A Distant Magic (30 page)

Nikolai's expression grew vague as he studied the energies around them.
"I can feel the darkness just outside this beacon of light. It's like a wolf
prowling around a fire, hoping that some weak or foolish person will wander
close enough to become prey."

"A charming thought." She clutched his arm more tightly as they climbed the entry steps.
"Let us hope the wolves keep their distance tonight."

"You may wish for that," he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I
prefer to hope for excitement and progress."

Chapter
THIRTY-TWO

J
ean and Nikolai entered the house and found themselves in a short receiving line. At the head was a small, pale young man not much taller than Jean. Even his side whiskers couldn't make him look worldly.

To her surprise, the young man smiled and said, "I'm William
Wilberforce. It's a pleasure to welcome our movement's strongest supporters to
my home."

Nikolai introduced Jean and himself, and they chatted a moment with their host. Wilberforce might look unimpressive, but he had a remarkable voice and a warm charm that made him seem six inches taller.

As Nikolai continued talking to their host, Jean moved on, exchanging greetings with Henry Thornton, cohost and cousin to Wilberforce. She met several more abolitionists before a familiar voice said,
"Mrs. Gregory, I believe?"

Jean looked up into Lord Falconer's amused eyes. He must have been past seventy, she guessed, thinner and with his hair all silver, though he still looked capable of besting a man half his age. It was strange to see him and realize that the man who had been like an older brother now looked more like her grandfather. But he was still her friend, and blessedly alive and well.

She caught his hand in hers. "Lord Falconer, I didn't expect to see you here." Though her words were neutral, she couldn't hide the pleasure in her voice.

"I am now considered the leading voice of abolition in the House of Lords," Simon explained.
"Some days it seems like I'm the only voice. My lordly colleagues do not believe
that all men are their equals and therefore should be free, but they sometimes
respond to a plea for pity."

She wanted to ask about Meg, but didn't dare. What if she had died? Perhaps seeing that in her expression, Simon said,
"Lady Falconer is somewhere in the crush. I'm sure she'll be delighted to see
you."

Jean smiled gratefully and moved on as Simon and Nikolai shook hands. Most of the crowd was gathered in the grand, high-ceilinged library, sipping wine and talking enthusiastically. Though she didn't see Thomas Clarkson—even in such a crowd his great height would have stood out—it wasn't long before Meg found her.

Like her husband, Lady Falconer showed her age in her snowy white hair and a hint of fragility, but her hug was vigorous.
"Jean!" She stepped back and surveyed her friend before saying under her breath,
"Did I ever look so young?"

"Younger. You seemed about fifteen when I first met you." Jean surveyed her old friend, who was elegantly dressed and radiated dignity. Though she showed her years, she was no less lovely than when she was a girl. She reminded Jean of Lady Bethany Fox, who had been old and wise and wonderful when Jean was newly arrived in London.
"You seem to have come to terms with being a countess."

"I've learned to be quite a good countess in public. Anything is possible with the right man." Her gaze drifted to her husband, who was still greeting guests.
"Speaking of which, what about that gentleman of yours?"

"I'm not sure he's the right man and he's probably not a gentleman, but my life has certainly become more interesting since we met!" Jean glanced across the room to where Nikolai was talking with a well-dressed African.
"Do you know who Nikolai is speaking with?"

"That's Gustavus Vasa, a former American slave who earned enough to buy his freedom and lives in England now. He's well known for his writing and speaking on abolition." Meg's smile turned cynical.
"Even the most fervent abolitionist usually supports blacks from a distance.
Only a man as eloquent and charming as Vasa will be found in a drawing room."

"Distant charity is better than none at all," Jean observed. "But
Gustavus Vasa? Wasn't he a Swedish king?"

"Mr. Vasa's first owner thought it amusing to call a slave boy by a grand royal name," Meg explained.
"Now Mr. Vasa is writing a book of his experiences, and Simon is encouraging him
to publish it under his African name."

"He sounds most interesting." Hoping she would have a chance to speak with him, Jean surveyed the crowded room.
"I thought I saw another African when I came in."

