Belladonna

  “That’s enough!” Michael roared.

  “You didn’t kill her,” Glorianna said again, her voice still quiet. “That voice whispering to your heart is a liar. That whisper belongs to a thing that devours Light and heart and hope. It killed her, Torry. Not you.”

  The anger faded from Torry’s face, leaving a wasteland of despair. “She wouldn’t have been in that alley if not for me.”

  “Was she waiting to meet you?” Glorianna asked.

  “No! She wasn’t that kind of girl to be meeting me—or anyone—in an alley.”

  “Were you supposed to walk her home? Were you late?”

  “No. She was at her friend Kaelie’s house. Went over to talk about wedding things. Our wedding. I went to the pub with a few of the lads. Just to have a drink or two, play some darts. Nothing more.”

  Michael stepped up and took hold of the horse’s bridle since Torry had let the reins slip from his hands.

  “I’m sorry for your grief, Torry,” Michael said. “And I’m sorry for Erinn. I am. But Glorianna is right. Evil killed your girl and the lamplighter and the two boys. And Evil has tried to break you by heaping blame on your shoulders as well as grief.”

  Suspicion filled Torry’s eyes. He gathered the reins. “No one has said those boys are dead. But they went off with someone. A familiar stranger.”

  “I heard the same thing when I was here last—and more,” Michael said. “Who saw the boys go off with this stranger? Who came forward as witness?”

  Torry opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked thoughtful.

  “Whispers in the dark,” Glorianna said. “Everyone has heard a ‘something.’ No one knows where it started or who first said it.”

  “The Destroyer of Light is among us, Torry,” Michael said.

  “The Destroyer is just a story,” Torry protested.

  Michael shook his head. “No. It’s not.” He gave the horse a pat and stepped back. “You need to get away for a few days. I understand that. Sometimes you need to see the same stars from a different place to help your heart settle when it’s hurting. But don’t go to Kendall. There’s been some…darkness…there too.”

  He’s a good man, Michael thought. Come on, wild child, give him a bit of luck to help ease his heart.

  “You heading down to the village?” Torry asked after a long moment.

  “No,” Michael said. “We just stopped for a rest and a bit of music. We’re headed for the posting house and then on to Foggy Downs tomorrow.”

  A blush stained Torry’s cheeks. “Bit of a walk for a lady, isn’t it?”

  He hadn’t called Glorianna a lady a few minutes ago.

  The music is changing in the lad, Michael realized, feeling his own heart lighten.

  “They’d have a pub there, wouldn’t they?”

  Michael nodded. “Shaney’s. Food, drink, a few rooms to rent upstairs.”

  “Music?”

  “There will be tomorrow night.” Michael gave Torry a man-to-man smile. “Might even teach the woman how to play the drum.”

  “What?” Glorianna yipped.

  “That little bit of hand-slapping was fine out here,” Michael said, making his voice a blend of soothing and condescending, a blend that was guaranteed to put—yes, that was the look—fire in a woman’s eyes. “But no one will hear it over the dancing.”

  “And you won’t hear anything over the ringing in your ears once I’m done whacking you upside the head.”

  Lady’s mercy, she just might mean it.

  But Torry burst out laughing, and the sound made her narrow her eyes at Michael.

  “Peace, lady,” Torry said. “He’ll play better if he can hear the tune.” He paused, then added shyly, “There’s room in the rig. I could take you as far as the posting house. Save you that much of a walk.”

  “In return for me not whacking him upside the head?” Glorianna asked in a voice women perfect to scrape a layer of skin off a man’s hide.

  “My mother always says kindness begets kindness,” Torry said meekly.

  Glorianna stared at him. Then she sighed and picked up her pack. “Your mother is right. Mothers always are.”

  Doreen walked toward the boardinghouse, too tired to feel discouraged. She’d been out and about since morning, doing what she could to meet the right sort of gentlemen, and here it was suppertime and not even a flirtation to show for the effort. But how was she supposed to be seen when she couldn’t afford to be seen? Her best outfits were out of fashion, and there was no chance of doing anything about that because everything cost more than she’d expected.

