Winterblaze (Darkest London 3)

Her voice was modulated and smooth in the quiet. “What I must tell you cannot go further than this room.”

“We rather thought that a given, dearest,” said Daisy with a small smile. She was trying, Poppy knew, to ease the way. Poppy appreciated it, especially given that Miranda would be the angriest. She still had not forgiven Poppy for withholding information about her own powers. Poppy did not blame her one whit.

Miranda would truly hate her now. Daisy too. All those expectant gazes, all of them knowing they wouldn’t like what they were going to hear, but waiting for it anyway. For one horrid moment, Poppy feared she might jump up and flee. Then her gaze collided with Win’s. He’d entered quietly and stayed in the back of the room, reclining against the corner wall, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. The pose might have been construed as relaxed; he was anything but. Tension tightened the line of his shoulders and flattened his mouth. But his eyes softened, and she could all but read the message there: Out with it, old girl. It won’t get better with the waiting.

In this, they were together. She spoke again.

“There is a demon that is after Win and me…. If we do not give him what he wants, he will take our child’s soul.”

“What!” Miranda slammed forward. “You are expecting?”

Poppy managed a small smile. “I’m afraid so.”

Archer and Ian exchanged a look that made Poppy think they’d already figured as much.

“It isn’t a prison sentence, you know,” said Daisy, rather heatedly, and Poppy winced. As a GIM, Daisy would never have a child of her own.

“I only meant…” Poppy couldn’t say more without breaking down so she looked away.

“Well then,” said Archer, “we shall give him what he wants.”

We. The simple word warmed her heart, and broke it all the same. “As much as I’d love to,” she said, “I cannot.” Poppy touched her brow and then let her hand drop. Christ, she needed to get the words out. “He wants his son.”

Archer’s dark brows rose. “Why is it that you refuse to give this demon his son?”

“For God’s sake, Poppy,” Daisy said, “if you know where the spawn is, give it to this thing and be done with it.”

“She cannot do it.” Win’s smoky voice held surprising strength as he bit out the truth.

“Why?”

That from all of them.

“Because,” said Poppy, “the demon’s son is our brother.” And with that, chaos descended.

It was all Winston could do to be heard. Miranda’s chair had gone up in flames, which Poppy almost absently doused with a blast of ice. The room shook with Daisy’s deep tremors, and Winston rather feared for the foundations. And all of them shouted at once. Win took a long look at the chaos, and at his wife, who sat stiffly in her seat.

“Enough!” He slammed his walking stick down on the scorched wood table. The resounding bang made them all flinch, but it shut them up as well. He leveled a gaze around the room. “Sit.”

On the inside, Win felt sick, but he simply looked around to see if they were all settled before glancing back at Poppy. “Explain it to them.”

Poppy’s white hands fell to her lap, and her dark gaze turned inward as she stared at the tabletop before her. The red fan of her lashes blocked her eyes as she recounted what Lena had told them about Margaret and Jones’s affair. When she finished, Miranda blanched. “Bloody hell. Are we his as well?”

Poppy flinched. “Yes. I did not know until today,” she snapped before her sisters could protest again.

“Hell.” Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose.

“You all remember Mother as this benevolent protector,” Poppy said. “You have no idea what she really was. The lies she could tell. Or how iron her will could be.”

“I’m beginning to get an idea,” Daisy muttered.

Poppy’s face flushed red but she forged onward. “He killed our mother over this.”

“Mother died due to childbirth,” Miranda said woodenly.

“No. It was…” Poppy nibbled her bottom lip. “It was a lie.”

“God damn it, Pop!” Daisy banged a fist on the table. “Of all the low, disgusting—”

“I cannot make amends.” Poppy rested a hand on the table. “We need to discuss our brother. His name is St. John. He’s being raised in Ireland by the Evernights, one of the oldest SOS families.”

“He ought to be around sixteen,” murmured Daisy. She smiled a little. “My God, a brother.”

