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  All Good Things

  The Split Worlds: Book Five

  Emma Newman

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Emma Newman

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email [email protected]

  First Diversion Books edition June 2017

  ISBN: 978-1-68230-617-8

  For the shining ones who donned their best garb and entered the Split Worlds via the mundane city of Bath on the 7th of May, 2016, and for the incredible souls who helped to weave that magical day around them.

  1

  The sickly scent of burning irises made Cathy’s eyes sting. But she wasn’t done yet. It had been a large bouquet and there was a lot of rage to vent.

  “He said he loved me.” She plucked a petal and tossed it into the flames. “He did not.” Another soon followed it. “He made me think I had consented.” The penultimate petal was pulled off. “I. Did. Not. Consent.” After ripping the last petal away from the stalk, she watched it curl and combust before throwing in the rest of the stem.

  There were three flowers left in the tissue paper. Mrs Morrison, Sam’s housekeeper, had cooed over them when she’d brought them to the living room, all smiles and delight. It had taken what little energy Cathy had left in her to accept them calmly and not just splurge her emotions all over the poor woman. If Sam had been there, she was certain that he’d have turned the florist away and paid them to never return.

  Tired, spent, and aware she’d wallowed enough, Cathy snatched up the last three blooms. “Fuck. William. Iris,” she said with each one thrown into the blaze. The tissue paper, along with the unopened card, soon followed.

  “He’s such a dick,” she muttered. What did he think a bunch of bloody flowers was going to achieve? Surely even he knew that no Iris magic would survive past the boundary of Lord Iron’s estate? Did he honestly believe a bouquet would make her regret leaving him? Idiot.

  Cathy frowned into the flames. No. Will was many things—she drew in a sharp breath at the messy torrent of images and memory flashes that hit her then—but he was not stupid. He wasn’t trying to make her feel anything emotional. He was sending her a message: I know exactly where you are.

  She’d known that would be the case. No doubt he and Lord Iris had felt Sam breaking all the magic they’d forced upon her. And it wasn’t like Sam could hide away, given the fact that his bizarre inheritance had made it into the national press. He was the only person Cathy knew of who was a big deal in all the worlds. Finding his home would have been a trivial matter.

  Shivering despite the fire, Cathy pulled the fluffy blanket off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around herself. The assumption that she’d be with Lord Iron was an obvious one; there was literally nowhere else in any of the worlds where she could be safe. She’d simply exchanged one gilded cage for another.

  The tears seemed to have no end, even though she’d been crying on and off for the whole week since she’d fled. Swearing beneath her breath, Cathy fished another tissue from the box and wiped her face. All she had done was cry and watch TV. She’d curled in a ball in the corner of the huge sofa, trying to keep an emotional tsunami at bay with Adventure Time and Battlestar Galactica, all the while knowing she should be doing something. There were too many people dependent on her, too many people who needed her help, for her to disappear in such a cowardly manner. But the truth was: she had no idea what to do. If she left the house, she had no doubt that Will would pounce on her. It felt like she was a mouse cowering in a hole with a cat waiting outside. With Lord Iris’s plans for a child, she knew Will would have the most powerful magic at his disposal. If he got hold of her again, she’d never be able to escape.

  The fear of being under his control again and the genuine lack of any other safe place to go were utterly paralysing. She had bolted as soon as Max had revealed the magic Will had cast upon her, thinking of nothing but getting away from him and making her mind and her heart her own again. But what was the use of this clarity if it rendered her useless?

  Having no idea what to do next left her traitorous mind free to ruminate. How many times had she replayed that last morning with Will when he’d placed that choker around her neck? He’d collared her like a dog, reducing her willpower to that of a puppy. Sometimes it made her physically sick. She’d lost weight. Even now, when she was free of that damned magic, he was dominating her thoughts.

  A groan slipped from her as she pressed the sides of her head. She didn’t want to haunt Sam’s house like a lost soul but she was too afraid to leave. There had to be someone she could contact, something she could do.

  Scanning a list of allies in her mind took a depressingly short amount of time. Margritte was in exile, as was her former governess, Natasha Rainer (Cathy would never forgive Tom for that). She wasn’t sure where Charlotte was now, having fled just after Bertrand had been arrested by the Arbiter, so all she could do was hope Charlotte was at least safe somewhere in the Nether, far away from the Society that had failed her, along with her children.

  The only potentially sympathetic person Cathy could think of was Lucy, her sister-in-law. They hadn’t spoken properly in weeks, though. The others had wanted to keep Lucy out of their feminist group, for fear of Tom finding out. Considering what he did to Natasha, it was probably just as well. It wouldn’t be fair to suck Lucy into anything now. Any hint she’d received contact and both Tom and Will would put terrible pressure on her to reveal anything the two of them had said.

  Cathy nibbled at her thumbnail. Perhaps if she found some way to send Lucy a message, without magic—without even touching the note—she’d be able to make contact without it being detected. Without someone in the Nether, there was no way she could help the people she’d left behind. Surely it was worth the risk?

  A knock on the living room door made her jolt. “Come in.”

