Elemental Magic: All-New Tales of the Elemental Masters (21 page)

“They look like they’re clustered together for protection,” Anna giggled.

Ignoring the giggle, Ellie thought the observation sound. While she personally had no interest in any of the young men, most of the music lovers in the gardens appeared to be young women of a marriageable age and their mothers. She wondered if the senior officers had ordered them to attend as a kind of penance.

“Look, Ellie! There’s one with hair as red as yours. I wonder what his name is?”

Ellie wondered if there was any way of finding out if Anna had lost a twin. The shade seemed perfectly happy with its existence. It didn’t seem lost. Actually, it . . . she seemed as interested in the red-haired officer as Anna was.

“Oh, Ellie! He’s seen us. He’s coming this way!”

Lieutenant Harry Marshall seemed captivated by Miss Anna Evans and both Anna and her shade were entirely captivated by him. Ellie’d never seen a shade blush before. Although the lieutenant politely tried to include Ellie in the conversation—his accent so redolent of the Lothians she felt homesick—she soon found herself on the sidelines, and not even the shade noticed as she slipped away.

Camp Hill Cemetery, the cemetery the bodies had been taken from, was to the west of the gardens, across Summer Street. Katherine had happily filled in the details on the horse-tram on the way into the city. Ellie had hoped to be able to wander among the graves. There were always shades in cemeteries, some new and lost and needing only a gentle push, some there so long they thought they were where they belonged, some . . . well, there was a tomb in Gray Friars locked so as to keep
something
in. Unfortunately, the gates were closed and men in dark jackets moved in and around the gravestones.

“You’re a terrible chaperone.”

It was the slender, dark-haired friend of Lieutenant Marshall, smiling down at her from entirely too close. His eyes were a surprisingly pale hazel with flecks of gold in among the brown and green, his nose looked as though it had been broken at least once, and a small scar puckered the bottom of his chin. Suddenly realizing she’d been staring up at him for an embarrassing length of time, she started and said, “I’m a what?”

“A terrible chaperone,” he repeated smiling. His bottom teeth were slightly crooked and he had dimples. Two dimples. She had no idea why that suddenly mattered. “You’ve abandoned your friend to the company of an incorrigible flirt. I thought I’d best retrieve you before any permanent damage was done.”

“Done?”

“To her reputation. Unless,” he added, as Ellie glanced through the cemetery’s closed gates, “you’d rather remain here in hope of seeing something ghoulish.”

Ellie knew that if she could only talk to the witnesses, she could help stop this before body-snatching escalated to murder as it had back home. Unfortunately, she couldn’t speak to the dead with so many people around.
Be careful who you share your gift with
, her mother’s shade had told her.
Be cautious. Be your father’s daughter in this, not mine.
“There’s no reason to stay,” she sighed, and turned her attention back to the young officer. “We might as well rejoin my friend.”

His smile broadened as he placed a hand over his heart. “I am truly touched by your enthusiasm for my company.”

Ellie stared at him for a long moment, saw his lips twitch, and burst out laughing. It was unladylike, and she should have tried to stop herself, but when he laughed with her, she didn’t bother. They gathered a few disapproving stares, whether at the laughter or because they were laughing outside a cemetery where crimes had been committed and solemn horror was the expected reaction—but Ellie didn’t care and when he tucked her hand in his elbow and lead her back into the gardens, she allowed it. “Do you have a name?”

“Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

His lips twitched again. “Captain Alistair Williams at your service, ma’am.”

“Aren’t you young to be a captain?”

“I’m very good at what I do.” After a moment, he added, “And you are?”

She was distracted by the hard curve of muscle under her hand. “Sorry. Ealasaid Harris.”

“A Gaelic Elizabeth.”

“You know Gaelic?”

His free hand gestured at his uniform. “I’m in a Highland regiment.”

“But you’re English.”

“My maternal grandfather is the McGillivray.”

“Ah.” The McGillivrays were a powerful family in Scotland. Her father had once scoffed at how they were breeding for powers and, through careful marriages, had ensured the family included Masters in all four elements.

