactly say, other than that the “old friend” she’d imagined in her mind was very different than the apparently much younger man sitting in the rain outside.

“Would you like me to go down and invite him inside?”

Mr Rathburn smiled. “Not just yet.”

His answer relieved Malise. She supposed he was correct, and that his friend would come inside from the rain whenever he decided to do so.

And yet a half hour later, Mr Rathburn’s visitor had still not seen fit to call. He had, however, over time, moved from one bench to the next so that he narrowed the distance between himself and the front steps. Malise knew this to be so because she had passed by the window to steal a peek at least a half dozen times. Astoundingly, Mr Rathburn appeared to have forgotten all about him. He sat in his wheelchair at his desk, quietly reading. Another quarter of an hour passed before he lifted his blue-eyed gaze from the page. His eyes sparkled with humour.

“I do believe he must be soaked through by now. What do you say, Nurse Bristol?”

“That must certainly be true, Mr Rathburn.”

“Please do invite him up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Malise crossed the carpet, smoothing the folds of her white nurse’s apron, and turned the knob. The colder air in the hallway chilled her skin.

“Nurse Bristol?” he called.

“Yes, sir?” She paused, turning back.

“Don’t forget the umbrella.” He peered at her over his spectacles. “And his name is St Vinet.”

“Mr St Vinet,” Malise repeated, nodding. She took up the umbrella from the stand, and pulled the door closed behind her.

In the hallway, she glanced into the gilt-framed mirror, and caught a glimpse of herself: a brown widow’s peak, visible from beneath the centre fold of her white nurse’s cap; brown eyes, and a small, pale face. Invisible. She had long ago become invisible. It was why she didn’t pause for more than a glance, or to pinch her cheeks or smooth her hair. She had learned her lesson. A handsome man who charmed with smiles and sweet words was just as likely a monster as a Prince Charming. It was why she preferred the sanctuary of this place and the company of men too old and infirm to do her harm.

Winterview had once been a private residence and did not feel like a “hospital” at all. Though the pointed arches and exaggerated buttresses proclaimed it to be a gothic villa in style, certain modernizations had been made for the comfort of the wealthy, aged residents. One such modernization was the electricity and another was the lift. A metallic rattle and hum came from inside the shaft, indicating the elevator was in-use, so rather than wait, she descended down three flights to the ground floor. Here, a number of small sitting areas graced the far corners of an expansive tiled floor and a fire burned on opposite ends of the space, in two matched fireplaces. Finches chirped in large cages. A few residents and visitors occupied the lobby. A number of new nurses had been hired of late. Several of them followed dutifully behind Nurse Henry, the newly hired Head Nurse, making their way toward the kitchens. Her crisply issued instructions echoed in the cavernous space. Only at Winterview a few weeks, she’d already made her mark as a strict taskmistress. She expected perfection from her staff, and strict adherence to all rules and regulations. So far, Malise had been fortunate enough not to draw Nurse Henry’s attention or ire.

Nurse Alice, a round-faced woman nearly a foot shorter than Malise, carried a covered silver tray towards the stairs. Just two weeks before, she and Alice had become roommates, sharing a boarding house room in Chelsea on their nights off.

“Where are you going in that rain, Nurse Bristol?”

“Just outside to the drive. Mr Rathburn has a visitor.”

The young maid smiled. “Mr Rathburn? A visitor? Well that’s something, isn’t it? Good for him, I say. See you at the train station for the ride in.” Her smile stretched into a grin. “Tick tock, it won’t be long now. We’re almost free of this place, at least for a day.”

“Yes, I shall see you there.”

At the double doors, Malise paused. Mr St Vinet, the mysterious visitor would be on the other side. She assumed a pleasant smile and pushed through the doors –

The afternoon light dimmed.

Intense warmth touched her skin. She gasped in confusion. For a moment, it seemed a thousand dark wings fluttered around her, battering her, blinding her in shadows.

In the next breath, the sensation was gone, moved past her. She stood on the front steps, gasping, the umbrella gripped in her hand. Rain fell from the sky at a hard slant, splattering against her skirt and apron. She spun round to see what had pushed past her, fully expecting to see that dark flock of birds, but saw nothing.

Perhaps she had simply grown faint. She could think of no other explanation for the sensation of heat, weight and darkness that had passed over her so quickly, and then disappeared. Certainly that was it — a simple change of temperature, the shock of going from a warm hospital out into the brisk cold. Only she’d never been one to grow light-headed over such minor things, nor did she lace her corset too tightly, as some of the other nurses certainly did.

