Read Online The Importance of Being Emily by Robyn Bachar - Free Book Online
Authors: Robyn Bachar
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us.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked.
Michael grimaced. “Because that fact hasn’t changed. And because you might refuse to speak to me again after you see Mr. Gryphon’s body. It is much worse than Miss Morgan. I argued with Lord Willowbrook not to involve you, but he insisted that you examine the scene.”
I paled, but then I forced a brave smile. “Then I will count on you to catch me should I faint.”
“Of course.” He offered his arm and this time I took it, glad for the strength of his presence. There was a weariness about him, as though the air was heavier, weighing him down.
Lord Willowbrook was waiting for us, along with Simon and Dr. Bennett, two people I was not eager to see. They watched me closely, and I felt distinctly like a mouse being eyed by a group of hungry cats.
“Are you prepared to proceed?” Lord Willowbrook asked.
“As much as I can be.”
He motioned for us to follow him, and he led us around a corner. The smell hit me first—blood, an overwhelming amount of it. My visions are almost exclusively sight and sound, and because scents are never included I knew this was not part of one. It was real. My suspicions were confirmed when I spotted Mr. Gryphon’s body. For a horrified moment I stared at it, but then I stumbled and turned away, unable to continue. I tried to catch my breath, but the stench of blood overpowered me, and I fought back a dizzy wave of nausea. Michael held tightly to me, probably assuming I was about to faint as I warned I might, but I remained on my feet.
“Are you all right?” he asked. I nodded, afraid to trust that my voice wouldn’t crack if I replied aloud. “Do you want to return to your room?”
“No,” I whispered. A flicker of movement caught my attention, and I looked up to meet Simon’s gaze as he stood near me. Those calculating blue eyes studied me, and I straightened, imagining him belittling my skills and complaining of the inadequacies of female seers. “No,” I repeated, regaining my voice. “I am well. I will continue.” I patted Michael’s hand to reassure him, and then turned my focus to the investigation.
The scene was gruesome, the stuff of nightmares, but I could not allow myself to be distracted by that. Though the blood turned my stomach, I looked past the gore for any signs of magic or any detail that might be helpful. I stepped closer, clutching the skirt of my dress and lifting it to keep it out of the dark pool. There was so much of it…obviously the necromancer had not drained him as he had Miss Morgan. Her death might have been an accident, but this was brutal and deliberate. It almost appeared as though Mr. Gryphon had been mauled by an animal, his throat torn open and ravaged.
Mr. Gryphon’s body was as devoid of energy as Miss Morgan’s had been, but a cloud hovered above him. I stepped closer to examine it. The energy wasn’t familiar, not a spell or emotion. I hesitantly stretched out my hand to touch it, and I jumped at the indignant rage that burned my fingers. The cloud moved, as no residual energy should, and buzzed around me like a swarm of angry bees. I gasped and stepped back, and it followed as I bumped into Michael.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I think it may be Mr. Gryphon’s spirit,” I guessed.
“Can you speak with him?” Lord Willowbrook asked, and I frowned at him.
“Only a necromancer can speak with the dead,” I replied matter-of-factly.
The cloud moved again, this time rolling away toward a nearby door. I followed as it disappeared through it, and I opened the door. In retrospect, that was probably foolish of me, for the master necromancer could have been waiting on the other side. Thankfully all I found was a servants’ stairwell, narrow and dimly lit. The spirit—if that’s what it was—hovered near the wall. There was the glimmer of a spell there, and I touched it. My hand was burned, and I snatched it away with a hiss of pain. I
“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked.
Michael grimaced. “Because that fact hasn’t changed. And because you might refuse to speak to me again after you see Mr. Gryphon’s body. It is much worse than Miss Morgan. I argued with Lord Willowbrook not to involve you, but he insisted that you examine the scene.”
I paled, but then I forced a brave smile. “Then I will count on you to catch me should I faint.”
“Of course.” He offered his arm and this time I took it, glad for the strength of his presence. There was a weariness about him, as though the air was heavier, weighing him down.
Lord Willowbrook was waiting for us, along with Simon and Dr. Bennett, two people I was not eager to see. They watched me closely, and I felt distinctly like a mouse being eyed by a group of hungry cats.
“Are you prepared to proceed?” Lord Willowbrook asked.
“As much as I can be.”
He motioned for us to follow him, and he led us around a corner. The smell hit me first—blood, an overwhelming amount of it. My visions are almost exclusively sight and sound, and because scents are never included I knew this was not part of one. It was real. My suspicions were confirmed when I spotted Mr. Gryphon’s body. For a horrified moment I stared at it, but then I stumbled and turned away, unable to continue. I tried to catch my breath, but the stench of blood overpowered me, and I fought back a dizzy wave of nausea. Michael held tightly to me, probably assuming I was about to faint as I warned I might, but I remained on my feet.
“Are you all right?” he asked. I nodded, afraid to trust that my voice wouldn’t crack if I replied aloud. “Do you want to return to your room?”
“No,” I whispered. A flicker of movement caught my attention, and I looked up to meet Simon’s gaze as he stood near me. Those calculating blue eyes studied me, and I straightened, imagining him belittling my skills and complaining of the inadequacies of female seers. “No,” I repeated, regaining my voice. “I am well. I will continue.” I patted Michael’s hand to reassure him, and then turned my focus to the investigation.
The scene was gruesome, the stuff of nightmares, but I could not allow myself to be distracted by that. Though the blood turned my stomach, I looked past the gore for any signs of magic or any detail that might be helpful. I stepped closer, clutching the skirt of my dress and lifting it to keep it out of the dark pool. There was so much of it…obviously the necromancer had not drained him as he had Miss Morgan. Her death might have been an accident, but this was brutal and deliberate. It almost appeared as though Mr. Gryphon had been mauled by an animal, his throat torn open and ravaged.
Mr. Gryphon’s body was as devoid of energy as Miss Morgan’s had been, but a cloud hovered above him. I stepped closer to examine it. The energy wasn’t familiar, not a spell or emotion. I hesitantly stretched out my hand to touch it, and I jumped at the indignant rage that burned my fingers. The cloud moved, as no residual energy should, and buzzed around me like a swarm of angry bees. I gasped and stepped back, and it followed as I bumped into Michael.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I think it may be Mr. Gryphon’s spirit,” I guessed.
“Can you speak with him?” Lord Willowbrook asked, and I frowned at him.
“Only a necromancer can speak with the dead,” I replied matter-of-factly.
The cloud moved again, this time rolling away toward a nearby door. I followed as it disappeared through it, and I opened the door. In retrospect, that was probably foolish of me, for the master necromancer could have been waiting on the other side. Thankfully all I found was a servants’ stairwell, narrow and dimly lit. The spirit—if that’s what it was—hovered near the wall. There was the glimmer of a spell there, and I touched it. My hand was burned, and I snatched it away with a hiss of pain. I
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