Scoundrel - The Blades Of The Rose Part 28

Wings. Bennett had fixed wings strapped to his back like an improvised angel. They caught the wind and held like a gliding hawk. The sensation of flight swirled through her as she held fast to Bennett's lean, powerful body. She felt as though Eros himself whisked her away to his lair, borne aloft on silken wings, sea and sky a spinning kaleidoscope.

"Catullus Graves?" she asked, astonished beyond imagining.

A corner of Bennett's mouth turned up as he nodded. His smile died when the shrieks of the winged creature pierced the air.

The beast swooped close, claws outstretched. Bennett held London with one arm and used the other to fire his revolver at the creature. It snarled, flapping backwards out of the path of the bullet, then dove at them again. Bennett shot again, this time clipping the tip of the monster's wing. Black blood splattered into the sky as the creature bellowed in wounded outrage.

"What the h.e.l.l is that?" London shouted.

"Rakshasa," Bennett said, grim. "Hindu demon. Chernock's controlling him. Hang on." Bennett said, grim. "Hindu demon. Chernock's controlling him. Hang on."

She and Bennett swooped lower and flew over the deck of the Heirs' steamship. Men scattered on all sides, throwing themselves to the deck as they shouted in alarm. One man tried to grab London's ankle as she and Bennett sailed overhead, but she kicked the man's hands away. Bennett nodded in approval. She was getting quite good with her kicks.

No time for self-congratulations. The demon sped after them, close at their heels. Bennett tugged on the straps at his shoulders, altering their path. London's breath stopped when she saw that he guided them into a collision course with one of the steamship's sidewheels.

Just before they slammed into the sidewheel, Bennett pulled on the straps again and they climbed up, over the metal wheel. The demon hadn't a moment to realize what happened before it bashed into the sidewheel. Its screams and the sounds of crumpling wood and metal filled the air.

Bennett piloted them to the caique, skimming them over the waves like a gull, the Heirs' ship at their backs. He landed in a run. He slid the wings' straps from his shoulders as London continued to cleave to him. Her feet touched the deck of the caique for the first time in what felt like days.

"All right?" asked Bennett, wrapping his arms around her. His gaze on her face was fierce and protective.

She couldn't stop her giddy laugh. "I'd like to do that again, under better circ.u.mstances."

He started, grinned, then buried his face in her hair. She couldn't tell if the shaking came from him or her, but they couldn't part from each other, not even when Kallas and Athena came running up, both holding rifles and chattering with excitement.

"Graves truly is is another Daedalus," Kallas exclaimed. another Daedalus," Kallas exclaimed.

"We had no way to warn you." Athena, slightly less exultant, was all information. "The Heirs concealed their ship until it was already on us. Kallas and I held them off as best we could. And then Chernock summoned that rakshasa rakshasa." She glanced over with a sneer at the steamship, where the demon still lay in the twisted wreckage of the sidewheel. Men ran about the deck of the ship with buckets and equipment as a trickle of smoke leaked from the smokestacks on the disabled ship. "Did you get what you needed?"

"Think so," panted Bennett, who still held London. She wasn't eager to let him go, either.

"Then let's hoist anchor," said Kallas.

"Release my daughter," a very familiar voice said, icy cold. "Or I'll put a bullet in the witch."

Everyone's heads turned to see London's father standing on the deck of the caique, a revolver pointed at Athena. London had never seen her father as he was now, darkest fury twisting his distinguished features into a grotesque mask. It was like witnessing a demonic possession. London fought the urge to cower in Bennett's arms.

"Do it!" her father barked, when Bennett continued to hold London. Her father pulled back the revolver's hammer. Athena blanched while Kallas swore.

Bennett, seeing no other choice, slowly let his arms fall away from London, but he continued to stand behind her, his body pressed to hers.

"Come with me, London. I have a rowboat." Her father tipped his head starboard. "I'll take you away from these people, get you safe again."

Swallowing hard, London stepped away from Bennett. She heard his sharp intake of breath, like a man cut.

London would not let herself look back. She held her father's gaze as she walked closer to him. "I'm staying, Father."

She thought she heard a breath of relief from Bennett, but the sound was too low for her to know for certain.

