Bad Blood (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 12) Page 2

  It had been one of the first places she’d visited here in New York, for she had been determined to experience that wonder of the world for herself almost as soon as she and her fellow clan members had settled in the second floor of their boarding house on Stuyvesant Street. She wondered why Mr. Wilcox had asked. “Yes, I went only a few days ago. It is quite splendid, isn’t it?”

  One corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “Yes, I think so.” He paused, then went on, “Would you be at all interested in seeing it again?”

  Her breath caught. What a question! She knew she should demur, should tell him that she was quite consumed with family business, and did not know when she would be free to visit the various sights of New York. However, that was a lie, because the truth was that she did not have much to occupy herself at the moment. Uncle Joseph and Aunt Isobel were the ones who seemed to spend every waking moment consulting train timetables and poring over maps, attempting to determine the most economical way to get the contingent of McAllisters to the Arizona Territories. And it was not simply the question of the train, but also the need to procure transport by wagon for the final leg of the journey, for the railroad ended in Pueblo, Colorado, and they would have to go overland after that. All these preparations were being managed with the utmost care, for the clan did not have a great deal of spare cash, only enough to cover the expenses of the journey itself, as well as the purchase of a bit of land once they reached their destination.

  And there was also Boyd, plain, plodding Boyd, who had taken the death of his mother in phlegmatic stride, just as he did everything else. If he grieved, he did not give much sign of it. At any rate, Hannah knew that she should politely decline Nathan Wilcox’s invitation, tell him she would be honored, but that she was promised to another and so not at liberty to go walking with anyone who was not her betrothed.

  But….

  She looked up at Nathan, looked at his shining dark eyes, so very different from Boyd’s washed-out blue. A few ladies passing by on their way to the notions counter stared at the Wilcox warlock in a way that should have been considered extremely forward…only Hannah knew exactly how they felt. She wanted to stare, too.

  In truth, she wanted to do much more than that. The need stirring in her was something of a surprise, for she had never reacted in such a way to a man before. She’d thought that perhaps she simply did not possess the hot blood to match her fiery hair, which, considering her betrothal to her cousin Boyd, could only be a blessing.

  Would it be so very bad, to go walking in Central Park with Nathan Wilcox? Surely one could not find a more public place than that. She wanted to learn more about his family, about why they were also headed west. She could…gather information. Like a spy. Yes, that would work very well. Her Uncle Joseph could not give her too much trouble over providing such a valuable service to her clan. And in the meantime, she would be able to spend just a little more time with this fascinating Wilcox warlock.

  “That sounds very fine, Mr. Wilcox,” Hannah said boldly. “When would you like to go?”

  2

  Nathan chose to walk to the flat where the family was staying while here in New York, rather than take a cab or a streetcar. He knew he needed to clear his head before he faced his brother Jeremiah — Jeremiah, whose eyes saw far too much.

  The meeting with Hannah McAllister had, of course, not been by mere accident. Although Nathan did not have Jeremiah’s talent for bending magic to his will, of shifting it and changing it in a way no one else could, or their brother Samuel’s gift of instantly transporting himself from place to place, Nathan’s inborn talent for sensing the presence of witches and warlocks at a far greater distance than their usual sense for such things had come in handy in this case. As soon as the McAllister clan had disembarked from their steamer, he’d known that a large group of witches and warlocks had arrived in town, a clan clearly not affiliated with the Van Horns or any of their associated families.

