I did look my best tonight. I'd chosen my hooded black velvet cloak with the crimson silk lining. Mama had had the cloak made for me for ceremonies and spell casting but I'd taken to wearing it more often than that since I'd never quite understood the current fashion of constructing long, warm cloaks and then leaving off the sleeves. My dark copper hair was pulled up on the sides and fell in cascading curls to the center of my back. The piece de resistance though was what was under the cloak, what I was careful not to reveal to Mr. Pendergra.s.s or the others, especially Mrs. Mackenzie.

The dress had been made for the mistress of a duke and surely not with the intention of going out in public. I'd bought it secretly from my modiste using every bit of pin money I'd had saved. I had seen it in the back room and had to have it. Of course, I could never wear it outside the privacy of my own room. It was a Cyprian's dress, a creation for a high-cla.s.s courtesan. Crimson silk, which happily matched the lining of my cloak, it clung to every one of my generous curves. Shockingly sleeveless and scandalously low-cut in a deeply plunging V, its skirt fell from the satin band below my b.r.e.a.s.t.s to hug my hips ever so slightly and swirl out in a tiny flare at the floor.

At night when the house was quiet I frequently retrieved it from its hiding place in the bottom of my wardrobe and slid it on. I would put my hair up and dig out the stash of rouge and kohl I had secreted in my dressing table, darkening my lips and applying the kohl to my already black lashes and around my eyes. I would stand in front of my mirror in my scandalous dress with my face all tarted up and pretend I was one of Those Women. I was a viscount's daughter and I would never have the chance to be anything but prim and proper, but for a few hours every so often I would slip on this dress and pretend I was someone else, someone entirely improper. I hoped that wearing the dress tonight would give me the courage to do what I had to do.

"Are you ready?" Mr. Pendergra.s.s asked.

Mrs. Mackenzie, Fiona and Archie were upstairs, safely locked away in my parents' suite with an a.r.s.enal of holy objects and the Holy Water from St. James'. Mr. Pendergra.s.s would supervise my spell and then join them, keeping them safe while I waited.

I'd already laid out the circle of candles, more than I really needed for doing the spell but, without lighting the great chandeliers, the ballroom would be dark as a cave in less than half an hour when the sun set. I stepped into the circle and laid the little stone bowl of charged herbs in the center. I also had a jar of sea salt for cleansing the sacred s.p.a.ce. I should actually use sea salt and water but I couldn't bring myself to pour that onto the exquisite hardwood floors; the salt alone would do and be easier to clean up later.

Taking the jar, I walked to the edge of the circle facing north. Slowly I poured the salt out as I walked the circle clockwise.

"By the power of the Macgregor witches which dwells inside me, I consecrate this s.p.a.ce to the G.o.ddess and banish all negative energies which may reside here. I ask for the blessing of the G.o.ddess that nothing shall enter here unless I allow it and no harm shall come to me inside this circle. Let the sacred circle be cleansed. So mote it be," I said solemnly as I completed the circle.

I looked at Mr. Pendergra.s.s once more.

"Very good," he said, gently, leaning on his amber-tipped staff. "Now cast your circle and work your spell. You can do this, Dulcinea. You've cast a circle dozens of times, seen it done thousands of times. Don't worry, I'll help you focus."

I nodded and walked back to the center of the circle and closed my eyes, giving myself up to the magic, not so much letting it in but letting it out. It was already inside me, now I just needed to free it, to let it work for me. I took the image I remembered of the iridescent gold wave in the Winter Garden and focused on it. I imagined it radiating from me and enveloping me, creating not just a circle but a sphere of magic, of protection, around me. I walked to the edge of my circle. Facing north I started to walk clockwise around the perimeter, visualizing the circle of golden energy following me until I'd walked the entire circle and the golden light filled it.

As I walked the circle the second time I said, "By the power of the Macgregor witches which dwells inside me, I cast this circle to protect me from harm so that I may work in the name of the G.o.ddess. I bless this circle in the name of the Lady and the Lord."

As I walked the third time around and came back to north I said, "The sacred s.p.a.ce is created, the circle is cast. So mote it be!"

I knew the instant the circle had closed; I felt it like a sharp click somewhere deep inside me. The circle was filled with golden light, light which came from me, and it was beautiful. I raised my arms to call the quarters and at a thought the candles around the northern edge of the circle flared to life.

