Seven centuries imploded. An abrupt, stunning peace fell over the bedroom—literally. Clothes dropped to the floor, sheets sank onto the bed, and the air, with a weary exhale, settled once more into calm. King John had vanished. No poignant look, no last word; just gone, and not at all mourned.
“Whew,” Caleb said, smoothing his wind-tossed hair. “That explains how we couldn’t find the ghost’s source before. But why was he haunting our bedrooms when his tooth was nowhere in them?”
“Maybe he ranged through the entire house and we simply weren’t aware of the fact because no one mentioned it,” Amelia said.
Taking the locket from her hand, Caleb regarded it, serious-eyed and thoughtfully silent. Then he said, “Question: if I was to put a strand of Ottersock’s hair in this locket, then toss the whole thing into the Thames River…”
“Caleb,” Amelia chided, even while her imagination giggled at a vision of grimy river fish burrowing for insects among the professor’s sideburns. “However, I do want to conduct some real experiments on it. This kind of binding magic is rare.” Retrieving the locket before Caleb could spontaneously misplace it, she slipped it into the safe bag, then into her skirt pocket. “We should be able to leave now that the binding is broken and the ghost released. Let’s pack quickly and go.”
“Or…” Caleb countered. Glancing at the bed, he offered Amelia a smile so wickedly hot, her entire body ignited in a flaming blush. “Everyone thinks we’ve left. The next train won’t be until morning. We could…play a game.”
Amelia wavered. She fluttered. She very nearly made a running leap onto the bed. But despite all this internal motion, Caleb was the one who moved first. He stepped toward her, slowly and quite specifically: a step like a question.
Amelia stepped toward him in reply. It would have been impossible not to. Years of secret wishing were like a combustion engine, driving her body forward. Never mind leaving; she would have given up all the world and every teaspoon in it if Caleb asked her to stay with him, even for only the duration of one kiss—a few minutes; a beautiful eternity.
They came together in a silence that rang loud with the discussions they’d not yet had, but as their foreheads touched, their noses brushing, their breath shivering from open mouths, Amelia could not remember a single word of all the things she ought to say. They did not kiss, but only because the not-kissing was like a kiss in itself, hot with anticipation, shooting sparks along their nerves—a kiss very different from the one they had shared downstairs. It spoke now of tongues, and the removal of clothes. Their lips met, featherlight, then parted again. They sent a burning look to each other in potent silence. Anticipation grew to the point where it felt as if their next breath would ignite a bonfire…Then, slowly, their lips met again and—
Knock knock knock!
With a mutual groan that was far less erotic than the one Amelia had expected to be making in the near future, they reluctantly pulled away from each other. Amelia fanned herselfwhile Caleb crossed to open the door. Mrs. Cuddle stood there with two raincoats and a look that plainly said,I know what I just interrupted and am duly scandalized.
Their last chance for romance having been thus snatched away, Amelia and Caleb turned instead to packing (which was not quite as much fun as sex would have been) and reunited in the corridor with wry smiles and regret-filled eyes. Clad in oversized raincoats more effective than any prophylactic, and encumbered with luggage that had somehow managed to become heavier during their stay, they trudged downstairs. The moment they reached the ground floor, Grimshaw appeared with uncanny timing, his countenance professionally doleful, his voice suggesting dread portents as he handed them umbrellas and wished them the unlikely event of a safe journey.
Amelia smiled with a weary politeness. “Thank—”
Thwomp.Her umbrella flung open.
Caleb and Grimshaw gasped in unison. Laughing at their horrified expressions, Amelia closed the umbrella again. “It was an accident,” she said. “I know people say it’s bad luck to open an umbrella indoors, but I don’t believe in luck.”
“Do you believe in magic?” Caleb asked mildly. He was staring behind her, his eyes heavy with a mix of tiredness and alarm. Turning to see what the problem was, Amelia sighed.
“Well that’s just ridiculous,” she said as a coat rack lurched to attack, glowing with cold cobalt fire that had been emitted from the tip of her apparently thaumaturgic umbrella.
“Stand back, Meely!” Caleb urged. Raising his own, as-yet-unopened umbrella in the manner of a sword, he dashed forward to meet the coat rack in battle. Its arms flailed to defend itself from his assault, its three feet clattering back and forth with the speedy grace of magic.
“Be careful,” Amelia told Caleb, as if this would materially assist his fight.
“I’ll be fine,” Caleb assured her, thrusting and parrying with ease. “I’ve taken fencing lessons.”
Thwack. The coat rack flung a bowler hat at his head.
A pair of footmen came running. Diving upon the coat rack, they wrestled it away across the hall. Amelia dropped her umbrella (not noticing how it caught fire as it struck the ground) and grasped Caleb’s hand. “Let’s go. Now.”
Flinging his umbrella aside, Caleb blew a strand of hair from his eyes. “I swear, not even Bethnal Green was as bad as this bloody house. No offense,” he added to Grimshaw.
“None taken, sir,” Grimshaw replied in a professional monotone. But the speed with which he turned to open the door suggested offense had not only been taken but painted on a banner and illuminated with floodlights.
“Just think,” Caleb murmured cheerfully to Amelia. “Tomorrow we’ll be breathing smog again.”
“Checking in on our students,” she added.
“Drinking real coffee.”
“Aaargggh!” a footman shouted as the coat rack kicked him to the ground.
Boom!Throckmorton’s brash laugh burst from the parlor.
Clutching each other’s hands tighter, Amelia and Caleb turned to face the night and their freedom.