  Maybe she should have gone a little farther and stopped at another excuse for a village like Foggy Downs. She could have lived pretty for a month on what wouldn’t last more than a week here in Kendall. Or maybe she should have gotten passage on a ship heading north. Or even taken a walk through a pair of Sentinel Stones to see if she would end up in another part of Elandar that would be more to her liking.

  She’d find someone. She had to. She wasn’t going back to Foggy Downs. She was going to find…

  Someone like him—that middle-aged, elegant gentleman walking toward her with his lips curved in a hint of a mysterious smile. He looked like he would know what to do with a woman.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I noticed you earlier today, but could not find anyone to introduce me.”

  She lowered her eyes, then gave him a flirtatious look through her lashes. “I’ve just recently come to town and don’t, as yet, have any particular friends.” But if his purse matched the quality of his suit, he might become a very special friend.

  “Then, please. Allow me to escort you back to your lodgings. A lady should not be walking alone after dark.”

  It seemed a bit odd that, having mentioned a lack of introductions, he hadn’t offered his name or asked for hers. But she pushed that thought aside. He was the first man who had shown interest in her, and he looked like he could afford to be generous.

  “Maybe we could go somewhere first since it’s such a pleasant evening. I would like to get to know you better,” Doreen said, smiling. If she could talk him into buying dinner, she’d save a little off her room and board.

  “Yes,” he said, returning the smile. “I think we could do that.”

  Another footfall. A scrape of boots on cobblestone. Something sly about the sound.

  The round little merchant tightened his hand on his walking stick. He didn’t have a packet for the home safe tonight. Didn’t even have enough coin to stop in a tavern and have a pint. Not that he would since that would make him late for dinner, and his wife had told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t waiting dinner for him again. If he was late, he could eat what was left and eat it cold.

  So he was going home at the proper time. Plenty of people on the street. But…

  That sly sound. A heavy footfall trying to stay quiet.

  Plenty of people about. Plenty of carriages on the streets, taking people home or taking them to some evening social engagement.

  Nothing to worry about. Nothing to fear. Nothing…

  The footsteps stopped. Vanished. Then something laughed.

  He stood frozen as the sound crawled over him. As the light from the streetlamps became oddly veiled. As the sounds of carriages and ordinary life faded.

  Then he heard another sound, more an exhalation than a word.

  “Pleeeease.”

  Turning slowly, his leg muscles protesting the effort, he realized he had stopped at the mouth of an alley. There was something in the alley, just beyond the light thrown by the streetlamp.

  Was that a woman’s arm? Perhaps one of those mannequins that some of the clothing stores had imported from another country. The wife and some of her lady friends were talking about setting up a committee to protest the use of such things in store windows, claiming the sight of limbs caused unseemly thoughts in young men.

  He didn’t think all the young men in Kendall had two thoughts between them when it came
to artificial limbs, female or otherwise, but saying that to his wife might make it sound as if he’d had a thought or two about the matter. Which he didn’t. Except to envy the merchants who could afford such an extravagance.

  Yes, it was probably a mannequin’s arm, left here as a schoolboy prank.

  Nothing artificial about the sound, something whispered. Someone could need help.

  He shuffled his feet, uncertain about what he should do. Then he looked down as the toe of one shoe tapped an object and made it rattle.

  A box of matches. And a candle stub lying next to the corner of the building. Wouldn’t provide much light, but it would be enough to see if there was reason to shout for the constables.

  He crouched down, puffing a bit as his belly got squeezed but unwilling to get his trousers dirty by kneeling on the cobblestones. He used up three matches—and there were only five in the box to start with—before he got the candle lit. With his walking stick tucked under one arm and a hand shielding the flame, he walked into the alley.

  A filthy trick! A filthy, dirty, awful trick to play on people, leaving something like that for an innocent man to find. Why, he almost soiled himself from the fright of seeing such a…

  “Pleeeease.”