Water sluiced off the umbrella. Ah, Mr St Vinet.

She peered down the long drive. He was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the grounds, her heart slowly sinking into the pit of her stomach. Clearly he’d been reluctant to come inside and see Mr Rathburn, but to have simply departed without explanation? She prayed her gentle patient would not be terribly disappointed. She understood disappointment. The soul-deep, life changing sort. She wished the feeling on no one.

Inside, she climbed the stairs and made her way back to the uppermost floor. Weighted by regret, she turned the knob and reentered Mr Rathburn’s rooms. Voices touched her ears.

“Oh—” The exclamation escaped her mouth before she could stop it.

Mr Rathburn sat in his wheelchair in the small sitting area. His visitor, Mr St Vinet, sat in the chair opposite him, his hat on his lap. He had dark brown hair, worn just long enough to curl behind his ears. Raindrops glistened on his shoulders and dripped off the edge of his coat on to the carpet. Even seated, he towered over Mr Rathburn. She read agitation, even anger, in the rigid line of his shoulders, and the sharp downward turn of his lips. He glanced at her with the irritated expression of one confronting an unwanted intruder.

Mr Rathburn did not appear the least bit troubled by his guest’s demeanour. “Nurse Bristol, please be introduced to Mr St Vinet.”

She was staff. Truly just a servant. Not even a real nurse with formal medical training. A simple companion. As such, she had not anticipated a formal introduction. She half-curtseyed. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Nurse Bristol,” St Vinet murmured, barely offering her a glance. But then his chin halted, and his eyes narrowed and he did look at her, and piercingly so, as if reading her every feature.

Heat crept up her neck and flooded her face.

He looked sharply away.

She returned the umbrella to its stand, and subdued the impulse to back out of the room and only return when she was sure Mr St Vinet had departed. It was his direct stare. Something in his eyes. It was almost as if he had reached out and touched her. For someone who had not been touched in a very long time, her physical and emotional reaction was unexpectedly profound.

She reminded herself of her position and her purpose in the room. “Sir, ought I to prepare tea?”

She did not return her glance to Mr St Vinet but felt the pinpoint heat of his gaze on her.

Mr Rathburn answered, “Thank you, Nurse Bristol, tea would be most welcome.”

A copper kettle warmed on the narrow metal shelf of the wall stove. The men spoke, but they kept their voices low, so their words remained unintelligible to her ears. Within minutes, she’d prepared the tea tray and returned to serve them.

“How could I not come?” St Vinet hissed, his jaw and mouth tensing even more than before. “You summoned me. I have never been one to deny my duty.”

Malise kept her expression bland as she lowered the tray to the marbled-topped table between them. A leather case sat on the carpet next to Mr St Vinet’s booted foot. It was the sort a doctor might carry on a house visit.

“Duty?” Rathburn steepled his fingertips and peered, half-lidded, at his younger companion. “You warm my soul with such heartfelt sentiments. You could have come before, you know, without my summoning you. Why did you not?”

A dry laugh rattled from St Vinet’s throat. “To see you like this? You know how I feel about this.” He pointed at Rathburn, zig-zagging his finger in agitation. “You, being pushed around in that damn chair, by a damn nursemaid, for God’s sake. And this place,” he spat. “It’s like a coffin. Your coffin. And you expect me to come and watch as you die before my very eyes, all because of her—”

Malise’s temper flared protectively, and she glared at St Vinet, not caring that he was a gentleman and she only the hired help.

Leaning forward to give him his cup of tea, she whispered, “Mind your manners, sir.”

His gaze, as grey as gunmetal, lifted to hers, and locked. Simmered. His cheeks were ruddy with emotion.

“What was that, Miss Bristol?” asked Mr Rathburn of her back.

A long moment of silence passed.

“No, Nurse Bristol,” murmured St Vinet, his nostrils flared, and his pupils dilated. “I require no sugar or cream. Thank you.”

Mr Rathburn interjected, “Miss Bristol, I’ve only just now realized the clock on the mantle says four-thirty, which I know very well is usually the time you leave for your day off. I have no wish to intrude upon your personal time. Please go on and do enjoy yourself.”

She poured his cup of tea and made sure he had a firm hold on the saucer before releasing it to him. “Are you certain, sir? I don’t mind staying.”

“As always, you have done more than your job requires and this old man is grateful for that. I’ve left coins for a hansom cab in the dish by the door.”