London waited for her father to shout or rage, but he merely looked grimly determined, as though he expected her answer. "No, you are not. It's all right, London," he said, placating. "I understand. You aren't thinking clearly. Your emotions have led you astray. You are even wearing trousers trousers." He grimaced. "The London I raised would never wear such indecent clothing."

"I haven't-"

But her father plowed on, unheeding. "It's not your fault. You're only a woman. Easily beguiled by your sensitive nature. That's why we men need women like you. To ensure we have hearts as well as minds. Day knew this. He preyed upon you, seduced you." Her father sent Bennett a vicious glare before returning his gaze to her. "You couldn't help yourself."

Frustration began to replace fear. Her father wasn't listening.

"Father, no," she said. "Bennett didn't seduce or beguile me. He told me the truth. He was the first man to ever tell me the truth."

"Filled your head with nonsense!"

"It wasn't nonsense," she returned, determined to keep her voice level. Any sign of pa.s.sion or emotion would only be read as female hysteria. "I learned about you, about the Heirs. And the more I heard, the more I realized that what you are doing is wrong. One country should not determine the fate of the entire world. One race of people is not superior to all others. And to enslave magic for your cause is immoral."

When her father had no answer, she stepped closer. Confusion swam in his eyes. He seemed much older, all of a sudden. It was strange that here, now, on the deck of the caique, in a far stretch of sea thousands of miles from home, London saw him now not as her father, but as a man. Fallible, vulnerable. Human. She wished, suddenly, fervently, that she might convince her father of the Blades' cause, that he might leave the Heirs so that she and he could repair the tatters of their familial bond.

"I made a choice choice, Father," London said, gentling her voice. "A deliberate choice. One I thought about for a good long while. I cannot let the Heirs subjugate the world for England's gain. It is wrong. And I think, I hope, that deep down, you know what I say to be true. Please, Father," she whispered, feeling her eyes grow hot. She stood not five feet from him, saw his chest rise and fall as he gulped air, almost panting. "It isn't too late. Not for you or for us."

She waited, her pulse a speeding river, everything she ever was and would be in her eyes for her father to see. A memory leapt into London's mind, of her father taking her as a very small girl to the Zoological Gardens in Regent's Park and buying her a toy lion. He had wanted to give her something more suitable for a girl, a pretty toy zebra or even a giraffe, but she would have nothing but the lion, and he had bought it for her, a fond smile upon his face as he gave her the toy, and he said she would have to feed it often or else it might get hungry and eat one of the housemaids. She had promised to feed the lion, sneaking it bits of biscuits after tea, during nap time, until her nurse scolded her for bringing food into her bed, and then she got older and forgot all about the toy. Where was it now? In some dusty corner of the nursery? Given away?

"Oh, London," her father said sadly. He heaved a great sigh, as if crumbling from the inside, and his shoulders sagged. He lowered the revolver. "I see now. I see what I must do."

Her chest tightened with hope. He understood! They could both be saved. And Mother, too. Jonas...would take time. But surely if she could convince her father to abandon the Heirs, it could be done for Jonas, too. And then- "Father!" London yelped as her father raised the revolver again. And pointed it at her heart.

"This is a mercy," her father said. "To save our family's honor, and yours."

She stared at him. He was glacial, impenetrable, a frozen edifice where, moments earlier, he had been a man, a parent. In his eyes, there was no recognition, only cold determination to eliminate an adversary.

London knew she should flee or duck or do something something, but she was rooted to the spot, unable to fully comprehend what was happening. Her father would kill her. Her father father.

Then there was a blur and a grunt, and London hardly knew what was happening until she saw Bennett throw his shoulder into her father's chest. The older man, startled, hadn't time to defend himself, and he dropped his gun as he toppled backward, over the rail. She heard a splash and a shout.

Bennett leaned far over the rail, but halted his momentum enough to keep from joining her father in the water. He turned and didn't spare her father a glance. "Get us the h.e.l.l out of here," he commanded Kallas.

London could only stand as Athena and Bennett helped with the sails, Kallas raising anchor and steering the caique away from the damaged steamship. Dimly, she heard men in another rowboat coming to her father's aid, pulling him from the water.

She was vaguely aware of the caique's motion, sailing swiftly away from the island of the Colossus. Wind and sun, the pitch of the boat. She felt these things from a great distance. It wasn't until the island was far behind them, and the Heirs, and her father, that London was finally able to move. She took several leaden steps toward the quarterdeck house, not sure where she was going, feeling entirely entombed in ice.

