Winterblaze (14 page)

“Calm yourself.” Jones’s hand was warmer than human flesh, and though Winston wrenched at his arm, the man’s grip was unbreakable. “Really, I detest this part. The
next thing will be you begging, and that becomes quite tedious.”

“I never beg,” Winston said through his teeth.

“Well, good. I hate whiners.” Apparently deciding that Winston wasn’t going anywhere, Jones let him go. “Fourteen years ago, I gave you a new life. You wanted to dispose of the position given to you by birth and become a detective. You wanted a certain redheaded chit to be your wife. I gave you those things.”

Gave him Poppy? No, not her. What they had was real. “You cannot manipulate a person’s experiences,” Winston ground out.

Jones selected a fresh cigarette and lit it. “What is a man but what he thinks himself to be? Moreover, what is a life but a collection of memories?” Jones exhaled. “And I, my ignorant fellow, manipulate memories. For a fee, that is.”

“Jesus.”

“No,” Jones smiled, “I am not he.” The smile left. “I altered the memories of you and those within your sphere. Thus it became your truth, their truth.”

“My father did not disown me?” The memory of being disowned was still there, clear as day.
I no longer have a son named Winston. From this day forth.

Jones laughed shortly. “Ra’s balls, you are the son of a duke. The spare, yes, but do you honestly think he’d let you go? He was ready to crush all opposition to pull you to heel. No son of his was going to gad about playing at detective.”

Jones was repeating his father’s words. He could hear them play in his head now and felt the same suffocating anger.
You marry that chit and every door in London will shut in your face. I’ll see you a beggar before a son of mine gads about playing at detective.

“Until his dying day, he believed you’d gone to the grave before him,” Jones said. “Your name is on the family tomb. Very impressive structure.”

Christ, his father had thought him dead. He didn’t know how he felt about that, seeing as he’d bargained his soul to get away from him. Had he really been so desperate? Yes, he realized, yes he had.

“This is why you are here?”

Jones grinned. “Poppy Ann warned you about me, did she?”

The way he spoke of Poppy, with such familiarity, sent a bolt of sheer rage through Winston’s chest. “Did she know? Of this.” He waved his hand in the direction of the paper.

Jones snorted in amusement. “You are wise to ask. That woman keeps secrets upon secrets. She’s a bloody menace.”

Winston wasn’t about to dignify that with a remark. The silence grew taut until Jones exhaled with a long, suffering sigh. “She is entirely ignorant. Fooled by a lie as well.” His smile was pure evil. “So much for your righteous indignation toward liars, Winston.”

Winston’s fists ached with the need to smash the man’s face. He breathed through the anger and said nothing as Jones continued. “However, if you need to throw a bit of blame her way, you may be happy to know that your interest in Poppy aroused my curiosity enough to meet with you.” He shrugged. “Enough of trifle talk. Let us move on to payment.”

Though his stomach rolled, Winston pulled himself together and sat straight. Inside he might want to scream and run but he had made this mess, so he’d face his fate. “My soul, is it?”

Jones sucked on his cigarette then put it down and picked up the contract. “Yes, your soul. As the contract states, the deal was to expire when Death came for you.”

Swallowing hard, Winston spoke. “You’re going to take me now?” God, he hadn’t even made his peace with Poppy. Right then, he wanted to hold her so badly the muscles along his arms clenched.

Jones’s teeth were sharp and white as they flashed in the gaslight. “Not precisely. You created a bit of a dilemma when you met Death last April. You cheated him.”

“Cheated
him
?” Winston snapped. “You mean that werewolf?”

“That wasn’t a werewolf. Had that been the werewolf in question, you’d be rife with syphilis right now. Which you most certainly aren’t.”

Odd as it was, a feeling of relief coursed through Winton’s body. Months ago, the fear he’d been infected had become the veritable white elephant in the room, and he’d forced Archer to do the tests. He’d proven clean but never knew why.

“No,” continued Jones, “it was Death you faced that night, sent by me. He simply chose that disguise.” Something dark passed over Jones’s face before he pushed it away and looked at Winston with a near-pleasant expression. “You were supposed to die but that SOS bastard saved you. And now, dear boy, you are in breach of contract.”