“Mr Rathburn, you oughtn’t—”

He raised his hand and shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of you walking in the rain.”

St Vinet listened to them silently, his hands curled into fists on his thighs.

Though she was curious to see what else would pass between the two men, she realized she had no good excuse to remain.

“Thank you, sir.” She took up her coat and bag, and the coins from the dish, and let herself out. “I shall see you Monday morning then.”

In the hallway, she buttoned her coat. She removed her nurse’s cap and replaced it with the small taffeta and straw bonnet she kept in her reticule. A narrow door led to the service stairs, and she descended to the ground floor, emerging into another narrow hall. The staff physicians kept their offices here, as well as the administrators of the facility.

“Nurse Bristol.”

It was Head Nurse Henry.

“Yes, Nurse Henry.”

“Please step inside my office.”

Malise did so, holding her reticule tight against her ribs. “Would you prefer that I sit?”

Nurse Henry’s eyebrows had been drawn on her forehead in brown grease pencil. The twin arcs crept up her forehead. She shrugged, and stated briskly, “Sit or stand, your choice makes no difference to me. What I have to say will not take long, so I will not dally with empty words. Plain and simple: your employment has been terminated.”

The word echoed in Malise’s head.

“Terminated?” she whispered.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. You know what that word means.”

Her chest felt as if a boulder had been dropped upon it. Barely able to breathe, she blinked through tears. “Yes, of course I do, but why?”

“Mr Rathburn has insisted upon it.”

Mr Rathburn had insisted on her termination? She had come to trust her elderly patient. This place had become her haven.

“Are there no other positions available here in the hospital?”

“No.”

“I would even consider a housekeeping position.”

Nurse Henry’s eyes narrowed to slits. “To keep you here after a valued patient has requested you be released would be awkward, to say the least. Do you have all your belongings with you?”

Malise looked down at herself. A dress, shoes, coat and a reticule. “Yes.”

Nurse Henry slid an envelope across the desk. “You’ll find a week’s severance pay inside. That is all. You may go.”

Numbly, Malise left by the service door at the back of the hospital. She’d followed the rules. Done everything she was supposed to do. She’d stayed invisible. How could this have happened? Where would she go? She had only enough saved earnings to stay in the boarding house for three, perhaps four days. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shivered and walked beneath the metal gate, into the street. A hansom sped past, but she did not hail it. She would not squander the coins given to her by Mr Rathburn, not now when every shilling meant survival. Why would he have done something so thoughtful, such as give her coins for a hansom, when he knew she would never return? Guilt, perhaps? In her mind, that explanation made no sense. None of this made sense. She looked back upon the stone façade of the hospital, to his bay window. No face peered down at her, only the faint glow of lamplight.

A horse pulling a large open wagon rattled into view. Crowded with occupants, the vehicle radiated with laughter and song.

“Stop! Driver, stop!” shouted a woman’s voice. The horse and wagon veered toward the curb, nearly barrelling over Malise. “Nurse Bristol!”

A score of boisterous male and female voices mimicked the original caller by shouting her name. Another time, she would have smiled at their good humour but tonight their attentions left her feeling exposed. She perceived the dark glimmer of more than one bottle being passed to and fro inside. A familiar face emerged from all the others — Nurse Alice. She grasped the side rail of the wagon, and hoisted herself half-over, pink-cheeked and smiling. The scarlet roses on her straw hat had come unfastened and dangled near her left ear. Her eyes were bright. Drunkenly bright.

“I worried when I did not see you at the station. You’re only just now getting away?”

Malise now saw that several of the newly hired nurses were passengers in the wagon as well. With such an audience, she couldn’t bring herself to share her unfortunate news. Not just yet. Instead, she forced a smile. “I had to stay a bit late.”

Alice tsked. “They’ll work us to death if we let them. Come on. Get in. There will be no train t’night. Something about the tracks and emergency repairs. Everyone pitched in a few coins for the wagon.”

Malise hesitated. Though she was in no mood to climb into a wagon full of raucous strangers, the distance to Chelsea was too far for her to undertake on foot. Returning to the hospital was out of the question. Coldness seeped through her coat and into her bones. Fog hovered above the surface of the roadway.

Nurse Alice held up a dark brown bottle, and grinned. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“The woman says ta’ get in!” one of the young men shouted. “We’re freezin’ our arses off,” hollered another. Numbly, Malise nodded and allowed herself to be pulled inside.

Nightfall

“He’s here, St Vinet.”

