Changing Nature (The Immortal Descendants Book 3) Page 4

  Alex quickly squeezed my hand before taking a seat next to Adam on one of the sofas. Mom and I each sat in an armchair, and the Armans sat across from us on the other sofa. When everyone was settled, I gave them the Cliffs Notes version of the previous night’s events.

  “Saira has been a Monger target for months,” my mom continued after I had finished. “But the fact that Alexandra’s cousin is mixed would certainly beg one to wonder if the missing people weren’t targeted because of their parentage.” I guess my mom had always been diplomatic; I’d just never really noticed how effective it could be. No one got twisted up or defensive when she spoke. It was worth the mental note, filed under the “how not to piss people off” category of my brain. It wasn’t a category I usually gave much thought to, sadly.

  Camille’s gaze went to me. “And Mr. Devereux’s genealogy is still in his possession?” There was a twinge of accusation in her tone, and I knew how much it chapped her that Archer hadn’t given her the book when we’d stolen it back from the Mongers a couple of months before.

  “Yes. But it hasn’t been updated since 1888, so it wouldn’t be a good resource for finding mixed-bloods now.”

  “It is a resource, nonetheless.”

  I met her gaze without flinching. “The genealogy is safe.”

  “Have you heard anything from the Mongers at council, Camille?” My mom was pretty masterful and redirecting the conversation, and I thought she’d make a great Clocker Head. If she had stayed in her native time the job would have been hers, and probably still could be. At this point I wasn’t sure Millicent would give up the job, even though my mom was technically the most senior member of the Elian Family.

  “Nothing specific. But I intend to call a special council meeting on Monday. If the Descendants of War have, indeed, taken it upon themselves to address the situation of mixed-bloods in this manner, it must be stopped.”

  “Why is being mixed-blood even a situation?” I couldn’t help it. I was the stir-stick in the pot every time, and I could feel the collective breath-holding in the room. For once, I didn’t get the full weight of Camille’s gaze. She turned it to my mom.

  “I realize it’s quite rude to ask this of you, Claire, and of course you can tell me to piss off if you like.” That earned a grin from Adam and twin looks of shock on Ava’s and my faces. “Is it true that Saira’s father was a Shifter?”

  My mother answered quietly, but with steel in her voice. “My husband was next in line to head the Shifter clan, yes.”

  “My God,” I suddenly blurted. I’d never really put it together before. “Two Family Heads married to each other? They must’ve been crapping their pants at the idea of so much power concentration.”

  My mother winced at my language choice, but nodded. “It had occurred to us that if the Families were able to get past the illegality of our union, one of us would have had to step down .”

  “Do you think that’s why the council in 1871 went so ballistic on you guys? Because if you wanted to, you could have tied up the council on any issue you didn’t agree with.”

  My mom looked suddenly fierce. “The motivation at the heart of most conflict, Saira, is fear. I believe the Descendants of War have one appreciable skill – the ability to take and keep power. Anything which threatens that is eliminated, be it a union between two other Families or the unaccountable combination of skills with which the offspring of such a union would be endowed. They also have a unique ability to persuade. For some inexplicable reason, Mongers have been able to convince otherwise intelligent people that wrong is right, discrimination is appropriate, and division is unifying. It is among the most frightening and dangerous of their abilities.”

  And on the heels of that delightful depiction of Mongers, she stood to go. “Camille, James, thank you for hearing us out. I don’t envy you the conversations at council, but I appreciate that you’re willing to have them. I can’t say the same for Millicent, at least not with any certainty. And sadly, Bob Shaw’s Family name still carries absolutely no weight with the Shifter clan Head, so I can’t guarantee that support either. I’m afraid Saira and I have come to you with a problem and no solution.”

  Camille stood and gave my mom a quick kiss on each cheek. “It’s time the continuation of the mixed-blood moratorium became a dialogue rather than an edict. Thank you for bringing it to us, and for your confidence. Our discretion is absolute.”

