His Lordship Possessed (13 page)

“So I will. Later.” Dredmore ignored Montrose

altogether as he reached down to take hold of my chin

and lift my face. It was like being touched by a corpse.

“And this fl esh? It too serves me?”

Montrose snickered. “Not bloody likely.”

“Do you even know whose body you’ve stolen?” I

asked Zarath. “Lucien Dredmore is a deathmage, and

Grand Master of the dark arts. He can slice a man in half

with one blow.” I shoved a fi nger into his chest. “Get out

of him, this minute, or he will see to it that you suff er a long and ugly death.”

No one said anything, and then Celestino began

laughing. “Oh, miss,” the Talian wheezed between

guff aws. “Th e Aramanthan do not die as we do. Th ey

have lived for thousands of years here in our world as well

as the netherside.”

Zarath peered down at me. “Th e spirit of this body,

this Dredmore. He was your lover.”

“Is,” I insisted. “He
is
.”

“His spirit has fl ed from his fl esh, woman. Even if it

were somehow to return, it could not take this body from

me.” His black eyes took on a scarlet sheen. “What your

lover is, is dead.”

I could hardly hear him for the roaring in my ears, and

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then I heard nothing at all.

“Kit.”

Big, gentle hands cradled my face, brushed back my

hair, and checked my pulse. I knew that touch as well

as the voice, but I didn’t want to deal with Inspector

Doyle just now. No, what I wanted was a nice room at

Morehaven where I might sleep for a thousand years.

Th at way I wouldn’t have to think about magic, which

I knew now to be real, spirit stones, or the man I loved

being possessed—his soul eaten—by an immortal

monster. I had to face it: Dredmore was dead, and I

might as well be.

“Should I send for a whitecart then, ‘Spector?”

someone asked.

“No,” I answered for Doyle, my voice a rasping ruin.

“I’m not injured.” I struggled upright and looked past

the man holding me. Tommy’s beaters were searching

through the wreck of an expensive-looking hotel room

and coming up with nothing. I lay on the fl oor beside the

bed, my arms and legs tightly bound with curtain cord. It

was not the room where Lord Walsh had killed himself,

either, for there were no brains on the wall.

“Th e concierge called the station,” Doyle told me.

“Everyone on this fl oor heard a woman screaming for

help.” He held up a bit of torn cloth, and his angry

expression grew especially fi erce. “You chewed through

this.”

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Small wonder my throat felt lined with cotton: it

actually was. “I missed my dinner bucket.”

One of the beaters chuckled and earned a glare from

the chief inspector.

“How can you joke about it? No, hold still.” Doyle

took out a pocketknife and sheared through the cords

binding my wrists together before he chafed my hands to

restore the blood fl ow. “Who did this to you, Kit?”

I could tell him the entire sorry tale, most of which

I still didn’t believe, and go quietly after. Not all the

asylums in Rumsen were horrid. Wherever they sent me

for treatment, Doyle would bribe one of the loon herders

to look after me.

“Don’t you tell him the truth.” Harry materialized

behind the inspector, and his mostly-transparent eyes

fi xed on mine. “Say you hit your head, and that you can’t

recall.
Now
, gel.”

“I can’t recall.” I looked at the glitter of white and

blue stones scattered about the bed on the fl oor. “I hit

my head.”

“Lucien Dredmore paid for this room,” Doyle said.

“He told the concierge that you were newlyweds before

he carried you up here.”

“Agree with him,” Harry said.

I nodded. “Yes, he did.”

One of the beaters made a scoffi ng sound, which he

quickly turned into a fake cough as he moved to search

the corner farthest from his boss.

Against his trouser seams Doyle’s fi ngers knotted into

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fi sts. “Dredmore was also seen abducting you earlier from

a brothel called the Eagle’s Nest.”

“Th at was a ruse, to protect Carina and her gels from

Walsh’s men.” I watched Harry throw up his hands in

disgust and felt a dismal satisfaction. “I want to go home,

Inspector.”

“You don’t have a home. Your property and monies

have been seized by the Crown.” Doyle studied my face.

“You’ve the clothes on your back, Kit. Now do you want

to tell me what the bloody hell happened here?”

Th e door to the adjoining suite opened, and Lord

Lucien Dredmore swept into the room. His cloak swirled

with imperial elegance, and the points of his snowy

neckcloth stood in stiff relief against his dark skin. In

his eyes I saw a dreadful shadowy presence, as if the

evil demon inside him were looking out of them like

windows.

“I can tell you,” the thing pretending to be Dredmore

said as he strode forward, his gleaming boots thumping

on the fl oor as the beaters scattered from his path.

“Lord Dredmore.” Doyle’s features took on a

decidedly bland cast as he inclined his head just enough

to suit courtesy. “You witnessed something?”

“Yes.” He lifted his hand and pointed at my face. “Th is

woman murdered Lord Walsh.”

In the fi ve seconds of astounded silence that followed,

I noticed that Harry had vanished again, Dredmore had

acquired a faint Talian accent, and Doyle appeared ready

to commit murder himself. Th en, without devoting much

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thought to it, I relieved the inspector of his blade and

launched myself at Dredmore, only to be hauled back by

a strong arm.

“Kit.” Doyle wrestled the knife from my hand before

he shoved me away. “Have you gone mad?”

“Th at is
not
Lucien Dredmore. Before Walsh killed

himself, he forced the spirit of an evil warlord into

Dredmore’s body.” I told Doyle the rest of it as quickly

as I could, and added, “He calls him Zarath. He and the

Talians have come to take over Toriana and go to war

with the Crown. He’ll use Lucien’s power to do it.”