Dominic did not pretend for even a moment not to know of whom Anson, the man who had once been his mentor and closest friend, spoke. Everything inside him tensed.

“How do you know?”

“The same as before. When night comes, I hear his laughter. He taunts me. Soon, he will come for me, just like he did for her.”

It no longer mattered what differences had come between them four decades before. The Seether had come out of hiding, as they had always suspected he would. A myriad of visions from the past filled his mind. Terror. Violence. Blood.

He responded with vehemence. “I will stop him.”

“I have become an old man—”

“Truly? I hadn’t noticed,” he responded snappishly.

Rathburn’s fists curled. “I can’t help but believe he’s been out there waiting and watching all along, until I grew so old and infirm that I could no longer defend myself.” He whispered, “Back then, it was my greatest wish to Reclaim the Seether, to be the one to dispatch him to Tartarus where he belongs.”

Inside Dominic’s chest, the old anger surged anew. “You should have thought of that before you so foolishly relinquished your immortality for the love of a mortal woman — a woman the Seether promptly murdered, just to show you he could.”

“Speak no more of it!” shouted Rathburn, clasping his hands to his face. More softly, he repeated. “Speak no more of it, please.”

“How long has he been here? How close is he?”

Rathburn shook his head resignedly. “I no longer have the instincts or the powers to know. That is why you must go into the city and find him. He will be there, you know. Amidst the people of the streets and alleyways. Growing stronger from the misery and wickedness of others, as all Transcending souls do.”

St Vinet nodded. “Tonight.”

“Did you bring all that I requested from the Inner Realm?”

Once Rathburn became a mortal, he could no longer return into the protected Inner Realm of the Amaranthine immortals. Dominic touched the case. “I did.”

“Even the vial of Demeter’s tears?”

“She nearly scalped me for taking them, but yes, everything is here.”

“Good.” Rathburn slid a folded slip of paper across the table, past their now-tepid cups of tea. “Here are the formulas. You must mix everything precisely. My hands, they shake. .”

St Vinet read carefully. “This one, with mud from the deepest crevice of the river Styx—”

“Is to Reclaim the Seether. The other, made with Demeter’s tears, is to reverse the effect on any innocents he has claimed.”

An hour later, and the numerous vials had been emptied, measured and mixed and resealed into slender glass ampoules. Dominic tucked most of them into the breast pocket of his overcoat but one remained on the table beside Anson. Just in case. . just in case the Seether came to Winterview. Dominic lowered his hat on to his head. Shadow slashed across his eyes.

He pondered the door, but decided on the window. Standing there, he unlatched the lock, and turned to Anson. “Until tomorrow.”

“Dominic. . we were the best of friends once.”

“Once.” St Vinet clenched his teeth. But his anger faltered. “Still.”

“I must elicit one additional promise from you.”

“Tell me then.”

“The girl. . my nurse. I fear that because of my fondness for her, she may become a target, much as my darling Lavinia did.”

St Vinet shrugged, attempting nonchalance. Nurse Bristol. There was something about her that, in the moment he had looked into her eyes, had stolen his breath. A rare occurrence, that. Clearly she attempted to hide her beauty, but unfortunately, he saw beyond the staid nurse’s uniform and cap, to the jewel which lay beneath. Intriguing. Alluring. He’d instantly wanted more of her, mind, body and soul. But she was a mortal woman, and no good thing could come from falling into a delirium of passion with one such as her.

Rathburn clasped his eyes shut. “I don’t wish for Nurse Bristol to die the same death. I do not know where she goes on these nights, but grasp hold of her trace. Follow her. Find her. Watch over her this night and the next, until this thing is finished. Until I can be certain of her safety, how can I ever pass from this life in peace?”

Dominic did not answer, but he nodded. With his next breath, he changed. Transformed.

In shadow, he descended the outer stone wall of the hospital. Almost instantly, he discovered Nurse Bristol’s trace threaded upon the cool air, as rich, sweet and seductive as currant wine.

She ought not to have drunk of the wine. She’d taken only a few sips, but the sweet stuff already affected her. The night spun about Malise, disorienting her. Disjointed visions flashed through the dark, of yellow-orange gaslight, pale faces and tall buildings. The young man beside her had already tried to kiss her three times but she’d planted her hand against his chest and shoved him away. He had laughed good-naturedly and turned his attentions to Alice, and had been much more successful there. She knew not how long the wagon bounced and creaked and jerked along.

At last the wheels jerked to a stop.

“Come on,” said Alice. “The driver says we get off here.”

