From The Ashes (The Ministry of Curiosities #6)(78)

Seth grabbed the gun as the general stared dazedly at the imp.

"What is that thing?" Gillingham murmured from behind Lady Harcourt.

"Move aside," Marchbank ordered, pushing past. He, Buchanan and Harcourt rushed in, pails in hand. They tossed water over the flames. Between them and the fast-moving imp, the fire was soon put out.

The kitchen was a charred, ruined mess. I scrambled through the shards of crockery and splintered furniture to Lincoln's still body. Too still.

I brushed his hair off his face and pressed my ear to his mouth. His shallow breaths wheezed. Despite my parched throat, I began to cry.

"Does he live?" Lady Harcourt knelt at my side, a candlestick in hand. Now that the fire was out, it provided the only light.

I nodded and she let out a low wail. The general murmured something at the ceiling and lowered his head. "My boy."

I was too exhausted to tell him Lincoln did not see himself as the general's son.

"Doyle," I rasped. "Fetch Dr. Fawkner."

The butler nodded then disappeared.

I stroked Lincoln's face. Except for the blue-black lump on his forehead, he was so pale. He looked younger, but that could have been because I'd never seen him so helpless. I pressed my lips to his, half kissing, half breathing in the hope that I had the power to keep him alive.

"Get away from him," Lady Harcourt hissed. "You're smothering him."

I cradled his head in my lap, and continued to stroke his hair and watch for signs that he would live. But there was no flutter of eyelashes, no parting of lips, and he remained deathly pale.

"Fool!" the general spat. "He wasn't supposed to set it off yet."

I followed his gaze to the dismembered leg, still clad in trousers and a boot. It belonged to neither Cook, Gus nor Lincoln.

"You orchestrated that explosion?" Marchbank demanded. "Are you mad?"

"We could have all been killed!" Harcourt growled.

"Idiots!" the general snapped. "All of you! There can be no battle without casualties, but not once did I put your lives in danger. Only those who are expendable."

"Lincoln is not expendable!" Lady Harcourt screamed.

The general's face fell. His gaze softened as he looked at Lincoln. "Something went wrong. The explosion shouldn't have gone off yet. It was too soon. Too damned soon."

"You tried to kill Charlie in the dining room," Seth snarled, pulling hard on Eastbrooke's arms.

The older man winced. "She's a danger to society! Every single one of you knows it. Even you, Vickers."

Buchanan wound up his fist to punch the general, but he moved and hit Seth's jaw instead. Seth fell back and must have loosened his grip. The general muscled free and scooped up the gun I recognized as Lincoln's from the floor. He aimed it at me.

"Damned idiot, Buchanan," Seth snapped, rubbing his jaw. He went to raise the gun, but the general aimed his at me. Seth swore and lowered his weapon.

The imp straightened and stretched tall again.

Eastbrooke eyed it with a mixture of fear and wonder. "It only saves you, doesn't it?" With a derisive snort, he aimed the gun at Gus, now coughing and spluttering on the floor. Blood dampened his shirt at his waist.

Cook sat up, swayed, and rubbed his eyes. He quickly took in the situation and tried to come toward me, but the general ordered him to stay.

"All of you stay," he said. "Or I will kill him."

"What do you think will happen?" I asked. "You think Lincoln will treat you like a father after this? You truly are mad if you believe that."

"You've turned his head." He momentarily aimed the gun at me before pointing it at Gus again.

I closed my eyes and muttered a prayer, a familiar one from my childhood that I hadn't recited in so long.

"That's why he agreed to the committee's vote to end his tenure as leader," he went on. "Because of you. Because he thinks it's what you want. He won't listen to anyone else."

"Why do you want him to be the leader so desperately? Because of an ancient prophecy, the origins of which no one can trace?"

"Forget the prophecy. I want him to be leader because it's who he is. It's part of him, like being an army man is part of me, and a necromancer is part of you. It's his life, his essence." His tongue darted out and licked his top lip. "What is he without the ministry?"

My hand stilled on Lincoln's cheek where I'd been absently stroking him. As much as I hated to admit that the general was right, he had a point. Lincoln and the ministry were tied together as much as my necromancy was part of me. While I didn't want to be labeled as a necromancer, or a gutter rat, or an orphan, I couldn't deny that I was all of those things. I was the sum of all my experiences, yet I was so much more, too.

I couldn't let Lincoln give up the ministry leadership for me, no more than he would ask me to stop being a necromancer. He'd tried that and it hadn't worked. He'd learned from his mistakes. It was important that I didn't make the same mistakes now, with him.

"Put the gun down," Seth said calmly. "You don't really want anyone to get hurt."

The general grasped the gun in both hands to steady it. "If you believe that, then you don't know anything. I've killed vast numbers of men, Vickers. More than you'll ever know. I've led my own men into certain death." He choked then wiped his nose and mouth on his shoulder.