  “I understand and appreciate that, if only until the laws against mixed-bloods have changed.”

  My mom had just publically declared herself a breaker of Descendant law. It was bold and dangerous, and I’d do whatever I could to keep her safe.

  I hugged my friends goodbye, and Ava said she’d drag them all out to the country to visit me soon. Adam walked us out to my mom’s car.

  “Devereux’s with you?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Make sure you take care of each other, then.”

  I smiled. “That’s what we do.”

  Mr. Shaw had made a habit of coming out to Elian Manor around dinner time on weekends so he could spend time with Mom and then do some research work with us after dark when Archer was up. We had pretty much taken over the library, and I had set myself up at an old, dark wood table with legs that twisted around each other. It was a totally masculine piece of furniture except for the unexpected elegance of its legs, and it felt like a table I’d want to own. Mr. Shaw always worked at the massive boardroom table that dominated the room, and Archer usually just sat wherever his stack of books ended up.

  The three of us had worked like that for the past month of weekends, poring over all the histories and genealogies we could find in the old manor house. One thing about Clockers, we knew our history, and we had the literature to back it up. We’d been searching for the powerful Shifters in history, since we were pretty sure that was the next blood Wilder needed to collect. There was also the chance of finding his name in the historical record. It was the biggest needle-in-the-haystack search I’d ever done, especially since I kept getting distracted by all the Shifters I stumbled across in the Family books. I had no idea that William Wallace, of Scottish “Freedom!” fame had been a Bear Shifter and was distantly related to Mr. Shaw. And Hannibal used elephants to cross the Alps because he was an Elephant.

  So, after a very lively dinner conversation about whether there were more Shifters or Mongers among the great warriors in history, I left Mr. Shaw and my mom to walk in the garden while I went to the library.

  Which is where Doran found me.

  “The real history never makes the books; you do know that, right?”

  I always pictured a world traveler in my head when I heard Doran’s voice. Laid back, don’t-need-more-than-a-passport-in-the-pocket-and-a-credit-card kind of guy. I didn’t look up from my book when I answered.

  “Considering the stories are usually told by the victor, it’s always going to be a little one-sided.”

  “Oh, but even more interesting is what doesn’t make the books at all. Or was there, and then isn’t.”

  Enigmatic and infuriating. I finally looked up and met Doran’s eyes. In contrast to his laid-back voice, he was dressed in a very stylish, very expensive jeans and sport coat combination. He looked like he had just stepped off a runway, but the good looks were lost on me when all I wanted to do was yell at him to get to the point, because clearly he had one. So instead, I smiled sweetly and spoke in my most saccharine voice. “Hello, Doran. It’s been awhile.”

  He grinned, like he knew what it cost me to be civil to him and was hugely entertained by my effort. “You were busy. I didn’t want to get in your way or distract you from, you know …”

  “From keeping the time stream intact? Gee, thanks for the help. Winging it with history isn’t my idea of a great time.”

  Doran dismissed my growly-ness with a wave of his hand. “Maybe not, but it’s always an education. And you did fine. Well, except for losing one to the skill-collector.”

  It too
k me a second to realize the “one” he was talking about was Tom, and the skill-collector was Wilder, who grabbed Tom just before he Clocked out of 1554. It felt like a gut-punch, and I wasn’t prepared to still feel so much pain where Tom Landers was concerned. I struggled to get my verbal feet back under me.

  “Skill-collector. An interesting term.”

  “It is actually interesting that each skill becomes stronger when he collects them. I can’t say I expected that, although I’m not surprised. The mixes have always been much more entertaining than pure strains.”

  No matter how much Doran wound me up, there was always something vital smeared around under his words.

  “So that’s why I can Clock off the default range? Because I’m mixed?”

  He shrugged, unconcerned. “I assume so. And since you brought it up, you may want to consider that defaults are useful when one is on the run and carrying a passenger.”