They climbed down into the midst of a crowd. Unsteady on her feet, Malise closed her eyes until the spinning stopped. Opening them again, she walked alongside Alice. The three other nurses followed along behind. In the wagon Malise had learned they had all taken rooms at the same boarding house as she and Alice. People danced in the street — young, bright-eyed women with their hair streaming free, and smiling men with their shirts half unbuttoned. There were musicians and magicians. Tom-tom drums thudded and tambourines jangled. The aromas of fresh cakes and roasted nuts scented the air.

“Oh, it’s a street festival,” gushed Alice, clapping her hands. “Let’s see what’s about.”

Malise wanted to be free. To dance like those other young women, and laugh and flirt. Not so long ago, she had been like that. Happy and carefree. She’d married young, a clever young doctor in her small fishing village in Scotland. He’d been handsome and charming, but soon after they were wed, she’d learned of his penchant for violence and sexual terror. Her widowed father, the local schoolmaster, had refused her pleas to return home. He was proud to have a doctor in the family — his status had been elevated in the community. One night, bloodied and humiliated, she’d escaped as her husband slept. She’d begged rides on farmers’ wagons, and stowed away on a train, eventually arriving in London. Her limited knowledge of medicine, gained in the short time living with the monster she called her husband, had been enough to get her the job at Winterview, the first place at which she’d enquired after getting off the train at the outskirts of London. Now, with no references, she had no idea where she would find another position, and quickly enough to save herself from destitution. In this moment she was in no mood for revelry.

She touched her friend’s shoulder. “Alice, you enjoy the entertainments with the others. I think I’ll go on to the room.”

“Go to the room?” Alice’s eyes widened. “It’s early still. Oh, Malise, please,” she begged. “Please stay. I don’t know the other girls as well as I know you.”

Malise relented, allowing Alice to weave her arm into the crook of her own, and lead her into the thick of the crowd.

“Everyone’s going this way,” said Alice.

Two large metal barrels bracketed either side of an alleyway, rusted sides cut into faces, like jack-o’-lanterns. Flames inside them illuminated their triangular eyes and mouths, lined with jagged teeth. Voices in the crowd proclaimed—

Magician.

They passed between the barrels. For a moment, utter darkness consumed them as if they spiralled without foothold into a bottomless crevice. But then light burned in the distance. . embers in the night. Torchlight.

A small stage had been set up with wooden boards and behind this was parked a large enclosed wagon, painted in colours of turquoise and orange. On the side were painted the words, “S. E. Ether & Son” as well as a placard advertising liniments, healing spirits and apothecary services. Several young women, with long hair, tightly laced bodices and saucy smiles bustled in and out of the wagon, accepting coins from the crowd in exchange for an assortment of green and brown bottles and small pouches.

But at the centre of the stage, a tall man in a green velvet great-coat and tall stovepipe hat paced the centre boards. Long, blond hair fell in waves over his shoulders, in shocking, almost naptha-bright contrast to the velvet. With his bright green eyes and high cheekbones, he boasted a lithe, cat-like male beauty.

He moved with his arms extended out to his sides, “—even now, my assistants are filling your orders for our miraculous healing elixirs.” Fervency burned in his eyes. “For those of you who have not yet decided, believe. I beg you to believe. Just one sip of our carefully formulated potion will ease the persistent pain in your intestines and repair the unsteady beat of your heart. Yes. Yes. Come forward good sir.”

The crowd pushed forward.

“Oh, what’s that?” the man shouted, cupping a slender hand at his ear, and looking towards the wagon. “My assistant tells me it’s time for another of our entertainments.”

A roar of applause and verbal encouragements sounded all around Malise.

Alice exclaimed, “Let’s get closer to the stage where we can see.”

With her arm still through Malise’s, she pulled her forward. They lost the other nurses somewhere in the press of bodies. Soon, they stood at the edge of the stage. Others, also trying to get closer, pushed and elbowed them from the side and from behind.

“All I need is another pretty girl to do the honours. This time, instead of one of my assistants, let us call someone out of the crowd.” The tall blond man surveyed the multitude.

Young women surged forward, raising their hands to him. “Me. Me, please.”

“You? Or you?” he teased them, his handsome lips curling into a broader smile. “No. . I think. . you.”

Malise’s eyes widened on the tip of his finger, which was undeniably pointed at her.

“Go on, Malise! It will be fun.”

“I really don’t wish to—”

Arms grasped her elbows and her waist, lifting her on to the stage.

