Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(42)

"So…magicians and witches are real," I said carefully.

"They are. You're one."

I scoffed. "I'm a necromancer. It's hardly magic or witchcraft. I can't change into a bat, or turn you into a frog. I can only do one thing, and it's only moderately useful."

"From what I've read in the ministry archives, that still qualifies you for being a witch. Most witches and magicians seemed to have a specialty, only one trick they could perform. I found no records of turning anyone into a bat or any other animal, but I did find accounts of mind control, changing one's own appearance, speaking to ghosts, that sort of thing."

I shook my head slowly, not because I didn't believe him, but because it was so fantastical. It was difficult to understand the scale of what he was telling me. "Why do we know nothing about witches and magicians now? Well, except for me, that is."

"I've observed others who possess strange powers. They're not hard to find, if one listens to rumors and talks to the right people. I expect they keep to themselves for precisely the reason you did—fear of reprisal. Society would ostracize them at the least, and hurt them at the most."

"I suppose so." Holloway had tried both ostracizing me and hurting me. He'd succeeded at the former and only failed at the latter thanks to Cook and his meat cleaver.

"The order accounted for many, many deaths of supernaturals in those early centuries," he said. "Times have changed drastically, fortunately. You have nothing to fear from the ministry. No one wants to eradicate supernaturals now."

Except, perhaps, Lord Gillingham. "The others wanted to exile me."

"Exile is not death."

"No," I said drily.

"And I won't let that happen to you, unless you wish to relocate to a tropical island paradise."

I smiled, despite myself. "Lichfield will do nicely for now."

"I'm glad to hear it." His rich, deep voice washed over me, and my smile broadened. He blinked once, then looked down at his lap where his hands bunched into fists. The tender moment was over so quickly, I wondered if I'd misread him this time.

"Why did the order become dormant?" I prompted. "Did it destroy so many supernaturals that few were left and it was no longer needed?"

"That's one theory, but it's more likely it suffered the same fate as the Roman Catholic church here. It was closely tied to the faith, so when England navigated the Reformation in the sixteenth century and ousted Catholics, the order fell into disarray. It was forgotten by everyone but a few who kept the records and stories alive. A handful of caretakers were appointed in each generation, passing on the information to their sons, who would pass it on to their sons, et cetera."

"The current committee members are descendants of the original caretakers?"

He nodded. "I had no choice in their selection. No one did."

"You said sons. What about Lady Harcourt? Does she not have brothers?"

"Lady Harcourt's late husband was the committee member. He didn't pass on the information to his sons, but to his wife. She doesn't know why, but it's possible he didn't trust his sons to be discreet."

Having met Andrew Buchanan, I could see why he thought that. "Why didn't one of the generations resurrect the old order and put it to use again? Why wait until now?"

"They were waiting for me."

I raised my brows.

"Apparently there was a prophecy, spoken by a seer in the mid fifteen hundreds. She foresaw the long years of the order's dormancy, which would come to an end in this century, when a new leader was appointed. She gave particular details about him." He held out his hands, palm up. "It turned out to be me."

How extraordinary, and rather intriguing, too. It made me think of old fairytales with curses, prophecies and evil witches. It even had a knight in shining armor—Lincoln. The story only lacked a princess.

"And so you were brought up in the general's home, trained from birth to be the leader."

He nodded. "He was the eldest member. He had no family of his own and so was considered the ideal candidate."

"But he was never home."

"Precisely. It was deemed best if I didn't become attached to anyone."

I blinked at him. Not become attached? But little children needed to feel a sense of belonging and nurturing. I'd seen it in the gangs, with the youngest members. They often attached themselves to a champion who took care of them and provided for them, even loved them. It was human instinct. "Were the servants like a family to you?"

"They were often moved along before I could make friends."

"Oh, Lincoln."

His hands balled into fists on his knees. His lips flattened and I decided not to tell him that I thought his childhood sounded desolate. He would hate my pity. So I asked a more impersonal question instead. "Wouldn't a seer be considered a supernatural and therefore a target of the caretaker committee?"

"That's the irony. Her prophecy not only kept the order dormant for so long, but it perhaps had a hand in changing the position of the caretakers. I couldn't find any reference in the archives to her being punished for her prophecy. It stated the new leader would even use magic to defeat dark forces that want to bring the realm to its knees."