Bennett strode to her, and his arms came up around her, pulling her against him. He was warm, so warm, that she began to thaw. He rocked her, softly.

"Don't cry, love," he crooned.

Her hand came up to touch her cheek and came away wet. "I never truly believed. Not until now. Some part of me prayed things could be set to rights." Fire lined her throat. It hurt to speak, yet she could not stop herself. "He wants to kill me, Bennett. My own father will murder me, if given the chance."

Profound sorrow gleamed in Bennett's eyes as he gazed down at her, brushing her hair from her face. "I'm sorry. I'm so b.l.o.o.d.y sorry."

She buried her face against his chest, solid and broad, allowing herself this moment to fully lean on him, take some of the strength he readily offered. "I don't regret my choice," she said, her voice m.u.f.fled as she pressed herself tight. "If I had to, I'd make the exact same decisions. But it hurts so d.a.m.ned much."

"Give me your pain, love," he said, holding her against the steady beat of his heart. "Let me take it for you."

She shook her head. "No, the pain is mine to bear. I need it." She took a ragged breath. "To make me stronger."

As concisely as possible, London and Bennett told Athena and Kallas what the Colossus had said to them. They gathered around the wheel to conference, and even this helped give a slight ease to the ache around London's heart. She needed to keep moving forward, to find the Source and give meaning to herself when truly everything she had ever known of her old life was gone.

"The Black Temple," mused Kallas. "Even with my sailor's lore, I've never heard of such a place."

"We will have to find a means of locating it," said Athena.

"Yes," London agreed, "but what worries me is how the Heirs keep finding us." Her father was an Heir now, no longer her father. She must learn to think of him that way.

"I haven't seen any birds following," said Bennett, leaning against the rail with his arms crossed. "But it must be magic of some kind. We're the only ones who've been able to find and follow the clues."

"There may be a way to learn what magic they use," mused Athena. She went below and returned moments later with a red silk pouch. Holding out her hand, she poured the contents of the pouch into her palm. "This is sand I collected from the island with Demeter's spring," she explained. "It is imbued with the G.o.ddess's sacred essence."

The witch waved her other hand over the sand, chanting softly. "Harvest Mother, guide us. Reveal to us the cunning tricks of our enemies, the enslavers of magic, that we may shield from greedy eyes your gifts of enchantment."

With a sound of whispers, the sand began to swirl in a tiny whirlwind, contained within Athena's palm. The small vortex grew in size and speed, rising up from the witch's hand until it spun away from her. Soughing, it scudded over the wooden deck in widening concentric circles. It seemed to move steadily, without purpose, pa.s.sing Bennett and Kallas, but when the whirlwind neared London, it lingered.

London moved aside, thinking she blocked the vortex's path. Yet, stepping away, the vortex followed her, almost like a dog sniffing at her to determine if she was friend or foe. She looked at Bennett, slightly alarmed. She had no wish to be bitten.

"Do not be afraid," Athena said. "It cannot harm you. Stay where you are."

Easy for the witch to say, without a magical sand whirlwind trailing her. Still, London rooted her feet, even when the vortex grew even larger. It shifted, moving over her, encompa.s.sing her in its swirling walls. She squinted and shielded her face from the scouring sands. From within the whirlwind, she saw the vague outline of Bennett striding toward her.

"Not yet," Athena's voice clipped. "I must read the sands."

"Hurry the h.e.l.l up," Bennett growled. "I don't like it."

"A moment more...yes...I release you!" With the witch's clap, the sand fell to the deck, scattering. As soon as the vortex died, Bennett was beside London, threading his fingers with hers, pulling her close so their shoulders brushed.

"What did the sands say?" London asked. Seeing Athena's somber face did not help the frisson of fear winding its way up London's spine.

"It is the Bloodseeker Spell." The witch's mouth flattened into an unhappy line. "A drop of a kinsman's blood is used to track a blood relation. It is strongest when the ties are close."

"Like a father and daughter." Bennett tightened his grip on London's hand when Athena nodded.

Even though London was not truly responsible for the spell, guilt clutched at her. All this time, her own blood betrayed her and the Blades. "How do we break the spell?"

Athena glanced at Bennett, apprehensive, as if she feared his reprisal more than anything else.