"That would probably be Quobna Cuguano, another African writer and lecturer who is accepted in respectable drawing rooms." Meg sighed.
"Perhaps someday one might attend a reception of whites and blacks and Red
Indians and Chinese and no one will notice complexion, but we are a long way
from that."

Thinking of Santola, Jean said, "I know a place where people of
all colors live in harmony, so it's possible. But it will not happen in Britain
any time soon."

"I will settle for an end of the slave trade. Freedom first. Equality will come eventually." Meg's gaze moved past Jean.
"There is someone I must see. You and I will speak again before the reception
ends."

The countess moved away, leaving Jean to quietly study the crowd, using mage vision as well as her eyes. Some guests were very fashionable like the Falconers, and others were soberly dressed Evangelicals, but their mutual desire to end the slave trade was genuine. Many had dedicated great amounts of time and money to the cause.

Yet the Demon was not far away. As Nikolai said, it was possible to feel that negative energy outside this beacon of goodwill. Slave supporters might act from selfish motives, but they were as passionate as the abolitionists. Even here, in William Wilberforce's drawing room, the spirit of slavery was near.

Uncannily near. She glanced around uneasily, wondering if the West Indian lobby had sent a spy and she was sensing that energy.

Her speculations ended when Wilberforce climbed onto a portable podium that had been set up only a few steps from where she stood. Even with the extra height he was barely above crowd level, but when he began to speak, he commanded the attention of everyone in the spacious chamber.
"My friends, it is good to welcome you here today as we celebrate the great
gains we have made toward ending the slave trade."

The room erupted in applause. Wilberforce waited patiently, a slight smile on his face. Jean saw Nikolai quietly working his way through the crowd toward her. He reached her side as Wilberforce began speaking again.

"I thought you would be interested in our strategy for the parliamentary session that is about to begin," Wilberforce said.
"Hearings are being held that provide massive, irrefutable evidence of the
wickedness of the trade. I intend to present this evidence to the full house. My
colleagues may choose to look the other way, but they will never again be able
to say that they do not know!"

There was another burst of applause. Wilberforce continued,
"Legislation has been drafted for a law that will render the trade illegal.
Great rolls of petitions supporting abolition are being delivered to Parliament
from every corner of Britain—more petitions than have ever been received on any
other topic. Support increases every day!"

More applause. Wilberforce knew how to raise a crowd's enthusiasm. Under cover of the noise, Nikolai murmured to Jean,
"Falconer says that even if the law passes the House of Commons, it will never
pass the House of Lords. Too many of the lords derive wealth from slavery, and
few have real sympathy or understanding for the less fortunate."

Jean nodded ruefully, knowing that was all true. "At least
Wilberforce will be introducing abolitionist legislation into Parliament. That
is huge progress. It will probably have to be introduced again and again before
there is a chance of success."

Wilberforce resumed speaking, this time detailing specific plans and support. His voice was as mesmerizing as ever, but Jean saw that he was sweating and he was holding tightly to the edges of the podium.
"I think he is ill," she whispered.

"Dark energy is swirling around him," Nikolai replied softly. "Can
you see it?"

She refined her vision, and was startled at the blackness crowding around the MP. As she probed, she realized it had the flavor of the Slave Demon spirit.
"How can it penetrate all this positive, supportive energy?"

Nikolai's eyes narrowed. "It seems to be coming from the
far side of the room—see that dark, wispy trail?"

Jean followed the direction of his gaze. It took a moment for her to find the smoky trace of power that ran from Wilberforce to an unknown location on the other side of the crowd.
"I see it."

"I'm going to find the source," Nikolai said grimly.

He glided away. Jean turned her attention back to the speaker. Rather than attacking his opponents, Wilberforce used his captivating voice to describe goals and dreams. He inspired people to live up to their highest ideals rather than stirring up anger and hatred.

But the mellifluous voice was faltering. In the middle of his next sentence, Wilberforce said unsteadily,
"I...I'm sorry, my friends. I am feeling...unwell."

He moved to step down from the podium. Hands reached up to help him, but before Wilberforce could take one, he gave a choked cry and crumpled to the floor. His frail body was so engulfed in dark energy that Jean could barely see the outlines.

Instinctively she darted toward him, wriggling between taller people. She saw that Simon was doing the same, but he was coming from the entrance to the library and he was too large to move through the crowd easily.

