awkward
questions but I certainly wasn't going to shy away from them. If I was to spend
time alone with him, I needed to know more about him.
"About nine
months ago. I was eighteen." He shook his head, dismissing the topic. "Are
you ready?"
So much for my
investigative scheme. "Where are we going?"
He strode to the
door. I pulled on my boots, quickly laced them and followed at a trot. "The
house of someone I went to school with," he said, opening the door. "George
Culvert. He lives in the Belgravia area with his mother."
"And why
are we visiting this Mr. Culvert?"
He turned around
and his gaze dropped to my waist and hips. His mouth fell open and a small,
strangled sound escaped. "You're going to wear that ?"
"Something
wrong with it?"
"No,"
he said thickly. "But can you breathe?"
"Sometimes."
He laughed
softly. "I like it. It's very...snug."
"So what
were you saying about George Culvert?"
His gaze lifted
to mine and a shiver rippled down my spine. His eyes blazed like blue flames but
then he blinked rapidly and shifted his focus to something behind my left
shoulder. He cleared his throat. "He's a demonologist."
"A what?"
"A
demonologist. Someone who studies demons, fallen angels, that sort of thing."
He waved a hand casually, as if 'that sort of thing' was like studying for a
career in law. "We can't wait until tomorrow to start looking for this
demon. We have to start today. Now." He ushered me through the door onto
the landing without actually touching me.
"Before it
hurts someone?" I asked.
His gaze met
mine for a brief second but in that moment I saw genuine worry in his eyes. There
was no need for him to answer me. We both knew the demon might have already
killed overnight.
"Why didn't
it attack us when it was released in Mrs. Wiggam's house?"
"Until it
makes contact with the master who set the curse on the amulet and controls it,
the demon is weak and relies on instinct. It would have seen it was outnumbered
and felt too vulnerable to attack so it fled. Once it felt safe, it would begin
to search for nourishment."
I swallowed. "How
awful. So tell me more about this Culvert fellow."
"George's
father was a demonologist before his death and George has an interest in the field
too."
"Demonology,"
I said. "What an odd thing to study."
"Not
really. You'd be surprised at how many people are interested in the paranormal.
Although I doubt there's much money in it. Not sure how his father could have
sent George to Eton. He must have had another source of income."
"You went
to Eton?" The boy's school was the most exclusive in all of England. Money
wasn't enough to get accepted into the school, it required wealth and privilege. It would seem Jacob's family had both. Another piece to the puzzle
that was Jacob Beaufort fell into place.
He shrugged and
it would seem the question was dismissed, just like that. As if it were
nothing. As if my curiosity could be swept away without consideration. It was
most frustrating.
"I'll meet
you there," he said. "I need to speak to more spirits in the Waiting
Area."
"About the
meaning of the words spoken in the incantation?"
He nodded. "The
language must be an obscure one as none of the spirits I've asked so far knew its
meaning. And anyway, someone might have heard of another demonologist who can
aid us. That's how I learned Culvert's name."
"I thought
you went to school with him."
"I did but
we didn't socialize. Different friends, you understand."
I didn't. Not
really. My formal schooling had finished at age thirteen, as it did for most
girls, and I'd known every pupil at the small school. After I left, Mama had
continued to tutor me and then Celia had tried after Mama's death, but much of
my understanding of the world had come from reading books left behind in
Celia's father's study. He'd been a lawyer and a great reader apparently. His study
was still in tact and the bookshelves covered two entire walls, but most of the
books were dry texts with only a few novels