Heart's Blood(56)
Grey laid a hand on her shoulder. She was too wet. Too cold.
"Any real conjurer knows you might be able to tempt a demon to come calling, but you would be foolish to do so, for no human magic can compel one. And everyone knows that innocent blood cries out for justice. It is magic that will find this killer and magic will bring him to justice!"
"Abomination!" The unfortunately familiar boom of Nigel Cranshaw's voice cut through the damp air. "Whore of Babylon!"
Grey spun on his heel-Pearl had the crowd well in hand-and waited for Cranshaw's approach. Grey had had enough of the bastard's carping and insults long ago. Now the man flung those insults at Grey's fiancée. Grey had cause.
"This woman speaks nothing but lies," Cranshaw shouted. "She lies down with filth and rolls in the blood of innocence. She consorts with the unholy. She-"
Grey took two steps forward and planted his fist in that filth-spouting mouth. Cranshaw went down like a felled tree. Grey hissed at the pain in his hand and flexed his bruised fingers. Mouths were filled with hard, pointy teeth. He'd broken the skin on his knuckles. But Cranshaw lay dazed on the path, rain running into his mouth.
"I am an apprentice to sorcery," Pearl called out to the newly restless crowd. "Blood magic. The magic that hears the cry of Rose Bowers's innocent blood. That man-"
She pointed at Cranshaw, who was sitting up, shaking his head. "That man hates women and fears sorcery, because it's women's magic. The magic of those whose strength is endurance and patience, and love of others." Her voice rose to a shout. She repeated again the truth about sorcery and the source of its power, the willing sacrifice of blood.
"But more than that, sorcery can protect," she told them. "You women, you've heard the stories. You know the spells of protection that are whispered, passed down as fairy tales. I know because I heard them, too, when I lived among you. Those stories are true. The spells work. They are real. They're simple spells. They don't take much power. Use them. Protect yourselves and those you love. Don't let anyone hurt you, trying to make you work the spell for them. Remember, innocent blood has power!"
Pearl pulled off her glove and touched the still-oozing cut on her cheek where the rock had struck her. Grey felt magic stir. Someone in the crowd cried out, a sharp, "Hey!" of pain.
"It's not much of an injury," Pearl said, "and there wasn't much actual intent to do harm behind it. The magic returned hurt for hurt. Remember that before you raise your hand to someone weaker than you. Go now. Protect yourselves. Listen to the truth, not the lies of the weak and fearful."
Like some great and terrible queen, Pearl swung about and strode away. Grey swung around with her, playing equerry.
Cranshaw was climbing to his feet. Grey took his hat from Ferguson, who'd apparently fetched his discarded belongings. He waved Ferguson toward Pearl to give her the umbrella, then approached the wizards' magister.
"Miss Pearl Parkin is my fiancée," he told Cranshaw, "as well as my apprentice. If you insult her again, I will deliver the appropriate response."
"Duels are illegal," Cranshaw said through a satisfyingly swollen mouth.
"I didn't say anything about dueling, did I?" Grey felt his care-for-nothing facade crack and fall away, leaving him nothing but deadly truth. "Horsewhipping." He nodded and flexed his sore hand again. "Won't have to bruise my knuckles."
He touched the brim of his hat in farewell and turned away, only to be accosted by the reporters, clamoring to know about Grey's engagement, the murder, his new fiancée, the demon, his expected wedding date-
Pearl described her protection spell again for publication, and the instant she finished, Grey signaled for the driver to move off.
"Home, I think," he said, leaning carefully back against the seat. "Pearl is soaked through, as am I. We both need a change of clothing and a good warming. You gentlemen could probably use dry feet at the least. Return for us in an hour and we will proceed with the tracking."
"What did you learn from Miss Bowers's spirit?" Archaios asked.
"Enough to know we should look for the murderer's new laboratory on the south side of the Thames." Grey wrapped a blanket around Pearl's shoulders when she shivered, tucking her close against his side. He couldn't get her any wetter. "She may have met the man in Cremorne Garden." He and Pearl shared the other things Rose had told them.