  Jeremiah had instructed Nathan to set forth and discover what he could. It had been easy enough to learn that the newly arrived witches and warlocks had taken a flat on Stuyvesant Street, in a neighborhood of modest houses not nearly fine enough for the Van Horns, and yet several steps up from the teeming streets where most new immigrants found themselves. He’d observed their comings and goings for a few days — at a safe distance, of course, one far enough from their lodgings so they couldn’t detect his presence — and had determined that, like the Wilcoxes themselves, the McAllisters had been given permission by Eugenia Van Horn, the prima of that clan, to stay here in New York while they made their arrangements to travel west. It was a customary sort of courtesy, although Nathan was still mildly shocked that Mrs. Van Horn had allowed the Wilcoxes to do such a thing when they had all but been run out of Connecticut with torches and pitchforks following their break from their Winfield elders and the elevation of Jeremiah to primus. The elders from some of the clans here in New York State had participated in that rout, but the Van Horns had held themselves aloof, apparently not wishing to dirty their hands — a command Nathan guessed had come directly from Eugenia Van Horn herself.

  That chilly, formidable lady, with her heavy knot of iron-grey hair at the back of her neck and a large hair brooch, encircled with garnets, at the throat of her high-necked black silk gown, had looked at Jeremiah with the expression of someone inspecting a new species of rat that had somehow managed to infiltrate the gloomy splendor of her mansion in Gramercy Park. In the end, though, she had only said, “You have one month to arrange your affairs, Mr. Wilcox. After that, you may assume that you have overstayed your welcome.”

  Jeremiah, who always appeared the master of every situation in which he found himself, in that moment looked more like a poor relation who was relieved to learn that his pension would not be taken away after all. He had given his thanks, and bowed, and said he would make certain that he and the rest of his family would be gone as soon as was humanly possible.

  “I do not know about ‘humanly possible,’” Mrs. Van Horn had said in grand tones, “but I would hope that you will manage everything as soon as is magically possible.”

  The interview had concluded after that, and ever since Jeremiah had been hard at work, securing passage on trains west, expending a good deal of money on telegrams back and forth to Pueblo, Colorado, where they would have to procure wagons and horses for the rest of the journey, and also Santa Fe, where they planned to stop for a few days before continuing on to the Arizona Territories. It was no small matter, for their group consisted of Jeremiah and his wife Lisbeth; Samuel, his wife Grace, and their young son Benjamin; Nathan’s brother Edmund and his new bride, Lida; his sister Emma and her husband Aaron; and Jennie Winfield, Nathan’s fiancée — not to mention all their luggage and household goods.

  At the thought of Jennie, Nathan’s mouth turned down slightly. He did not wish to be frowning on this fine spring day, a day that should have been perfect for a walk on New York’s streets, and yet he could not quite help himself. The task Jeremiah had given him, of observing the McAllisters, had not seemed like such an onerous one. Not until he met Hannah McAllister, anyway.

  Her eyes were green as the new grass in spring, and her hair — it was like a mass of living copper, so rich and burnished that Nathan did not see how any man could look at that hair and not want to bury his face in it so he might breathe it in. Her voice was sweet, just slightly roughened by the Scottish burr she tried so much to hide. Even though he’d learned early on that the McAllisters had come here from Scotland, when he first heard Hannah speak, he was surprised to find she sounded more English than anything else. He had to admit he found it rather charming, that she would think it important to erase any trace of her origins from her accent. It only emerged here and there, and he guessed that most people would not have recognized the slight rolling of her “r”s and the elongated vowels for what they actually were.

  In all, he found her most appealing, and had impulsively asked her to go walking with him
in Central Park before he’d thought the matter through. Oh, he could probably explain to Jeremiah that it was all part of gathering more information about the McAllisters, who might turn out to be their neighbors if the Wilcoxes did decide to stay in the Arizona Territories, rather than push on to California…but there was Jennie.

  The witch clans had a tradition of marrying cousins. Distant cousins in most cases, with judicious additions of nonmagical folk here and there to avoid the danger of inbreeding, so when Jennie had been suggested to him by Jeremiah, Nathan had not thought of refusing the request. It was just the way these things were done, and Jennie, a far-flung Winfield cousin, was certainly pretty enough. Nathan hadn’t yet met anyone who could make any claim to his heart, so asking Jennie to marry him had not seemed to be all that great a burden. Much of the time, witches and warlocks recognized the match of their hearts early on, and since he had just passed his twenty-fifth birthday when Jennie’s name was brought up, he thought he was one of those who would never find their match, and he might as well marry a suitable cousin.