  Sam’s other houseguest peered round the door cautiously, as if concerned a wild fox might be in the room. Her long, dark blonde hair was tied into two long braided pigtails, making her look like someone from a pre-Raphaelite painting. It took Cathy a moment to remember her name. Beatrice, that was it. They’d been introduced shortly after she’d arrived but Cathy had been in such a terrible state Beatrice had avoided her.

  “Sam’s out,” Cathy said, thinking she was looking for him. “I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  “Are you still crying all the time?”

  Cathy blinked at her. And she thought she was bad at people stuff. “Did you want something?”

  “I want to talk to you. But if you’re still crying, I’ll come back later.” Beatrice paused, her lip slightly curled. “You’ve been doing that for days. Is there something wrong with you?”

  “I haven’t been crying every minute!”

  Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “I have sampled your behaviour twenty-six times over the past five days. You were crying every time.”

  “You…you what?”

  “Why have you been behaving this way?”

  “Something really bad has happened to me.”

  “And is crying improving the situation?”

  Cathy scowled at her, trying to fathom the strange woman’s intent. The words sounded like she was being deliberately
cruel but the way she said them didn’t match that at all. The tone was of a genuine question. Before she could think of something to say, Beatrice asked, “Did someone die?”

  “No. I was betrayed, all right? Is that a good enough reason to be upset for you?”

  The retort didn’t seem to lessen Beatrice’s concentration. “Was it a man who betrayed you?” Cathy could only nod. The frown lifted from the strange woman’s face as her eyes brightened with understanding. “This makes sense. Someone you loved, no?”

  “Thought I loved.”

  “He said he loved you, yes?” Another nod, this time mirrored by Beatrice. “I know this pain. When I was betrayed by the man I loved more than anyone and anything in the worlds, I cried just as much.”

  Cathy blew her nose again, the tears having stopped, thankfully. “What did you do?”

  Beatrice’s smile glittered. “I killed him, took his power and destroyed everything he held dear.”

  For the first time in a week, a flicker of hope stirred in Cathy’s heart. “Come and sit down,” she said. “I think we should get to know each other better.”

  • • •

  Will leaned against the car, exhausted. He’d barely slept for days and his eyes felt like he’d rubbed sand into them. The wind was bitterly cold, promising another snow flurry soon. He was supposed to be supporting his brother in Oxenford, at a ball that had already started, not lurking in Cheshire behaving like a criminal. He was desperate, and with good cause: Lord Iris had demanded that he retrieve his wife and Will was certain that if he didn’t succeed soon, his patron’s patience would soon come to an end.

  “Cathy,” he whispered beneath his breath. “Why do you have to be so damn difficult?”

  “We’ve confirmed that Lord Iron has left the estate, your Grace,” Carter said, still unable to look him in the eye since the woman he was charged to protect had been stolen away. “We’re ready to move in when we have your permission.”

  Will looked at the mansion in the distance, nothing more than a collection of lit windows in the winter darkness. He’d told his men that Cathy had been kidnapped by Lord Iron, who’d been obsessed with her. He wished he believed his own lie. It would be so much easier to bear if that was the real explanation, and although he didn’t know why Cathy had left him, he had his suspicions.

  All he knew with certainty was that the Arbiter from Bath—the one who’d gone rogue and tried to prosecute his father—had collected her from the house seven days before. She’d been at her sister’s wedding earlier that day and everything had seemed perfect. She was loving and affectionate and…compliant.

  He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck as he thought of the choker. He’d had to do it. There was no way he could have continued to let that damn Poppy magic make her destroy everything, but the memory of putting it around her neck haunted him. He’d stooped as low as the Rosas. He’d resorted to controlling her.

  She must have found out what the choker did. The Arbiter probably told her. It was easy to imagine her rage; he’d felt it himself, when he’d learned of the Rosa Charm acting upon him. The Charm that resulted in the illegitimate child now growing in Amelia’s womb. It still made him feel ill.

  Much as it all sickened him, Will couldn’t fathom any other way to have handled her behaviour and keep his Patroon happy. Cathy simply didn’t understand the pressure he was under. He just wanted to explain, to somehow make her see that he’d had no choice. To talk it through with her and come to some sort of accord that would bring her home with him. If he could just get her out of that damn house, away from Lord Iron, perhaps he could persuade her to give him a second chance. Surely she wasn’t going to run away from all the other things she cared so much about?

  And if she couldn’t be persuaded… He clenched his teeth. Was he prepared to go beyond persuasion, taking her free will completely, to do what he must? Could he live with himself?

  “Your Grace?”

  “Do it,” Will said, his gaze still locked on the mansion. “Be quick. And remember, Lord Iron might have tricked her into believing all sorts of things. About me. She may not want to leave.”

  He watched Carter’s jaw set and his back straighten. “Whatever he’s done to the Duchess, I’ll bring her back to you, your Grace. We’ll make sure she’s safe again.”