"Hail to the Guardians of the Watchtowers of the North, powers of the Earth Mother! I summon, stir and call you to aid my work and protect my circle. I hail and welcome you!"

I moved east and the candles there lit at a thought. "Hail to the Guardians of the Watchtowers of the East, powers of Air and Invention! I summon, stir and call you to aid my work and protect my circle. I hail and welcome you!"

I moved to the south and the candles flared before I'd even thought to light them. I froze, scared. It meant that I was losing focus already. I certainly didn't want to get carried away and burn the house down. My mind reached out for Mr. Pendergra.s.s and I could feel him, feel his energy, his magic, like a cool breeze across my skin, calming and steadying me. I took a deep breath.

"Hail to the Guardians of the Watchtowers of the South, powers of Fire and Pa.s.sion! I summon, stir and call you to aid my work and protect my circle. I hail and welcome you!"

Turning west I felt more in control; the candles lit as they were supposed to and I continued, "Hail to the Guardians of the Watchtowers of the West, powers of Water and Intuition! I summon, stir and call you to aid my work and protect my circle. I hail and welcome you!"

I returned to the center of the circle, to my little bowl of charged herbs. Kneeling, I put my hands on the bowl. The herbs inside would help in focusing and summoning. There was cinnamon, frankincense, myrrh, mint, and dragon's blood (which is actually a plant and not literally the blood of a dragon) crushed and mixed together in the bowl. I concentrated, feeling my palms tingle with warmth as I willed the herbs to a slow burn. Eventually the rather singular scent of the contents of the bowl reached my nostrils. It was time to work the spell.

"I call on you, Morrigan, Great Phantom Queen, Keeper of Death, to aid me as only you can. I call on you to fly far and wide on the wings of a black raven and bring to me those whom I seek. As the Keeper of Death, the guardian of those who have fallen in battle, I ask that you bring to me three of the undead, those whose lives you have taken but who still walk among us. I call The Righteous to me that they may aid me in my battle. Fly, Morrigan! Fly and bring them to me. By your grace, may my will be done.

So mote it be."

I felt my power fling out of the circle, felt it flow through the very walls like an iridescent cloud, and move out into the world. It was like a fast-moving mist, rushing along green hills, through the forests. It was seeking, searching, like a hound after a fox. I sat very still and waited. I couldn't see images but I could feel it in my head, as if I were a part of the mist itself. I felt it when the wave of power entered a large concentration of people because its search slowed. They must be in London; anyplace else with a population that large would have taken longer to reach. I felt the mist change shape, taking the form of Morrigan's raven it circled and dived through the streets. I was still sightless but I could feel the sensation of flying, the rush of the breeze past my face. And then it stopped.

I'd found them! I could feel two, the female and one of the males. It must have been Devlin for he was old, older than anything I'd known, and strong. My power pulled at him and he resisted. The resistance was like a psychic slap. He was angry with me. Oh joy.

The spell moved to the female but he held her with him, lending his strength. Searching, it moved on, finding the other male alone.

By the G.o.ddess, this one I would have! Taking a deep breath, I flung every ounce of concentration I possessed into the spell. Just as Sebastian had talked to me so I talked to the Devil's Archangel.

"Come to me. Come," I whispered. And I felt him stir. I had him.

I felt horribly guilty about using the same sort of compulsion on the vampire that Sebastian had used on me. I knew how frightening it was, but it couldn't be helped. If I'd had time I would have gone into London and found them myself but there wasn't time. If I wanted to live there wasn't time. So I did what was necessary and I'd beg forgiveness later.

I stayed in the circle until I was sure that the vampire was coming and the two older ones hadn't stopped him. Satisfied, I gathered my energy and rose to close the circle. I began by releasing the quarters.

"Guardians of the Watchtowers of the West, I thank you for your aid and protection. I release you and bid you farewell."

I repeated this south, east and north. I should have extinguished the candles as part of the ritual but I didn't since I'd only have to light them again later to see by. When I reached north I walked the circle once counterclockwise, pulling all that lovely golden energy back inside me as I walked.

"I open this circle and send its spell into the world, may it do my bidding. The circle is open but unbroken. So mote it be."