  “You mean Wilder, right? You think he just did a simple one-ring jump?”

  His eyes sparkled like he was holding back the punchline on a very funny joke. “Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” He turned to go, and I was seriously considering leaping onto his back like a wild thing and making him tell me more when he paused, then pulled a piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He tossed it on the library table and met my glare, the twinkle in his own eyes curiously gone. “For you. Because you care about such things.”

  I made the mistake of looking at the paper instead of keeping my eyes locked on him, because, of course, he was gone when I looked up again. Damn! I hated when he did that.

  The paper he’d left was old and seemed to have been torn out of some kind of notebook. The handwriting was cramped and the ink was faded, but I had spent long hours deciphering Victorian handwriting and immediately recognized this as a kind of logbook. My eyes were trying to find something to land on in the tight handwriting, and suddenly a name jumped out at me: Jonathan Starkey to be remanded to Newgate on July 20th, 1889.

  Jonathan Starkey was Ringo’s real name.

  What the hell was Newgate? Because being remanded anywhere did not sound good. I did a quick Google search and then sucked in a horrified breath.

  Newgate Prison.

  “Crap!”

  “What?” Archer was just coming in the door and my eyes met his wildly.

  “They’re putting Ringo in prison.”

  Archer’s expression looked like mine must have as I handed him the torn paper. He scanned it quickly. “It’s a court clerk’s log. Where did you get this?”

  “Fricking Doran. ‘Because you care about such things,’ he said.”

  “I can’t go.” Archer’s voice came out a little strangled. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead, although if I had, I would have already drawn a spiral right there on the library table.

  “Go where?” Mr. Shaw and my mom had just entered the room, and they could probably sense the tension coursing through it.

  I took a breath to slow my heartbeat down, and then told them everything Doran had just said. “I have to go get him.” I had no choice, and no idea how to break my friend out of whatever holding cell they had him in. The prospect of another trip to Victorian times was totally daunting.

  “I’ll go with you.” Mr. Shaw’s deep voice startled me out of whatever plan was trying to form in my head.

  “No, Bob. You stay here and work with Archer to search for Wilder in 1429. I’ll go with Saira.”

  My jaw would have hit the table if it hadn’t been hinged. My mom was offering to Clock with me? But wait … something … “1429. That’s a one-ring jump back from 1554? That’s when Henry Grayson – the Clocker kid I met at St. Brigid’s - was going. He called it his mission and said his birthday was foretold as a ‘triumphant day for England’ or something like that. It stuck in my head because he was so proud to go.”

  “You told me you thought Doran had sent you to St. Brigid’s on purpose.” Archer’s voice was low and thoughtful.

  “Yeah, he did.” I screwed my eyes shut and rubbed them. “Have I said how much I hate him yet?”

  Archer smiled grimly and pulled me into his arms. “We’ll look at the history books for events around the simple jumps, and see if it’s anything more than a coincidence that you met someone going to 1429 when we might be looking for Wilder there. How will you get Ringo out?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’ll find Charlie, I guess, and go from there.”

  My mom’s voice was thoughtful. “This logbook is from Old Bailey. I know that building. It’s where the Descendants’ Council used to meet and where my husband was captured.”

  I gasped. The council massacre. My mom’s expression was strained, and I knew what this whole conversation was costing her.

  “There’s a spiral there.” Her voice was bleak even though the words were electric. “I can get us there with the necklace.”

  “But …” there were so many things spinning around my head I couldn’t grasp just one to say coherently.

  Archer picked up the logbook entry. “This is dated July 19th, 1889. He will have been sentenced that day, so you can take him from there.”

  I turned to my mother. “Are you sure, Mom?” I searched her eyes and found them full of love – and fear. She touched my cheek with a shaking hand.

  “I’m sure.”

