The Highland Dragon's Lady (13 page)

The hallway was cold, but not as bad as the drawing room had been. The chill here didn’t hurt one’s bones, and the sensation of being glared at by a dreadful sort of ethereal governess was less severe. The governess in question was still there and still not pleased at all, but she wasn’t holding a ruler at the moment.

Reggie wasn’t sure why. The hallway might have provided some protection, if only because the spirit took a little while to shift her full attention between rooms. Having everyone walking in step might have, as Mr. Heselton had said, provided additional vessels to counter the power of Janet Morgan and whatever she’d bound herself to. Also, walking by Colin might have itself made her feel better.

There were good, sound, practical reasons for that. He knew magic. He wasn’t mortal. Also, he was a larger target, but thinking
that
didn’t actually reassure Reggie at all. She took a look to the side just to make sure he was still there and in one piece, then snapped her gaze forward again, watching Mr. Heselton as he led them down the hallway.

It was a long walk. Reggie had thought Whitehill enormous to begin with, but she’d never fully realized how huge it was until she marched through it in careful double file with her parents and Edmund, an apprentice medium, a vicar’s sister, and a handsome dragon-man, while a ghost glared at them and God—whatever that name meant—was their only real protection. They walked very slowly, step by step in time with Mr. Heselton’s prayers and the constantly swinging censer.

The process felt like it took years. She knew she’d remember it for years to come.

They began in one of the first-floor drawing rooms and continued down the hallway, through the dining room and the kitchens—Mater had sent all the servants into the village for the day, thank goodness—and down around to the rest of the rooms on the first floor, then through the hallway to the older wing.

Now the cold was painful around Reggie again, and the ghost’s anger hung tangibly in the air. She should have worn warmer clothing, she thought. Nobody told one how to dress for an exorcism. After this, she would write a book, or possibly a series of short columns for one of the ladies’ magazines. There was a gentleman in London who she could probably get to do engravings.

She bit her lip against a giggle, knowing that it came from nerves, like the urge to whistle past the graveyard. This spirit wouldn’t be deterred so easily.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared straight ahead and kept walking, trying to ignore the cold.

At the light touch of a hand on her shoulder, she almost jumped. She didn’t, and she didn’t scream—and while Reggie would have liked to credit both to excellent self-discipline, she knew that it was really because the quicker part of her mind, even through her fright, felt that the touch was not cold. Far from it: the hand was actually warmer than she’d have expected from a human.

She turned toward Colin and saw him holding out his coat.

Reggie gave him a questioning look:
Won’t you be
cold?

Dragon. Remember?
he mouthed back silently.

She smiled and took the coat, shrugging into it as she kept walking. It was linen, but warm with the heat of his body, and the smell that clung to it warmed her inwardly like a glass of whiskey. There was no way to really thank him without disrupting the exorcism, but she met his silver eyes and smiled again. He sketched a little bow in response.

As they went on, Reggie clung to that moment as much as to the coat itself—those few seconds of good humor and connection, of…well, “humanity” was an ironic word, considering the other party, but she couldn’t think of a better one. She’d needed that. It was the last embers in a blizzard or the final gasp of air before diving.

The ghost’s presence around them was like water at its worst, cold and dark and crushing. Reggie had devoured tales of polar expeditions when she’d been in school and had shuddered enjoyably to think of ice that could splinter ships like eggs and of pounding, frigid waves that sucked the life away from men. Now the force around them was the northern sea and they were the ships, a tiny fleet in the immense darkness.

They labored onward: up the stairs, through the bedrooms, through the room where Mrs. Osbourne lay, a ring of candles around her bed. She met their eyes as they passed, and Reggie felt some strength returning to her. She could go a little longer. She turned back to see her family and the other two women, white but steady. She realized that she had no doubts about Colin, but met his eyes anyhow.

Then they were in the attics, and the pressure doubled, tripled, mounted so high that breathing was an effort. Reggie thought she could feel each individual muscle in her legs and her lungs, all straining to keep her going. She wasn’t sure how Mr. Heselton still managed to speak, but he did—his voice rising, becoming startlingly deep and resonant. He lifted his arms and shouted, and an answer came: a banshee shriek that sent the attic windows crashing inward in a shower of glass.

And then it was over. The pressure and the cold abruptly vanished, and they stood in a dusty attic, catching their breaths and feeling themselves for cuts. By a miracle—possibly a literal one—the flying glass hadn’t hit anyone. The shards formed a neat ring around the group.

“Nicely done,” said Edmund, hoarse in the silence.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Heselton. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “At the cost of your windows, I fear.”

“I’d been meaning to replace them at any rate,” said Mater, waving one ringed hand carelessly. She glanced toward one of the frames, which still had jagged bits of glass sticking out here and there. “We’d better close the shutters, though. It looks very much like…rain.”