  He stood there, staring stupidly, while his mind accepted the horrible truth: Not a trick. Not a mannequin. Not red wine or red paint staining the alleyway. The severed leg, the bone stabbing out from the flesh looking too jagged to be the work of an ax or saw. And the torso. Cut up. Torn up. Wounds too desperate for any surgeon to heal. It was a wonder the woman was still alive.

  “There there, my dear,” he said, going down on one knee in the blood and the dirt, tears running down his face unnoticed. “Everything will…” Be what? Not all right. Never all right. This was even worse than those killings that had occurred around the docks not long ago. But this wasn’t a prostitute, just a young woman.

  “Dooooreeen.” Her voice sounded thick, clotted. “Fooooggy Doooowns.”

  “Doreen from Foggy Downs,” he repeated. “Yes, I’ll tell your people. I’ll send a letter out, express. You won’t be left to strangers, my dear. I’ll see that you get home. I promise.”

  No more words. No more breath.

  As he stumbled out of the alleyway, calling for help, he heard the jagged sound of soft, inhuman laughter.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Stop here,” Michael said to Torry. Then he turned in the seat to look at Glorianna. “What do you think?”

  There was a look on her face. Pleasure? Pride? He couldn’t tell. “It was a dark landscape,” she said softly. “Fog obscures.”

  “I remember,” he said just as softly, ignoring the amused yet confused look Torry was giving both of them.

  “Left to itself, this place would have attracted dark hearts or dark natures—maybe even a demon race.”

  “What?” Torry said.

  “Hush,” Michael said, laying a hand on the younger man’s arm.

  “They made a choice, those people who first settled in this place,” Glorianna continued. “Maybe there was a Guide with them originally. The people might have stories about their ancestors that could provide a clue. Those original settlers chose to quiet the Dark and feed the Light. They brought love and laughter and anger and sorrow and all the messy tangles that make up a human life. And they kept this a daylight landscape that leans toward, but never surrenders to, the Dark. Every day, simply by living here as they do, they make the choice to hold on to the Light.”

  He looked at the village of Foggy Downs spread out below them. Good people with heart. That’s why he’d wanted her to see this place. He’d thought, hoped, she could help them. Do something with this landscape he couldn’t do. But he understood now her pleasure and pride as she looked down at the village and considered the people who lived there. As she looked at him.

  “So the music does make a difference here,” he said, not sure if he was making a statement or asking a question.

  “It makes a difference in all your landscapes, Magician,” Glorianna replied. “Our connection to Ephemera is the reason our ancestors were shaped to walk in the world.” She looked at the land spreading out before them. Then she smiled and sat back. “Let’s go down and meet your people.”

  “She called you a Magician,” Torry said out of the side of his mouth after giving the horse the signal to move forward. “You feel easy about that?”

  “Yes, she did,” Michael said, smiling. “And yes, I do.” Because something about the way she said the word sang for him right down to the marrow in his bones, he focused all the luck-bringing skill he had into a single wish: Let her have a day of light and laughter, a day of simple pleasures. Let her have a day to be a woman instead of a warrior. Let her have a day when Glorianna can dance.

  Michael brushed his hair, then straightened the vest. Good shirt, embroidered vest, good trousers. Yes, he did clean up well and would turn a few female heads.

  But was it enough to turn Glorianna’s head? They had the bed and the candlelight he wanted for their first lovemaking.

  He sighed. And they had a village full of chaperones. Added to that, Shaney’s wife had put Glorianna in the room that had the squeaky floor, so a man couldn’t even approach the door of the damn room without everyone in the main room below knowing about it. Hadn’t he learned that for himself when he’d knocked on the door to see if Glorianna had everything she needed? There was no harm in a man enjoying a kiss, especially when he had sense enough to stay in the doorway. But Maeve, the postmistress, had come puffing up the stairs, then stood there and told him to get on with it so the girl could close her door and get a bit of rest before the evening’s dancing.

  How did she expect him to get on with it, with her standing there tapping one foot and looking stern?

