Burning Lamp (10 page)

He had known that, she thought. Yet he had walked out of the attic rather than meet her terms. One had to admire such a gallant nature, even when it manifested itself in a villain. She had encountered any number of so-called gentlemen who would not have acted so nobly in such circumstances.

Rubbish
. She must not allow herself to be seduced by romantic fantasies, she thought. Griffin Winters had not walked out of the attic because he was governed by his gallant nature. The truth was that he had called
her
bluff.

It served her right, she thought. In future she must not allow him to manipulate her. She would work the lamp for him, as agreed, but she would not allow him to play on her sympathies again. Above all she must not let him see that she was attracted to him. He would use that knowledge quite ruthlessly.

She forged a path through a gaggle of elderly matrons waiting for their carriages and started across the street. Her anxiety was growing stronger. She rarely raised her talent when there were a lot of people around. For one thing, in a public place like this there were bound to be any number of disturbing prints layered on the pavement. In addition she ran the risk of brushing up against another person, which would result in a stiff jolt of unpleasant dreamlight energy. She was still recovering from the encounter with Luttrell’s enforcer. The last thing she needed was another dose of someone else’s dreams.

She was so tense now that when she caught a fleeting movement at the corner of her eye she nearly screamed. She whirled, her cloak swirling around her, to face the threat.

The young boy standing beside a carriage horse ducked his head apologetically.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “Didn’t mean to frighten you. Just trying to keep the horse calm. Old Ben, here, gets nervous in crowds.”

“Old Ben and I have a good deal in common,” she replied.

The boy grinned. “Watch out for the pickpockets, ma’am. They’re always about in busy places like this.”

“Thank you for the warning.” She smiled, even though he could not see her face through the veil. Turning, she started again toward her own vehicle.

Her intuition was screaming at her now. She stopped fighting it and opened her talent. The pavement was suddenly illuminated by the eerie ultralight and the strange shadows cast by the radiation from the residue of decades of dreamprints. More prints fluoresced in icy hues on the sides of carriages. She concentrated on those that appeared both fresh and disturbing.

It was a formidable task. When she was fully in her senses energy sizzled in the atmosphere around her. Dreamprints glowed with lust, anger, pain, fear, anxiety and, most worrisome of all, spiking rage. Those endowed with her unusual ability generally saw far more of the world and of human nature than they wanted to see.

She paid especially close attention to a trail of prints that displayed the twisted currents of fury. They were being tracked across the street by a man in a top hat and a long black coat. He gripped a walking cane in one gloved fist. She shuddered, aware that it would take very little provocation to make him lash out with the cane.

She watched the man jump into a hansom. The small vehicle set off immediately, carrying its angry passenger away into the night. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Not much farther now. The driver of the carriage that she had hired for the evening jumped down from the box to open the door for her. It was all she could do not to break into an undignified run.

She was so intent on reaching the safety of the vehicle that she did not notice the unnatural shadows gliding toward her until a man’s arm wrapped around her waist. She was dragged down to the pavement with such speed and force that she did not even have a chance to cry out.

The next thing she knew she was flat on her back. A man’s heavy body was crushing her. Her senses were still flung wide open. Instinctively she tried to brace herself for what would surely be an explosion of nightmarish energy. It did not come.

She recognized the currents of hot, controlled energy instantly.

A gun roared somewhere in the night. Griffin shuddered violently. So much for her theory that no one in the crowd of respectable theatergoers would be carrying a gun.

The darkness erupted in screams and shrieks. Horses whinnied in terror. Hooves stamped and pounded on the pavement. Carriage wheels clattered.

Adelaide was nearly overwhelmed by the icy currents of energy slamming through her. Not her own, she realized.

“Griffin,” she gasped. “You’ve been shot.”

“Social reformers,” Griffin muttered. “Damned nuisances, the lot of them.”

 

 

 

HIS LEFT SHOULDER WAS DEATHLY COLD. HE’D BEEN SHOT once before, back in his younger, more reckless days. Back when, like other men in their early twenties, he had believed himself invincible. He had learned several lessons from the incident, one of which was that he was, indeed, mortal. Another was that although the wound felt oddly cold now, the hot blaze of agony would hit him soon enough. In the meantime he had things to do.

He looked down at Adelaide. She lay beneath him in a tangle of skirts, petticoats and velvet cloak. Her hat and veil had come off and her hair had fallen free of the pins that had secured it. The light of a nearby carriage lamp slanted across her stricken features. Her eyes were dark and deep with anxiety. Energy flared in the atmosphere around them, hers and his own, he realized.

In that strange moment of shimmering awareness it seemed to him that their currents were intertwined. The sensation of
intimacy
—there was no other word for it—was unlike anything he had ever experienced, not even in a lover’s arms.

It’s the shock of the wound, he thought. Or maybe I’m hallucinating again
.

“Mr. Winters,” she said, more sternly this time. “Pay attention, sir. Where were you hit?”

“Shoulder, I think.” His left arm was numb. He rolled to his feet and reached down with his good arm to pull her up beside him. Amidst the confusion that reigned in the street it was unlikely anyone would notice her, let alone recognize her, but he did not want to take any chances. He jerked the hood of her cloak up over her head and pulled a little more shadow-energy to veil his own features.

“This way,” he ordered. He seized her hand and hauled her toward his carriage.