Her voice died away, and when Reggie followed her gaze to the sky outside, she understood why.

The day had been beautiful when they’d started the exorcism; if there’d been a single cloud in the sky, Reggie hadn’t seen it. Now the sky was a hideous greenish-black, and a wind was starting to whip at the trees outside, a wind that sounded like an echo of the ghostly scream they’d heard before.

Barely breathing, she turned to Colin. “That’s not—that can’t be—”

She wasn’t sure what word she was going to use—normal or natural or right—but she never got the chance to say it. Colin caught sight of the sky, or of something beyond it. His lean body snapped to attention and his eyes blazed with silver fire.

“Get out, the lot of ye,” he snarled, his accent far stronger than Reggie had ever heard it, and his voice lower than it had ever been when he was in human shape. With far more than human speed, he reached forward, grabbed Mr. Heselton by his collar, and pulled the man back toward the door. “Go now!”

From outside came another scream, but this one was from many throats: not human, but flesh and blood all the same. Underneath it, Reggie heard flapping, as of many sets of wings beating in unison.

Edmund moved first, reaching to open the door. Mater, Miss Heselton, and Miss Jones hurried through without any questions. Lightning flashed outside, a sheet of blinding radiance, and there was barely time for the thunderclap before the bolts came again and again, stabbing into the ground outside the house. At the doorway, Reggie turned back for a moment, thinking of Pater’s age and Mr. Heselton’s ankle, and seeing Colin silhouetted against the light. She thought that a faint blue glow rose up around him, but her eyes were dazzled, and she couldn’t be sure.

Then Miss Heselton grabbed her wrist and yanked her back through the door. “The gentlemen won’t leave until we’re out,” she said, reminding Reggie of the obvious and clearly knowing it.

As Pater escorted Mr. Heselton out, and Edmund hurried after them, another scream ripped through the room. Dark shapes dove through the windows, claws raking at Colin’s face. Reggie darted forward, knowing she couldn’t do much but hating to stand back helplessly. She saw Colin raise an arm and strike a large winged shape backward.

He spun and bolted for the door, stumbling through with a lack of grace that made Reggie realize how smoothly he usually moved. As he collected himself, she grabbed the door and slammed it shut with the weight of her whole body. A weight struck the other side:
THUMP.

Thunder roared, hungry and thwarted.

“What—” Pater began.

“Birds,” said Colin. One side of his face bled from a deep set of scratches reaching from forehead to jaw. The sleeve of his shirt hung in shreds, and blood welled from beneath that too. “Let’s go down. She canna’ strike the house directly, not after the exorcism, but it’s still safest to be lower.”

Nobody asked, just then, how he knew. Nobody said much until they’d retreated back down to Mrs. Osbourne’s room, compromising propriety for safety. There, everyone half collapsed into seats or against walls except for Miss Heselton, who cleaned Colin’s wounds.

Her brother sat on the edge of a chair, staring at his clasped hands and looking far older than he had a quarter of an hour before.

“It didn’t work,” he said. “I suppose I hadn’t had the proper training.”

“No,” said Miss Browne, looking over from the edge of Mrs. Osbourne’s bed. “It worked. I felt her leave the house.”

“So did I,” said Mrs. Osbourne, “even down here.”

“Aye,” said Colin. “You did precisely what you’d intended, Heselton, and you made a good job of it. She’s out of the house now. I’d think she’d be gone from the world of the living, except”—he jerked his head toward the window—“I’d imagine she split herself before she died. Anchored part of her soul to a place outdoors. I wish I’d thought of it before.”

“I wish one of us had,” said Pater, shaking his head. “If splitting herself implies what it sounds like it does…”

Colin nodded. “The exorcism’s banished her from the house,” he said, “but it’s also made her whole again. Wherever she is, she has all her power at once.”

“What do we do now?” Reggie asked.

Of course she’d be the first one to speak, Colin thought, and of course she’d ask a question like that. He smiled for the first time since they’d all fled the attics, and then hissed as the motion stretched the scratches on his face.

Damn hawks. He was lucky he’d gotten his arm up before the bird had taken an eye.

“First of all,” said Edmund, “we should find out what we can do—and I mean the very basics.” He looked out the window to where lightning still shredded the air. “Are we trapped here? Will all of this stop?”

“I’d think it would have to,” said Mrs. Osbourne. “But we’ve moved outside my area of knowledge. I’ve heard very little of ghosts that could influence the weather, but I’ve never heard of one who could do this.”

“I’d be surprised if any ghost, on its own, could,” said Colin. “This one isn’t. I don’t know if she’s even strictly a ghost.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Talbot-Jones. “What else would she be?”

