Andrew followed her gaze just as the smell hit him. The usual sterile scent of the lab was tainted by the sharp, acrid smell of smoke. On the floor lay Ray’s body—still, but with patches of blackened skin curling at the edges, like brittle paper singed by flames. The faint warmth of a recent fire still clung to the air, and the slight smell of burnt clothing hovered. It was as if invisible fingers of fire had claimed him without burning the room, leaving a silent, devastating mark.
Andrew’s jaw clenched, outraged that an Aetherian would use their gifts for such evil.
Chapter Seven
Isla stood staring at Ray, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Her mind lagged, struggling to process the horror before her. Her colleague Ray. Mid-forties, married-to-his-work Ray. He was recognizable—yet he wasn’t. His eyes were vacant, his body broken.
Movement briefly made her eyes shift away from the scene; Andrew pulled her into his arms, trying to shield her from the awful sight. He wasn’t any taller or that much wider than her, so she still had a full view of the body—he seemed to come to that same realization and spun her around so her back was to the gruesome sight and the body now lay in Andrew’s vision alone.
He pulled her in for a hug, and she let him hold her. The steady circles of his hand against her back anchored her, pulling her away from shock and back into herself. She took a deep breath. Her thoughts, previously frozen just like her body had been, now raced in a chaotic rush. She pushed away from him.
“Andrew, I can heal him. Juliette said I have the power to heal.” Her voice cracked, high and strange in her own ears—hysterical and out of control.
She tried to push away from him, body turned slightly, eyes locked once again on the broken body, studying it as if sheer will could tell her what to do. Some part of her was already fumbling for an answer—something, anything—some half-formed idea of forcing life back into him.
But Andrew’s arm shot out, barring her path before she could move closer.
“Your healing powers have limits.”
She refused to look away from the body on the ground. Refused to listen to Andrew as she tried to tug away from his grasp.
“Isla, look at me.”
When she didn’t heed his call, Isla felt gentle fingers on her chin, softly encouraging her to look his way.
His blue eyes radiated sorrow as they flicked between hers.
“You can do nothing for him. Your abilities cannot bring people back from the dead.”
At his words, the fight in her drained away. Her shoulders slumped and a single tear ran down her cheek. Andrew’s hand on her chin lifted, and he wiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb.
“Come on, Harold needs to know about this.”
Isla looked up from her lesson with Olivia-May. After reporting the murder to Harold, she had decided she would cope best if she could just get on with her day, despite Andrew and Harold trying to persuade her otherwise. She had shoved her emotions deep, suppressing her grief and pain.
Harold had asked them to keep the awful crime quiet, explaining that they were to proceed discreetly. He had assured her that justice would be served, but since it was clearly an Aetheric Arts crime, these things had to be treated with care.
At the same time as the MI5 and MI6 intelligence services had been created, the Aetheric Arts department, known as AEX (The Aetheric Executive Directorate) had been set up, as a separate government department, and although the most senior officers within government and the Metropolitan police at New Scotland Yard were fully aware of Aetheric Arts, and had collaborated on many occasions, this would require discretion to ensure that the local constables didn’t get wind of it. He had called an Aetherian detective, who was to arrive as soon as possible.
So here she sat with her student, finishing off her private lesson. She had agreed to give the young woman extra tutoring. Olivia-May wasn’t the most naturally gifted student, but what she lacked in ease she made up for in determination. There was a passion in her to prove herself, and Isla had felt a tug to help.
Andrew sat in the corner, reading his papers—though she had felt his eyes on her throughout the day, constantly casting her concerned looks. He wasn’t getting much work done.
“Well, Olivia-May, I think that should do it for today. Shall we meet again, say, next Tuesday?”
“That would be wonderful, Professor. I cannot thank you enough. Today’s session really helped me grasp how roots adapt to different soils.”
Isla smiled at the young woman as she gathered her belongings. “I’m happy to help.”
Olivia-May returned the smile, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. For a heartbeat, her gaze flicked to Isla’s wrist, where the leather strap of her watch hid the mark beneath. Isla’s spine tightened. It was a foolish reaction—Olivia-May hadn’t seen anything—but the thought of those eyes lingering made her skin prickle.
The Sigil mark felt like a siren, silent but blaring, as if it might draw the whole world’s attention at any moment. Only yesterday her reality had been steady, ruled by science and reason. Now she carried something branded into her flesh—it felt like a dangerous secret, inescapable like the war alarms that shattered the night. Which was silly; Olivia-May was probably an Aetherian herself. But Isla didn’t know if it was normal to ask, and she was trying her very best not to look at everyone’s wrists. What a strange world she now found herself in.
“Well, cheerio. I will see you presently.”
The young woman lifted her gaze, nodded, then smiled. She exited the room, glancing back once to look at both her and then Andrew before she closed the door behind her.
“It’s very nice of you to give that young woman help.”