The man’s face appeared very close to hers. His hand pressed against her lower back. “Welcome to my show. I am Dr Ether.”

Her pulse beat a frenzy. She whispered, “Really, I decline. I’ve never been one for dramatics.”

He stroked a hand down her cheek, his smile widening. “Never fear, the part is small and involves no dialogue.”

“No, truly—”

Dr Ether disappeared and his assistants surrounded her, jostling her to the far edge of the stage, laughing and cajoling and praising how daring she was. Behind her, something weighty and creaky rolled against the wood, as if on wheels. The cold firmness of wood pressed against her back, and leather straps circled her wrists and ankles. She struggled but it was too late. The girls danced away, leaving her strapped to a large circular panel. They clapped their hands and encouraged the crowd to do the same.

Dr Ether approached again. Her gaze fell to his sides, where he clenched a cluster of gleaming, foot-long blades in one hand. “I think everyone has a bit of actor in them. All it takes is getting oneself into the right frame of mind.” He spoke to her softly, as if oblivious of their audience. “Take the emotion of fear, for example. Even if one is on stage and with full realization there is no danger to one’s person, the successful actor must put themselves into a believing state of mind.”

He tossed one of the blades from his crowded left hand to the palm of the empty right.

Her pulse staggered. “Sir, truly, I don’t wish to participate—”

“Shhhhh,” he soothed. “You must forget the existence of the audience. And the stage, and the curtains, and the ropes and pulleys, and the orchestra. . and convince yourself to believe you just might be a breath. . away. . from death.”

He bent and with a growl of effort, slammed the tip of the blade between her ankles. She shrieked. The blade pierced through the layers of her skirt and petticoats, into the wood panel.

“For your modesty,” he growled, low in his throat. “Your skirts around your head would no doubt incite the crowd into a frenzy but that’s not at all the effect we’re going for.”

She recognized something in the gleam of his eyes and hidden in his handsome smile. A potential for cruelty.

He backed away, three remaining blades in hand. Reaching the far end of the stage, he offered her a dramatic, assessing glance. “Too easy. That is too easy, what do you say my friends?”

The shouts from the crowd filled the alleyway, deafening in their intensity.

“Too easy.”

“Spin the wheel.”

“What was that?” he asked. “Spin the wheel?”

A unified chant emerged. “Spin. . the. . wheel. Spin. . the. . wheel.”

“No!” shouted Malise but her protests were drowned by the enormity of the sound.

He grinned at his adoring audience. “If you insist.”

A young woman appeared beside her, someone familiar. One of the new nurses. The one named Jane. Only Jane had shed her coat. Her hair shimmered in long curls around her shoulders and her lips had been painted bright scarlet.

“Spin. . the. . wheel.”

“Jane?” Malise gasped, now not just frightened but panicked.

“I’m sorry but do I know you?” laughed Jane, a stack of golden bracelets jangling on her arms. Her hands gripped the wooden handle above Malise’s head and with a lusty shout she pulled. Everything moved. Spun.

THUNK.

Malise struggled against the force of movement, bent her neck to see. A blade jutted out, a half inch from her right side.

“No more!” she screamed, her hair loosening, and swinging about her face.

THUNK.

She froze. That one, just beside her ear.

A sudden roar filled the alley. A flash of light blinded her and heat scorched her skin.

“Seether!” a voice bellowed.

THUNK.

Midnight

“Bloody hell,” cursed Dominic. “Your hair.”

Nurse Bristol pushed up, and rubbed her eyes. She lay half-sprawled on the grass, her bodice torn and her undershirt parted, which bared the lovely swell of her breasts. Her hair, now streaked with silver moonlight, fell in soft disarray over her shoulders. After Ether and all of his new followers had disappeared, screaming, growling and hissing into the night, Dominic had brought her here to this empty field.

Recognizing him, her eyes widened. “You.”

His mouth went dry. God, had he done the right thing? He threw the now-empty ampoule into the darkness.

“Why is my bodice wet?” She paused. “Ugh. That’s. . blood.”

He nodded. “Yours, Nurse Bristol.”

“Malise. Call me Malise.” She searched her body. “But I’m not hurt.”

“You were, though.” He reached out and with his fingertips, touched her bare skin at the centre of her chest. “Here. The knife went in here.”

She pressed her hand over his, holding his palm against the swell of her breast. She appeared interested. Not at all shocked.