“She likely bound herself to the being she summoned—or one of them,” said Colin, trying to remember the journal’s contents. Heselton wasn’t contradicting him, which was a decent sign. “It would keep the entity on the grounds outside, but that’s not the worst of our problems. A part of it merged with her soul in the process. That’d give her more power than any mere restless spirit could command. It’s not infinite, though. I’m certain she’ll exhaust herself before too long, and then we’ll have a few days’ window while she gathers her strength again.”

That was true of all lesser demons that Colin had ever heard about, and of the few he’d encountered directly in his younger and more foolish days. A greater demon would never have been able to bind to a human soul without shattering it. As it was, he suspected that the creature who’d been Janet Morgan was now twisted beyond any remnant of rational humanity.

“Ah,” said Mrs. Talbot-Jones. She smoothed her silver hair with one shaking hand. “I—I suppose we’re back to your question, Regina.”

“All right, then,” said Reggie, though her eyes lingered on her mother’s face before she went on. “We could leave the blasted place for good, you know. Burn it down, salt the earth, do the whole classical bit. It might have cost a pound or two, but that’s not worth getting killed over. There are plenty of houses in England.”

A moment passed without anyone speaking, without any noise except the thunder outside and the steady hiss of the gas lamp. Then, slowly, Mr. Talbot-Jones shook his head. “Running away never solves problems,” he said and held up a hand as both Reggie and Edmund started to object. “The ghost would still be out there, wouldn’t she? Somewhere on the property?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Osbourne, and Colin nodded his agreement.

“I thought as much,” said Mr. Talbot-Jones. “Then I, at least, have to see this matter through. If we abandoned the land, the next person to occupy it would be her prey—and there would be an occupant before very long. Perhaps I shouldn’t have tried to contact her in the first place, but I did. She’s my responsibility now.” He reached for his wife’s hand. “But she’s none of yours, and three of you have gotten hurt already. The sensible thing would be for the rest of you to leave. That includes you, Louisa, and the children as well.”

Mr. Heselton smiled shakily. “I have a duty too,” he said.

“And,” said Mrs. Talbot-Jones, “I rather think you’re my responsibility, Peter.”

“I’m staying if the two of you are,” said Edmund. “But maybe the ladies—”

Reggie shook back her dark hair, which had come undone during the flight downstairs, and glared at her brother. “Damned if I’ll go haring back to London without the rest of you,” she said. “Sorry for the language, Mater. But you?” She turned to Mrs. Osbourne. “You’re in a bad way already.”

“I’d like to deny that,” said Mrs. Osbourne, “but I can’t.” She touched her side lightly through her dressing gown and shook her head with amused resignation. “My injuries will keep me indoors, though, so I should be quite safe. Mr. MacAlasdair’s right. The ghost won’t be able to enter the house or do anything to it directly. I doubt she has the control to have a tree fall on the place or she’d have done it already, and thank God the beasts she can influence are all fairly small. And if my experience is ever to be of any real use, I suspect that moment is here and now. But—” She looked toward Miss Browne.

“Don’t even ask,” the younger woman said crisply. “I assure you that I will take offense.”

“You always were a touchy girl,” said Mrs. Osbourne, and she patted her hand.

Miss Heselton had been looking at the ground since Mr. Talbot-Jones spoke. Now she raised her head and looked at her brother. “I’ll stay too,” she said simply and quietly.

Informal as they were, the words were vows nonetheless. They dropped into place like figures in a magical circle, binding the people who spoke them—and defining them too. Colin watched and listened the way he usually did with mortal ceremonies, gazing from a great height as lights went on below him.

He hadn’t expected this.

He’d seen human bravery from time to time in political movements and personal affairs. He’d heard stories of it in war, although he’d never seen a battlefield close at hand. Those men and women had faced mortal opponents, though, people and states with earthly powers. Most of them had known very well the nature of their foes, and what forces those enemies could bring to bear.

Now six people, two of them wounded, promised to face down a would-be killer that none of them fully understood—that, for all they knew, nobody did.

Colin wasn’t sure he’d have had the nerve to stay, in their shoes.

Coming back from his thoughts, he realized that they were all very politely not watching him. It took a second or two for him to realize why.

“Oh,” he said and cleared his throat of a sudden obstruction. “Of course I’ll stay.”

“Of course,” said Reggie, and her full lips curved up into a slight, very kissable smile. Her eyes were what surprised Colin, though, or rather what he saw when he met them.

She sounded amused, but she was telling the truth. She’d never doubted that he’d stand with them.

* * *

The decisions that came after were less heroic but just as necessary. Everyone had agreed to stay and fight. Now they needed a battle plan.

“Most spirits—the ones that linger in the material world rather than just popping by to deliver a message—are tied to a physical object,” said Mrs. Osbourne. “It’s often their remains, particularly if they died violently or their death was concealed.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Talbot-Jones, and he stroked his beard. “Well.”

Reggie was more blunt. “If we’ve got to dig up Janet Morgan’s bones,” she said, “we’ll have to make up a dashed good story about it, or be the talk of the county.”