“My mother disgraced her family by marrying the second son of a minor English Baron. Fortunately, my grandmother convinced my grandfather to forgive her.”

Captain Williams must be a power, then. If she’d inherited her father’s ability instead of her mother’s, she’d know, but there was no way to ask. And no time, even had there been a way, for they were back with Anna, her lieutenant smiling at her every giggle. Mrs. Evans and Katherine soon joined them, the band played
Scotland the Brave
, the luncheon tent opened for business, and Captain Williams stayed at her side until all the officers had to quit the park for the Citadel.

“Did the captain ask if he could call on you?” Anna demanded, her shade looking equally starry-eyed about the promises Lieutenant Marshall had made.

“No.”

“No? Oh, my poor Ellie. Are you crushed?”

“Why would I be crushed? I only just met him.”

Both Anna and her shade stared at her as though she were crazy, but Ellie watched the clapboard houses go by outside the horse-tram and thought she might like this new world, this new life after all.

*   *   *

It was dark by the time her father came home, but he went immediately to the back garden and sat, leaning against an old apple tree. It seemed his first day in their new life hadn’t been as pleasant as hers. Ellie stood in the doorway, the kitchen dark behind her, and wished she could help.

Then she heard him speaking softly and, though she couldn’t hear it, she knew he was answered. This bit of land in a new country had welcomed a Master, and it would provide the comfort he needed. She was happy for him, she truly was. Tied to the university and the hospital, the shared wildernesses of Edinburgh had only barely been enough, but she did wish she didn’t remind him so much of the love he’d lost that he sometimes forgot the love he still had.

*   *   *

It rained the next day and the day after that. Confined to the house, Ellie unpacked, went over the household requirements with Mrs. Dixon, read the newspaper her father had arranged to have delivered, and waited for the rain to stop.

It was still raining on the third day, but no one talked about the weather. Another grave had been disturbed, another body snatched; this one taken from the Old Burying Ground, not from the Camp Hill Cemetery.

“Old Burying Ground’s been closed for over thirty years,” Mrs Dixon pointed out as they sat together at the kitchen table snapping yellow beans. “Won’t be pulling much of anything that resembles a body out of any grave there.”

Mrs. Dixon had been more willing to allow her to help than their old housekeeper ever had. Less insistent she act like a lady, doctor’s daughter that she was. Ellie hoped that in this new land she could change what that meant. Discards of Britain, her father had called them. Why should the discarded have to follow the old rules?

When her father came home late that night, she was in the sitting room reading
East Lynne
—they’d had gaslights in Edinburgh, and there were gaslights in Halifax proper, but she suspected it would be some time before they made it out as far as Inglis Street. Lamp in hand, she hurried out to the hall to greet him and realized he wasn’t alone.

“Dr. Evans. Good evening. Mrs. Dixon has left cold chicken for your supper, Papa, but I’m sure there’s plenty for two.”

Her father sighed and set his umbrella aside. “We’ve eaten, but if you could manage a pot of tea . . .”

“I can.” She’d warned Mrs. Dixon, and the housekeeper had left the coals in the stove’s smaller firebox banked. The water in the kettle would still be warm and easy enough for her to bring to a boil.

“If she can make tea, she’s a damned sight more useful than my girls,” Dr. Evans muttered as she opened the door at the end of the hall that led to the kitchen.

As it closed, she heard her father sigh, “She’s had to be.”

With any luck Dr. Evans presence would keep him from falling into the despair he often gave himself over to when reminded of her mother, but Ellie hurried with the tea anyway. Balancing the pot, two of the mugs her father preferred over cups, a small pitcher of milk, and the sugar on a tray she pushed her way back through the door and paused at the sound of voices from her father’s office, the sound carrying clearly through the stovepipes that heated the hall in the winter.

“—almost rather go back to worrying about having our anatomy license revoked.” Dr. Evans sounded unsettled.

“You’re sure they could have taken nothing but bones?”

“Positive. Heather DeChampes has been dead for almost a hundred years. They might have gotten a bit of jewelry, but . . .”

“They’re not after jewelry.”

“No.”

“You’re sure she was a virgin?”

