“That’s all very well, but what if he doesn’t have any intelligence? It’s a slim hope to begin with, and—” Arabella bit down the words your supervisor is going to make you exorcise me tomorrow morning. She finished softly with, “I don’t have much time left.”
“That’s why pursuing Atwater isn’t my only option. I asked Halford to trace your ring, and I’ve got a couple of my own spells searching at the same time.”
He noted Arabella’s frown and explained, “Halford was the previous supervisor of the Bureau. I had to bring him into it. Winter had me looking for phantasms along the procession route all afternoon.”
“Oh.” Arabella found that she was rubbing her hands together nervously. “Trey…” What will you do if it’s too late to return me to my body? Would you really banish me? Do I want you to be the one to do it? Or would I rather someone else did?
His look was narrow-eyed, sharp. “What is it?”
She couldn’t ask after all. Arabella hunched her shoulders and confessed, “I, um, went into your library. I saw… the book.”
Trey didn’t ask which book. “And?” He had an odd, questioning expression on his face.
“It was horrible.” Arabella shuddered at the memory. “It seemed to be leaking evil.”
“Fascinating.” Trey looked at her as if she were an interesting specimen. “Most people feel nothing more than a vague sense of discomfort, if that.”
“I don’t see how anyone can bear to be in the same room as that book,” Arabella burst out.
“Meaning you’re wondering what sort of morals I have, to keep it around.” Trey gave a short laugh, devoid of mirth. He pushed his hands in his pockets. “I take no pleasure in it, I assure you. It’s there as a reminder.”
Of what? she wondered. His expression, shuttered and frowning, didn’t invite further probing. Arabella squared her shoulders. “I think I should be at the Spring Assembly tonight. If I saw Lord Atwater, I might remember something.”
His brow cleared. “I planned to bring you anyway. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Who?” asked Arabella, just as a bell rang.
Trey turned away. “That’d be my cousin’s valet. Whit sends him over to make me presentable for every important social occasion, so I don’t disgrace the family.”
“Whit?” Arabella’s brow furrowed. Realization and awe dawned over her. “You mean to say Beau Whitfield is your cousin?”
“Deplorable, isn’t it?” said Trey cheerfully. “Hardly a connection to boast about.”
“I’d say it was Mr. Whitfield who has more cause for bemoaning his relations,” Arabella shot back.
Grinning, Trey raised a hand in acknowledgment of the hit. “Best get in the cellar, Bella. Briggs is as mundane as they come, but I’d rather not take any chances.”
“Why, Lord St. Ash. To think you care so much.” Arabella fluttered her eyelashes at him. Before he could respond, she let herself fall through the floor and into the cellar.
Chapter Eight
The horse snorted and pawed the ground as Trey put his foot on the carriage step. The driver called out to the creature, “Wot’s gotten into you, beastie? Settle down, boy.” Despite the roughness of his tone, his words were gentle. The horse tossed its head once, eyes rolling and unhappy, but stood still.
“Sorry,” called Trey. “Must smell the Quadrangle on me.” He ducked into the hackney before the driver could respond.
Arabella, pale and glimmering, seated as far away from the horse as she could get, gave him a wan smile. The horse ceased objecting to her presence, and broke into a brisk, bone-jarring trot. Trey held onto the strap, while Arabella, sitting demurely, hands in her lap and ankles crossed, sank and rose in the seat.
Trey searched her solemn expression. “It happens sometimes, when animals sense spirits. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not,” she said with a kind of tragic dignity. “I’m thinking of… other things.” She raised her chin, as if defying Trey to just try and console her.
He smothered a smile before it could even twitch his lips. “Then accept my apologies for my presumption.”
She gave him a regal nod and transferred her gaze to the window. Newfangled gas lights illuminated the way.
Trey could read the tension in her very posture. There was a kind of determined courage in her eyes.
She hadn’t been wrong about the time left to her. And Trey couldn’t offer her false assurances. It wasn’t in his nature to do so—and he thought too highly of her to be dishonest about her chances. Arabella was no fragile flower.
Still, thought Trey, turning his head to glare into the gloom outside, he would do everything in his power to run Lord Atwater to ground tonight. That sharp, shivery feeling inside of him, the one he thought of as his intuition, told him that Atwater was connected to the whole reeking business.
His mother had taught him to pay attention to that feeling. After all, he’d inherited it from her.
The hackney slowed as it entered a crowded street sparkling with light, from the orange and yellow flickers of torches to the cool steady glow of rune lanterns in jewel colors. Carriages, hackneys, and chairs milled in confusion; drivers and coachmen and servants cried out to make way for Duke this and Lady that.
“We’re here.” Trey looked at Arabella questioningly. “Shall we alight?”
Arabella nodded. “Yes, please.”
“Stay close to me, then. I’ve put a charm on you that should keep anyone else from seeing you, but it’d be better for you to keep out of Winter’s sight. When we get in, I want you to go straight into the Lilac Room. You remember where it is?”
“Up the stairs, to the left, third door on the right,” she recited his instructions from earlier. “Who am I supposed to meet? You never said.”
“That’s right, I didn’t. And I’m not going to tell you, either.” At her look, he said, “I don’t want you
