Chapter Two

Tamara's bedchamber was at the top of the stairs just two doors down from her grandfather's old rooms. She passed his door and paused. Even though she had spent most of the afternoon there, she liked to imagine that if she were to open the door, she might find him inside. She wished it, could almost make herself believe it for a moment, but she knew it was a futile desire. Her grandfather was dead. Ghosts might abound in Ludlow House, but the Lord of the Manor's spirit had passed beyond this world.

In spite of that knowledge she reached out and put her hand on the cold brass doorknob. Before she could give it a turn she heard William's tread on the stairs behind her. Embarrassed, she quickly pulled her hand away.

William's breath was labored from taking the stairs two at a time. "Tam, are you completely sure that you need me to go to Herefordshire with you? I mean, the bank really should not be without its head."

Tamara stopped him with the raising of an eyebrow. "Was it not just last night that I remember someone complaining about how very hard they found themselves being worked these past few weeks? I thought you'd be pleased for a respite, Will."

Her brother turned a dark shade of crimson that complimented his black hair nicely, then started to mumble something about not wanting to leave anyone in the lurch. Tamara pointedly cleared her throat.

"I have a sisterly sense that something else is tying you to London, William. Could it be the thought of seeing the lovely Sophia Winchell at the Winter Ball that is enticing you to stay?"

William's eyes flashed dangerously. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," he said, sniffing. "You may put your fears to rest, sister. I'll pack a bag this very moment." He turned on his heel and strode haughtily down the hall to his rooms.

Tamara watched his retreating back and had to laugh when she heard William yelling - in a very pinched voice - for Lord Byron. Poor boy should have known better than to confide his love aspirations to Byron. There was nothing the poet's ghost enjoyed more than a bit of juicy gossip. Well, almost nothing, Tamara thought, trying not to smile at the memory of their former stable boy, who had stammeringly sworn he heard disembodied giggling every time he bent over to muck out the stalls.

When she heard William's door close loudly, Tamara gave one more thoughtful glance towards her late grandfather's chambers. She imagined him within, happily poring through old posters and programs for his past magic shows. A sigh escaped her lips and she took a step back, afraid that if she remained there one more instant she would give in to her hopeful imagination and throw open the door, only to burst into tears when she found the room empty.

Tamara allowed herself to touch the wood, to rest her hand on the grain of her grandfather's door for just a moment. Then she turned and slowly made her way to her own rooms, closing the door softly behind her.

Damn that loose-lipped Byron, William thought darkly as he took out a pair of neatly polished shoes and set them on his bed.

Ever since the night their grandfather had been murdered and their home overrun with demons, they had had a damnable time keeping servants and poor William, as he liked to think of himself, had had to be the one to

pick up the slack. He knew that it was petty to grumble about having to pack for himself after the past few hellish months he and Tamara had just endured, but he couldn't help it. It chafed.

I'm not a superficial man, he mused as he glanced around his richly decorated rooms. Just like to have a bit of luxury at my fingertips. This last observation was made as he contentedly took in the handmade walnut bedroom set, the thick Persian rug and the sumptuous wardrobe in which he kept his expensively tailored suits. What's the point of being born to privilege if the forces of darkness are going to keep spoiling it for me?

And now he was going to have to stay in some godforsaken inn that was most likely infested with bugs and other nasties. The whole idea made his skin crawl. Yet he was resigned to the fact that he could do nothing to protest. Otherwise, he would be giving Tamara the satisfaction of knowing that she was hardier than her older brother, and the ensuing teasing would be merciless.

Not to mention Sophia Winchell. Just her name made William blush. They had not so much as exchanged a word, but Tamara was right that his

feelings were vulnerable where Sophia was concerned. He had noticed her at a dinner party the spring before and then only two nights ago he had run into her and her father, the Honorable Judge Simon Winchell, at the theatre. He had spoken to Judge Winchell at some length about bank business, yet the entire time his mouth moved without his brain being attached to the words. His psyche was on fire with keen longing for a few moments spent alone with the glorious Miss Winchell.

Sophia had given him a couple of shy glances that had made his heart come near to bursting, but the young lady's governess had foiled his plans for interaction by removing her charge to the family's box.

