Accursed (32 page)

N
igel Townsend was a private man who didn’t appreciate it when company arrived upon his doorstep uninvited. He liked it even less when they simply appeared in his parlor.

Worse, when his guests happened to be the grandchildren of Ludlow Swift, he could be reasonably certain his life was going to be placed in peril. Not at the hands of William and Tamara themselves, of course, but as a result of whatever trouble they had managed to entangle themselves in as Protectors of Albion.

Nigel, himself, had once been chosen to inherit the mantle of Protector, but Ludlow had withdrawn that ordination. Nigel had never blamed his old friend, though. He seriously doubted the spiritual powers that be would have allowed a vampire to become Protector. Just as well.

It wasn’t a job he wanted.

And yet somehow, he seemed to have taken on part of the job—the perilous part—without receiving any of the magical benefits. William and Tamara had turned to him for aid and instruction from the very moment they had inherited the power and duty of the Protectorship, and they always seemed to need him most when he was relaxing with a glass of fine whiskey and enjoying a Turkish cigarette.

He was doing precisely that, and reading the comedies of Aristophanes, when he heard the familiar trilling noise that announced translocation. The sound faded, to be replaced by the less musical one of brother and sister muttering indignantly at each other. The duo materialized.

“Hello, Nigel.” Tamara smiled and tilted her head just so. Her eyes sparkled. “You look comfortable.”

Ah, Tamara. He could never deny her.

“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, children?” Nigel asked, masking his irritation for her sake. He wore an Egyptian smoking jacket and black trousers, but his feet were bare.

Tamara’s eyes sparkled as she took in the jacket and the Turkish cigarette, its smoke curled languidly toward the ceiling.

For his part, William only looked annoyed.

Nigel smiled, exposing his sharp white fangs. It gave him great pleasure to annoy the uptight William Swift. He had decided that it was his duty to loosen the boy up, however he could. He gathered that underneath all that stiffness lurked a berserker waiting to hear the call of battle, and Nigel Townsend hoped to witness the transformation when it finally did occur.

Being undead, he had to take his little pleasures wherever he could find them.

“There’s a terrible scourge making its way through London, Nigel. A plague, of sorts, though rooted in dark magic. If you’re willing, we’re going to need your help,” Tamara said.

Nigel saw William wince. The boy hated coming to him for aid.

“Go on, then. Let’s have the tale.” Nigel crossed his arms and drew sweet smoke from his cigarette.

Tamara regaled him then with a story of cursed idols and transmogrified men, of Indian people dying in the slums from a magical plague. He half listened to her words, while at the same time measuring the thrum of her heartbeat as it danced merrily beneath her breast.

When she finally ceased her tale, he looked up into her luminous blue eyes and shrugged.

“And you would have me do
what
about this . . . ?”

For the first time since their arrival, William spoke.

“How can you ask that?” His face was pinched into an angry scowl. “There is a threat to Albion! For some reason, our grandfather trusted you. You have an
obligation
to tell us what you know about this . . . this
Bharath.
”

Nigel just shrugged, waiting patiently for William to finish. One corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.

“I still fail to see what I can do for you, William Swift. I know nothing of that strange Hindu culture. There are other Asian places of which I am fond, but that hellhole India is not one of them. I suggest that you speak to Byron for this sort of enlightenment. He traveled extensively in that region, if I remember correctly.”

Tamara took a step toward Nigel.

“Nigel,” she began, “what we need from you is your help in locating the Protector of Bharath. I found some reference to him in the journals you brought us, Grandfather’s journals, and I think he might be connected with the danger we face.”

She reached out and took Nigel’s hand in her own. It was warm against the coolness of his skin.

“Please, it must be that if this man, Tipu Gupta, was a friend of Grandfather’s, he was at least an
acquaintance
of yours.”

He nodded. “I did have the occasion to meet him, once or twice, and he wasn’t a bad sort as magicians go. I would suggest that you pay a visit to his home, in Alipore, a suburb of Calcutta. You can easily translocate from here,” Nigel offered. He lifted Tamara’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss, and a closer sniff of her blood.

William reached out and quickly yanked Tamara’s hand away. “Thank you for your help, Nigel,” he said, his voice pinched. “We shan’t bother you again.”

Tamara silenced her brother with a curt glance.

“Yes, thank you, Nigel,” she said. “We will keep you abreast of what we discover. In the interim, if you think of anything that might be of help . . .”

Nigel’s nostrils flared in amusement, and he arched an eyebrow. “It seems I remain your humble servant, despite my worst intentions.”

T
AMARA AND WILLIAM
translocated into the middle of a forest of well-tended ferns. He had been gaining confidence in his magical prowess of late and had insisted on directing the course of their translocation himself. But perhaps he’d been overconfident.

“Oh, well done, William.” Tamara sighed. “Where’ve you sent us now? Some African jungle, perhaps?”

He shot her a dark look. “There’s no need to be snide. Considering we’ve never been here before, you can’t blame me if we’re a bit off the mark.”

His sister raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I? I suppose that depends upon how far off the mark.”

Once they got their bearings, they found a path through the ferns and shortly were making their way down the dirt roads of the southern Calcutta suburb of Alipore. On the road they met a small, bent old man who was, oddly, carrying three cricket stumps. Fortunately, he was acquainted with Tipu Gupta, and he gave them clear instructions that would lead them to the Protector’s bungalow. It was all William could do not to ask the man about the stumps, for he was an avid player, but their mission had to take priority. As they continued, he cast a sideways glance at his sister.

