Isla woke before she opened her eyes and sensed that something was wrong. The pillow beneath her head smelled clean, but musty, as though it had been in storage for some time. The bed was not as soft as the one she’d fallen asleep in, and it was significantly smaller. She slowly moved her hand to the edge and wondered if it were more of a cot than a bed.
She breathed deeply, her heart picking up speed as it usually did every morning, but now with an added element of panic. She cracked open her eyes and took in her surroundings. She was in a small room, tidy, but it had the look of a rustic cabin or gardener’s cottage. She ran her tongue over dry lips and pushed herself upright, desperately wanting a drink of water, and desperately afraid.
A fire crackled in a small fireplace and cast partial illumination on a figure she recognized. Her heart sank, wondering if she’d misjudged him after all. “Nigel?”
He moved a chair closer to the bed. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, slowly lowering himself into the seat. “You must forgive the rather barbaric methods I’ve employed for this. Believe it or not, abduction is not something with which I am familiar.”
She swallowed and rubbed a shaking hand across her forehead.
He jumped up from the chair and retrieved a glass of water from a small kitchen at the far end of the room.
She took the drink from him gratefully and wished her brain would function at full capacity. Her thoughts spun, and her limbs were still weak and tingly. Even if she could think clearly, her body probably wouldn’t have obeyed her commands. She sipped the water and exhaled slowly.
“Nigel, what on earth,” she managed. She held the glass in her lap and shook her other hand, trying to speed circulation.
Don’t panic. Do not panic . . .
“I cannot allow you to continue on this path. It will get you killed.” He sat down again, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I knew if I tried to talk to you, it wouldn’t make a difference.”
She stared at him. “What do you know about my ‘path’?”
“I know you’re looking for a cure for your sister’s curse.”
She swallowed. “How do you know this?”
“Because Malette was the one who introduced Mr. Brixton into Melody’s life. She paid him to charm her and court her, to subtly plant the suggestion that you were stifling her, that she would never be free to make her own choices because of your interference. He told her he knew of a woman who could provide a spell. He took her to Malette, and she gave Malette a lock of your hair.”
Isla felt a shaft of cold shoot through her limbs. She hadn’t known Melody had gone to such lengths for the curse or that it had been customized especially for Isla. It was no wonder she was still under it all these months later.
Nigel smiled ruefully. “It is how Malette operates. And once she had your hair and a means of delivering the spell that satisfied her desire for poetic justice, Malette set it in motion with your sister none the wiser.”
Her heart pounded in alarm, and she absently shook her hand again, and then switched the glass to shake the other. Her legs were restless and tingled, and she wanted to walk around, but she was vulnerable, exposed, wearing only her nightdress. And she had no weapons.
She fought to keep her voice steady. “Nigel, please tell me how you know this.”
He looked at her and then studied his hands. “Malette is my mother. She is my and Gladstone’s mother.”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She felt as if large tumblers in her brain clicked into place and opened a lock she’d not realized was there. She pressed her fingers to her eyes, stunned enough to cry but determined not to. There was no time.
“Of course.” She was nauseous. “And I was responsible for your brother’s death.” She looked at Nigel. “They were close, then? Your mother and Gladstone?”
Again, his half-smile was nowhere near happy. He was bitter, she realized. Pained. “Yes. They were close. He was blond and fair and perfect, and his father was the one man Malette loved. She used my father because she needed his Romany blood to extend the reach of her talents.” He rubbed his forefinger along the side of his hand as if it itched, or hurt. “My father’s people are deeply steeped in magick, spiritualism. I never knew him; he died before I was born. I suspect when she realized she carried me, she no longer had use for him.”
Isla squinted at him, horrified. “Do you mean to tell me she used you for spells? Your blood?”
He nodded, still studying his hand. “Blood, hair, saliva, tears.” He straightened and cleared his throat. “She will kill you if you go to her. That’s why I brought you here.”
She swallowed. “Nigel, I can’t . . . I cannot stay away. I must try to talk with your mother. The curse will be permanent soon. It is more than an inconvenience if I desire to stay out late. It threatens not only my career but also my life. I may possibly go to sleep and never awaken.”
“Not possibly. Assuredly. By my best guess, you have mere weeks until the curse becomes permanent. But if you go to Malette, she will either lock you away until the time passes, or she will kill you outright.”
“Well, then—”
“I will find what we need to break the curse,” he interrupted sharply, “but you must stay away from her. I am explaining this to you because I know you’ll confront her directly if I don’t, but my patience is running thin.” He sat back in his seat, running a hand through his hair, his other clenched in a fist on his thigh. “She hates you, Isla, with a passion unlike anything I’ve ever seen. When you arrested my brother, she installed me on the PSRC. My role was to sway the tribunal behind the scenes, to secure his release.”