Mercifully, she did not argue or ask questions. He got her through the maze of rearing horses, frightened women and shouting men. By the time he reached the carriage, Jed had the door open and the stairs lowered.

“What happened, Boss?” Jed demanded. “Heard a gunshot. Are you and the lady all right?”

Adelaide was halfway through the door. She paused to look back at Jed. “Mr. Winters has been shot. We will need a doctor immediately.”

“Is it true?” Jed asked, thoroughly alarmed now. “Are ye hurt, Boss?”

“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Griffin bundled Adelaide into the cab and got in beside her. “The lady is right. I’ll need a doctor. Get back to the Abbey.”

“Aye, Boss.”

“First help me get Mr. Winters out of his coat,” Adelaide said to Jed. It was an order, not a request. “I must see how badly he is bleeding.” She hiked up the skirts of her gown and started to tear wide strips out of her muslin petticoats.

Jed hesitated, uncertain whose orders to follow.

Griffin dropped down onto the seat across from Adelaide, closed his eyes and sagged back against the cushions. The interior of the cab was starting to swim around him.

“The Abbey, Jed.”

“I believe you are sinking into shock, sir,” Adelaide said. “You must let me deal with the wound at once.”

Looking at her through slitted eyes, he said, “I want you away from here. The bastard may be hanging around in hopes of taking another shot.”

Adelaide glanced out the window. “The prints of the man who shot you lead away from here down the street. He has fled, sir. You are safe, for now.”

He had to work hard to focus on that astounding information. “You can see his footprints?”

“I can see the dreamlight energy in them, yes. It is very hot. Not surprising in view of the fact that he just attempted to commit murder.”

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered. “Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”

“Oh, yes. Dreamprints are quite distinctive. But this is no time to discuss my talent. I must see how badly you are bleeding. Jed, I will need your assistance.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Griffin discovered that he lacked the strength to argue. That was not a good sign.

Jed scrambled up into the small cab and went to work. When he and Adelaide got the overcoat open and started to ease it off over one shoulder, Griffin was nearly engulfed in the flood tide of pain that washed over him. He closed his eyes again and clenched his back teeth to throttle the groan.

“Any idea who fired the shot, Boss?” Jed asked, struggling to work as gently as possible.

“No.” Griffin sucked in another sharp breath.

“Have to work up a list,” Jed growled. “You’ve made a number of enemies over the years. But I reckon we can put Luttrell at the top. Looks like he’s decided to break the Truce.”

Griffin started to respond but Adelaide was leaning in very close. Her fingertips touched his forehead. In spite of the rising tide of agony, it occurred to him that her hand felt very good on his skin. Soothing energy eased his senses.

“The pain only makes the shock worse,” Adelaide said, leaning closer. “It places additional stress on the body and the senses. Forgive me, sir. I know you will not approve of what I am about to do.”

He opened his eyes partway. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“Just relax, sir.”

Energy pulsed lightly.

He wanted to reach up, capture her hand and hold on to her forever. The pulse of energy was growing stronger, urging him into a place where there would not be any pain. But there was something he had to do before he let the shadows take him.

“Jed,” he said. He could not seem to get his eyes open. “Mrs. Pyne is coming to the Abbey with us. Keep her there, understand?”

“Yes, Boss,” Jed said. He got the blood-soaked linen shirt open.

“What on earth do you mean, Mr. Winters?” Adelaide demanded. She snatched her fingers away from Griffin’s forehead and began to apply pressure to the wound. “You cannot hold me against my wishes.”

He ignored her. “Jed, tell the others that she is to be guarded night and day.”

“I fear you are hallucinating, Mr. Winters,” Adelaide said. “You did mention that you’ve had some problems with that sort of thing lately.”

“The shooter wasn’t aiming at me,” he said to Jed. “Bastard was trying to kill Mrs. Pyne. If I don’t wake up send word to Inspector Spellar at Scotland Yard. He owes me a few favors. He’ll know what to do. Until then, I want the lady guarded around the clock. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Boss,” Jed said.

“Dear heaven,” Adelaide whispered, shocked. “You took the bullet meant for me.”

She removed one hand from his shoulder long enough to touch his forehead again. Her fingertips were as light as butterflies and stained red with his blood.

He slid into sleep.

 

 

 

THE DREAM WELLS UP OUT OF THE DARKNESS, FEVER HOT AND glacial cold. It begins as they always do, at the foot of the stairs . . .

“Calm yourself, Mr. Winters. You are dreaming again. I will ease the currents just as I did last time. Go back to sleep.”

He has heard this gentle voice before. He trusts it now. The dream images evaporate, leaving a sense of peace unlike any he has known since he was sixteen years old.

He drifts back down into a deep healing sleep.

 

 

 

“HE WILL BE FINE,” LUCINDA JONES SAID. “THE BALM THAT I gave you will ensure that no infection takes hold while the wound closes. Be sure to apply it twice daily. I will also leave you the ingredients for a tisane that will encourage healing. Make certain that he drinks at least two cups a day, morning and night.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jones,” Adelaide said.

She smiled at Lucinda across the width of the bed. Griffin was asleep again. She did not sense any of the nightmarish energy that had ebbed and flowed throughout the long night. He lay against the pillows, eyes closed, dark hair matted with dried sweat. He was nude to the waist. The bandage that covered his shoulder was fresh, the inside layers saturated with the therapeutic balm that Lucinda had prepared.