“Bollocks! It isn’t any fault of mine that Death lost. I wasn’t very aware at the time, you realize.”

“Doesn’t matter. You did not die when you were supposed to.”

“So then what? What is it you want if not ‘precisely’ my soul?”

Again, Jones placed the contract before Winston, and his long nail tapped on a paragraph. “What I am owed.”

Winston glanced down at the gleaming nail and the words before it. A bolt of sensation shot through Winston, as if he’d done this very thing before. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on the contract. Reading was a slow, laborious process as the words kept blurring before him. But the meaning of them started to sink in, and as it did, he turned ice cold and his body trembled.

Should the principal fail to comply with the terms so listed, the grantor shall take as recompense the soul of the principal’s first born.
All the blood drained from his face in a rush that made him sway. “No!” He leapt up and grabbed Jones by his lapels, hauling him close. “Not a chance in bloody hell, do you hear me? Not one damn chance!”

For a moment, Jones stared back, but then small licks of flame began to creep out from under his collar and dance over his face, and those strange eyes grew larger, less human looking. His voice went deep, hollow, as if he spoke from the depths of a black tunnel. “You think you can forfeit?”

“I would have never agreed to that.” Winston jerked Jones closer, heedless of the heat biting at his knuckles. “Never.”

“Agree you did. Because you, in the cocksure bloom of youth, believed yourself invincible. That when the time came, it would all go swimmingly. And because,” he leaned with a low, rolling chuckle, “you failed to properly read the contract, dear boy.”

Not wanting to touch him a second longer, Winston let Jones go with a shove. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve left Poppy, and there is no chance of you getting what you want.” Christ, but
he’d just tupped her. If they had a child, only to… A shudder went through him, and he fell back into his seat.

Jones grinned. “How naive you are being, Winston Lane. How long has it been since you left her? Three months?” He darted forward in a move too quick to be human. “Are you so very sure of her then?”

Despite being seated, Winston’s knees went weak. “She would have told me if she was with child.” They’d tried for so many years. And failed.

“Poppy Lane divulge an inconvenient truth? Heaven forefend.” Jones straightened his crooked lapels. “Come, man, I can alter lives. Did you really think I would waltz back into yours and demand what I cannot have? Ridiculous human. A child grows in her womb. I can feel it.”

Surely fate could not be so cruel as to bless them now. But, God, what if she was with child? Horror washed over Winston in a cold wave. Swallowing down bile, he slumped into his chair.
Jesus.
Winston sank his head into his hands and tried to breathe.

“Ah, yes. A son is on the way, I believe.” Jones sighed. “I shall raise it as my own.”

“Like hell!” Tableware rattled as Win slammed his hand down upon the table.

Jones shrugged lightly. “It is the bargain you made. No use crying about it now.”

Rage surged hot and thick along Winston’s flesh. His fists twitched with the need to do violence. With supreme effort, he calmed himself and focused because everything he held dear depended on what he would say. “Right then. You’re a bargain demon; let us bargain.”

The demon’s expression eased into one of childlike delight. “Shrewd Winston Lane. I knew you’d make a counter offer.”

Perhaps this was why the demon was here after all. He wanted something else. Winston only had to draw it out and find the right angle of attack. “Go on then, Jones. Tell me what you will take instead.”

Jones tapped his long nail against his chin, and the gold ring he wore caught the light. It was of a serpent coiled in on itself. Tiny ruby eyes seemed to stare back at Winston. “How about this? You do me a small service, and your child will be spared.”

Winston rubbed his burning eyes. He’d lied to his wife, far worse than she’d done to him. Good God, but he’d bargained away his child’s very existence. His chest felt as though it were bleeding out. “What is to say that you won’t manipulate events to get your way? That this isn’t an illusion as well?”

“You may find it hard to believe but I must operate under rules,” Jones said. “I make bargains. I keep bargains. I cannot toy with what is not struck in a deal.”

“You’re right,” Winston snapped. “I find it hard to believe.”