  Now, though….

  Hannah McAllister’s bright green eyes flashed in his mind again, so different from Jennie’s calm brown ones. Right then, Hannah seemed to him a creature of wind and flame, constrained, perhaps, by the heavy blue gown she wore, just as her coppery curls were confined by hair combs and pins, but still with her true nature peeking out nonetheless.

  And all that, he told himself, was purest fancy. So she was a lovely young woman. There were many lovely young women in the world, among them his fiancée. He should not be paying any particular attention to Hannah. In fact, he should be thinking of a way to get word to her at her flat on Stuyvesant Street, letting her know that he was most deeply apologetic, but he would not be able to walk out with her tomorrow after all.

  However, he knew he would not do such a thing.

  When he reached the steps of his own temporary lodgings, Nathan paused to straighten the lapels of the frock coat he wore, and removed his broad-brimmed cowboy hat. Such things, he had been assured, were all the thing out west, although the hat did make him feel rather conspicuous here on New York’s busy streets. However, from the way Hannah’s eyes had widened in what he assured himself was an admiring fashion as she looked up at him, he guessed his attire had had the desired effect.

  His current hesitation stemmed more from a desire to gather himself before he met his brother than to make sure he was sartorially correct. Jeremiah did not miss much…if anything. The moment Nathan opened his mouth and mentioned Hannah McAllister, Jeremiah would be sure to note his brother’s interest. Well, he could only do his best. After all, nothing had happened.

  Because you were standing in the middle of R.H. Macy’s, he told himself. What if you had been alone in a quiet corner somewhere?

  What will you do when you’re alone with her tomorrow?

  He attempted to brush that thought aside. “Alone” was a relative term when it came to walking in Central Park. Once again, he and Hannah McAllister would be surrounded by people. True, Central Park offered more opportunities to slip off to a secluded location where they would not be observed, but he would not allow that to happen. He would walk with her, allow himself to admire her, and then escort her home, and so out of his life. After such a short acquaintance, she should leave his thoughts quickly enough.

  At least, he hoped that would be the case.

  After pulling in a breath, he opened the door to the building and let himself in. Once a large house owned by a single family, it had been broken into flats up and down. The Wilcox contingent occupied the entire second floor, while the first had been taken by a Swedish family with no English. They seemed pleasant enough, and smiled and nodded their blond heads whenever they encountered one of the witches or warlocks from upstairs, but that was the extent of their interactions.

  Nathan might once have called that a lucky coincidence, but he’d learned long ago that such things as coincidences did not usually apply to his brother.

  After climbing the stairs, Nathan went immediately to his right, to the front sitting room where Jeremiah generally spent his afternoons. It was the space farthest away from the bedroom that Jeremiah’s wife Lisbeth occupied — an arrangement that also had not occurred by chance.

  The door stood open, so Nathan went in without knocking. Jeremiah sat at a writing desk placed up against the opposite wall, pen scratching away as he pored over a railway timetable and made copious notes. He did not look up as he said, “Ah, Nathan.”

  How Jeremiah had known it was him, rather than Edmund or Samuel, or even Emma’s husband Aaron, Nathan didn’t know for sure. Just another of Jeremiah’s prodigious gifts, the ones that had led him to break with the Winfield clan, to decide that he must be the one to lead his own little family, rather than submit to the whims of a prima.

  “Jeremiah,” Nathan returned, his tone neutral. He went ahead and took a seat on the settee in the middle of the room, knowing that his brother would attend to him just as soon as he was done with his current batch of notes. On the little table in front of the settee was a teapot and a pair of cups. Although tea was not his favorite libation, Nathan went ahead and poured himself some, thinking that he might as well do something to occupy himself while he was waiting. The tea was now just a little more than lukewarm, but still fragrant enough. Emma’s doing, he guessed; certainly his sister-in-law Lisbeth was not the type to lift a finger to help anyone but herself, and Grace would be busy with the new baby — no doubt assisted by Lida and Jennie.