“That makes no sense. But. . I believe you. I feel so different. Unafraid. You don’t know how that feels,” she whispered, her lips slowly forming a smile. If he’d found her beautiful before, she was that, tenfold, now. “I am oddly unconcerned that apparently something momentous has happened to me that I can’t explain. Would it have anything to do with the awful taste in my mouth?”

St Vinet lifted the empty ampoule. “It was meant for them. There was enough for everyone in the crowd who drank or ingested Ether’s false elixirs.”

“Those things never work. He’s a liar, only taking advantage of their hopes and stealing their money.”

“Oh, but his elixirs do work. Only they don’t heal. They enslave.” He pushed himself up from the ground.

She, too, stood, brushing the grass from her rumpled skirts. “Like opium turns people into addicts?”

“Much, much worse, Malise. His victims are transformed into Seethers, who then grow ravenous for the emotion of misery. They prey upon weaker mortals. They exploit and kill, in terrible ways.”

“But I didn’t drink any of his elixirs” she said softly.

“I didn’t even consider that. I just. . couldn’t let you die and hoped this might heal you somehow. Things went further than I expected. You are more than healed now. You are. .”

He closed his mouth.

“What? What am I?”

“Bloody hell, I’m not ready to say,” he growled.

She did not shrink away, but stepped closer, so close her skirts brushed his trouser leg. “You didn’t know what its effect would be?”

“Rathburn formulated it. We did not go over every possibility for its use.”

“Rathburn. . he called you an old friend. But he is old, and you are not. What will you tell him now? Mr St Vinet, what will you tell me?”

“That I have, without your permission or consent. .”

“Yes. .”

“Turned you into an immortal.”

Unable to watch her reaction, he gave her his back, and strode a few feet across the grass to snatch up his hat from the ground. He lowered it on to his head, and waited for the disbelief. The stuttered questions. The curses.

Her hands and arms were around his waist. Something flared, deep inside his chest.

He twisted round, facing her.

She smiled up at him. “Do you know what it’s like to be unafraid? Do you understand this gift you have given to me? It is as if I have been freed from a lifetime of imprisonment. I feel as if I am capable of anything.”

Her words assuaged much, but not all, of his guilt. Even so, to his pleasure, her hands spread across his chest and came up to his neck and his jaw. He had heard, but never observed for himself, that when the rare mortal was transformed into an immortal they experienced a wild euphoria for days, one that included. . certain urges.

She whispered, “St Vinet. . I can’t explain it, but I want nothing more than to be closer to you. . I need to be close to you. .”

He needed no further invitation. Amaranthines were a lusty lot, indulging when natural impulses struck. But with Malise there was something deeper. So deep he experienced only anguish that it had taken this long for them to stand face to face, breath to breath, when until now experience had told him he must forever stay away. From the moment their eyes had met, in Rathburn’s rooms at the hospital, she had captured him, heart and soul.

Their lips and bodies met in a mutual frenzy of desire. Within seconds, they fell to the cool grass, a tangle of limbs, garments and bared skin.

St Vinet lifted his head. “Agh! Wait. Stop.”

“What is it?” she asked dazedly.

“We’ve no time for this—”

Malise nodded. “The Seethers. . they are still out there.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “The newer Seethers, the Ancillaries, usually hibernate for a good two days before starting their mayhem, so there’s time to track them but I need more of Rathburn’s elixir in order to save them all. It’s Ether I’ve got to find tonight.”

“Let me help you.” She re-buttoned her bodice. “He put a blade in my heart. Revenge sounds like a rather sweet pursuit.”

“Rathburn.“ Dominic spun away from her, staring into the night.

“What is it?”

“I must go to him. Immediately.”

“How do you know?”

“He has summoned me.”

“I thought he was mortal.”

“He is mortal. If I were to attempt communication with him, he would never perceive my efforts but when his emotions are intense and insistent, I can sense them across land and sea. He knows this and in this way he has called out to me.”

“What is wrong?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that he’s in danger. It has to be the Seether.”

“Ether,” whispered Malise.

They crossed the park and emerged on to the cobblestones. Dominic shook awake the driver of a hansom and instructed him to convey them to Winterview. The streets were near empty, so their travel occurred with speed. As they grew nearer to the hospital, an orange light illuminated the sky, the distinct colour of flame.

The hansom shook and jerked to a stop. Even from this distance, Malise felt the heat on her skin and smelled the smoke. She leaned forward in her seat and grasped the door handle. St Vinet seized her arm, holding her back.

“Stay here, Malise.”

“No, I won’t. I care for him too. Perhaps even more than you.”