  The closets at Elian Manor were like the St. Brigid’s attics, only better because they didn’t smell like mothballs and wet wool. Within an hour my mom and I were downstairs dressed in Victorian period clothing. She had on a finely woven, wine-colored wool dress, and I wore men’s trousers and a top coat. Sanda, Millicent’s housekeeper, who is a Hobbit even though she’s descended from the Picts, wanted to put me in a dress, but surprisingly, my mom was on my side.

  “I would wear trousers, too, if I looked more like a man and less like a cross-dresser in them. Men had all the rights and the freedoms, and if I’m with a man, no one will even give me a second look.”

  Sanda grumbled, but not about the unseemliness, like I assumed. Her beef was that there were so many beautiful dresses in the manor house that weren’t being worn. I promised her I’d bring Ava and her niece Olivia over for an afternoon to play dress-up, and as ridiculous as it sounded when I said it, I thought it might actually be fun.

  I debated banding my daggers to my lower legs, but realized I’d probably lose them if I had to run. So instead I wrapped a piece of cotton cloth around my waist, under my shirt, and was able to secure them in the layers of it. Now that I had them, I couldn’t imagine going unarmed.

  When Mom and I got back downstairs, Archer was outside on watch for any lurkers on the property. Millicent stood with Mr. Shaw, glaring at him like he’d just offended her in the worst possible way. When she saw us, it was clear we were the offenders.

  “I don’t know what you two think you’re doing in those ridiculous clothes. You’re not going anywhere tonight, either of you. And certainly not on an ill-conceived rescue mission for a nineteenth-century street urchin.”

  I took a breath to launch a missile strike, but my mom beat me to it. Her expression was thunderous, and frankly, I couldn’t imagine where she found all the rage she unleashed in one of those calm, cold, scary voices that do way more damage than yelling ever could.

  “Millicent Elian. As charming as it is that you believe you have any say over what my daughter does, you and I both know that she is her own woman and has been for some time. And as for your attempts to dictate to me, it has gone on long enough. You’ve done an adequate job heading our Family for several decades; however, I believe it is time for a change in leadership. When I return from 1889, I’ll be taking over as Head of the Clocker Families. If you find you cannot live with that, I will expect you to find another place to reside as well. Otherwise, I’m happy to continue sharing my home with you.”

  Oh. My. God! Apparently my mother had been abducted by aliens who surgically implanted a rod of steel in her spine. I almos
t clapped. Except all the color had drained from Millicent’s face, and I seriously thought she was going to pass out. I must have unconsciously moved closer to her to catch her if she fell, because she suddenly recoiled.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  I flinched from the venom in her voice, but when she took a step toward the door and stumbled, I moved to her side and held her arm. “Do you want to sit, or should I take you to your rooms?”

  Millicent didn’t look at me. Her eyes were only for my mother. “They’re not my rooms, are they?”

  The thunder disappeared from my mom’s expression as quickly as it had come. She looked tired. “Of course they are, Millicent. I’ll come to you in the morning, and we’ll talk. Bob, could you see Millicent to her rooms, please?”

  Mr. Shaw hadn’t moved a muscle since we entered the room, but my mom’s request seemed to jolt him back into himself. He moved to Millicent’s side and took her other arm, letting her lean on him as she walked stiffly from the room.

  When we were alone in the library, I stared at the woman I thought I’d known for almost eighteen years. She looked sad, but stronger than I’d ever seen her.

  “You okay, Mom?”

  She took a shaky breath. “I suppose I will be.”

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  Claire Elian looked me in the eyes. “If I don’t do this now, Saira, I’m afraid I’ll never Clock again. The fear is paralyzing, and I will not let it control me.” She took a breath. “It’s time.”

  Old Bailey – July, 1889

  The Elian Manor Clocker spiral didn’t have its own special room or even its own painting like the one in the Clocker Tower at St. Brigid’s School. The spiral was in the walled garden that Millicent had allowed to stay overgrown and untended, and which my mom had reclaimed as her own when we moved in seven months ago.