  After a minute or two, Jeremiah pushed the papers away and got up from the desk where he’d been sitting. However, he did not seem inclined to take a new seat on the settee, but instead reached down and picked up the remaining teacup from the table and filled it halfway with lukewarm tea. Being Jeremiah, he did not bother with preambles.

  “What did you learn?”

  “That the McAllisters are only temporary visitors here, as we are. They are headed to the Arizona Territories, although Miss McAllister did not give me any more details than that.”

  “Miss McAllister?” Jeremiah raised one heavy eyebrow. “So you spoke with her.”

  “Yes. She recognized that I was a warlock, so we exchanged a few words.”

  “And she was alone?”

  “Not precisely. A young man accompanied her, but he went upstairs while she was looking at the fabric selections. Because he had red hair in almost the same shade as hers, I assumed he was her brother.”

  “But he didn’t see you.”

  “No. He had not reappeared before I made my goodbyes to Miss McAllister and went on my way.” And thank God for that. Nathan had no desire to explain his presence to a protective older brother. At least, he guessed the young man who had disappeared to the upper level of R.H. Macy’s was older than Hannah. He was a tall, sturdy-looking fellow, probably not much younger than Nathan himself, while Hannah appeared to be little more than twenty, if even that.

  “Another witch clan in Arizona,” Jeremiah said, his tone musing. “I am not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “It’s a big place.”

  “But is it big enough?” He pushed a lock of heavy black hair — the same hair all the Wilcox brothers shared — off his forehead and frowned.

  “I should think so. There are not that many of them, as far as I can tell. No more than two dozen at the most.”

  “Only twenty-four of them here in New York,” Jeremiah said. “I have no doubt that there are more in Britain, just waiting for the signal to leave.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Because it is what I would have done — to come to a new place with only part of the clan, until I was certain of the reception we received.” He went to the window and looked outside, although Nathan was not quite sure what his brother might be looking for. Nathan’s gift told him that the only people of witch-kind in a quarter-mile radius were those in this very flat. Jeremiah went on, his tone musing, “I wonder why they are
here.”

  “For much the same reason we are, I suppose,” Nathan said. “Because we can no longer stay where we came from. No doubt they came out on the wrong side of a clan battle.”

  “We were not on the wrong side,” Jeremiah retorted. “We were outnumbered. That is all.”

  Would they have prevailed, if there had been more involved in that fight than the Wilcox brothers? Perhaps in the old country, witches fought alongside warlocks, but that was not how things were done in America. Besides, Nathan didn’t think any of the women in the family could have helped all that much. His sister Emma was a noted healer, but her gifts were suited for the aftermath of a battle, not to be in the thick of it. Lisbeth, Jeremiah’s wife, was quite handy with illusions, which might have been helpful — if she was the type to be helpful at all. Most of the time she complained of headaches, and stayed in bed with her bottle of laudanum. Whenever Nathan was inclined to become impatient with his brother, with his occasionally heavy-handed ways, he thought of how Jeremiah had to endure such a stone around his neck, and kept quiet.

  As for Lida and Grace and Jennie — well, Grace had a newborn to manage, and Lida’s talent for speaking with the dead wasn’t of much use in the heat of battle. Jennie could call flame to her, which was a more battle-worthy skill. However, since she was a Winfield, she would have been forced to fight her own cousins. Nathan couldn’t have asked that of her. It was enough that she had chosen to stay with him, rather than return to her own people.

  The memory of that loyalty made him feel even more ashamed of the way he had reacted to Hannah McAllister. Yes, sometimes physical attractions were utterly perplexing, and difficult to control, but he knew he should dismiss that attraction, lest it get him into trouble.

  And, he thought, you had best stop thinking about Hannah at all, unless you want your brother to start asking questions you do not wish to answer.