Dredmore smiled. “Such an entertaining tale. You

should have become a novel writer instead of murdering

fi ne gentlemen.”

Now I would have no trouble at all killing him. “Give

me back that blade, Tommy.”

“You see?” Th e thing wearing Dredmore’s body

cupped his fi ngers and snatched at the air. “She is on the

rampage.”

“Give us the room,” Doyle said to the beaters, who

hastily fi led out.

“You must take her at once to prison,” Dredmore told

him, “before she kills again.”

“Is that right.” Doyle glanced at me. “I imagine I will,

milord, but fi rst I’d like you to answer two questions.”

“Of course,” the monster said. “Anything.”

Doyle watched him. “If Miss Kittredge murdered

Lord Walsh, then how did she end up bound and helpless

in this room?”

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“Obviously she arranged to be found so,” the monster

replied. “It would make anyone believe her innocent of

the crime she has committed.”

“You
put
me here after you killed Walsh and Lucien,

you evil ass.” I tried to dodge round Doyle again, but he

caught me and held me fast.

“Right. Just one fi nal question then, milord,” Doyle

said. “What’s Miss Kittredge’s given name?”

Dredmore’s eyes blinked. “I don’t understand what

you say.”

“You’ve known her for several years,” the inspector

said. “You’ve paid to have her investigated, harassed, and

even snatched from the street a time or two, or so I’ve

been told. Tell me her given name.”

“He doesn’t know.” My smile turned acid. “Because

he’s not Dredmore.”

Th e thing lunged at Tommy, punching him in the gut

and then the face, so fast his movements became blurred.

Th e inspector fl ew across the room, hit the wall, and slid to the fl oor.

I braced myself for the same, but before it could touch

me, Harry materialized between us. In his hand he held a

pale stone that gave off beams of light. “Never even think

it, spirit-eater. Th is child carries my blood.”

Zarath reared back, lifting his hands to block the

light, and cursed viciously in Talian as he backed away.

“Th at’s right,” Harry said, following after him. “Get

out.”

I went to Doyle, who lay groaning and hugging his

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middle, and checked him over. Blood streamed from his

nose, and I found a huge knot on the back of his head,

but otherwise he was all right.

Suddenly the door to the room slammed shut and

one of the beaters came in. “He’ll be fi ne,” he told me

as he pocketed the pale stone. He was the beater who

had snickered at me, but he wasn’t laughing now. “I’ve

sent the other coppers downstairs to clear the hall. Now,

you’re to leave Rumsen, this very minute. Get as far from

the city as you can manage before dawn.”

I eyed him. “I thought you were arresting me.”

“Oh, for the love of Victoria—it’s me, Harry, Charm.”

Th e beater knelt down and looked over Doyle’s bloodied

features. “Blind me, this is Arthur’s grandson. Fancy

him becoming a Yardman. Ah, well.” He tried to pull

me away from him. “You’ve little time left before the sun

rises. I’ll help you procure—”

I slapped the beater’s broad cheek. “Why didn’t you

come to help us? Why didn’t you stop them from hurting

Lucien?”

“I couldn’t.” He winced and probed the reddening side

of his face. “Did you have to smack me so hard?” When

I curled my fi ngers into a fi st, he said quickly, “I couldn’t stop them or help them. I’m not part of this war. I can’t

be.”“Oh, so you’re a coward as well as a traitor.” I turned

my back on him. “Why didn’t you say so?”

Light blasted me from behind, and when I squinted

over my shoulder I saw the beater fl oating six inches

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above the carpet and glowing like a cop-shaped sun. At

the same time everything in the room began to blow

about as if in a high wind.

“You dare insult me,” Harry said, his voice booming

so loudly the windows rattled. “With the power I

command, I could banish you to the netherside with a

single thought.”

“Is this how you generally behave toward family?” I

sniff ed. “And you wonder why my mother wanted no

part of you.”

Th e light vanished, and the beater’s feet dropped

down on the fl oor. “My apologies,” Harry said meekly.

“My temper sometimes gets the better of me.”

Doyle stirred, groaning a little.

“Help me with him,” I said.

“I can’t be a part of this confl ict,” he said as he moved

to the door. “Good-bye, Charm.” Out he went.

“Harry.”
I rose to go after him, only to be yanked back down by a strong hand. “Doyle, let go of me. He’s getting

away.”

“Yes, and you’re not.” With another groan he shoved

himself upright and staggered to his feet, still gripping

my wrist with an iron hand. He bellowed out two names,

and a pair of his beaters rushed into the room. Neither of

them appeared to be possessed by my grandfather.

“Lord Travallian has just assaulted me to escape

custody. He’s not right in the head. Find him and bring

him back to the station.” Doyle held up a hand. “Be

discreet.”

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Th e beaters touched the brims of their helmets before

they trotted out.

“Brilliant.” I wanted to slap him. “I told you, that

thing is not Dredmore.”

“Right, it’s an ancient magical being that possessed

his body, and if we don’t stop him, he’s going to start a

war.” He prodded the back of his head and winced. “How

does he mean to do that again? Toss a few pebbles at the

whole of the militia?”

“More like a thousand or so Talians,” I snapped. “He

can command entire armies with his mind, and he has

Dredmore’s powers now as well. For God’s sake, Tommy,

stop rolling your eyes at me like that. He’s an immortal

warlord, I tell you.”

He shook his head. “You’ve been drugged and

knocked about, Kit. If Dredmore had told you he was the

Queen, you’d have believed him.”

I told him how wrong he was as he hustled me from

the room, down the stairs, and out the hotel. I repeated

the entire story as he pushed me into his carri and told