I stood in my circle, blinking a bit like someone who had just woken from a dream. I'd done it! I'd really done it! Or rather, we had done it. Mr. Pendergra.s.s was leaning heavily on his staff. I had no illusions that I could have performed this spell myself. The magic was all mine but without Mr. Pendergra.s.s to help me focus, to lend his centering energy to my circle, I wouldn't have gotten past calling the quarters. I looked at him with appreciation and not a little weariness.

"It worked," I said. "Did you feel it?"

"Yes. You did well tonight, Dulcinea. Your mother would have been proud."

I smiled at that. "So," I said with a heavy sigh, "Now we wait."

He looked at me, smiling a weary smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and nodded. "So now we wait."

Chapter Eight

Somewhere in the depths of the house a clock chimed midnight. I sat in the ballroom, alone, my back against the far wall and waited. I'd taken off my cloak but the chill in the large, empty room soon prompted me to settle it back over my shoulders. I hooked the clasp but didn't bother to put my arms through the sleeves. Snuggling deeper into the folds I shivered. Dear G.o.ddess, what had I done? I'd invited three vampires into my home to save me from the one outside it. I would have laughed if I'd been able.

The wind picked up, beating against the gla.s.s on either side of me like some living thing pounding to gain entrance. I picked my head up and looked around, my heart hammering in my chest. He was here; he was close.

One of the terrace doors to my left crashed open and the wind blew a swirl of dried autumn leaves into the ballroom, the leaves twirling around each other in little eddies like fairies waltzing across the floor. They drew my attention for only a moment. What stood in the doorway was far more fascinating.

I had expected him to be bigger somehow, like some great hulking demon, but the fact that he wasn't didn't dampen the frisson of sheer terror that blew through me when I first saw him. Terror, oh yes, and something else. Something that made my blood sing and my stomach tighten just to look at him.

He was several inches shy of six feet and built like some sleek, angry jungle cat. Michael. The Devil's Archangel. And indeed that face should have only belonged to some fallen G.o.d or angel. He was too unearthly beautiful, too starkly dangerous, to be real. His hair was dark blonde and longer than had been fashionable any time in this century. It was tied back at his nape except for several strands that had worked themselves free, as if tousled by the wind or by a lover's hand. His brows were darker, set over eyes that were either blue or green, but what took a face that was merely handsome and catapulted it into the realm of mesmerizing or G.o.dlike were his cheekbones. Sharp as a knife's edge, they made my breath catch just to look at him. The candlelight flickered across his face, casting deep shadows in the hollows under those incredible cheekbones, drawing my attention down to his lips.

Neither full nor thin they were incredibly sensual, shaped in such a way as to make me wonder what they'd feel like against mine, what they'd feel like trailing along the bare skin of my throat. The thought made me shiver again but this time not in cold or fear.

In truth, he looked more like a pirate than a vampire. Tall black leather boots encased his legs up to mid-thigh and a simple white linen shirt was tucked haphazardly into his black breeches, as if he'd dressed in a hurry. Perhaps my summons had pulled him from a lover's bed? I didn't much like that thought. His shirt was open at the neck, exposing a smooth expanse of pale chest, its full sleeves gathered at the wrist in a small fall of lace. That lace should have looked feminine but instead drew my gaze to his hands which gripped either side of the door frame. They were strong, the fingers long and blunted. His knuckles looked as if he'd seen more than his share of brawls and I wondered briefly whose blood ran in the veins that stood out on the backs of his hands. He was not armed with so much as a dagger but when his fingers clenched on the door frame and I heard the soft crack of the wood underneath I realized that those beautiful, lethal hands were weapons in themselves. And even knowing that, all I could think of was what they would feel like on my skin, moving up my arm, drawing my hair aside, moving lower...

He made a sound, a growl like that of the jungle cat to which I had likened him. That sound had never come from any human mouth.

"Witch," he whispered and pushed away from the door. And then he was moving, crossing the ballroom with such malevolent grace and inhuman speed that it was only two heartbeats before he was nearly upon me.

Driven by fear and an instinct for self-preservation, I raised one hand as he reached for me and my power flowed out of me, hitting him in the chest and lifting him off his feet. In one fluid movement I spun both of us around and pinned him to the wall. He looked surprised, and quite frankly so was I, but there was no way in h.e.l.l I was going to let him know that. He was suspended several inches off the floor, my hand on his chest. My fingers fairly itched to slip inside the open V of his shirt, to feel his skin. Would he be warm or cold? Raising my head I looked at him. His eyes were a blue-gray, with a just a hint of green.

