Mina decided to ignore the uncertain postscript and kept herself from bristling at the mention of protection. After all, an evil magician with shadow demons at his command was hardly a figure that even the most independent of New Women could be expected to handle on her own.

“You won’t mind if I work for him, then? Or even if I stay in his house? He does have maids and a housekeeper. It’s not as though we’d be alone—”

“Not at all, not at all.” Professor Carter waved a hand. “The situation’s rather an unusual one, after all, and besides, Stephen’s quite honorable. Never known him to…well, ah…” He coughed. “I mean to say, you’ll be quite safe with him.”

Men didn’t always know these things, Mina reflected, and fifteen years could change a man, or a not-quite-man, considerably. Still, MacAlasdair had so far seemed honorable in that regard at least, though Mina was relieved to hear the professor confirm her impression. She was more relieved to see that the situation didn’t scandalize him.

“Then I’ll still have a place with you, afterward?”

“Well, certainly,” said Professor Carter. “Wouldn’t dream of having things otherwise. If we’re both still alive, of course.”

Downstairs, something went BANG.

* * *

Luckily for everyone concerned, Mrs. Evans had been visiting her daughter in Kensington for the last two days. Otherwise, events after the explosion would have included a great deal more panic and secrecy.

As it was, Mina made it down the stairs, Professor Carter’s letter opener in one hand, to find the study empty save for MacAlasdair, who was picking himself up off the floor.

The man who’d accompanied Mina to the professor’s office had been polished and distinguished looking, if also distant and intimidating. His clothing had still seemed like a costume—all the more so, now that Mina knew something of his true nature—but it had been a good costume, and he’d worn it well.

Now his coat was missing, and his shirt and waistcoat were torn in several places. More than that, Mina saw blood matting at least one of the still-whole sections of shirt at MacAlasdair’s side. A few more cuts, though these were not much more than scratches, littered his arms and face.

“I—” she began. Unsure where to go after that, she seized on the injury. “Sit down, will you? And don’t move. Are you bleeding anywhere else? We’ll need some water. Is it safe for me to go to the kitchen? Is it safe for us to be down here?”

“Your inquisition, Cerberus, lacks a wee bit in the way of priorities,” said MacAlasdair.

“My name’s Mina. Miss Seymour,” she corrected herself, irritated. “And you haven’t answered my questions. Or sat down.”

“I’m a man of many failings, I see.” He did sit down, though, and shook his head as if coming back to himself. “It’s quite safe now. You may go anywhere you please—in this house, of course.”

“Trust you to remember that,” said Mina, and took herself off to the kitchen.

She fetched a pitcher of water and several towels quickly, and returned by the time Professor Carter had made his way downstairs. “Are we under attack?” he was asking MacAlasdair.

“Nae more than we were a day ago,” said MacAlasdair. “Someone was tryin’ his hand at spy work. Dropped a cursed little bundle through your letter slot. That’s all.”

“How reassuring,” said Mina. “Does ‘spy work’ generally blow up like that?”

“No,” said MacAlasdair. “That was me. I saw no other way to rid us of the thing.”

He glanced toward the fireplace. Following his look, Mina saw that the flames had turned a dancing blue-silver. It was really quite pretty, though she wouldn’t have said so in front of the two men.

Professor Carter had no such reservations. “For a curse, Stephen, that’s a remarkably pleasant little aftereffect.”

“It wasn’t evil magic in itself,” said MacAlasdair, “only used for evil. And rather showy in its destruction.”

“Yes,” said Professor Carter, and clicked his tongue as he looked at Stephen. “Should we call a doctor? I don’t know of any really discreet ones, but I’m sure we could think of a story—”

“No. It’ll heal quickly enough, once it’s clean. If I may beg your pardon,” he said to Mina, and then began to remove the remains of his shirt.

Mina decided to examine the desk. One never knew, after all, what might have broken in an explosion, or where the bits of whatever had exploded had gotten to. She tried to focus on finding them and not on seeing how graceful MacAlasdair was despite his size, or the slow exposure of his body. If her heart was going faster than it should and her cheeks felt warm—well, that was only natural in the wake of spies and mysterious explosions.