“Hell.” Miranda plopped her head into her hands and groaned. “We can’t give him up.” She lifted her head. “But I’ll be damned if we give up your child.”

Winston had to smile at that. “My sentiments exactly.”

Archer leaned back in his chair and regarded them all. “What do you propose to do? Is there a way to get out of the bargain? Kill the demon perhaps?”

From the gleam in Ian’s eye, Win gathered he thought this was a perfect idea. Poppy, however, braced her arms upon the table, her mouth set in a grim line. “I have not been able to destroy him, only to send him back to hell.”

“How did you do it?” Win asked. He’d never gotten the specifics, and he needed them now more than ever.

“With one of these.” She pulled a small object from her skirt pocket and set it on the table.

“A scarab?” Archer sounded as dubious as Win felt. The basalt carving of the Egyptian dung beetle was flat and roughly the size of his palm.

“It might look innocuous, but this little fellow becomes quite active when in the presence of demons. It is a tool of Ammit, the Eater of Souls.”

Archer shifted uncomfortably. When he’d married Miranda, Archer had been turning into a soul eater, one of Ammit’s children. He eyed the scarab askance. “What does it do?”

“Rest it on the heart of a demon of Egyptian origin, and the scarab will judge it. If the demon is unworthy, the scarab will deliver the demon’s soul to Duat, the underworld, and then on to a place we’d call Hell.”

“I wish we’d had use of one of those before,” Miranda muttered, and Poppy gave her a tired smile.

“Had I known what Archer was becoming,” she said, “I would have given you one. However, it isn’t as easy as it looks. One has to get near enough to the demon to place it against the demon’s chest.” Her expression grew hard and remote. “One is more likely to lose one’s head than succeed.”

But Poppy had done so before. Cold blew through Win’s gut at the thought. His wife rested her thin hand upon her belly, low where no one would likely notice. But he did, and his heart twisted. She would not face Isley again. For he could not face the idea of her being hurt, nor their child. It was all he could do to keep himself together. He would not see his child born or grow. Would it be a boy, as Isley thought? Or a girl? With shining red hair like her mother’s? Clenching his jaw, he looked away from Poppy rather than risk falling to his knees and burrowing his head into her lap.

“It works on Isley,” she was saying. “Trial and error have taught me that. However, while he might be dragged back to Hell, he does not die.” Her long finger touched the back of the scarab.

Archer’s brow drew into a scowl as he looked down at the scarab. “The Egyptians believe that to know a person’s name is to have dominion over them. Were Isley’s true name inscribed on the scarab, it might have the power to hold Isley in Hell forever.”

“It is a good thought,” Poppy said wanly. “Only we’ve just one more day, and I’ve no idea where to begin to search.” With a sigh, she leaned back in her seat. “The real problem is that regardless of whether we kill him, all bargains in play would stand. Any souls belonging to Isley would be his to take with him to hell.”

Perfect. Win ran a hand over the back of his neck and paced. “In short, we are buggered.”

They gaped at him, and he scowled. “I am capable of uttering the word ‘bugger’, you know.”

Ian laughed, shortly but without much vigor. “Do not break my illusions, old boy.”

Win tried to smile but failed. “Look. Poppy and I will have to find a way.”

“Bollocks to that,” Archer said with heat. “Let us help you.”

“You can.” Win moved to the table and braced his fists on top of it. “You take care of Talent,” he said to Ian and Daisy before looking at Miranda and Archer. “We need to protect the boy.”

“Of course,” said Miranda.

Poppy’s gaze turned to her youngest sister. “Lena said he was more his father’s son. Isley, aside from trickery and bargains, shares a similar talent with you, dearest. Fire.”

Miranda blanched. “Hell.” She slipped her hand into Archer’s. “We’ll go to the boy. I don’t know what we’ll say…” She shook her head. “But we’ll go.”

“Simply tell him the truth,” Poppy said.

