Blaze, page 17
She’d always thought it was the former, but now she wondered if it was the latter. She had been given a gift, a gift of extraordinary powers, and even now she was too frightened to be as heroic as these ordinary people had been.
It was extremely humbling.
“What’s going to happen to me now?” she asked.
“That,” her father said, “is up to you.”
“Am I going to become a monster? Like them? Like him?”
“No,” he said, assuredly. “There’s far too much good in you. I knew it the moment I held you in my arms. The good in you will always be stronger than the darkness.”
He seemed so certain, so confident in her. If only she shared his faith.
“And if it isn’t?” she asked softly.
“Then we’ll face that together.” He turned his head, all of the love he had for her shining in his eyes. “I will always be there for you, Artemis. No matter what happens.”
He pulled her to his side, but she was still afraid. Still unsure. In the shelter of his arms, however, there was one thing she did know. At least she was not alone anymore.
Chapter Sixteen
Artemis closed her book and lay back on her bed staring up at the canopy looking for answers in the green silk brocade. She felt better today, but she was still afraid. Whatever anger she’d felt toward her father had all but vanished. She understood why he’d done what he had, but she still wished he’d been honest with her from the start.
He did what he thought was best, she reminded herself. None of this could be easy for him, either. She could hardly blame him for trying to protect her.
Considering how she’d fallen to pieces when she’d found out about her real father, she’d need all the help she could get. The thought of her real father, of Jack the Ripper, made her want to curl inside herself again.
She had so many questions, but could bring herself to ask only one. Where is he?
Gone, her father had assured her. Gone.
With a shudder, she pushed thoughts of him away. Not a shining example of courage, and hardly the stuff that makes the Blaze, she thought ruefully.
After breakfast she’d retired to her room to read. Not that she’d accomplished much. Her mind drifted with every page until she finally put her studies aside. The Critique of Pure Reason would have to wait. At least until she was feeling more reasonable.
She wasn’t used to feeling this way, of feeling unsure. At least the paralyzing fear from yesterday had receded and turned into a small icy undercurrent, a feeling of subtle dread, like an itch just beneath her skin.
She sat up abruptly. “Get ahold of yourself, Artemis.”
She reached for her book. It was thick and heavy, not to mention dry and dull, but she was determined to read it if for nothing else than to feel normal, and normalcy was something she could definitely use right now. She turned to the last page she’d read. Page three. Sigh.
I can do this. Gird your loins, girl.
“All right, Immanuel, let’s see what you—”
She was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Oh, thank God,” she said and closed the book with a snap, grateful for the reprieve. “Come in.”
Phoebe leaned inside, a broad smile lighting her face. “Busy?”
Artemis tossed the book aside and went to greet her friend.
It had only been a day, but she hadn’t realized until she saw her face how much she missed her. With a rush of emotion, she enveloped her in a hug.
“Good to see you, too,” Phoebe said, a little overwhelmed.
Artemis released her. “Sorry.”
Phoebe put her purse and a white box down on the table by the window then began to tug off her gloves.
“What are you doing here?” Artemis said. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, obviously, but … how do you always know when I need you?”
“It’s a gift,” she said with a shrug. “But in this case, I didn’t know.”
Artemis furrowed her brow in confusion.
“Your father called me,” Phoebe said, laughing.
“He did?” That wasn’t the answer she expected.
“Yes. At first, I thought he’d finally seen me for the beautiful woman I am, but no,” she said jokingly, but quickly sobered. “He’s worried about you. Thought I might be able to cheer you up.”
An unwelcome lump arose in her throat.
“So, here I am reporting for duty,” Phoebe added with a jaunty little salute. Artemis could only laugh.
Phoebe sat gracefully in one of the chairs by the table. “Oh, I nearly forgot. We’re all going to the Dansbury Stakes day after tomorrow and you simply have to come.”
“Horse racing? Isn’t it a little late in the season?”
“Yes, although, Lord Dansbury doesn’t think so. He’s practically blackmailed everyone in the House of Lords into going. Not really. Although I do wonder. He does have that half-wit son who ….” She trailed off as she became lost in thought.
“Phoebe?”
“Right. Anyway. We’re all going. Even David,” she added. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”
“I’ll have to ask my father.” Getting away from the city sounded like the perfect escape.
“Good,” Phoebe said, clapping. “Now that’s out of the way, what’s got you so down, hmm?”
All of Artemis’s pleasant thoughts of a day in the countryside were replaced with thoughts of cold harsh reality. She would tell her friend the truth and she’d leave, never to return.
Phoebe took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Whatever it is, it’ll be all right.”
“You say that now.”
Phoebe straightened. “Try me.”
There was no use putting it off. The truth would come out at some point. It might as well be now.
“After we met Edwin Grey—”
“Ohhh, him. Your father said to stay away from him.”
“He did?”
“In no uncertain terms. A little bossy about it, really.”
“He’s right. Grey is dangerous. Do you remember what I told you about shades and demons?”
Phoebe nodded.
“He’s one.”
“Really?”