Dr. Evans snorted. “From what I hear, when she died they tried to make her a saint.”

“And one of the other four was a newborn infant. Necromancy then, it’s the only answer.”

“The council . . .”

“If we put a letter on a ship with a Water
and
Air Master, they might get an answer back to us in a month. If they bother at all. The next dark of the moon is in two days, and if our grave robbers are willing to dig in this weather, then I’ll bet money that’s what they’re aiming for.”

“So what do we do?”

“Strengthen our own protections. See that our families are safe. Be ready to help pick up the pieces.” Ellie heard her father sigh. “I can’t see what else there is to do. We haven’t enough information, and there’s no way to get more.”

They fell silent when she entered with the tea, and her father wished her a good night so pointedly she knew she’d been dismissed.

“I’ve never actually been to the Old Burying Grounds,” she heard Dr. Evans say as she started up the stairs. “There may be dryads . . .”

There
may
be dryads.

There
would
be shades, and they saw everything. She could get the information her father needed and prove she could speak with the dead, finally convincing him that he had no responsibility in her mother’s death.

*   *   *

Her father spent the next morning in his office. Considering what she’d heard the night before, she assumed he was layering shields around the property. She had to assume because he hadn’t shared what he was doing. Her mother had come from a family with Elemental ties, although she herself had none, and Ellie’s parents had never kept what her father could do from her. She knew he’d hoped she would inherit his power.

Instead . . .

“I told him what you said. Exactly like you wanted me to. He doesn’t believe I can see you, Mama!”

“It’s because he’s a physician,
mo cridhe
. For him, death is a failure, and it hurts him to look beyond the end. You must be patient with him. Now, you must help me move on, as I’ve show you . . .”

He emerged in time to eat before going into the city. Ellie was restless, pushing the food around her plate, but he was still too caught up in his own head to notice. Mrs. Dixon looked between them as she set down the bowls of fruit and cream, clearly aware something was wrong.

The moment her father left for the hospital, Ellie ran to her room to change.

She expected questions when she told the housekeeper she was heading into town but Mrs. Dixon merely nodded and asked if she wanted supper ready at the regular time.

*   *   *

The Old Burying Ground was close enough to the Halifax Medical College for Ellie to be grateful it wasn’t a day her father was there teaching. There were barricades up around the disturbed grave, but the gate itself remained open. Surrounded by trees, the cemetery was an oasis in the midst of brick and stone and macadam and carters and soldiers and sailors.

Ellie slipped through the gates. With no new dead, there were no wisps of smoke or shimmers of light and she paused, unsure of how to go on. Then she heard the laughter. Hair raising on the back of her neck, she followed the edged sound away from the violated grave toward a dark jumble of cracked stone under a tangle of trees and vines. The name on the broken stone was Arietty Brown, the date of death the thirteenth of September, 1811.

It was cold at the grave. Ellie rubbed her arms and took a deep breath, heart pounding. This was the first shade she’d gone looking for, the first who hadn’t come looking for her.
“Don’t fear the dead,
her mother’s shade had said.
“They need your help.”

“I know you’re there, Arietty Brown.”

The laughter grew louder.

“And I know you saw what happened.”

“What’s a lovely young thing doing all alone here?” Cradling a half-empty bottle, the sailor lurched toward her.

Ellie took a step back. Focused on the dead, she hadn’t given a thought to the living even though she knew better. Knew what parts of Edinburgh to avoid. Knew not to walk alone out of sight of witnesses.

Had known.

It seemed this new world came with the same rules as the old and, as Mrs. Evans had said, there was no new evil. “My young man is only just out of sight.”

The sailor leered. “More fool him.”

“If you come any closer, I’ll scream.”

“I like girls feisty, me.”

Time to run. He’d laugh at her fear, but that was all he’d be able to do. She turned, caught her heel on a marker, and felt two cold hands shove her hard enough to tumble her to the ground.

“Oh, yeah, on yer back’s the best . . .” The liquor in the bottle began to boil. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what deviltry . . .”

Ellie covered her eyes as the thick glass exploded. She heard a crack and grunt and the thud of a body hitting the ground.