The transformation of Miranda’s features was chilling. “The truth,” she said faintly. “By all means.” She took a breath and rose. “I’m sorry, Pop, I know this predicament is hard for you, that you’ve had a rough go of it, but to lie to us about Mother. Even after she was gone. I just can’t… I need to be away from you for a while.”

Poppy nodded shortly. “Yes.” It was a ghost of sound.

Daisy rose as well. “You would never have stood for such treatment, sister mine.” Golden curls trembled as she shook her head. “And yet you did so to us. Badly done.” Daisy left the room with Miranda and Archer. Ian hesitated for a moment, looking pained, but he gave Poppy a short nod and followed his wife.

Winston moved to call her sisters back and got all the way to the door when he stopped. He had no right to interfere. When he turned back to give Poppy some bit of consolation, she was gone.

Chapter Thirty-six

Winston walked through the house he had shared with Poppy for the past fourteen years. Standing within its walls flooded him with both comfort and pain. He did not know what made him search up rather than down. He’d never gone onto his roof before. Really, why would one? Even so, his steps took him there, steady and sure as he climbed the risers to the attic. The temperature did not rise as he expected but grew distinctly cooler, prickling his skin.

His breath came out in frosty puffs as he reached the top. An icy breeze, unnatural in the late summer evening, blew through the open window at the top of the landing. He crouched down and glanced through it, only to shiver when soft snowfall landed upon his neck. White billows of snow covered the wide ledge that ran along the front of the house and melted just as quickly as it competed against the surrounding summer heat.

Cursing beneath his breath, he eased out of the window and picked his way along. She sat in a small, flat space between windows. Poppy was a tall, strong woman, but seeing her huddled down, she appeared diminished, almost fragile. And it made his heart hurt. Big, feathery flakes of snow fell, covering her bright hair and slim shoulders in a mantle of pure white. He glanced up, fascinated to see where it began, but the murky sky held its secrets.

Obviously sensing him, her shoulders hunched in closer, and her head bent down as if, by avoiding eye contact, he’d somehow not see her. He eased his coat off and sat next to her, ignoring the ice that seeped into his trousers. She did not move as he gently brushed the snow from her shoulders and then put his coat over her. “You’ll freeze out here.”

Poppy shrugged. “I don’t really feel it.” She glanced in his direction, not meeting his eyes. “You ought to take this back before you catch a cold.”

“My gentleman’s sense of honor insists that you wear it. Even if I am the one freezing my arse off.”

A small smile played about the corners of her mouth, as he had hoped, but it did not remain. “I don’t know why I can’t control it anymore.” She scowled down at her hands. “It is irksome in the extreme.”

“Perhaps the baby affects you?” he offered with due caution. Women, he’d heard, were notoriously sensitive about such matters.

But her scowl waned in favor of a short nod. “Perhaps so.” She sighed and then took a deep breath, and with it, the snowfall stopped. “Better?” she asked as she gathered the ends of the coat sleeves into her lap.

He drew his knees up and let his forearms dangle over them. “I don’t know. Are you better?”

The elegant column of her neck moved on a swallow as she glared at sights unseen. “I deserve this,” she said at last. “Every bit of their censure. Of yours.” Her lip wobbled but she bit down on it. “Even so, it wears on me, Win.”

He drew her against his chest, where it was warmer, where she could rest against his heart. He held her tightly as she started to cry, silently at first and then in choking sobs. His Poppy crying. He’d never seen her do it. And it made him angry, made him want to slay dragons for her. Only he’d been one of the fiends who had made her cry.

“Let it out, sweet.” He pressed a fierce kiss to her temple. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

She wrapped herself around him as a child might. Gently he rocked her, stroking the smooth crown of her head. A sound from the windows had him stiffening. Miranda and Daisy stood at the edge of the roof. Twin looks of disbelief held their expressions as they watched their sister sob. A part of him wanted to snarl at her sisters and drive them away. He wouldn’t see Poppy hurt further. But it was not his place, and they deserved to have their say.