She dipped a napkin in water, went over to where MacAlasdair was sitting, and then could no longer avoid looking at him. His arms were muscular; his pale chest was broad and solid, lightly covered with red-black hair that narrowed to a thin line trailing down his flat stomach. So near at hand, Mina seemed to feel an unusual warmth rising off his skin—or perhaps that was just her.

The cut was thin and shallow, not bad at all. She concentrated on that, which only helped a very little bit. “I do hope this won’t be a daily occurrence,” she said, keeping her voice steady and not at all breathless. “I’m not any sort of trained nurse, you know.”

“For your sake, Miss Seymour”—MacAlasdair’s voice was very close to her ear, a deep rumble that went through her body and almost made her drop the cloth she was using—“I’ll do my utmost to avoid it.”

“How generous of you,” said Mina, and looked up into a pair of gold-brown eyes fixed intently on hers.

She stepped back quickly. “I think that’s as much as I can do,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I can’t sew it up and I can’t get you any other clothes. And what—what about you?”

As she spoke, she turned back to Professor Carter. That was a relief on one level—although also a disappointment in a way Mina resolved not to think about—but the thought of leaving the professor alone was more alarming, and in a wholly unmixed way. “If people are trying to kill you or spy on you,” Mina said, “shouldn’t you come back with us? Or leave London for a bit?”

“No, I think not,” said Professor Carter. “If Ward had wanted me dead, he would have made some overt move in that direction. I think I’m more valuable to him as a living source of information—and this bracelet should prevent him trying to get anything out of me the way he did Moore, poor fellow.” He raised his arm again to show the silver bracelet and looked toward MacAlasdair for confirmation.

MacAlasdair nodded, but reluctantly. “As far as I know,” he said. “Even so—”

“Even so, we’ve had this discussion,” said the professor. “I’ve no reason to believe Ward’s reach is limited to London, and your house is far from impregnable. In fact, if he makes another try at it, I might be in more danger there than here. And I would far prefer to remain where I am for the present time. I’ll discuss it with you again if anything changes materially, MacAlasdair, but nothing has.”

He was still tense, but far less so than he had been after MacAlasdair’s previous visit or during the week just before it. Watching him, Mina wondered suddenly if the difference might have had to do with secrecy, or even with worry over her welfare. Perhaps they’d each been trying to protect the other all along.

Eight

Although Mina hated to admit as much even to herself, and although the proverbial wild horses couldn’t have dragged the confession out of her anywhere near MacAlasdair, the first few days of her captivity were actually a jolly good time. She slept until nine, as she’d not done since she was sixteen and laid up with influenza; she managed to finish all of the mending that she’d been putting off, and even added a new collar to her second-best blouse; and she finished reading King Solomon’s Mines, which she’d been working on since the new year.

She became almost used to breakfast with MacAlasdair. It was generally a silent affair, but as Mina had suspected, a less uncomfortable one than the similarly quiet meal she’d had below stairs. She didn’t get the same sense of suppressed conversation or of scrutiny, only of a man who wasn’t often up to speech before noon. Mostly, the two of them read the paper.

The first time Mina picked up a section, MacAlasdair hadn’t been able to completely suppress his surprised look, and Mina had bristled inwardly. “I’m very fond of the Times,” she had said in her most polished, clipped voice. “I’m glad to see you get it.”

“Always happy to oblige a lady,” he’d said, recovering quickly.

To his credit, MacAlasdair didn’t put even the slightest irony on lady, nor did he ask whether she’d started reading the Times after she’d come to work for Professor Carter. Mina was slightly disappointed about the latter. She’d prepared an indignant response, and MacAlasdair never had to know that she had started reading that particular paper about the same time as she’d begun looking for secretarial posts, with an eye toward impressing her employers.

After all, she’d quickly started being interested for other reasons—and perhaps the other reasons had been there all along, just looking for an excuse.

Mina took her other meals with Mrs. Hastings, volunteering to take the cook a tray while her knee mended. It was a good excuse to get out of dinner and supper without making much more work for the servants, and MacAlasdair hadn’t invited her to join him for those meals. He ate them out at his club, more often than not, and ate supper very late indeed. So, while the rest of the servants sought their own amusements for the hours between sunset and starlight, Mina sat upstairs, talked with the cook, and tried not to think about the creature penned in some room downstairs.