Heart's Blood(43)

Pearl turned the magic deliberately and forcefully away from those memories of Grey's. She did not want to know more. Did. Not. Not their names, or how long they'd been lovers, or how long ago.

Long.

No. She refused to invade his privacy any further.

She gathered herself up-rather like collecting her skirts before mounting a carriage-and stepped away from the conjurer. Back into her own mind. She couldn't unsee what she had seen, though. Couldn't unknow what she knew.

That it had been more than a year since Grey had been with a lover. That he'd never maintained a mistress. That magic had been and always would be his mistress, and that was why his lovers had been so few and far between. Because few women would put up with him forgetting promises and rendezvous when he got caught up in the magic.

So, now she knew. She had her doubts about whether he might truly want her, wondered if he had invented those images to tease, just as he had the ones on the surface of his mind. He might indeed want to make love to her. But he wanted the magic more.

Did that matter? Didn't Pearl herself want the magic more? Hadn't she made up her mind never to leave her welfare and support in the hands of anyone but herself?

Which meant that no matter how much Grey's lascivious fantasies might intrigue her, she could not indulge her curiosity. Lovers didn't last. Even husbands didn't. Magic did.

"Are you done?" Grey asked.

Pearl's gaze flicked up to him. "Why? Can you feel it? Could you feel me riding?"

"No." He opened his eyes and frowned at her. "At least, I don't believe I did. Are you done?"

"Yes. Just a moment ago. Could you tell?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. But . . . I felt peaceful. While you were there." His eyes narrowed. "What did you see?"                       
       
           



       

Pearl blushed. She tried not to but her ears went so hot she wanted to hide them with her hands.

"You pried into my mind, didn't you?" He watched her, never moving from his relaxed position on the chair, hands resting in his lap. Was he angry? Did he even care?

"Yes." The blush burned. "But not very far." She rushed to justify her insupportable behavior. "If I am going to do justice magic, I cannot simply float on the surface of someone's thoughts. I have to be able to dig deeper. Into memory."

His gaze skewered her in place. "And what did you dig out of mine?" He crossed his legs, appearing relaxed as ever. Save for that piercing gaze.

"That you have had only three lovers," she blurted. She didn't rue her honesty. She wanted him to know. But her delivery could have been better. More woman-of-the-world.

His brows rose. "Only that?"

She shrugged, trying to copy his nonchalance. "I saw their faces. But not their names."

He smiled that wicked, teasing smile of his. "And why was that the information you sought? Jealous?"

Pearl snorted her derision, giving up on attempting to be ladylike. Grey didn't care. "Of what? Given the memories you displayed for me, it seemed a natural question." She frowned. "Not that I quite intended to ask. The thought floated idly across my mind-though I didn't truly want to know-and the magic leapt upon it and showed me, before I could stop it."

"Truly?" Grey's skepticism didn't surprise her. "You didn't honestly want to know? About me and my paucity of lovers?"

His teasing was beginning to annoy her. "No," she snapped. "Despite the fact that you idiotically volunteered to let me poke around in your thoughts, I wanted to leave you some modicum of privacy. I hadn't intended to pry into anything so obviously none of my affair." She blushed yet again at her unfortunate choice of words. Pearl stood, embarrassed beyond bearing, and turned to leave.

"Don't go."

She wouldn't turn around, couldn't look at him. "I can't stay."

"You can. I apologize for being such a beast. I shouldn't tease. Not like that." His voice was so very gentle.

"You can't help it." She still couldn't turn.

"I should." He sighed. "There are so very many things I should be able to prevent myself doing, but I am utterly out of practice at it."

"Then practice," Pearl said sternly, but she was twisting toward him, and then back. He tempted her so.

"Almost you persuade me to try."

"Almost." She shook her head. "It's time to go." She moved to the door, laid her hand on the crystal knob.

"Pearl."

Her name in his deep, silken voice froze her in place. She couldn't speak, not even to snap out the "What?" she wished.

"When you ride my blood next, all of my thoughts are open to you, save only those concerning my family-parents, siblings. All else is fair game. I have no secrets. Not from you."

She didn't think she moved, but she must have. Leaned just enough, lowered her head, turned, so that she could see him from the corner of her eye. He stood before his chair near the fire, watching her with his dark beautiful eyes. What did that mean-he had no secrets? Why was she singled out to keep them? Because she was his apprentice? Or was there some other, deeper reason?

A flash of naked, entwined bodies seared through her mind, so quickly, so fiercely, she did not know whose thought it was-hers or his? She snatched open the parlor door and fled.



OVER THE NEXT few days, Grey had no success in collecting any of Cranshaw's blood for Pearl to ride, primarily because he didn't see Cranshaw. The man was making himself scarce, which made one wonder what he was up to. Grey did take a moment to speculate on how taking a drop of someone's blood to ride for justice magic eliminated the need for blood to be given willingly, but he supposed the amount taken made the difference. Or perhaps it was the intent of the magic. For justice, not harm. He wouldn't ask. Sorcery had the right to its secrets.

Since he hadn't collected any of Cranshaw's blood, Pearl refused to ride his blood again. Not until it became necessary, she said. Grey didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed.

He didn't succeed in calling Angus Galloway's spirit, either, even with the assistance of half a dozen Briganti conjurers. The fact that Galloway was a weeks-new spirit, and they had his true name hadn't helped at all. It was like that sometimes with the very new ones. As if they had an orientation period before a summons was permitted to reach them.

The time issue also muddled things. Time had no meaning in the spirit world. Or if it did, it had no correlation to time in this one.

Pearl spent the passing days buried so deep in the musty, dusty sorcery tomes that sometimes when she emerged, she spoke in archaic English. "Hast thou a light?" she'd asked him this afternoon when her study room had grown dark with gathering clouds. More rain. He'd taken her home instead.



IT WAS THE dark of the moon. November 10, 1863. A Tuesday. The Briganti were on alert, even Enforcement. It had been agreed that Grey would attempt to re-create what he had been doing the evening of Galloway's murder, when he'd gone out on his "stroll." But this time, he would not be alone.

Harry and Elinor were downstairs, along with Nikos Archaios and George Meade. Pearl was in the workroom with Grey. There had been a long, volatile argument about whether the women would be present, much less take part in the evening's activities. Obviously, the women had won, since any idiot would agree that they would be safer with the men than following along on their own as they had threatened.

The fact that following along was precisely what Pearl had done on the last new moon had not helped the tone of the "discussion." Pearl was in Grey's workroom, though he'd been alone before, because he did not trust what she might do if she were out of his sight.

Grey had begun to find it difficult to be parted from her for any length of time. And during those few hours of every night when she went to the rooms she shared with Elinor, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about her. Not simply wanting her, which had become something of an obsession-she'd invaded his dreams-but wondering what she might think about this problem, or wanting to share a choice item of gossip just to see her laugh.

It wasn't like him, and he didn't understand it. Women were all very well in their fashion, but they had never mattered before. Except for Mary. And now Pearl. The parallels disturbed him almost as much as the differences.

The night stretched on, rain spattering in sporadic showers against the windows and the roof just overhead. Grey conducted his experiments. Spirits were generally more difficult to raise at the new moon because, while the moon did rise, it was dark. He'd never had any trouble himself with calling spirits at that time. The moon was still there, whether he could see it or not. But it made a difference to most other conjurers. So he'd been trying to come up with new sigils and/or ways to charge them that would make it easier for those other conjurers.

Tonight, however, he wound up spending the majority of his time chatting with his familiar spirits: Mary, of course, but also Walther the Prussian and his Roman spirits, Varus and Polonia. He had other spirits he called, but these were familiar to him.