Stepping down from the hansom, they raced across the lawn, passing residents in their nightclothes, seated in chairs and bundled up against the chill. Nurses moved to and fro, tending to the elderly residents. Three different fire brigades directed thick streams of water into the blaze.

“Nurse Bristol,” shouted a nurse.

“Where is Mr Rathburn?” Malise enquired, her voice husky with urgency.

The nurse stared, wide-eyed. “You. . you look so different.”

“Mr Rathburn! Where is he?” shouted Malise, gripping the woman’s arm.

“We got everyone else out.” The nurse peered toward the upper floors. “Everyone but Mr Rathburn. Nurse Henry said she would bring him down. She and that visiting physician, Dr Ether. They were so very brave, going straight up into the flames.”

Dominic strode toward the burning structure. Malise joined him.

He growled, “I suspect Nurse Henry is an Ancillary, here to set the stage for Ether’s arrival.”

Malise added, “There were other nurses too, only recently hired. They helped Ether bind me to the wheel.”

They grew closer to the hospital. The heat intensified but did not scorch Malise’s skin. In that moment, a great crash sounded, and the lower floor buckled. The roof sagged and collapsed inward. Flames blazed out from the gaping hole.

“Oh, my God,” Dominic’s face paled. “We’re too late.”

“No!” Malise cried, tears glazing her eyes. “Mr Rathburn!”

St Vinet’s arm came round her, bringing her close to his side. Bending down, he pressed his lips to her tears. Winterview was now nothing more than a great burning heap. Rathburn, his mentor and friend, was dead.

A stream of carriages arrived and soon all of the residents were whisked away to other lodgings. Their cause lost, the firemen retreated. Wagons returned to the street, they rolled their hoses and prepared to depart.

A voice sounded behind them. “Don’t tell me you’re going to stand here all night when there’s a Seether to be Reclaimed.”

Malise turned. A tall figure strode towards them, a charred, still-smoking leather case in hand. As he drew nearer, the light from the flames illuminated his features — those of a young man in the prime of his life. She recognized him from the tintypes in Mr Rathburn’s room.

In shock, Malise broke free of Dominic’s embrace and raced towards the one who approached them.

“Mr Rathburn,” she exclaimed, reaching out to touch his face. “It’s you.”

He dropped the case, and seized her up into his arms.

“I like the hair,” he murmured. “It and immortality suit you.”

“What in the hell?” Dominic demanded, the intensity of his fury hotter than any inferno. “You played me for a fool. All these years, you were simply playing a part.”

Anson released Malise and turned towards him. “No, I truly aged. There’s a way, little known and I begged the approval of The Primordial Council. But the method is dangerous. A gamble. I was never certain once I’d let things go this far that I’d be able to return from the brink. But remember, St Vinet, the process by which we are all given our immortality. We are baptized in fire — and fire reversed the process of my aging and returned me to my true, immortal state.”

Dominic said, “But you gave up your immortality when you wed the mortal woman. Once you’ve relinquished your immortality, you can never go back.”

Anson shook his head. “I never relinquished my immortality. I simply allowed my physical body to age. I loved Lavinia. She wanted someone to grow old with. She deserved that much. By then, you were already so furious with me for marrying her — curse your bloody temper — I let you believe as well. Then Ether returned, seeking revenge. I thought I’d already Reclaimed him with one of my elixirs but the formula was faulty. Though weakened, he murdered Lavinia, then disappeared. Disappeared so completely, I feared I would never have my revenge upon him. So I took a chance. The chance that he hated me so greatly that as he regained his strength, while he was watching and waiting, he would one day reappear when I was at my oldest and my weakest.”

“And he did, and you Reclaimed him,” exclaimed Malise, gazing at him in admiration.

“No, he’s still out there.”

“Still out there?” growled Dominic. “We’ve got to stop him, then. Tonight.”

Malise added, “And there are still his victims who must be saved. Returned to their normal state.”

Anson took up the case. “Then let us be on our way. He can’t escape the three of us. Though not a Shadow Guard with final Reclamation powers, Malise can still join in the hunt.”

Dominic rested a hand on Anson’s shoulder. “When this is all over. .”

“I know. You’re going to kick my arse. Do your best.”

“The Primordial Council will be furious that we’ve turned a mortal.”

“Let me do the talking, then.”

Their gazes held. “I’m glad you’ve returned.”

“So am I.” Rathburn lowered his voice. “But if you ever kiss my nurse again—”

Malise looked to St Vinet and then to Rathburn, and laughed.