"Play nicely, vampire, or I'll stake you where you stand," I said, my hood falling back as I looked up. "I have no wish to hurt you, I need your help, but I will defend myself if necessary."

He stilled, those haunting eyes slowly moving over every inch of my face, then lower to where my cloak fell open to reveal a generous swell of breast. His gaze lingered there. Tension hummed between us and if he had half as much interest in my body as I had in his then perhaps I could use that to my advantage. I reached up with my free hand, flicked open the clasp at my throat and with a shrug dropped the cloak to the floor. The silk lining slithered down my body on a sigh, leaving me clad in only the sleeveless crimson gown. I swayed and caught myself bare inches from pressing against him. The magic it was taking to hold him to the wall was draining. When he made no move to hurt me I cautiously lowered him and turned him loose, my hand trailing needlessly down his chest. I felt his muscles contract under my fingers and had to force myself to pull away from him.

I reached up and brushed my hair away from my neck, exposing the two puncture wounds still visible there. He frowned, reaching out to touch me, his fingertips slowly tracing the bite, his thumb caressing the pulse at the base of my throat. Those deadly hands were warm and so very, very strong. I wanted to wrap myself up in him, to feel his arms around me, to feel safe again. My breath rushed out in a quivering sigh.

"I see you've met one of my kind," he said softly, his Scots brogue not as thick as it should have been, as if he'd lived a long time among the English. "What is it you want of me, la.s.s? Vengeance? Shall I slay him for daring to lay his mouth on this pretty white flesh?"

There was a strange look on his face, a look of anger, of hunger, perhaps even of jealousy.

"No, I want you to slay him because he's going to kill me."

"Do you now?" he murmured.

"That is what you do, is it not? Protect the innocent?"

"And are you?" he asked, moving closer. His hand moved to my jaw, tilting my face up to his. His lips were close, so close. "Are you innocent?" he asked softly, and I had the feeling we were not talking about the same thing.

"She'd better be or I'll drain her dry for this," said an impatient voice behind me.

I gasped and whirled around, unconsciously backing up half a step and pressing my back against Michael's chest. I nearly groaned aloud when his hands slid up my bare arms to cup my shoulders.

Devlin, the Dark Lord. Michael had surprised me but the Devil was everything I had expected and more. Well over six feet tall, he was all darkness and menace. Black hair, black eyes, he was incredibly handsome with an arrogant nose and a square jaw. His neck was corded with muscle. A black silk shirt that he hadn't even bothered to tuck in fit his wide shoulders to perfection and skimmed the tops of his rock-hard thighs. His breeches were black and so were the boots that rose just above the knee. In one hand he gripped a sword that looked as if it weighed as much as I did and yet he stood there, absently tapping it against one booted leg as if it weighed next to nothing. By the G.o.ddess, if Michael was like a lithe panther this man resembled nothing short of a brick wall. I could well see how he would have been the champion of his day. He leveled that dark gaze on me and inwardly I cringed.

"Do you know who we are, little girl?" he asked. His voice was incredible. All deep and gravelly, it sc.r.a.ped over me like sand against my skin.

"Yes," I answered. "You are The Righteous. You are the defenders of the innocent, the dispensers of justice to those of your kind."

"And not," he said with another slap of his sword, "to be dragged around like dogs on a chain by capricious little witches."

Michael chuckled behind me. "Now Devlin, I'm the one she dragged from a warm bed, you simply followed. If anyone's to do the scolding here, it should be me."

"Ah yes, so sorry old friend, that I interrupted the tongue lashing you were about to give her," Devlin said with healthy innuendo.

I squirmed and pulled away from Michael. "I apologize for the rudeness of my summons," I said with as much arrogance as Devlin was directing toward me, "but I needed your help and, honestly, what was I to do? Walk into any dockside pub and inquire as to where I might find three vampires? And not just any vampires, mind you, but The Righteous, the walking nightmares of the undead?"

Feminine laughter trilled through the ballroom. "Well, she certainly has you there, mon amour."

I had been so engrossed by the men I hadn't even noticed the woman lounging in the doorway, one shoulder resting on the frame, her arms crossed under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s weren't as large as mine but were still more than ample, swelling temptingly above her courtesan's dress.