“And I rather think it’s illegal,” said Miss Browne.

“Maybe not,” said Mr. Heselton, though he didn’t look as though the thought gave him any pleasure. “She’s been dead for a long time, and there are no immediate relations in the area. I still would rather avoid any such thing if we can. I can only imagine what my sexton would say.”

Remembering the sexton, Colin could imagine too, and had to chuckle.

“It might not come to exhumation,” Mrs. Osbourne said. “The spirit’s mostly been in the house or on the grounds, unless there’s anything you haven’t told me. Nobody’s seen her in town, and nothing uncanny has happened there. Unless I’m wrong.” She looked to the Talbot-Joneses, who both shook their heads, and then to the Heseltons.

“I’d only heard stories about the house,” said Miss Heselton. “I paid no attention at the time, of course—they were very vulgar and upsetting—but no, nothing in town.”

“Then,” said Mrs. Osbourne, “I would think her remains aren’t what ties her to the world.”

“I’d wager it’s a place,” Colin said. “Generally one seals an outworld bargain with blood, and the place where one sheds that blood has power.”

As he spoke, he saw the others watching him, breaking down the image they’d previously carried of him in their minds and putting it back together with this new information. Oh, Edmund and his family had known for days that Colin had some facility with magic, and the others, hearing, might have believed. They’d never heard him speak about demons before, and he was no longer bothering to disguise how certain he was of his knowledge.

Miss Heselton was eyeing him like he might try to disembowel her at any minute, and her brother was frowning. Mrs. Osbourne was regarding him with professional curiosity. Colin didn’t look at Reggie.

He heard her voice, though. “It’d probably be out in the woods, then.” She groaned, and though he didn’t look at her, Colin could see her raking her fingers through her hair and the way her mouth twisted with exasperation. “It’ll only take a year or ten to turn over every rock out there.”

“That book might tell us more,” said Edmund. “Maybe she took some notes about how to get where she was going. I’d rather think she’d have to, unless she’d a mind like a steel trap for directions.”

“And there’s at least one old woman in the village who knows stories about her,” said Colin. “She might cast a little more light on the subject.”

Mrs. Talbot-Jones nodded. “Otherwise,” she said, “there are at least five of us capable of dividing our forces and covering the ground. I’ve no real experience in such things. Do any of you”—she gestured to the mediums and to Colin—“know whether one of us would feel it, should we come close to the correct place?”

“I don’t know for certain,” said Mrs. Osbourne, “but I’d imagine so. Very haunted places, if they’re small enough, are usually colder than normal, and often there’s a sense of being watched as well.”

“Considering what she likely bargained with,” said Colin, “the spot will likely be strange in other ways. You could smell sulfur, for instance, and feel sick. The world may seem a bit out of focus.”

“Sounds lovely,” said Mrs. Talbot-Jones.

“Reggie and I will take most of the search,” said Edmund. “You and Pater have to keep the place running, I mean to say. Might take up a bit of your time, what? Especially since you’ll need to bring glaziers in for the attics.”

“Well, yes,” said Mr. Talbot-Jones, and he frowned over at his son. “I’m not entirely certain that Regina should be out riding with you. Those woods have been let go wild.”

“I’m a decent enough rider for most occasions,” said Reggie, “and it’s not as if we can go at a particularly cracking pace anyhow, if we have to stop and look for haunted bits. Besides, if the woods are that wild, none of us should go off entirely alone. I don’t think either of you ride much,” she said to Miss Browne and Miss Heselton.

“I’m afraid not,” said Miss Browne. Miss Heselton opened her mouth, looked from Edmund to Reggie’s eyes to the storm outside, and shook her head.

“Might be best if you looked around the gardens, then. There might well be a hint there—God knows we had enough decorative statues and things. And Colin and Mr. Heselton will be translating that book,” Reggie added, turning back to her father. “So there we are. All hands on deck, you might say. But what about the servants? Will they be in danger?”

“The evidence suggests not—or not until we’re all out of the way,” said Colin after a moment’s thought. “Janet’s directed none of the attacks at them. Indeed, the impression I get from the journal is that she’s the sort of woman who wouldn’t even notice servants most of the time. If she’d been able to destroy the house, I doubt she’d have hesitated because of their presence, but I also doubt they’ll be targets now.”

“Good,” said Reggie. “And everyone staying here can help protect them—much better than Edmund and I could.”

“I suppose so,” said Mr. Talbot-Jones, “but you will be careful, Regina.”

“I’ll go out with them sometimes,” said Colin, absently examining the scratches on his arm. “Clearing my head will probably be essential, if the rest of this journal is like what I’ve already read.”

He was being halfway honest. He suspected that he would need a distraction, and that riding through the forest with Reggie would provide that and more. Colin didn’t think, though, that spending time in her company would leave his head clear.