Heart's Blood(24)

Sweet heaven. Could someone already be suffering inside, bound or drugged, in pain? Pearl had to hold tight to Grey's hand to keep herself upright, she went so suddenly light-headed. "Can you find out? If someone is in there?"

Grey gestured, a sigil drawn in the air, muttering under his breath. Pearl sensed the arrival of a spirit, stronger, older than either Mary or Davy, but without any physical manifestation she could detect. It seemed to listen and depart.                       
       
           



       

"This spirit does not like to waste energy on appearances," Grey said. "But it is dependable. It died at Jena fighting Napoleon, so it is older and stronger than our young friends."

"What about the ghost? Is it here?" Pearl tried not to clutch at her magic-master, but it was difficult not to. The clouded sky and chill air, the damp brick and wood walls rising high on all sides, and the churning anger of magic crying out for justice combined into an ominous atmosphere. Pearl felt as if disaster hovered, waiting to crash down on them.

"It is." Grey tightened his grip on her hand. "After the summons to the hospital, it is likely waiting, gathering its energy. I doubt it has much left."

"You gave it a great deal of yours. Wouldn't that leave it less depleted?"

"It needed my energy to manifest so far from the trap that has ensnared it. It shouldn't have any left."

The spirit that had gone into the warehouse came shooting back out through the wall, a shimmer of speed trailed by that roaring shriek from the basement morgue. The spirit whirled itself around Grey, then coiled around the faint sigil still painted on Pearl's forearm in a chill bracelet, as the ghost of Angus Galloway took form in the bricks, thrashing to get out.

"It appears I was wrong." Only the tight grip of Grey's hand around Pearl's betrayed anything more than casual interest. "The ghost seems to have plenty of energy remaining." He drew a sigil on the air and Pearl felt the magic move to empower its warding.

No one else is inside, the spirit huddling around Pearl's sigil communicated. The silent voice held a faint accent and a crisp, almost military air. But then, if he died at the battle of Jena between Napoleon and the allied Germanic states, one would expect him to be a soldier of some sort. Only the ghost.

"You're a spirit yourself now, friend," Grey said as the ghost screamed at them. "Ghosts should not frighten you."

It is not their ghostliness, but their madness that . . . unnerves me.

"It is quite unnerving," Pearl agreed with a shiver.

She hears me? The little madchen? The spirit seemed to come to attention on her arm.

"She can share my magic. On occasion." Grey gestured, a simple wave of his hand this time, dismissing the spirit. "Stay close, in case we need you."

I am Walther, he said, becoming a thinly transparent soldier in order to bow and click his heels. If you have need of me, you have only to call my name.

"She's a sorcerer. Will you be able to hear it?" Grey sounded curious rather than annoyed. Pearl wondered, though, if he resented his spirits paying her so much attention.

I will be staying close, yes? I will watch as well as listen. Walther faded from view again. She reminds me of my sister. I will watch.

"Excellent." Grey gave a brisk, almost military nod of his own. He raked his frock coat back on one side to prop a hand on his hip as he studied the raging image in the bricks.

The ghost fought to escape, the bricks bulging outward as if shaped to his form, brick hands reaching to seize and rend, mouth open and screaming in-in fury? Anguish? Pain? All of those, Pearl decided.

"The bricks aren't really reshaping themselves like that, are they?" she whispered to the conjurer at her side.

He let go her hand. "Are they?"

The wall now appeared as flat and solid as all the walls around it. "No," she said. "But I can still hear him."

He nodded as he clasped her hand in his again and the wall went back to its writhing. "Ghosts rarely have strength to manifest to nonconjurers in daylight, even with the moon's rising. This one will need greater warding before night falls."

"Or we could lay him."

Grey took a deep breath and let it out. "True. It's obvious, now that we've found this place, that he's absolutely useless to us as he is. You might as well send the magic home. If it does free him, perhaps his spirit will be willing and able to help."