Isla exhaled quietly. “And that did not happen.”
“No, it did not.”
She spoke quietly. “Your brother was horrible, Nigel. I have never been so relieved to see someone arrested in my life. The fact that he was a shifter was beside the point; the crimes he committed as a human were worse because he was entirely possessed of his rational faculties at the time.” She swallowed past a lump in her throat. “You were not the only one whose life he destroyed.”
Nigel nodded. “I know. And I am not about to watch my mother destroy yours.”
She frowned. “Why did you remain on the Committee? Why remain in London at all? You seem to hate it; I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile. Not from happiness, anyway.”
He looked away, and a muscle worked in his jaw. “Malette left the country in a rush. There were too many variables that could cause trouble for her, including Brixton and your sister, who went looking for Malette when she realized she’d been horribly manipulated and you were in trouble. Even the mighty Malette realized she was not invincible, that she needed to leave the country, at least for a time. Had she picked a fight with an average citizen of little consequence, she might have bullied her way through.” He cleared his throat roughly. “But you are not average nor of little consequence.”
Isla was glad she hadn’t known Melody went looking for Malette, although even if she had known, she’d still not have realized the danger her sister was facing at the time. It seemed that as much as she’d tried to shield Melody from the world, she’d gone out into it anyway.
“I couldn’t leave London,” Nigel continued. “My task was to see that the curse was working, that you were suffering appropriately. And yet, oddly enough, I was to ensure nothing befell you that would interfere with that suffering.” He shook his head. “I was to be certain you were unable to work at night, especially hunting, and that you would live to see the one-year anniversary. Malette knew you would search for answers and would eventually learn the curse’s permanence was eminent. I believe she assumed you would come by the information as a natural course of general investigation—any novice witch has that information to impart. But even Malette couldn’t have realized a young witch with exceptional talent would be so precise in her research.”
“Hazel.”
He nodded. “I watched Miss Hughes uncover information without people even realizing she’d done it. She peeled back details and facts like layers of an onion, and Malette is not an easy one to track. Miss Hughes is smart, and thorough.” He paused. “It is my assumption that she is fully aware the curse becomes not only permanent, but effective twenty-four hours a day, not merely six.”
Isla swallowed. “Why would she not have told me?”
“Would it have changed your approach? You were determined to find a cure.”
“Yes, but—”
“Telling you would not have motivated you more, and it might have made you reckless. In my opinion, Miss Hughes’s judgment is sound. It is probably better Malette knows nothing about her, and to Miss Hughes’s benefit that she is unassuming. If she were flashier, more competitive . . .” He met Isla’s gaze evenly. “Malette does not care for competition.”
Isla swallowed.
“So, as the year continued, I was to watch and wait, protect you while you suffered, and then inform her when you were permanently . . . asleep.”
Isla folded her arms around herself and rubbed briskly. She was so cold.
Nigel met her eyes. “And then you boarded that airship. I panicked.”
“You’ve been following me for a year.” Details flooded and overflowed her until she was numb.
“My apologies,” he mumbled.
“It explains why you’ve been so annoyingly underfoot. And hateful!”
He had the grace to look chagrined.
“And you despise shifters so desperately because you despised Gladstone.”
“I don’t despise shifters. I hated my brother, and I work for Bryce Randolph, who hates shifters more than anything else on earth. I was obliged to play a role.”
“Bryce Randolph was nowhere near the airship, and you were still cruel to Quince, Bonadea, and Lewis.”
He rolled his eyes. “I couldn’t suddenly pretend indifference. You would have known immediately something was wrong. We all knew those three men were predatory shifters that Pickett was smuggling out of the country.” He stood and paced to the wall and back. “Truthfully, there is no love lost in my heart for anyone or anything. I could not care less about the plight of the shifters. I kept working on the Committee because Randolph is easily manipulated, and the rhetoric is easy to spew. And the position kept me in logical proximity to you, which is what my mother wanted.”
“Then why the change?” Isla felt circulation returning to her hands and feet. She thought briefly of Daniel warming her hands and realized he would probably be frantic. She was going to have to think carefully. “Why are you suddenly helping me?” Or attempting to help me, she thought but didn’t say aloud. He was a person who always seemed to be in complete control of himself, but his plan, or lack thereof, spoke of someone on uncertain ground.
He sighed and massaged his forehead; he looked weary. Discontent, confusion, and sadness rolled from him. “I watched you on that airship and knew I could never turn you over to Malette. And then you knocked on my door and invited me to join you and the others on the island. You invited me to be part of something, and that has never happened. Quince, Bonadea, and Lewis must have despised me, yet they were civil to me. They tried to be, well, perhaps not friendly, but decent. Even Pickett lessened his hostility.” His dark eyes were nearly fathomless black. She didn’t know when she’d ever seen another person so vulnerable or in pain. “I am trying to find an alternate course of action because you are a good person,” he murmured, “and you use your talents in the service of others. I will not see Malette destroy you.”