“Fair enough,” Jones answered with a short laugh. “Only it’s true.” He shrugged. “Should we strike a bargain, I will adhere to the terms.” He held Winston’s gaze. “I must.”

“Rather charitable of you to admit to it,” Winston grumbled.

“Also a must.” Jones leaned in. “Now then, what say you? Have we an accord?”

“What is the service?”

Jones tutted. “That you cannot know until you agree.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Winston regarded him. “First you must swear that, if I agree, Poppy will not be harmed in any manner. Ever.”

Jones’s right eye twitched. “You are in no position to throw in terms.”

Winston relaxed against his seat. “I don’t know. We both want something. Which means we both have something to lose.”

The air about them trembled as Jones glared back, and Winston held his gaze.

Jones blinked first. “I will not harm Poppy Lane.” His mouth tightened. “Unless she attacks me.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Win muttered.

Jones sniffed as though insulted. “One must be able to protect oneself.”

“Fair enough.” Nothing about this was fair, but as he was buggered, he’d take what he could. “We have an agreement. Now, tell me what you want.”

Pure satisfaction flashed through Jones’s eyes, and a new qualm of unease rocked within Winston. But what was done was done.

Jones picked up his cigarette and let it dangle in his mouth as he reached into his jacket and pulled a thin file folder from within. Winston blinked. The folder was too large for Jones to have been carrying it inside his coat.
Illusions.
He knew it, and if he interpreted Jones’s indulgent look, Jones wanted him to know it. The file hit the marble tabletop with a little slap.

“I have a case for you, Lane.”

Winston opened the file but there was only one page attached. Immediately, Winston lifted his head to gape at Jones. “You cannot be serious. A woman?”

Jones exhaled. “You think because I am not human that I’m incapable of love?”

Winston shrugged. He hadn’t been speaking of love, but if Jones brought it up, she must be important to him.
“I don’t know what to think, honestly.”
Come on, you bastard, give me what I need
.

Jones’s thin lips curled. “Let me add to your education. We are more than capable.”

Good.
Then he could be manipulated just as much as Winston could. “This is impossible.” He tossed the file back onto the table. “Aside from the fact that the case is sixteen years cold, you’ve got no leads save for a name.”

“Come now, it isn’t all that bad. I’ve started a breadcrumb trail for you to follow. See here? Upon arrival in London, you are to visit the Komtesse Krogstad of Chelsea. Call it a gift, if you will.”

Hardly. “And who is this Moira Darling you want me to find?”

“Many things. But above all, she is a woman who has stolen from me.”

“You have not even listed what it is she stole from you.”

“The man can read!” Jones tilted his head. “Are you certain you’ve done this before? I must say, my faith is wavering.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you ought to go with another detective and leave me be.” Winston crossed one leg over the other as he sat back. He itched for a meditative smoke and eyed the cigarette case between them with longing.

Jones tossed the gold case to Winston. “Have one. You are entirely too twitchy.”

Winston didn’t bother to thank him, but took a cigarette. He lit it, and something in him calmed. It wasn’t his pipe but the ritual was nearly the same. “Let me see if I understand this. You have the power to irrevocably alter lives, take souls, and yet you cannot find this one woman on your own?”

Jones stilled, and something mad flared in his white
eyes. Win felt the force of the demon’s rage deep in his gut. It took all he had not to cower beneath it. Jones’s jaw twitched, then he spoke, his words oddly flat. “As I said, there are rules which govern me. Moira Darling is out of my reach.”

It might have given Win some satisfaction to see Jones struggle with the confession, but Win was too sick at heart to feel anything other than fear and rage. Yet he affected professionalism, in part because he knew it would irritate Jones.

“Are you telling me this is all you know about the case?”

“No. I’m telling you this is all I’m willing to reveal about the case.” When Winston stared at him, Jones smirked. “Perhaps I don’t want you to succeed.”

“Perhaps you simply like toying with me.”

“That is a given.” Jones laughed then leaned forward, bringing with him the scent of smoke and darkness. “I made you the detective you are today. Now use those skills. You have four days.”

“Now wait just a moment! Four days is hardly enough—”

“Four days to find what Moira Darling stole from me and return it, or I will take your child.”