“And he’s more powerful than most. Don’t go anywhere near him and definitely don’t ever be alone with him.”
“Alone with a boy. Don’t I wish!”
Artemis grabbed her hand. “I’m serious, Phoebe. He’s dangerous.”
Phoebe seemed surprised at her vehemence but nodded her agreement.
Artemis reluctantly resumed her story. “Tommy and I followed him—”
“Who’s Tommy?” Phoebe asked, a wide grin spreading across her face as she scooted forward in her chair excitedly. “And don’t leave out a thing.”
“He’s our driver.”
Phoebe’s face fell. “Oh. All right, go on.”
“We followed Grey and I overheard something. Something about me.” She hesitated, unsure how to proceed. “Do you remember what I told you about shades having a demon inside them?”
Phoebe nodded.
“Well, it seems they aren’t the only ones. I … I have demon blood.”
Phoebe’s blue eyes widened. “You do?”
Artemis nodded. “It’s not the same as having a demon spirit, but I am, technically, half-demon.”
Artemis waited for the horror to spread across Phoebe’s face, but it never came. If anything, she looked intrigued.
“Well, that’s exciting, isn’t it?” Phoebe said. “I have a little Habsburg in me on my mother’s side, but that’s not nearly as intriguing.”
“You aren’t frightened of me now?”
Phoebe laughed. “Why? Are you going to grow horns or something?”
Artemis reflexively touched the top of her head. God, I hope not. “I don’t think so.”
“Then why would I? You’re still you, aren’t you?”
Artemis swallowed, not willing to reveal, even to Phoebe, how intoxicating it had felt when she’d used her powers.
“It doesn’t bother you that I’m half-demon? That seems like the sort of thing that might bother a normal person.”
“Then I suppose I’m not a normal person,” she said, regarding Artemis with surprising calm. “I believed you and accepted you when you told me you were some mythical protector of good with a flaming sword and the power of Hellfire. What’s a little demon blood?”
Artemis laughed her first real, genuine laugh in far too long. “You are one of a kind, Phoebe Clifton.”
Phoebe lifted her chin haughtily. “So true. Now, about this cheering up business …” She gently nudged the white box she’d brought across the table toward Artemis.
“What is it?” Artemis asked.
“A present,” Phoebe said coyly. “But it’s not your birthday present.”
“It isn’t?”
“That hasn’t arrived yet and is shaped very much more like a hat.”
Artemis laughed and then her eyes went wide. “You don’t mean you got me that Bourderionnet? The one with the plumes?”
Phoebe’s eyes flashed. “You’ll just have to wait and see. Meanwhile …” she nudged the box again.
Artemis untied the ribbon, opened the box, and pushed aside the tissue paper. She reached inside and pulled out—
“A corset?” She held it up, confused. It was a lovely egg shell silk, but … “It’s very nice. Thank you.”
“It’s more than nice,” Phoebe said, shaking a finger at her. “It’s custom made. Mostly.” She blushed. “To be honest, I might have intercepted it from one of my mother’s deliveries from America.”
Artemis tried to hand the corset back to Phoebe, but her friend shook her head.
“She’ll just order another one.”
Artemis didn’t like the idea of receiving a stolen gift.
“Really,” Phoebe said, firmly. “I would have bought you one myself, but it takes so long to have them delivered. My mother won’t even notice. Please?”
There was no point in arguing with Phoebe when she set her mind to something.
“It’s from Spirella, all the way from Pennsylvania,” Phoebe said, taking hold of the garment and lifting it up. “It’s quite ingenious, really. They use wire inside, wrapped in something or other. So much better than bone or steel. Look!”
She twisted it in all directions. “It’s exceedingly flexible so you won’t break your liver when you’re fighting.”
“You can’t break your liver,” Artemis said.
“Then your spleen or whatever,” Phoebe went on. “The point is, it won’t pinch or bind when you’re out there being all … Blaze-y.”
Artemis stared at it, and her, in wonder. That would truly be amazing. Her current corset had her in a stranglehold with every fighting move she made.
“We made a few tucks here and there; you’re not quite Mother’s measurements. And we added a few bits of lace edging and decorative flossing. There’s no reason something practical can’t be beautiful as well.”
“Wait. You made this?”
“Well, I helped,” Phoebe said. “I gave very strict instructions to Jenny, one of our maids. She’s a wizard with a needle.” Her face brightened even more. “Are wizards real, too?”
Artemis laughed. “I don’t know.”
“Hmm, so it’s possible,” Phoebe said, but quickly turned her roving attention back to Artemis. “Do you like it?”
“I do! You did all of this for me?” Artemis pulled the corset to her chest then pulled Phoebe into another hug. “What would I do without you?”
Artemis waved goodbye to Phoebe’s carriage. When she turned to walk back up the steps, she noticed Tommy sitting in his usual spot in the driver’s seat of their carriage. The boy’s shoulders were hunched forward, elbows resting heavily on his knees. Even from here, she could tell that he was worried. He didn’t even notice her approach.
“Tommy?”