"Don't you think he will?" Pearl couldn't imagine why not. If she were murdered, she would want to help bring her killer to justice.

"They usually don't. Spirits have better things to do. A better place to be." He ignored the thrashing ghost to study Pearl. The scrutiny made her want to squirm. "Perhaps they leave that thirst for justice behind in their blood and its magic."

"Then why would giving the magic back release them from their ghost traps? If blood is where the vengeance resides?"

"Perhaps because the sorceress who releases it also promises that justice will be found. Justice, Pearl. Not vengeance. Amanusa was always very clear on the difference."

She nodded. "So, are we ready for me to do that with this ghost? Send his magic back?"

"His blood was part of the spell you sent out to harry the murderers?" Grey asked, watching her again.

If she didn't watch him back, maybe his stare wouldn't make her feel quite so squirmish. "Yes. I used all the magic I had. It was all mixed up together. Like cake batter. It didn't separate out again until I sent it home. Back to the dead."

"So you've already used his blood to seek justice. Good. Try it then. Let's see if it works like it did with the others."

Pearl took a deep breath and hoped she remembered how she'd done this the last time. Only a few hours ago. Her hand wrapped around the sorcery book was damp from nerves, slippery against the ancient leather cover. The other hand was warmer, held in Grey's as it was, but if he didn't let go, she wouldn't. She wanted to see what happened with the magic.

She invoked the blood of Angus Galloway and repeated the words she'd said before, as best she could recall them. Then she released the magic. It soared toward the angry ghost and settled over his straining form like a mist, then sank beneath the surface. The struggles slowed. The expression on that sharp-boned face transformed from rage to astonishment.

It wasn't all her magic, though. Blood magic was warm. Sweet and salty, with a pulse. Or maybe it breathed. It had a kind of rhythm to it. A throbbing. That was what she sent to the ghost. But there was other magic with it. Cool and crisp and clear. Not her magic . . . Grey's.

Conjury blended with the sorcery, spirit with blood, reason with passion, mind with body.

She couldn't sense how the magic did what it did, but she knew the things that trapped Angus Galloway snapped and crumbled and disentangled themselves from his ghostly appendages. She saw him step forward, out of the bricks. She saw his face, his entire being transformed by joy as light infused him, brightening beyond all vision, even the magical. And then he was gone, the light fading.

"It's not just sorcery," she whispered, finally. "Your magic was in it, too."

"We've done it twice. A third time will confirm the spell." He looked down at her, but this time Pearl didn't think he saw her. She didn't feel all jumbled up inside from his look.

Grey went on musing out loud. "I suppose we ought to check the spellbooks, to see if we're rediscovering old knowledge or if this is something new." He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. "How long can it possibly be taking Meade to assemble his team?"

Pearl shrugged. It didn't matter to her. She had no other appointments. Her time belonged to her magic-master.

A horse pulling a cart full of boxes and kegs came plodding around the corner from London Dock, heading for one of the other, more sturdy padlocked warehouse doors. A few men rode on the cart along with the driver. Good thing they hadn't come while she and Grey were working their magic. The ghost's shrieking wail would have upset the horse, at the least.                       
       
           



       

One of the men, dressed in a brown striped suit and top hat, rather than workingman's rough attire, hopped off the cart and unlocked the door. Grey motioned for Pearl to remain where she was and sauntered over to speak to the man in charge.





10




THE CLERK-FOR his clothing was not fine enough to be the owner of the goods or the warehouse-flipped over some pages on the clipboard he held and made a notation as the workmen began unloading the cart. Grey scribbled on the page, and a moment later, one of the stevedores hoisted a small keg and carried it over to deposit at Pearl's feet. With a polite nod and a tug of his cap, he went back to his work.

Grey continued to talk with the clerk another moment, until he noticed Pearl standing beside the keg. He excused himself and returned to her side.

"As I am now the proud owner of an entire keg of East Indian peppercorns," he said, "purchased for the sole purpose of providing you with a seat, I suggest you sit yourself upon it and continue your studies."