His rumination was interrupted by an eternally bemused, disembodied voice that filled the room. "You called?"

William almost dropped the shoe-polishing kit he was holding. He whirled to find the mischievous Lord Byron casually leaning against the wardrobe. Well, leaning was not quite the right word. Ghosts were not bound by the same physical rules as humans. Ectoplasm, the material of their spirits, had substance, but nothing definable by natural science.

Hence, Lord Byron was more or less floating beside the wardrobe, his shoulder touching and yet not touching the huge walnut wardrobe.

Byron stared at William with large, melancholic eyes that held the burning flame of intelligence. He had once been flesh and bone like William and even in death his handsome features still retained a human curiosity. His looks had not been marred by the grave. Instead, his spectral translucence seemed to enhance his beauty. Alive, he had been a great poet and philosopher. Now, he was a trusted ally in the fight against evil.

"In the future, I would please ask you to keep your lips sealed about my private affairs, Lord Byron. And the next time you enter my room, knock beforehand." This William intoned in a clipped voice, trying to regain the righteous ire he had felt moments before. It was strange, but he still felt himself filled with apprehension every time one of the ghosts popped up uninvited. His anger at Byron's indiscretion helped him to combat his discomfort.

"As you wish, Oh Great Lord of the Shoe-Polishing Kit," Byron said with a wave of his arm, and the ghost simply vanished.

William looked down at the kit still clutched in his hand. He could always trust Byron to jest about his fastidiousness.

There was a knock at the door and William wearily shook his head. He walked over to the door and threw it open.

"All right, you win. I concede..."

But his visitor was not Byron. Out in the corridor Tamara cocked her head and lifted an eyebrow in amusement.

"Well, if you insist."

With an almost musical sound, Byron shimmered into ghostly being just behind her and stuck out his tongue. "Ghosts do not knock, my handsome young man. That's for the corporeal set." He wiggled his eyebrows at the siblings then evaporated into nothingness once again.

"I hate it when he does that," William groaned.

For the first time, William noticed that his sister was already dressed for travel. Her thick blue cape was knotted elegantly about her slim neck and her matching gloves peeked out from the safety of her handbag.

As often as William was annoyed by his headstrong younger sister, he had to admit that having her as his friend made him feel more secure in their shared destiny than he would have felt if it had been his alone. He didn't think that his person had been particularly crafted for the enormous task of protecting Albion against the forces of evil. Even now merely thinking about the battle he and his sister had fought against the Demon Lord Balberith - who had killed their Grandfather and sought to overrun England - left him weak-kneed. They had been victorious, certainly, but William had had difficulty feeling very triumphant when the battle had cost them Grandfather and irrevocably altered their lives.

"Whatever are you thinking, Will?" Tamara asked. "You have the most peculiar look on your face."

William shook the chill from his spine and smiled at his sister. "I was just musing about what sort of mischief you've endeavored to entangle us in this time."

Before going to the library, Tamara and William stopped in to check on their guest. Tamara was not surprised to see that the doctor had fallen asleep, his head balanced precariously against the back of the settee. Yet she suspected that it was not merely the exertion of his journey that had wearied him so. The poor man, she thought, sleeps the dreamless sleep of the emotionally exhausted.

William tapped her shoulder and motioned for her to leave the doctor to his rest. As Tamara followed her brother down the hall toward the library, she admired the family portraits that hung on the walls around them. As a very small child she had spent hours staring at the oiled visages of her ancestors and making up stories about their lives. In her fancy, they had all lived highly romantic and adventurous existences fighting dragons, petting unicorns and generally saving the world. She supposed that this was the fertile field of imagination from which she reaped the ideas for her penny dreadfuls. Or perhaps her unconscious mind had been trying to prepare her for a more unusual fate than any young woman could ever have imagined as reality.

William pushed the door to the library open and they stepped inside.

It was a beautiful room. It had always been one of her favorites. Probably because she had spent many happy afternoons there with her Grandfather and brother putting on made-up story plays and learning bits and pieces of stage magic.

She distinctly remembered the morning her brother had perfected the trick of pulling a sovereign from her ear. The smile on his face had lit up the room.