  Sebastian probably could have gotten on with it.

  “Put the ripe bastard right out of your head,” Michael muttered to himself. “He didn’t fare so well against his own auntie, now did he?”

  Cheered by that thought, he left his room, considered tapping on Glorianna’s door, then went down to the main room to spare Maeve another run up the stairs since she seemed to be the one keeping guard.

  A day of simple pleasures, of light and laughter. A day when Glorianna could dance.

  So far, she’d had the light and the laughter. Now he’d give Glorianna Belladonna the music for the dance.

  “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” Glorianna said as she helped set the tables.

  The Missus, as everyone seemed to call Shaney’s wife, just tsked. “It’s no trouble. Besides, we probably won’t see either of you again until after the wedding.”

  Glorianna bobbled a dish and decided she’d helped enough. Besides, her knees had gone weak. “Wedding?”

  Maeve glanced at the Missus, and they both gave a sharp head bob.

  “Liked his kisses well enough, didn’t you?” Maeve said. “He’s never been careless when it comes to the girls, but you have to figure a man like that has learned enough to know what to do when he’s between the sheets.”

  They were both looking at her expectantly. “Ah…”

  “Where did you say you were from?” Maeve asked. “Aurora, wasn’t it? A fair piece from here would you say?”

  “Um…” Most likely it was a fair piece from here. Or as close as crossing a bridge. She just wasn’t sure she should be the one to try to explain that. Especially now that she realized all the little comments about Michael that Maeve and the Missus had been tossing at her since she came downstairs weren’t just little comments. More like what she’d expect doting aunts—or horse traders—to say when they were trying to sell a favorite nephew to a potential wife.

  Which was exactly what they were trying to do.

  Then she caught a movement on the stairs that led up to the rooms. Her legs folded, and it was sheer luck that she ended up halfway on a chair. “Oh, Guardians and Guides.”

  No, she hadn’t seen hi
m to advantage. Even during the evening they’d all spent in the Den, she hadn’t seen him for who he truly was.

  He’d shed the scruffy, friendly stranger along with the worn shirt and trousers he wore for traveling. He’d shed Michael in the same way she sometimes shed Glorianna, the part of her that had family and friends.

  The man who slowly walked toward her wasn’t Michael. This was the ill-wisher, the luck-bringer who could command the currents of power that flowed through Ephemera. The Magician.

  The voices around them faded. Or maybe she just stopped paying attention to anything but him.

  I did this, she realized as she looked into his blue-gray eyes. I uncovered a veiled mirror and gave him a clear look at what he was, at who he could be. Guide of the Heart. I showed him the path. Now it’s up to him to move on to the next stage of his journey.

  She stood to meet him. “Magician.”

  People around them sucked in a breath, but he nodded. “That is what I am. Ill-wisher. Luck-bringer.”

  “The one who keeps the currents of power balanced in your pieces of the world. The spirit who opens the Door of Locks. That’s who we are, Michael. That’s who we came from—and that’s why we are still here, walking in the world.”

  A tingle in the air between them, as if something was trying to get in.

  “It’s time,” Glorianna said softly.

  “It’s time,” she said, and her music was so beautiful and so bittersweet that it broke his heart.

  It was time but…Not yet. A few more hours. Just a few more hours.

  He shook his head. “First there’s the music—and the dancing. You’ll dance with me, Glorianna Belladonna.” He raised a hand, brushed a finger down her cheek. “You’ll dance with me.”

  Shaney—or maybe it was the Missus who had made the decision—closed the tavern, shooing the last man out as the families who had been invited to the covered-dish dinner began coming in. The others would be back in an hour or two, when Shaney opened the doors again. Then the room would be packed. Not for the music or the dancing. Not tonight, although they would get both. No, tonight they wanted a better look at the woman who had walked into Shaney’s with him, the woman who came from a distant land. The woman who had called him “Magician” in front of them and had given the word a different meaning. Magician. The one who helped maintain the balance between Light and Dark for the sake of the world. The one who, by helping one heart open a door, might help so many.