The Last Necromancer

Chapter 4, Part 1

"Remove the book," the woman commanded. "We don't want him using it as a weapon."

Gus went to snatch the book from my hand, but I refused to give it up. It was a silly thing to worry about, while a gun was pointed at my head, but the thought of permanently losing the book weighed heavily on my heart. With a click of his tongue and an almighty wrench, Gus freed it from my clutches. He tucked it under his arm, where I worried his sweaty pits would stain the cover.

"Bring him into the parlor." The woman turned her back on me. The hand that held the muff pistol dipped into the folds of her lustrous black skirts and came out empty.

Seth and Gus glanced at one another, their brows raised. "Shouldn't we take him back to the tower room, my lady?" Gus asked.

"He will be fine with me." The woman's gliding steps reminded me of a sleek, unhurried cat. Perhaps it was the tight corset that slowed her movements. Having worn the undergarment before my banishment, I knew how restrictive they could be, and going by the woman's tiny waist, she must have her laces tied very tightly indeed. It was so small it was a wonder she could hold up the top half of her body, particularly considering she possessed ripe melons rather than raspberries, as Stringer would say.

"Fetch luncheon for him," she ordered the men. "He may eat while you both guard the exit."

Gus shoved me in the back. I grunted and shot him a glare. He shrugged an apology, which surprised me. Seth returned up the stairs with my book.

Gus and I followed the woman into a small room off the entrance hall. I tried not to gawp at the pale blue and gold wallpaper, thick rug, and spindly-legged furniture that didn't look sturdy enough to hold a man the size of Gus. It was fortunate that he remained near the door.

The woman sat on the sofa and indicated I should sit on one of the cream wingback chairs. I hesitated then sprawled like I imagined a boy would. I'd never had the opportunity to sit on such a luxurious piece of furniture while pretending to be a boy, so I hoped I did it right. Usually sitting took place on floors or low walls, not chairs.

The room was lovely with so many elegant things on the mantel, the walls, and on top of and inside the glass cabinet, but my attention was fully captured by the woman. She perched gracefully on the edge of the sofa, giving her prominent bustle space behind her. Her midnight black hair was arranged in an elaborate style at the back of her head, unhindered by the little hat perched on top. I couldn't determine her age. There was no gray in her hair, no lines marring her smooth, pale skin, and yet her bearing was that of a middle-aged woman, sure of her appeal and without the arrogance of a pretty, pampered girl.

She oozed authority, from the tips of her manicured fingernails to her tilted chin. Coupled with the striking aristocratic bones of her face, her confident air would have intimidated most men; yet her appearance was softened by full lips that curved into a warm smile as she regarded me.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Fat Gut called you 'my lady,'" I said.

"Oi," Gus growled from the doorway. "I ain't fat." He sucked in his stomach and puffed out his chest.

"So I'm guessing you're Lady Harcourt," I finished. I almost added "Fitzroy's lover" just to see what her reaction would be, but held back. I didn't want to be beaten up by yet another member of the aristocracy.

"I am," she said in a lilting voice that held none of the harsh command of earlier. "Your name is Charlie, is it not?"

"T'is, my lady."

"Have they been treating you well?" she asked.

"I'm being held against my will. As if that ain't bad enough, a mad toff beat me black and blue yesterday."