Page 1 of Bloodlines and Birthright

Chapter 1

Summer 1894

On the eve of Oscar’s and my departure from London, the most discussed topic as we left the dockside tavern with Willie wasn’t the weather for the upcoming channel crossing, or the amount of luggage still to be packed, or even the book we hoped to find in the abbey near Milan. It was Willie’s bottom. Or, more specifically, the tattoo decorating it.

“My ass cheek feels like it’s on fire.” Willie plucked at her buckskin trousers at her hip, only to wince when that made the fabric rub against her tender skin more. “Why didn’t you warn me it would hurt so much, Barratt?”

“Did you think being stabbed many times by a needle would tickle?” Oscar couldn’t quite keep the amusement out of his voice, although he managed to school his features and not let his grin break free.

“I thought it would involve more pricking and less stabbing.” Willie nodded a greeting at a woman sitting on a step in a recessed doorway of a run-down building with boarded up windows. It wasn’t abandoned, merely derelict, rather like the woman herself. Despite tired eyes and missing teeth, she’d pulled her dress up to her knees and sat with legs apart in an attempt to entice a paying customer. Fortunately, she didn’t proposition Oscar or me. Or Willie, for that matter.

A light rain began to fall and I suggested we hail a hackney or find an omnibus to take us back to Mayfair. It was Willie’s home, but also the London residence of our patrons, Matt and India Glass—Lord and Lady Rycroft. We were due to meet them to discuss final arrangements before our departure.

“I ain’t sitting in a bone-shaker!” Willie declared. “My ass is sore enough. We’ll walk.”

“But it’s miles to Mayfair,” I said.

“Quit whining, Prof. You need the practice. There ain’t no omnibuses where you’re going. You might be able to ride a donkey, but mostly you’ll walk.”

“I think you’ll find Italy is as civilized as London, Willie. Milan has omnibuses, hackneys and trams, too.”

“Milan might but the abbey won’t.” Willie may not have called me an idiot, but it was certainly implied in her tone. “Matt reckons they live a simple life of austerity.”

“I don’t care if they make us sleep on stone slabs, as long as they have the book we want,” Oscar said.

The book he referred to contained a spell that could make a tattooed person fly like a bird. Although it may be pure legend, Oscar was determined to try it for himself. As an ink magician, if anyone could make the spell work, it would be him. We’d learned of the book’s location from another book we acquired in Scotland, and immediately wrote to the abbot. It had taken months to receive a reply, then our departure was delayed by winter and, more recently, a delay in securing passage. Finally, we were ready to leave.

But first, Oscar wanted to experiment with making Willie fly by speaking his ink floating spell into her new tattoo. The location of it might make that a little difficult.

“So when can I see it?” Oscar asked.

“You ain’t seeing it, Barratt. It’s on my ass.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a prude.”

“I ain’t, but Jasper is. He won’t like you seeing my ass.”

Knowing her husband, Detective Inspector Brockwell, I didn’t think he’d particularly mind. He was aware that his wife lived a colorful life, both before and after their marriage. Willie still went out drinking with her friends, swore like a sailor, and showed no signs of being more conventional. Nor did he strike me as the jealous type who’d worry that Oscar would desire Willie if he saw more of her body than was accepted by polite society. Brockwell was quite a calm, rational fellow. He had to be, to survive marriage to Willie with his sanity intact.

“I don’t want to see all of you naked, just…” Oscar wagged a finger in the general direction of her derriere.

Neither of them blushed, but I felt the familiar heat rise up my neck to my face. It was grossly unfair that I was the one to suffer visceral reactions to the thought of nudity, when I was neither the one who’d be naked nor the one who’d witness it.

“How do you expect me to make you fly if I can’t see your tattoo?” he went on.

“There ain’t no rule that says you have to see the thing you’re putting a spell into.”

Oscar didn’t look convinced. “You should have got it in a more visible place.”

“Jasper wouldn’t want it to be visible.”

“Nor would Matt and India,” I added.

Willie rounded on me and stamped her hands on her hips. “Do not tell them I got a tattoo.”

I pushed my glasses up my nose and quickly nodded.

“Why don’t you want them to know?” Oscar asked her. “They’re familiar with your, er, eccentricities. It won’t take either of them by surprise.”