The admission could not have come easily, and he looked uncomfortable.
“Thank you,” she said. The words were inadequate, but it would have to do for now. She swung her legs out from under the blanket and instinctively folded her arms across her chest.
Nigel opened a satchel on the table and withdrew her thin cotton robe. “It was the only thing within reach, and I was pressed for time.”
She accepted the robe gratefully, and shook her head as she thrust her arms through the sleeves and secured the fastenings. “How on earth did you get me out of there?”
Again, he averted his gaze. “Threw you over my shoulder,” he admitted gruffly. “Took you down the back stairs where I had a vehicle waiting.”
“Where are we?”
He shook his head. “Better that you don’t know.”
“Surely I’d have been better off at the inn. Safer.”
He laughed. “I got you out of there with no one the wiser. Besides, you were vulnerable there as soon as you started asking questions about magick, local legends, and sorcery . . .”
“You cannot expect me to stay here and do nothing.”
“That is exactly what you must do. Isla, you do not understand the nature of this woman.”
She frowned, thinking. “She left England immediately after giving Melody the curse to use on me.”
He nodded.
“Why did you not break free from her then? It would have been the perfect time for you to disappear, to begin fresh.”
His mouth tightened. “She tethers me to her.”
Isla stared. “How?”
“A blood spell between the two of us. She can locate me anywhere in the world. She knew I was on that airship, so once in telescribing range, I told her you were searching for her and I was trailing you. I decided the fewer lies I told, the better.”
“She’ll know we’re here, then. Please tell me you brought at least one of my weapons.”
“She can’t track you, only me. I telescribed that you’re still at the inn. She believes I’m staying here because I prefer it to the manor house.”
Isla stood and transferred her weight from foot to foot. “Why did you not just tell the others to keep me at the inn, take all of us into your confidence?”
He snorted. “Those four men bow at your feet. You could talk them into anything in a matter of minutes. I couldn’t possibly leave you with them. Even Pickett, who seems the most vested in your welfare, would do whatever you said.”
She detected an undercurrent of tension, but his expression was unreadable. His eyes showed the only spark of emotion, and she realized that what she’d once read as coldness actually blazed.
“Nigel, you told me you were an artist. You’d carved out a life for yourself before all the business with the Committee. There must be a way to break free from your mother.”
“There is a way.” He smiled, self-deprecating. “When she is dead, I will be free. Though a condition of our blood connection is that neither of us can kill the other.”
She raised a brow. “You would kill her?”
His lips pursed, the familiar cynicism returning. “Of course I would. I had hoped that once she finished her obsession with you, she might leave me alone, find someone else to torment.”
“Yet she is your mother.”
“That means nothing to me.”
“You never envied Gladstone’s connection with her?”
He eyed her flatly. “When I was six, she began taking vials of my blood even though I cried and begged her to stop. She would look at me with a smile that held nothing in it. My comfort and contentment were inconsequential to her. I began hating her then.”
Isla moved closer to the fire and extended her hands. “How can I possibly be cold in this climate?” she mumbled.
“Malette held nothing in reserve with this curse. You are as close as a person can get to death every night.”
She swallowed. “Well, that does explain it.”
Silence grew between them, and he finally broke it. “I am sorry. For everything.” He met her eyes and then looked down, scratching his neck.
“Thank you for helping me. I have a request.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I cannot promise to meet it.”
“Telescribe Daniel and tell him I’m safe. He will be concerned. I fear they all will.”
“I’m certain they will be. You gather an entourage wherever you go.” It wasn’t a compliment, but a cynical observation.
“You are jaded, sir.”
He smirked. “You haven’t the least idea.”
“Where are we?” She looked out the window and saw nothing but dense foliage. He was silent, and she turned her attention to him. “At least tell me that much. How far can I go dressed like this and without shoes, anyway?”
He sighed. “My family property. A few miles from the main house.”
“And she is not aware I am here?”
“She will be, eventually. Which is why I must get to her first.”
“Please tell the others where I am.”
“No.”
She sighed. “Why?”
“They must remain in town. I’ll not have their deaths on what little is left of my conscience.”
“You are assuming there will be deaths! We are an accomplished group of people, Nigel, and it may well be that none of us will die!”
“My mother is a shifter.”
She blinked. “Very well, I do know a thing or two about that.”
“Not this.” He turned and grabbed a ring of keys from a nail by the door.
“Wait! Please, wait. I can defend myself, you know I can, especially if you’ve been trailing me all year. What kind of shifter is she?”
He looked at her. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Stay here, Isla. You’ll hear from me in an hour or two.”
Before she could blink, he was gone, locking the door behind him.