He lifted his head in surprise, pried from whatever thoughts had occupied him so deeply, and jumped down.
“Sorry, miss. Where to?” His smile was faint and his eyes troubled.
“Nowhere. I … What’s wrong?”
He gnawed his lower lip and shook his head.
Artemis laid a hand on his arm. “Tommy?”
He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
“It’s Da.”
Artemis’s heart stuttered. “He’s not …”
“No, but ’e’s in a bad way. Took a turn last night.” He lifted his eyes to Artemis, and she immediately saw they were filled with worry.
“Is he in hospital?”
“’E don’t like doctors,” he said, then realized to whom he was speaking and tried to smile. “Going to ’em. Not working for ’em. Besides, we can’t afford it.”
I won’t accept that, Artemis thought. No one should go without proper care because they couldn’t afford it.
“There are hospitals that help with that sort of thing,” she said, delicately. She didn’t want to sound insulting.
“’E went to one last week. They sent ’im home. Gave ’im a tonic.”
Artemis pursed her lips. That wouldn’t do at all. “My father will see him.”
Tommy shook his head, but Artemis would have none of it.
“He can help. I know he can.”
Hope flared in Tommy’s eyes. “Do you think ’e would?”
Artemis squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m sorry, Madame Toulouse, but I do not offer pelvic massage, nor do I believe in its efficacy as a medical treatment,” Doctor Schäfer said, politely but firmly escorting a patient from his surgery.
“But Monsieur Doctor,” she pleaded, “I suffer so awfully from the hysteria. C’est terrible.” She looked at him with big doe eyes, but he was unmoved.
He was sure she was … uncomfortable, but he was not, unlike some colleagues, in the business of massaging his patients in order to create an hysterical paroxysm of relief.
He then noticed Artemis standing in the hall and blanched. Victor eased his patient out of Artemis’s earshot and said, in a low voice, “Might I suggest you seek assistance from your husband in that regard?”
She seemed appalled at the very idea. Surprising from a French woman, he thought.
“In lieu of that,” he suggested, “perhaps a machine?”
That idea didn’t seem to offend. If anything, she looked rather intrigued. “A machine?”
“Yes, there are several that might … achieve what you desire.”
Madame Toulouse’s imagination seemed to fill with possibilities and Victor used her distraction to scribble down an address and shuttle her to the door.
He handed her the “prescription” and eased her out of the door. “Best of luck, Madame.”
With a sigh he closed the door behind her and leaned against the frame. Artemis, he remembered. He pushed off the wall and approached his daughter, hoping she hadn’t heard too much.
“Was there something you needed?” he asked.
Her gaze lingered on the closed door, but thankfully she didn’t ask any questions and her expression grew quite serious.
“Tommy’s father needs you.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Let me get my bag.”
“Mum!”
A small, plump woman appeared near the back of the flat when Tommy and Victor arrived at the Doyles’. Her face crumpled into the familiar look of worry and hope Victor had seen so often on the faces of his patients’ loved ones.
“Doctor Schäfer’s come to see Da,” Tommy said.
“Oh, Doctor, I’m sorry ’e bothered ye,” she said in a rush, “but I am glad ye come. Thomas is doing very poorly.”
“Where is he?” Victor asked.
She pointed toward a back room. He followed her down the short hall, ignoring the open-eyed stares of her other children. A doctor in a home such as this was never a good sign. Thomas Doyle lay in bed, his face with a grey pallor and his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. He lifted his head upon Victor’s entrance, and although his eyes were glassy, they widened with recognition.
“Doctor Schäfer,” he said, and reflexively tried to sit up.
“Lay still.”
“You shouldn’ta come, sir.”
“Tell me what’s wrong. What are your symptoms, Thomas?”
The man looked down at his legs, which were covered by a thin sheet.
Victor arched his eyebrows in a silent question and when Thomas nodded, he eased the sheets down.
The legs beneath the knee were swollen to nearly twice their normal size. He gently touched the taut skin, pressing down, unsurprised when his finger left a slowly receding divot in the puffy flesh.
“How long?” he asked.
“Two weeks. But not like this.”
The man was in pain, which was to be expected. Victor had seen symptoms like this before. Grabbing an extra pillow, he gingerly placed it under Thomas’s knees, raising them higher to reduce swelling and take some stress off the skin that was pulled so tightly.
Mrs. Doyle, who’d been hovering anxiously on the edge of the room, came to help him. With her aid, they resettled Thomas.
“We went to hospital,” she said. “They said ’e needed rest and to give ’im that.”
She handed Victor a bottle from her husband’s bedside.
“For my cough,” he said, then as if unable to stop the suggestion formed by the words, coughed into his handkerchief.
The droplets of blood that accompanied his cough were not lost on the doctor. He glanced at the bottle, already knowing what he would find. Bayer Heroin Cough Suppressant. With a grunt, he put the bottle back. Like so many other medicines, it merely drugged the patient, often masking their symptoms, but offered little to no curative value.
He took out his stethoscope to listen to Thomas’s heart. It was as he’d feared.
