Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(49)

I stopped screaming. I pushed myself up into a sitting position. The gunshot! I checked myself over, but I was unharmed.

A fight had broken out near the door where some light filtered through from the main room. Gordon wrestled with a man who seemed to be a match for him. But how could that be? The dead possessed superior strength when raised. No mere human could dodge his rapid-fire punches then get in pounding blows of their own that had Gordon stumbling backward. Gordon reacted by kicking out, but his opponent anticipated that too and jumped out of the way. A kick to the back of Gordon's knees unbalanced him, and in the blink of an eye, my bodyguard was pinned to the floor beneath—

"Lincoln? Is that you?" I squinted into the dimness then got off the bed, only to find my legs wouldn't obey me. I collapsed back onto the mattress.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his breathing a little faster than usual.

"Yes. But why did you attack Gordon?"

Gordon grunted into the floorboards. "A good question."

Lincoln leaned closer to Gordon's face then got off him. "I didn't know it was him." He came to the bed and knelt in front of me. At least, I thought he was directly in front of me. It was difficult to tell. My eyes seemed to be playing tricks on me, and at times he appeared to be several feet away. "We need to leave. Can you stand?"

"Not very well."

He glanced over his shoulder and said a few unintelligible words to the young Oriental man standing near the curtained doorway. He held the gun loosely at his side, but his wide eyes stared at Gordon as my bodyguard stood up. Gordon took a step forward and the Oriental inched back, muttering something under his breath. Mr. Lee was nowhere to be seen.

Lincoln picked me up and I snuggled into him, resting my head on his shoulder. "Thank you," I murmured.

Gordon held the curtain back and we passed through. Mr. Lee was once more sitting on his cushion, a pipe plugged into his mouth. Some of the other smokers were sitting up, their droopy-lidded eyes following our progress as Lincoln picked his way through the collection of bodies sprawled on the floor.

"Thank you, Mr. Lee," I said to the ancient Chinaman. "Please notify us again if the captain returns."

He made no acknowledgement, simply dragged on his pipe and blew out a long chain of smoke. Gordon, my jacket in his hand, went first down the stairs, and Lincoln and I followed behind. Outside, the blissfully cool air soothed my eyes and hot skin. I never thought London's air could smell so sweet, but after the thick fumes of the opium, it was the freshest air in the world.

The young Chinaman had followed us down. He said something to Lincoln in his own tongue, pointed at Gordon, and slammed the door shut.

"I don't think he likes me," Gordon said cheerfully.

"The Chinese don't like spirits of the dead walking through their homes," Lincoln told him. "They believe it brings bad luck."

"That's not very nice." I closed my eyes and breathed deeply again. "They ought to get to know the spirits individually rather than make a blanket ruling against them."

Gordon chuckled. "Your fairness knows no bounds, Miss Charlie." We walked a few paces and then he spoke again, the good humor absent from his voice. "Are you hurt?"

Lincoln's arms tightened around me. When he didn't answer, I realized Gordon was asking me.

"No." I yawned. "What happened? I heard a gunshot then everything went black."

"The Chinaman was about to shoot you, or me. I'm not entirely sure. I managed to turn you and put my body between yours and his, but as it turned out, the bullet missed us both and hit the lamp."

That explained the shattering glass and the sudden darkness. "How could he miss? He was so close."

"I knocked him as I entered the room." Lincoln's deliciously rich voice rumbled from his chest through my skin to my bones. I placed my palm against his chest to feel the vibrations, but he'd stopped talking. I felt his heart instead as it pounded a steady rhythm.

"Well done, both of you," I murmured. "But, Lincoln—Mr. Fitzroy, sir—why were you fighting Gordon?"

"I didn't know it was him. I saw him holding you then drop you on the bed. I thought it was the captain, perhaps."

I smiled as the vibrations of his voice met the thump of his heart. "You were saving me? That's very noble. I can ordinarily take care of myself now, but the opium smoke affected me. I wasn't expecting that."

"Clearly," he muttered.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I read your note. It was considerate of you to leave one, and not rouse Cook."

"I'm not so affected that I can't detect your sarcasm," I told him around another yawn. "I'll have you know that Cook was in no state to come with me. He almost cut off a limb tonight."

"We'll discuss this in the morning, after you've had a good sleep."

"By discuss, do you mean you're going to rail at me?"

"I'll let that be a surprise for the morning." He didn't sound in the least angry. His arms tightened around me and his warm breath fanned my hair. "Thackery," he said.

My jacket came around my shoulders and I felt like I was being tucked into bed. I must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing I knew, I was on the back of a horse, still in Lincoln's arms. Gordon rode beside us, holding my horse's reins. I still felt like my eyes had sunk deep into my head, and my mouth was bone dry, but my brain appeared to be functioning normally again.