His Lordship Possessed

His Lordship Possessed Page 12

“You agreed to listen,” he reminded me. “Some of the spirits—indeed, most of them—wanted to atone for the great damage they had inflicted on the mortal world during the mage war. They guided the soldiers they had taken to take up their normal lives again, and to use their mind powers discreetly and wisely. They formed a secret association so they might help and govern each other. The less benign spirits were not so benevolent, and wanted to kill the spirits of the men they had possessed so the bodies would be theirs alone. To avoid another war, the two groups agreed to go their separate ways.”

“After which they all lived blissfully ever onward,” I guessed, eyeing the high shine of the waxed cherrywood flooring. When I ran for it, I’d have to be careful to keep to the rugs or my slippers would have me skidding straight into a collection of botany books.

“The group of men who hosted the benevolent spirits went back to England and called themselves the Tillers,” he told me. “The others withdrew to Talia, and became known as the Reapers. Little is known about the Reapers except some rumors. It’s said that they still desire to settle old scores.”

It was incredible how much detail he’d worked into his delusion . . . or perhaps there was nothing wrong with his mind, and he’d employed this complicated farce in hopes of bringing me under his sway. I began to suspect the latter. “So which was it? Harry became a Tiller, and your father a Reaper? Is that why you despise each other so much?”

“Jack was a Tiller,” he said softly. “Harry’s spirit never did choose a side.”

I decided I’d indulged him long enough. “I must say, that was an excellent story, Lucien. Quite imaginative, having the moving pictures to add such a dramatic feel. You could perform this show daily in the park. I think you’d really clean up.”

“What you are disregarding is that the Tillers and the Reapers did go back to live normal lives,” he said. “They became men of business, politics, and importance. They all succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations. And they married and had families, because they never suspected hosting the Aramanthan spirits would change their physical bodies. Not until they realized that their offspring were not like other children.”

My nose itched and I couldn’t scratch it, and it was driving me insane. Just as he was. “Please, Lucien, stop. Just stop now. It was a good joke, a very good joke, but you’re taking it too far. It isn’t funny anymore.”

“The Tillers managed to hide what they were, but their children were born with abilities not so easily disguised.” His voice dropped low, as if he were confiding in me. “Some superstitious fools began calling their progeny names. Shade-born. Demonites.”

I went still. Hellchild.

“Some of the children had ordinary gifts, but others proved to be even more powerful than their sires.” He went to the panel to flip some switches and the cuffs round my wrists parted, and then the bars folded themselves away. “Your mother not only rejected her powers, Charmian, but I believe that she and your father used the nightstone to assure that you would never know yours.” He came over to take my cold hands in his. “Thanks to them, you’ve remained ignorant of the fact that you are spiritborn, and possess incredible—”

“Enough.” I pushed him away from me and got to my feet, wincing as my muscles went pins and needles. “My parents are dead. I don’t have any power—mind, magic, or otherwise. I am an ordinary person, just like you. I don’t even want to know what a nightstone is.”

“You are not like anyone.” He also stood. “You are a spell-breaker, Charmian. Perhaps the most powerful in existence. Magic cannot work in your presence because your own instantly unravels it.”

“Brilliant.” I clapped my hands. “You’ve managed to invest me with the one power that explains why magic never works. Oh, in my presence, of course,” I added. “Once I leave the room, however, then it’s business as usual. Wardlings and potions. Enchantments. I’d like to leave now.”

“I can prove it.”

I whirled round. “How? By not performing magic in front of me—again? Yes, that should convince me. Go ahead.” I gestured. “Fail to conjure something.”

“There is only one power that can overcome yours, Charmian,” he said softly. “Happily, it is mine.”

I didn’t like the look in his eyes. “Yet somehow you’ve never thought to use it on me.”

“I did try, but your parents made sure no magic could ever touch you.” He took out my pendant and dangled it. “This is a nightstone, one of the last in existence. It was used by the old Druuds to imprison the mages in the Bréchéliant. Your parents somehow mechanized it to shield your spirit in a similar manner. From what I have gathered by observation, it releases your power while holding you oblivious to both it and the forces within the netherside.”