"So, we know this much," Archaios said when they finished. "The killer is attempting to call a demon for some unknown purpose, and is attempting to blend all the magics into one great spell to do so. He seems to be working alone."
"I think Ferguson had it right," Grey said. "Consider. Shortly after Angus Galloway's murder, Magister Tomlinson and Miss Tavis discovered that machines in the Bethnal Green dead zone had been ripped to pieces. The day after Rose Bowers's murder, it was found that the borders to the dead zones had gone ragged. Shifted back in some places, grown in others. I think the murderer wants to use the demon against the dead zones."
"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" Ferguson said.
"I doubt Mr. Galloway or Rose Bowers would agree with you," Pearl retorted.
"I didn't mean-" Ferguson protested.
"You may be correct," Archaios said. "There are those, even within the ranks of magicians, who fear the dead zones enough to do something so reckless."
"I'd say especially among magicians," Grey agreed. "Since we die quicker than ordinaries when deprived of magic."
"Magister Tomlinson leads the fight against the dead zones," Ferguson offered.
"Yes, but Harry didn't have opportunity," Grey said absently. "He was with us the night Rose Bowers died, and the magic signatures prove the same man committed both murders."
"But Harry will know who we might examine," Archaios said. "Mr. Ferguson and I will go to the laboratory to discuss this with him, after we have left you and Miss Parkin to dry your clothing."
"Put Nigel Cranshaw on the list of those to investigate. He tends to be extreme in his passions." Grey looked up as the carriage rattled to a stop. They were home. He escorted Pearl to her door, then hurried down the street to his own warm, dry house.
DESPITE EVERYONE'S AGREEMENT that the demon-calling murderer probably wanted to destroy the dead zones with his perverted magic, the investigation proceeded at a crawl. Grey finally relented and sent a telegram off to the newlyweds, requesting Amanusa's justice magic to assist in the interrogation of the suspects, once they acquired some. Pearl would work the justice magic if he asked it, but Grey wouldn't ask. He knew she did not feel comfortable with the magic, having practiced it only the once. They hadn't had time to practice again, and didn't now.
The pressure to solve the crime was intense. Not only from the government-the home secretary, Sir George Grey, called personally on I-Branch-but from the public. The press published wild-eyed articles filled with speculation, rumors, and outright falsehoods, leavened with tiny seasonings of truth, stirring up passions of all sorts.
Some papers attempted to play up the scandal of Grey's engagement to Pearl, but the furor over the murders shoved it aside before it received much notice. Grey's sister Adela sent a congratulatory note. The rest of the world ignored it.
Cranshaw was everywhere, speaking to associations, being quoted in the papers, writing ranting essays about the evils of sorcery and the dangers of women practicing magic. Between that, and the papers hinting that evil magicians had committed the murders-which happened to be true, except the papers made it seem that all magicians were evil-the population of London was stirred into throwing stones and rotten produce at the Briganti. And any other person they suspected of being a magician. Pearl's pastel dresses took on a number of unwanted stains, though Grey was able to protect her from the worst of the assaults.
Now and again, when the frustration built up too high, Pearl would burst out with a speech like the one at the park, impassioned enough to shame those present into slinking away. Then the papers would twist her words into insinuation, and the trouble would start up again.
Grey had never been so proud of anyone as he was of Pearl. He'd never felt this way at all before, this mad brew of pride, desire, possession, and . . . Sometimes he wondered if he was in love with her. He'd never been in love before, so he didn't know how it felt.
Love or not, he was in the grip of an insatiable desire for her. He honestly tried to behave in the manner of a fiancé who respected his bride-to-be. But she had only to smile at him in that way she had, hinting at secrets and private amusement and-he didn't know everything it held. The world.
She had only to smile and he became a ravening beast, held back by the thinnest of threads from pouncing upon her and carrying her off to his lair.
He had never known that magic had spells to transform men into beasts. Though in truth, ordinary nonmagical lust had all the power needed. The worst of it was that on those occasions when he was not constrained by the presence of others from acting on his worst impulses, Pearl did absolutely nothing to prevent him from acting.