Page 55 of The Last Necromancer
The more I thought about it, the surer I became that he would return. Lady Harcourt would send him back when she discovered what he'd done. She and the other committee members wouldn't let him just leave me here. She was much too kind, and they needed me.
But he'd made it clear that he was the leader. They did as he said. And he was a determined man, not one to back down. I hardly knew him, but I knew that. If he'd decided to throw me into the pond, then he would certainly not fish me out again at someone else's suggestion.
It would seem I'd overestimated my worth to them. To him. I was nothing, after all. A well of sadness I hadn't experienced for a long time opened inside me.
"Who're you?" came a harsh voice from behind me. "What're you doin' on my patch?"
I spun round and flattened myself against the bridge supports. There was just enough light from the single gas lamp to see by and I saw a very large man looming over me. He looked like a bear with his black shaggy beard, long hair, and big hands.
"I'm going," I said, deepening my voice. I'd already removed the pins from my hair to cover my face again, but I was still dressed in women's clothing. "I didn't know this was your place."
"Halt there." He lumbered toward me and I edged away. "I said halt!"
I turned to flee, but he lunged. He had a surprisingly long reach and was fleeter of foot than he looked. He caught my elbow and jerked me round to face him.
"Please, let me go, sir. I mean you no harm or disrespect."
"What's a girl like you doing out here all alone, eh?" He glanced around, as if expecting to see my menfolk nearby.
"I'm not alone," I said quickly. "My father and two brothers will be here soon. They're dock workers and carry big knives."
"The docks ain't near here. And I got a big weapon too." He grinned, revealing teeth as black as his beard. He groped his trousers at his crotch and licked his lips beneath his moustache. "Show me ya face, girl. I wanna see it while I fuck you."
I pushed at him, but he was too strong, too big. He laughed at my pathetic attempts. I kicked his shin and he yowled.
"You little bitch!" He hooked a leg behind my knees, making them buckle. I crashed to the ground, hitting my hip and head against the bricks of the bridge support. I scrabbled and hit out, but could get no strength behind my punches with the damned corset constricting movement and breathing. He pinned my arms above my head with one of his massive hands and swept my hair back with his other.
"Ain't you're a prize. Got lucky tonight, didn't I? Eh? First some coin, now a tasty little tart."
I tried to kick him again, but he lay half on top of me, pinning me. He pulled my skirts above my knees and his fat fingers rubbed my thigh through my drawers. I tasted bile and blood and realized I'd been biting my lip to stop from crying out. Screaming would only draw more men my way. A pack of them would be worse than just this one.
"Where's that little peach of yours, eh?" His hot breath stank. I choked down the bile in my throat and wished I hadn't. Throwing up over him might get him off me.
But I doubted it. The light caught the determined gleam in his eyes, the glisten of saliva on his beard.
I shut my eyes and willed myself to be calm, to empty my head and think of nothing. To not feel. But it was impossible. I felt every pinch of his dirty fingernails on my inner thighs, every scratch of his beard on my throat, every tear that slid down my cheek. It was hopeless. All I could do now was endure. Endure and survive.
And try not to regret my decision to leave Lichfield Towers and Lincoln Fitzroy.
CHAPTER 10
The weight of the body pressed down on me, grinding my bony hip and shoulder into the greasy ground. He tried to kiss my mouth, and I did the only thing I was capable of doing in that position. I bit his cheek. My teeth sank into flesh. I gagged as the tang of blood filled my mouth. The brute reared back, screaming and clutching his face. But he didn't get off me. He raised his massive paw to strike me.
Then suddenly he was gone, ripped off me by someone dressed in a dark hood. The newcomer punched my assailant in the stomach then shoved him away. My attacker crumpled like a doll and lay entirely still except for the blood oozing from the wound in his stomach.
He hadn't been punched, he'd been stabbed. And he was dead.
The wisp of smoky haze rising from the body told me that. It formed the man's shape, right down to the abundance of whiskers and broad hands. It was the man's spirit, yet I hadn't touched the body in order to see it. Either that had been the situation all along, or my power had grown stronger.
The spirit didn't look at me but at his murderer. He bared his teeth. "Damn you! You tricked me!" The smoky essence thinned and floated past me as if on a breeze. I leaned away from him, but he didn't touch me.
I blinked and he was gone. Only the body remained, and my rescuer. Or the man I had to fight off next.
He pushed his hood back and I gasped. "Fitzroy!" I choked on the name, relief bringing fresh tears and tightening my throat.
He crouched at my side and helped me to sit. The corset made it difficult to do on my own. He stroked my hair off my face and checked me over by the miserly light of the streetlamp. His touch was entirely clinical.
"Are you harmed?" His voice quavered ever so slightly.
