Heart's Blood(54)

She wasn't, but she was content to be closer to Grey. Possessiveness led to proximity, which could lead to affection, which could lead to love. Couldn't it? Was that what she wanted?

She turned back to Ferguson and his questions. "I honestly do not know whether the magic of innocent blood can cause physical ailments."

"It can stop a heart," Archaios said. "The sorceress Amanusa-Mrs. Greyson-worked magic against rapists and murderers that stopped hearts. I have read the reports."

"But that magic had blood in the spell," Grey said. "Blood of the victims mixed with blood of the murderers. Can it kill without that? From a distance, as it were?"

She didn't know about this spell of Mrs. Greyson's- "Greyson," she mused aloud. "That's your name-"

"Distant relation." Grey waved a dismissive hand. "On m'mother's side. I find myself curious as well. What does the magic do when you send it out after a murderer?"

Guild secrets, Pearl reminded herself. Obviously, she couldn't let on that it was the sorceress's blood inside the murderer that made execution possible. But she could tell them . . . "It depends on how the magic is shaped. And the talent of the sorceress, of course. A mother weeping over her child is less likely to have the ability or knowledge to send out a fully formed, mature spell."

She cleared her throat. "Nor am I, since I am only an apprentice and haven't much practice in magic-shaping. Most often, if the magic is sent out simply on the basis of the blood spilled, without a specific person suspected or names, I suppose it's more like that brain fever you mentioned, Mr. Ferguson.

"My readings indicate that it haunts the killer so that he-or she-relives the crime, but from the victim's point of view. It harries them, like-" She paused. "Like the Faery Hunt pursuing kin killers and oath breakers. Blood magic is like that. It is unrelenting in its quest for justice. It never stops, never gives up, until justice is found."

She shrugged. "Maybe the magic itself decides what payment is enough. Maybe remorse and repentance on the part of the killer will stop it. I doubt it, but it is possible."

"Horrid dreams?" Ferguson gave a wan smile. "That doesn't seem like much of a punishment. Not like rotting bowels or ulcerating sores."

"Isn't it?" Pearl shook her head at him, though she'd been slow to understand much of this herself. "Mind and body have great influence on each other. Even if you only think something is wrong, is that not as effective as the reality? Remember Lady Macbeth."

"That is fiction. A play."

"Based on a greater truth."

"I'd think it strange," Grey mused, "if dreaming about dying horribly night after night did not cause rotten bowels." He tipped his head back to eye Ferguson from under his hat brim. "Or at least a severe case of the trots."                       
       
           



       

"Grey." Pearl poked him in the side. "Don't be indelicate. Not in public, anyway."

"Right. Sorry m'love." He kissed her hand. Again.

And for the forty-eleventh time, she melted. She'd given up hoping that he would stop the kissing. Maybe if he did it enough, she would stop melting.

"I don't expect any remorse or repentance from this chap," Grey went on as the carriage drew to a halt. "Seeing that we've got two murder victims now. He doesn't appear to have any repentance in him."

"Maybe the trots just 'asn't 'it 'im yet," Pearl muttered in her street accent, as the door opened and the men across from her descended.

The noise wasn't enough to cover her words entirely, for Grey choked on laughter and sent her a merry grin. He shook his head at her. "Such indelicacy."

"Oh, stubble it," she grumbled. "And move so I can get out."

He obliged, with a chuckle.

On the way to join Archaios and Ferguson at the site where Rose's body had been found, Pearl saw Grey sketch a quick gesture with his fingers, down by his side. A conjury sigil, she knew, but not which one. His fingers flew too quickly.

"Come, please, my dear," he murmured aloud, and then she knew he called Mary.

What if-the thought hit Pearl hard-what if he didn't fear falling in love sometime in the nebulous future because he already had? What if Mary was the love of his life, and the only relationship he could have with her was that of conjurer and familiar spirit? Why wouldn't he settle for second best and Pearl, in that case?

She felt the faint shiver of Mary's presence and wanted to weep for Grey's sorrow. What had happened to her? Mary hadn't died a violent death. Pearl's magic told her. But Mary had died too soon, and Grey had loved her before then. He loved her still. It was obvious in their every interaction.