“So that’s the reason magic doesn’t work near me?” I nodded. “I wonder what my Da’s pocket watch does.”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” He curled his fingers over my pendant, opened them, and it was gone. “Now you are unshielded.”

“Let me guess.” I folded my arms. “You can to turn me into a great fat frog. Or, if my mind power is now working, you can’t.”

His eyes glittered as he came to me and dropped a small blue stone down the front of my bodice. As I tried to slap him, he said, “Take off the cloak.”

I looked down at my hand, which on its own had stopped and joined my other fingers to untie the strings under my chin. “This is ridicu—” I stopped when I realized I wanted to take off the cloak, more than anything in the world. “What is this? What are you doing?”

“I’ve told you, spell-breaker.” He smiled. “You’re mine.”

I pushed the cloak from my shoulders and straightened the dark blue gown I’d borrowed from Rina’s. Oddly, this gave me a distinct glow of pleasure. “Why does that feel better?”

“You want to please me,” he said. “In another moment you’ll do anything I ask.”

“Yes.” Something began pulsing deep inside me, as if I’d grown a second heart. “Of course I will. Should I take off the rest of my clothes?”

“My father became host to the immortals’ greatest enchanter,” Dredmore said as he went round me and encircled me from behind with his arms. “An Aramanthan who could bend anyone, even the most powerful spell-breaker, to his will. That was the gift Jack passed along when he sired me.”

“This is why Harry wanted me to leave you.” Poor Harry, he was a fool. “He knew you’d try this.” Not that I was especially worried, not with this delicious contentment glowing inside me. “How long does it last?”

“If I choose,” he whispered against my ear, “for the remainder of your days.”

Delight sparkled inside me as I imagined it. “Yes, please, Lucien. I’d like that. I like you.” No, that wasn’t right. “I love you.”

“So you do, as long as I will it.” The air pressed in against me, and then I was turning to put my arms round his neck. “But this is not real love, Charmian. This is enchantment. Enslavement.”

“Nonsense. You know how much I fancy you. There will never be anyone else for me.” I beamed at him. “Lucien, all I’ve ever want to do is make you happy.”

“You’ve never wanted anything of the kind.” He kissed my brow before he plunged his hand down the front of my dress, removing the stone he’d dropped there. “And I’m sorry I’ve done this, but I had to show you.”

A heartbeat later my mind and body became my own again, and I drooped, as limp as an underdone crispie.

“Once I release you from the enchantment, there is a period of weakness. It will pass in a few moments.” He carried me over to the chair and sat down with me. “The longer I bespell you, the greater the weakness. With each hour that passes, more of you surrenders to my control, until I command the very beat of your heart. Then I can never release you, or you will die.”

“I can’t believe it.” I didn’t try to fight him off or argue; I was too stunned. “I really wanted . . . I would have happily . . .” I stopped and stared at him. “And you can do this to anyone, whenever you wish, just by thinking it and popping a stone down their dress?”

“Anyone like us.” His mouth curled at one corner. “To my everlasting regret, the power I inherited from Jack doesn’t work on ordinary mortals. Only the spiritborn.”

“Bloody hell.” I rested my cheek against his shoulder. “How do you live with something like this?”

“I avoid the temptation to use it.” He stroked my cheek. “When I first encountered you at that merchant’s house I knew you were like me; I sensed it at once—but my power had no effect on you. I tried everything, even planting spell stones in your garments, but nothing worked. I believed it to be a miracle.”

“You’ve actually tried to do this before to me?” I sat up and remembered all the odd times I’d found blue pebbles in my pockets. “How could you?”

“I wanted you.”

“You want to be beaten senseless.” I pushed away his hand. “Is there anyone more powerful than you? Do they hire out?”

“We all have our weaknesses.” His expression became shuttered. “You needn’t worry. I’d never use my power on you unless you were in danger.”

“That’s what you say now. Next week you might decide to have me shine your boots with my tongue.” I grimaced. “Not that I mean to suggest you do.” Something occurred to me, and I sat straight up. “That night in the maze, you didn’t use your mind magic on me, did you?” I hadn’t seen any blue stone then, but it might have fallen out of my pocket while I’d ridden back to the city on George.