He stiffened as pain dug into his shoulder, but he scrambled to prevent breaking anyone’s head. Another pain scorched across his scalp, and he lost the power to fight, collapsing into the tangle of bodies at the bottom of the stairs.
Through the ringing in his ears he heard someone shout “Bees!” And then police whistles shrieked.
He glanced up just enough to see a cloud of bees swarming through a halo from the streetlight. At night. In the cold. His vision was blurring. Perhaps he hallucinated.
As someone cursed and attempted to lift him, he could swear he saw bees covering every inch of the ugly coat Mortimer had been wearing. The shrieks of the thugs attempting to drag the twins’ stepfather away were music to his ears as darkness closed in.
The exertion of calling that ancient, enormous nest of nearly dormant bees left Iona staggering. But she’d seen Gerard fall. She had to reach him while driving the bees in the opposite direction—after Mortimer.
Wolf snarled and snapped and prevented the shooters from going near the cellar stairs. Iona slipped around him as police whistles sent most of the crowd fleeing into the shadows. A few lingered helplessly near the shrieking figures of men covered in bees, but they, too, melted into the darkness as policeman ran down the hill.
Iona had almost reached Gerard when someone grabbed her from behind.
“You can’t lift him. Go home with your sister, my lady. Let us handle this.” Strong hands lifted her and shoved her toward strangers.
Mortimer’s screams had died out. The bees streamed after two figures fleeing down the alley. Her stepfather didn’t flee with them.
Iona thought she recognized Rainford’s ice-blond hair and lean form descending after Gerard and the others as she stumbled backward in the hands of strangers. The marquess was a physician and healer, she vaguely recalled. Of course, Dare was a physician too, but he was down those stairs. . .
Her heart screamed to stay, even as she was carried away. With the bees buzzing in her head, she had no ability to fight.
“Never saw anything like it,” one of her protectors drawled.
“It was if he had eyes in the back of his head,” the other replied, sounding bewildered. “He swung before they did, and clipped the ones behind him at the same time. Then dived before the bullets flew. Ain’t possible.”
Iona tried to puzzle out the topic, but her head buzzed. She’d released the bees, but there were a lot of them and they lingered. She had to keep them from Gerard.
“Reckon he’s like his witchy mother?”
Finally understanding, Iona shrugged off the helping hands. “You had better hope Ives has abnormal talents so he may live to rescue others someday. He’s a hero.”
If the gentlemen looked startled, she didn’t know. Apparently awake again, Isobel ran toward her, and Iona stumbled over to hug her twin.
“Is that Dare’s carriage?” In relief, Iona dragged her sister toward the impatient horses. “Will the driver take us to Lord Dare’s home? I believe it’s closest.”
The strangers dashed up to assist them. “The marquess said we’re to take you back to the school.”
“That will only delay our arrival at Dare’s,” Iona said dismissively. “We need to be with Lady Phoebe and Lady Dare, and I’m quite certain they won’t be at the school.”
“You can’t—”
“Oh, dear,” Isobel interrupted their protest with a groan. “Please, never tell my sister she can’t.”
Smiling grimly, Iona shouted at the driver. “Take us back to the viscount’s, please. Lady Dare will need help.” Iona slammed the door on their white knights and hung on so they couldn’t open it.
“You might want to help the police haul off the miscreants,” she called to her disconcerted rescuers as the carriage began to roll.
“Malcolms,” she heard one of the men say in disgust. “You can’t reason with them.”
“Ives is a Malcolm,” was the last grumble she heard as she settled back against the squabs.
The earl had made a rather public display of his unreasonable heritage this evening, Iona acknowledged. Although, as far as she was concerned, the Ives brawling was more unseemly than dodging unseen bullets and fists. Still, if these men had actually paid attention and understood what he’d done, it might affect any diplomatic career he envisioned. She had brought him nothing but scandal.
“What happened to Mortimer?” Isobel whispered, interrupting Iona’s gloomy thoughts. “Will he live?”
Thinking of the still figure abandoned on the street, Iona shook her head. “I don’t know. He tried to shoot Lord Ives, and I became angry. I may have killed him. I almost hope he’s dead if he has harmed Lord Ives and his friends.”
Isobel squeezed her hand. “Don’t. Let us believe they are all fine.”
If the hustle and bustle of the Dare household meant anything, they weren’t all fine. The marquess’s speedy carriage had evidently arrived before they did.
A towering giant of a footman let them in. In the parlor, Lady Dare, garbed in one of her infamous saris, barked orders at young men twice her size. Dare’s medical students? The men rushed to do the lady’s bidding, joining the servants carrying water basins and bandages.
Lady Phoebe’s voice carried from down the corridor. What appeared to be a squad of urchins jumped and ran out the back door upon her command. There didn’t seem to be anything Iona could do. Wearing the uniform of a groom, with a cap on her short hair, she might pose as a servant. But she couldn’t abandon Isobel, who looked pale enough to faint again.
“Suggest to Lady Dare that you fetch Lord Ives’ Aunt Winifred. She’s a healer of sorts. She can sit with the patients while the others rest.” Iona maneuvered her sister toward the parlor while staying in the shadows.
“And what will you do?”
“Carry water basins and bandages.” Abandoning her twin, Iona scurried to