"How?" Bennett demanded.

"What they say about killing the messenger," Athena said, "please remember that."

"Athena," Bennett warned.

The witch saw that she had no choice but to reveal what she knew. "Blood. It is broken through blood."

Athena had been right to be frightened. When Bennett learned what had to be done to break the Bloodseeker Spell, he swore so long and foul that even Kallas was impressed.

Bennett hated it. He hated everything about it.

"There's got to be another way," he insisted.

"I am afraid not." Athena looked apologetic. "Only through the shedding of the shared blood can the spell be undone."

London, who had been following this exchange silently, gave Bennett's hand a squeeze. Her voice was low but steady. "It's all right. I will do it." She gave him an encouraging smile, as if he he was the one that needed comforting, then turned to Athena. "Do we need a special knife?" was the one that needed comforting, then turned to Athena. "Do we need a special knife?"

"One with a black blade. I keep such a knife with my magic implements."

"Please get it," said London. "I'll make myself ready."

When Athena went below, Bennett stepped even closer to London, needing the feel of her. London had already weathered so much today, so much over the past days and weeks, and strain tightened in the corners of her eyes and mouth. His life-dodging from one close call to the next-thrilled him. He had no regrets, no desire to pursue a quiet and safe life, and he knew it was the same with the other Blades. They believed in their cause, and they were also, truthfully, slightly insane, part of the small breed of people who courted danger. That breed was kept small by natural selection. Some of them lived, others didn't. It was a fact, and he and the other Blades knew it. So when they fought side by side, they did watch out for one another, never seeking death or harm, but they were ready when such things happened.

London wasn't a Blade. She might be ready to embrace danger, could take hits when they came. G.o.d knew she'd received her share only today. But Bennett hadn't grown the armor to protect himself when she hurt. She could tear him apart with her courage.

"I wish you didn't have to do this," he said, low.

Absolute conviction shone in her dark eyes. "Me, too. But I do. The sooner, the better." She leaned up, on the tips of her toes, brushing her mouth against his. "It will be fast. Hardly anything."

Again her impulse to console him him was almost more than he could stand. Before he could speak, she slipped from him, gliding toward the rail of the ship and rolling up her sleeve. was almost more than he could stand. Before he could speak, she slipped from him, gliding toward the rail of the ship and rolling up her sleeve.

"I see you have prepared yourself," said Athena, emerging from below with the knife. The black blade absorbed light rather than reflected it, and silver branches wove around the hilt. Bennett wanted to knock it from Athena's hand so that it disappeared into the sea, but he held himself ruthlessly in check.

Athena presented the knife to London, hilt first. "The symbol looks like this." She traced upon her own forearm the outline of a bird in flight. "It signifies freedom, and must be deep enough to draw blood."

"I understand." London took the knife, and her hand looked small and fragile wrapped around the hilt. She drew a deep breath, extending her exposed arm out so that it was suspended over the water. Even in the bright light of day, her face looked pale. Pale but determined.

Bennett wondered if he should close his eyes. He'd seen more than his share of field surgery, having either performed it on others or himself. The sight of blood wasn't one he welcomed, but it didn't bother him, either. A part of his life, and the world of the Blades. Seeing London London shed blood, on the other hand, made him want to rip up forests and punch mountains. shed blood, on the other hand, made him want to rip up forests and punch mountains.

He kept his eyes open. But his fists curled so tightly that they turned to rock, aching worse than when climbing. He didn't feel it. He felt only London's pain when, after drawing another, steadying breath, she took the knife to the flesh of her forearm and began to carve into it. Stroke by stroke, the symbol of the bird emerged in bright crimson upon her pale skin.

The knife never wavered. She did not stop, and made one soft, hardly audible hiss as blood flowed from her arm. Red and rich, her blood rolled from her flesh to drip into the sea.

"That better be enough," growled Bennett to Athena.

The witch scooped up some of the sand that spread across the deck, then sprinkled it into the air. She watched the form it took as wind scattered the grains. "It is. The Bloodseeker Spell is broken."

As soon as those words left Athena's mouth, Bennett swept London up in his arms and carried her below. He didn't break stride, not even when grabbing a roll of muslin stored in the quarterdeck house.

"I'm ruining your shirt," London said, looking at the ruby stains she left on his clothes.