Jean used a jab of power to force her way into the inner circle around the fallen MP. He looked on the verge of death. His friends were frightened and concerned, and none knew what to do. Projecting an aura of competence, she dropped to her knees beside Wilberforce.

Undoing his cravat, she placed her hand on his neck. There was no pulse. His heart had stopped. All her senses were extended, and she realized that his spirit was beginning to detach from his body.

Though she was not the healer her mother had been, the work she'd done to strengthen her power came to her aid. She reached for the light that saturated the house and channeled it into Wilberforce's still form, surrounding his heart with life and vitality.
Please God…

Time seemed to hold still. She was a conduit for a higher power, and the stricken man under her hands was critical to the greatest cause in human history.

She felt a pulse beat, then another. He was not yet beyond saving.
Please stay,
she begged silently as she continued to send healing energy.
You are needed.

His heart was beating weakly when Simon knelt on Wilberforce's other side. Simon was a gifted healer, as strong as Jean's mother had been. As soon as he laid a hand on the fallen man's chest, Jean felt the rush of his power.

After long moments, she sensed a shift of energy and knew that Wilberforce's soul had settled back into his body. The MP opened dazed eyes.
"So sorry to cause such trouble…" he murmured.

His cousin Henry Thornton pushed through the group, his face pale.
"Is he...?"

"I'm well enough," Wilberforce tried to sit up, then fell back onto the carpet, shaking.
"I...I think I need to rest."

Several of the Evangelicals moved forward, and Wilberforce was tenderly lifted while Thornton climbed onto the podium.
"Mr. Wilberforce is not feeling well, but he is not seriously ill. I shall
briefly cover the rest of the material he wished to share with you."

With the relieved crowd's attention on Thornton, Jean rose and said softly,
"Thank the Lord you were here, Simon."

"My knees are not fond of such treatment," he said as he got to his feet, grimacing.
"If you hadn't been close enough to pull Wilberforce back from the brink, I
would not have been in time. He is still very ill—every organ in his body has
been weakened. He is not likely to introduce his bill into Parliament this
session."

Jean sighed. "I feared that. Do you think this is coincidence? He
was engulfed by very negative energy as he collapsed."

Nikolai appeared, his face dark with suppressed anger. "It was no
coincidence. Come. I must speak to you both."

Simon nodded, waiting a few moments before he followed Jean and Nikolai. They exited the library and found a small empty room off the corridor. When they were inside and the door safely closed, Nikolai said,
"Captain James Trent's African mage Kondo was here, and he was the one who
almost killed Wilberforce by using the Demon energy. I tried to capture him, but
he managed to escape."

"The Demon?" Simon asked.

"That is what we call the spirit generated by the pro-slavery forces," Jean explained.
"The energy is very powerful and destructive. We think that in Liverpool, it was
the trigger that caused slavers to attempt the murder of Thomas Clarkson."

"Good God, Clarkson was almost killed? That would be a disaster equal to the death of Wilberforce." Simon looked troubled.
"I know of Trent, of course. He is one of the best-known slavery supporters in
Britain, and now that he is in Parliament, he has a powerful platform. You say
he has an African mage working for him?"

Nikolai nodded. "I don't know if Kondo is slave or servant. I'd
guess servant, since a mage would not allow himself to stay enslaved. He has
been Trent's tool for more than thirty years, according to Adia Adams."

"And he can apparently channel and control the Demon spirit," the earl said.
"You're right—antislavery advocates will need more protection. Not just physical
guards, but mages who can keep the destructive spirits at bay."

"Perhaps the African priests can help with that," Nikolai suggested.
"From what I've learned, African magic has a special connection with such
spirits."

"Maybe a protective shield could be created by the African priests, and Guardians could help maintain it. I have an idea how this can be done," Jean said slowly.
"But it will be a commitment of years."

"Protection is essential if there is to be any chance of success," Nikolai said.
"And I think it is our job to provide this protective shield. The Demon energy
is intense because it comes from humankind's basest, most selfish impulses.
Greed, anger, and hatred have more raw power than kindness, compassion, and
reason. For better qualities to bloom, we must counter the Demon energies."