  Will nodded, feeling the deceit wrap itself around him, choking him almost. “None of our Charms or artefacts will work within the boundary of the estate, remember. You may have to…a Doll Charm won’t work, so…”

  “I understand,” Carter said, and gave a curt bow before going over to the other men waiting nearby.

  All four of them were dressed in modern black clothing in stark contrast to the white tie that Will wore beneath his coat. As soon as they were done here and Cathy was back at home, he would go to Oxenford and support his brother.

  Will watched the men pull balaclavas down over their faces and shuddered. They would terrify Cathy but there was nothing to be done about it. No doubt Lord Iron used mundane security cameras and the last thing he needed was anyone traced to him. No glamours, no Charms, no magic at all. He could only hope that Carter’s superior training would be sufficient.

  The men slid down the ditch by the side of the road and were soon out of sight. Will got back into the car and let his head rest against the back of the seat. In a few hours, all would be well.

  2

  “I’m back!” Rupert called as he entered the office. “I brought jelly snakes.”

  Max grabbed his cane and started to hobble over. Kay glanced up at Rupert, gave a brief nod, then went back to whatever she was doing with the computer. The gargoyle, who was currently lying on the floor next to Kay like an oversized house cat, didn’t even look up.

  “Bloody hell, what do I need to bring with me to get a hello? Turkish Delight? Crack?” Rupert dumped the large paper bag on his desk and shrugged off his coat. “It’s snowing, by the way.”

  “Ooooh!” Kay leaped out of her chair and dashed to the window. Being on the top floor of Cambridge House, a lot of Bath’s city centre could be seen below. “Oh, it looks beautiful!”

  Rupert fished out a long green jelly snake and bit its head off. “If cold wet stuff that overstays its welcome is your sort of thing, I suppose. Ah, Max. Jelly snake?”

  “There’s a problem. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”

  “I was busy.”

  “I was trying to get hold of you too,” Kay said from the window. “I finished the database and the modified app is in beta but I need sign-off on the extra functionality. Where were you? It’s been days.”

  “Busy,” Rupert said, chewing on the green jelly as he sat on the desk. “Ya know, Sorcerer stuff.”

  “Sir, about that problem.”

  Rupert sighed. “Go on, you go first. But I’m warning you now, I won’t care and it won’t be as important as what I’ve got to tell you.”

  “George Reticulata-Iris is free and living in the Nether as if nothing has happened.”

  Rupert just stared at him, chewing. Max waited for a response long enough for Rupert to shrug. “I’m waiting to hear the problem.”

  “Oh, bloody hell, Rupert,” Kay said, turning from the snowy view. “You know what that bastard did, and that Max busted him—I talked to you about it!”

  Rupert’s lips smacked together as he worked on the latest mouthful. “If the Patroon decided not to chuck him out, what’re we gonna do? I can’t go and get medieval on his ass. We have to make them think Ekstrand is still the Sorcerer of Wessex. If I go there and pass myself off as a totally-not-dodgy replacement, then that woman will hear of it and then we’re buggered.”

  “It isn’t right!” the gargoyle snarled. “That Iris kidnapped dozens of people over hundreds of years! He just posted them off to Lord Iris without a second thought for their families or—”

  “Look,” Rupert held up his hands and a half-eaten snake. “George Reticulata-Iris is a grade-A fucknoodle, I get that. Bu
t we’ve got to accept that with things the way they are, we can’t get all the wins we want.”

  “Then what’s the point of doing any of this?” Kay snapped. “You’re never here, and you don’t back us up. It’s all very well having these Sniffers all over the city, but we only have one Arbiter. The rest of the Fae-touched are going to look at what happened to George Iris and think it’s worth taking more risks—and you know what? They’re right! You’re supposed to protect people, Rupert! Do some bloody protecting!”

  Rupert tossed the snake onto the desk, giving Kay a furious glare. “The fuck? You’ve been here like five minutes and you think you know how to do all this better than me? I’ve been doing this for hundreds of years!”

  “Yeah, with loads of staff and actual power!” Kay said as the gargoyle started to growl at Rupert. “Now you’ve only got the people in this room and poor bloody Bob, who’s barely keeping it together! It’s not enough! Stop acting like it is. A boy was almost taken by a Buttercup yesterday, and two days ago the Lavandulas were up to something at Lansdown School—which is a Peonia anchor property, in case you didn’t know—and now the whole place has been closed off with this bomb scare nonsense! Where were you?”

  “Hang on,” Rupert said. “Who the fuck is Bob?”

  “Robert Amesbury. The man who helped me crack the Iris case,” Max said. “One of his victims, indirectly. Even if he was in a fit state to help us, he isn’t suitable for active field work.”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember now.” Rupert nodded to himself and then looked at Kay. “Yeah, all right, you’ve got a point.”

  “Thank you.”

  The gargoyle stopped growling.

  “But I haven’t been sitting on my arse. I’ve been busy too. And I may not be dealing with the puppets, but I am fixing the bigger problem: that woman who killed all the other Sorcerers. Once we’ve dealt with her, I can wade in on whatever case you want, I can flick Patroon balls again, whatever you need. But until she’s dealt with—preferably dead—my hands are tied.”