“You gave me the most hideous glare back at Nigel’s apartments, Tamara,” William chided as he kicked up a cloud of dirt from the road. It gathered like a storm around them, and would not dissipate.

“You were rude. Rudeness does not pay, Will. Especially with Nigel,” Tamara replied. “You
know
how he can be.”

William didn’t answer her, though. He was too busy shooing the bugs away from his uncovered face and neck.

The late afternoon was warm and pleasant. He found that he did not need the light jacket he had brought with him. In fact, he had taken it off; it hung casually over his right shoulder.

“Are you even listening to me?” Tamara demanded.

He gave her a blank look. “It’s these damnable bugs, Tam. They seem hell-bent on eating me alive.”

“Well, they’re not bothering me at all,” she answered, but she stared curiously at the swarming creatures.

William scowled, wondering if his sister was somehow getting the better of him, but he could not for his life figure out how.

“I think this is the place,” Tamara said, stopping abruptly and pointing at an old bungalow with bits of greenery growing up its sides. It wasn’t a small structure, but it wasn’t a mansion, either. It sat back a distance from the road, so that the siblings had to traverse a winding dirt-and-stone path to get to the front entrance.

Upon reaching the bungalow’s door, William positioned himself in front of his sister. He was reasonably certain Indian culture would look even less favorably upon Tamara’s independent streak than did that of England. She tossed him an irritated look, but remained quiet as he knocked on the old wooden door.

“I think you’d best let me handle this, Tam,” he said, but before he could continue, a tiny middle-aged woman opened the door. She wore the traditional Indian sari, and her graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck.

She stared at them, but offered no greeting, and her brown eyes were curious.

“We’ve come to see Mr. Gupta,” William said in what he hoped was a respectful voice. The older woman cocked her head and blinked twice before breaking into a fast stream of agitated Hindi.

William didn’t know what to do, and he looked back to his sister nervously. Given the expression on the old woman’s face, he was sure she was calling him all sorts of horrible names. Tamara stepped forward.

“Let me try, Will.”

Tamara closed her eyes and spoke quietly under her breath.
“Ostendo.”

The woman’s words crystallized into precise, accented English that both she and William could easily understand.

“. . . and then supposed to arrive in Darjeeling, but the Protector was not to be found,” the woman continued. Her words tumbled over themselves.

“You mean to say that he’s missing?” Tamara asked, alarmed now.

The woman nodded. “I just said as much, didn’t I?”

Thanks to the spell, she now understood Tamara’s English as easily as if she had been speaking Hindi.

“We were having trouble with translation,” William told her.

She raised both eyebrows, an expression of sudden comprehension on her face, and then shook her head as though amused. “I see. More magicians. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed you spoke Hindi. I’m pleased you can understand me now.”

Tamara smiled. “You seem rather relaxed about the idea of magic.”

“I have served Tipu Gupta for twenty-three years. Very little surprises me after all that time.”

“But Gupta is gone, you say?” William asked, pulling them back to their purpose.

“They are both gone, and cannot be found. It is not my place to keep watch over them. I am only a servant in this household, though I raised the child as my own from the very moment of her mother’s death,” the woman explained. She studied them carefully. “Why are you looking for him? Do you know anything that might help us discover where they’ve gone?”

“Our grandfather, Ludlow Swift, was a great friend of Tipu Gupta,” Tamara said.

At the mention of Ludlow’s name, the woman’s eyes lit up, and her mouth curved into a smile, making it clear that she had known and been quite fond of their grandfather. But the effect was brief, and her expression darkened as she shook her head. “Why are you here? If the Protector of Bharath is in London, why are you
here
?”

“I’m sorry,” William said, befuddled. “The Protector . . . you mean to say that Mr. Gupta’s gone to London?”

The woman nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course. There is trouble there, he says. That must be where she has gone, too.”

“It makes no sense,” Tamara muttered, as though to herself. “If he knew what was happening there . . . if he went to help, why wouldn’t he have contacted us? And who is this girl you mentioned?”

“His daughter, of course. They are both missing.”

Tamara frowned. “And you know nothing else that would help us locate them? He said nothing that would provide a clue?”

The woman shook her head. “Nothing. You will find them, though, won’t you? I worry for him. He is an old man, now.”

William stood up a bit straighter. “Yes, madam. Of course we’ll find him. Find them both.”

“Thank you. I believe you will.”

Abruptly the woman reached out and stroked the curve of William’s jaw. He was so surprised by her action that he didn’t stop her.

“So much like your grandfather. Ah, Ludlow . . . he knew how to treat a lady,” the woman said. She winked at him, then, and closed the door, leaving them standing there staring in astonishment.

“Well, fancy that. Ludlow was a ladies’ man,” William said as he turned and grinned at his sister.

“Oh, William, do try to open your eyes once in a while,” Tamara said airily. “I’ve known for ages that Ludlow was a notorious lothario. Haven’t you paid the least bit of attention to Bodicea? The woman practically swoons every time someone says Grandfather’s name.”

“Oh,” William said, feeling foolish in a way only Tamara seemed able to elicit.

“Back to London, shall we, Will?” Tamara said, taking his hand.

“Yes, and quickly,” he said, frowning.