The park's vagrants were huddled under the trees against the miserable misting rain. More pale faces appeared along the damp ground under the supports of the suspension bridge spanning the lake. They were everywhere, taking what shelter they could from the awful weather. Pearl shivered. There but for the grace of God-and Grey Carteret-

Grey handed her his cube of ink and she turned away from their company to spit on it. They'd done the spirit protection spell enough to have it down to routine. He mixed the ink, and Pearl held the umbrella and the cube while he brushed the sigil on her wrist between sleeve and glove. Archaios and Ferguson watched curiously. They weren't the only ones. Pearl could feel the attention of the park's wretched residents.

"Stand watch, if you would, my dear," Grey said to Mary when the ink was dry and her bolt hole secure. "Alert us if anything out of the usual occurs."

Grey turned to the other men. "Have you been able to pinpoint anything from the magic left here?"

Archaios shook his head. "It is as if my magic senses have caught cold. Perhaps the demon has muffled them. Or perhaps the evidence has been wiped clean, here and on the victim's body."

"The man has a purpose in what he is doing," Ferguson said. "That was clear to me from the magic left behind.

"What purpose could require the brutal torture and murder of two innocent people?" Pearl burst out. She couldn't help it.

Grey put an arm around her as he spoke. "What purpose could require the calling of a demon? Doesn't he realize the cost?"

"Obviously he believes the cost is worth paying," Ferguson said. "The demon has interfered with the dead zones every time it has come. Perhaps this magician hopes to rid the world of them. Perhaps he thinks such a cause is worth any price."

"He isn't paying the cost, is he?" Pearl retorted, angry, hurting and not caring who she lashed out at. "Rose did. Angus Galloway did. I don't see the murderer paying anything himself."

"I did not say I thought so, Miss Parkin," Ferguson protested. "Of course I do not. I am merely trying to put myself in his place, to think as he does so that we might catch him all the more quickly. As Mr. Archaios suggested to me only yesterday."

"It is so." Archaios nodded. "Often, in order to understand the magic which is found, we must determine the purpose for which such magic is intended."

That made sense to Pearl. "Be that as it may, what you must understand is that the sacrifice of blood for magic must be willing. I've said it before. Weren't you there to hear? If blood is taken unwillingly, then it is innocent blood and will turn on its taker. You cannot steal blood for magic."

"Like the fact that conjury cannot call demons, that is a truth the public may never believe," Grey said. "But for now, let us see if we can call our spirit, shall we? Only a short time longer till moonset, and this is a very new spirit indeed."

The vagrants had come to the edges of their trees and shelters, not yet venturing out into the rain, but watching. They made Pearl uneasy.

"Right, then." Grey exchanged his Chinese brush for a pencil and pulled his notebook from his coattail pocket.

Pearl held the umbrella while Grey drew his sigils, using runes to inscribe Rose's name in the spell. He tucked the paper away in his pocket. This was the place where the demon had abandoned her. She would know how to find it.

Grey motioned Archaios and Ferguson back, held his hand out for Pearl, in case Rose was still ghost and not spirit, and sent out his call. He pushed power into it when no answer was forthcoming, a little surprised he had so much to push. After yesterday's exertions-and last night's-he should have been running on dregs. But he was not, and he had no time to wonder at it, for here came Rose Bowers, looking as well as any new spirit had a right to look.





21




"HELLO, MY DEAR." He didn't use Rose's name out of habit, though everyone knew whose spirit they conjured here.

'Ello. Rose smiled at him, showing a gap in the right side of her teeth. She was dressed in a blindingly pink dress in the latest state of fashion. New spirits tended to enjoy themselves in interesting ways their first little while. Was it you 'oo called me? Felt most peculiar, it did. They said I didn't 'ave to come, but I could if I wanted. Her attention shifted to Pearl. 'Ere, you look familiar. Do I know you?

"It's me," Pearl said. "Parkin."

Cor, you turned into a girl! Rose stared wide-eyed, her shape holding much better than any new spirit ever had in Grey's experience.