Now Tamara gazed at her brother and saw her own high forehead and cheekbones reflected back at her. They both had their mother's wide almond eyes, but Tamara alone was gifted with her fair skin and coloring. William looked more like the Ludlow side of the family with his black hair and sharp aquiline nose. He's very proud of that nose, Tamara thought. William believed it made him look distinguished.

Wistfully she wondered what had happened to the carefree boy William had been, how he had become so grave and serious, and haughty as a show pony. She didn't know when the change had taken place, but by the time he started University he had no longer had any time for Tamara or their grandfather, Ludlow.

She loved her brother very much, and there were glimpses of the old William from time to time beneath his priggish exterior. It was only that she wished for more than glimpses.

Tamara chided herself, angry that she judged her brother so harshly. He really was trying very hard to do the right thing. Instead she turned her attention to the problem at hand. Before they left for Blackbriar, she wanted to consult the ghosts. She very much hoped that their spectral allies would be able to give her a bit of insight into the whole affair.

William closed the door behind them then turned to his sister. She nodded.

Together they said, "Ghosts, show yourselves!"

Immediately Byron appeared at Tamara's elbow. He held a quill and some parchment paper in his hand. "Alas, the muse has gone mute, silenced by your interruption." He looked annoyed, but resigned.

Another ghostly figure, this one more imposing, coalesced in the shadows

of the library. "Now, now Byron we shall have none of that. William and Tamara have called their allies together for a war council. We must have patience."

The new arrival was the spirit of Lord Admiral Nelson, naval hero and military strategist extraordinaire. He had been a friend of their grandfather, Ludlow's, and had helped him defend Albion from the supernatural. Just as with the other ghosts, Tamara and William had inherited his friendship and his aid, and they were grateful for it. Despite the cut of his uniform, Nelson was a rough-looking character. He had sacrificed both an arm and an eye to the Gods of War in his living years. Yet, this did not stop the Swift siblings from being inordinately fond of the imposing figure. There was the soft heart of a kitten underneath the grizzled exterior.

Now, Nelson floated before them, thoughtfully stroking his chin. Beside him there coalesced a third spirit, the final ghost who made up the trio of their closest spectral confidantes and allies. Queen Bodicea shimmered into being. Nelson coughed uncomfortably and politely averted his gaze from her nudity. Though she was transparent, her brazen nakedness was still a startling sight. believed Bodicea took a certain grim pride in it.

She had died in combat, having performed a spell that required her nudity, and though Tamara thought she could have chosen to alter her appearance, she also believed Bodicea took a certain grim pride in it.

Bodicea ignored Nelson's embarrassment and instead raked the room with an imperious eye, focusing her attention on Tamara. "War council? Do Balberith's minions rise to attack us once again?"

She raised her spear menacingly to underscore her question.

"I'm pleased to say, no," Tamara began. "It's nothing so terrible as that."

"No demons, then?" Byron interrupted.

Tamara shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of. Changeling babies, I'm afraid."

"Oh, hurrah!" he said, clapping his hands happily. "Then I can leave you in the quite capable hands of Lord Nelson and Queen Bodicea while I return to my composition. I am right in the middle of a very tricky couplet.

Does anyone know a rhyme for ziggurat?"

He received four blank stares.

"Of course not," he sighed. And with that he was gone, disappearing into nothingness.

"Hmm, well," Nelson grumbled. "If it is babies that you are going to have dealings with-"

"Not you, too, Horatio. You can't desert us, as well," Tamara said gruffly. The Admiral blushed, and William snickered at his discomfort.

Tamara turned on her brother. "Don't you dare laugh, William Swift. You tried to escape this same trouble earlier in the afternoon."

Lord Nelson cleared his throat apologetically. "I mean no disrespect, Miss Swift. But I must say that in past situations I have found that... well, to put the sentiment bluntly..."

He cleared his throat again. "Children do not like me."

"I cannot believe that, Horatio," Tamara replied quickly, attempting to dismiss his concerns. "If I were a small child, well, I would just adore... " Her words trailed off as she considered what she was saying.

"Yes?" William prompted her gleefully.