Justine. The Devil's Justice. She was everything Archie's cousin had written she was. Her hair was a pale silvery blonde, like the full moon on a wheat field, piled high with cascading ringlets. Her eyes were a clear blue, tilted up at the corners like a cat's and darkened with kohl. Her lips were full and red, her nose slightly roman and the only thing that kept her face from being cla.s.sically beautiful. It did, however, give her a look of strength, of something exotic. There was something indefinable about her that made you imagine her naked in a bed, all that glorious hair tousled around her, her eyes sleepy and heavy-lidded from lovemaking. And I was a woman! I couldn't imagine the effect she had on men. But she knew. Oh yes. She had power, this one, and she knew well how to use it.

Devlin's eyes softened at the mere sound of her voice. He quietly transferred his sword to his left hand and, without even looking back at her, held out one hand. She stalked across the ballroom, hips swaying seductively, and nestled herself against him. She was tall, all legs under that gown, and she fit against him like she was made to be there. Laying her head on his shoulder, she regarded me with frank curiosity.

"Well, what have we here, mon ami?" she asked.

Michael moved up behind me again, reaching out and touching a lock of my hair, twining it around his finger. "I haven't quite figured that out yet."

At least two out of three of them were looking at me like I was perhaps dangerous, probably hysterical and most likely wasting their time. I had the sudden fear that if what I had to say didn't interest them, and quickly, that I might end up as a midnight snack.

One I could have handled, possibly two, but the three of them together were fraying my nerves. I fell back on the one thing I knew how to do with aplomb: be a gracious hostess.

Gesturing to the doors on the far side of the room I said, "Perhaps we would be more comfortable discussing this matter in the green drawing room? I could offer you some..."

Oh dear. What kind of refreshments did one offer the undead? I was betting tea and cakes wouldn't be their first choice but neither was I going to be so accommodating as to offer to open a vein for any of them. I turned to Michael with a questioning look.

He smiled and if there were fangs in his mouth I couldn't see them. "A wee spot of that whiskey you were drinking earlier would do me well."

I jerked back and blushed slightly. Proper English ladies certainly did not drink whiskey and I was embarra.s.sed to be caught at it.

"How did you know?"

"Vampires have an excellent sense of smell," he said, retrieving my cloak from the floor and holding it out to me. I slipped into it and he offered me his arm. Leaning down, his face brushed against my hair. "You smell of whiskey and wild honeysuckle."

I took his arm, my fingers curling over his bicep which flexed in reaction to my touch. My blush deepened as I imagined sinking my fingernails into those muscles, running my hands up to his shoulders, raking my nails softly down the hard wall of his chest. I shook my head to clear it of the wanton thoughts he seemed to evoke in me.

Devlin and Justine followed at a discreet pace. She was humming and as I turned to look back I saw him sweep her into a circle as if the wide expanse of the ballroom was too much of a temptation for both of them. He was surprisingly graceful for a man of his size. Justine laughed, a sound low and throaty and full of promise.

"Tell me, little witch," she called out. "How are you going to explain our presence to your servants? Your parents? Or is there a husband?"

I felt Michael stiffen at the mention of a husband. "My parents were killed in a carriage accident a week ago, the servants have fled-don't ask, it's a long story- and no, there is no husband."

"You cannot be all alone in the house?" she asked. I tensed. Was she merely curious, or was she hunting?

She laughed. "Ah, I see. You have them locked up in a room somewhere, suitably armed with crosses and Holy Water, no?"

I at least had the grace to look embarra.s.sed, though why I should be I really didn't know. They were vampires, not country gentry.

I had every right to protect my household, such as it was, and yet somehow I felt like a bad hostess for not being able to deny it.

"Don't worry so, la.s.s," Michael said, "we wouldn't touch members of your household. It would be the height of bad manners to feed without our hostess's permission and yon Englishman there," he jerked his head back at Devlin, "has no patience for bad manners. At any rate, we've fed well this night already."

Chapter Nine

I opened the doors to the green drawing room and busied myself pouring four generous tumblers of whiskey. The decanter clanked loudly against the gla.s.s and I stopped and took a deep breath to steady myself. I had called them here, after all. No point getting cold feet now, especially when so much was at stake. When they each had a drink I sat in my mother's favorite chair, watching Michael swirl the amber liquid in his gla.s.s and then take a sip.

"Ah," he said exhaling, a look of pure pleasure on his face. "G.o.d save George Smith."