"Quiet, Will," she said with a glare. Gravely, she turned back to Lord Nelson. "I see what you mean, Horatio. Your... injuries might be unsettling to some children."

Lord Nelson nodded miserably. "It is truly an... affliction."

He bowed to Tamara. "Begging your pardon, Miss Swift," he intoned. "I shall make myself useful and proof-read Stained Scarlet while you are on your journey." And then he, too, was gone.

Only Queen Bodicea remained in the library with them, and she faced them with the regal air that came so naturally to her.

"I shall go with you, children," Bodicea declared, the sunlight streaming through the windows making her seem more transparent than usual. "If you are truly dealing with changelings, then my knowledge of the Faerie world should be of use to you."

Tamara gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you, Bodicea. From what our visitor told me, it is not a pleasant expedition on which we embark."

The ghostly warrior queen bowed, then faded into the shadows, leaving William and Tamara alone in the library. Tamara, feeling frazzled, heaved herself down into a plush green armchair and sighed heavily.

"I had hoped all three ghosts might accompany us," she said as she brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "But as long as Nigel is with us I believe that will-"

"Nigel?" William said abruptly. "You cannot be serious. He's a vampire, Tam, not some puppy you can carry around in your handbag."

"I resent your tone, William," she said peevishly.

"Of course I know he's a vampire-"

"Then you also know that he needs a dark place in which to spend his days. Can you provide him that?"

They glared at each other, both willing the other to look away first. Finally, Tamara raised her chin. "Fine, we shall leave Nigel to his London evenings."

William took one last yearning look around the library. Tamara knew that her brother would sorely miss its luxury on their journey. Then he offered her his arm. She rose, bemused by the gentlemanly gesture, and followed him out of the library.

Tamara closed her eyes and sighed as Farris loaded the carriage with the last of their baggage, and that of their guest, Doctor Nichols. Tamara and Martha had overseen the endeavor, leaving William to entertain Doctor Nichols in the drawing room. She had hoped that her brother

would use the time to try and uncover additional information about the situation in Blackbriar - she thought that the doctor might confide the more sordid details to William because of their shared gender - but instead, William had embroiled the man in a debate about the merits of the Doric column.

The poor doctor, Tamara thought.

She watched as the afternoon shadows lengthened in the drive and the sun hid for a moment behind a low cloud. They would have to leave soon in order to get a good start on the journey before stopping for the night.

Tamara heard footsteps and turned to see William helping the doctor into the carriage. Much as he got on her nerves, her brother was always a gentleman. Having made sure the doctor was settled, William beckoned for her to join them. She crossed the grass verge and let him help her navigate the threshold of the carriage doorway. Once inside, she sat across from the doctor and gave the bedraggled looking man what she hoped was a winning smile. She wished she could absorb his pain, make the old man more comfortable in his skin, but she knew that was not possible. He had been living with this horror far too long.

William climbed in beside the doctor and closed the door. Out the window, Tamara could see Martha and Farris watching their progression from the front steps. She said a silent thanks to whatever Fate was responsible for sending her such loyal, hard-working servants.

"Onward, driver," William began, but his words were interrupted by a high-pitched shriek from above. William exchanged a look with the doctor, but before the men could clamber out of the carriage, they all three saw the carriage driver running across the lawn as if the very devil was on his tail.

William stuck his head out the carriage window and saw Bodicea floating regally beside the driver's seat.

"I have tested the mettle of your driver and found him wanting," the ghost queen said without emotion.

"But, Bodicea, he was our only driver," Tamara protested as she poked her head out of the other window.

"Shall I pack our Farris a bag, m'am?"

Tamara and William turned at the sound of Martha's voice. Neither she, nor Farris for that matter, seemed in the least bit disconcerted by the presence of the naked warrior woman floating beside the carriage. Tamara knew that they had both caught glimpses of the ghosts, but she was still surprised at the lack of fright her two hardy servants showed.

Sadly, the same could not be said for Doctor Nichols. The siblings slipped their heads back inside the carriage to find the doctor unconscious, his limp body splayed across the seat, breathing shallowly.

Tamara sighed and glanced back out the window.

"I suppose you'd better, Martha."