thisbluespirit (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thisbluespirit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2019-05-31 06:41 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2019-05-31 06:41 pm
Dogwood Rose
Name: Duplicate Souls
Story: Divide & Rule
Colors: Dogwood Rose
Supplies and Styles: Saturation + mural + novelty beads (Flower Cart for the May Flowers challenge) + eraser + pastels (also forhc_bingo square “accidentally mating for life” and genprompt_bingo “Ritual marks and body decorations”.)
Word Count: 12,341
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Mentions of grief/death.
Notes: Soulmark AU – 1947: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Isabel Andrews, Amyas Harding, Alan Jemmings. (Sorry, me trying to keep my Edward/Julia AUs short is a losing battle generally. *collapses*)
Summary Edward is looking for an enemy of the state; Julia only wants to be left alone. Neither of them are looking for a soul mate…
***
3. white: silence and secrecy
Edward Iveson shifted his position in the darkened car, pressing his head back against the seat, and wondering how much longer he was going to be waiting out here. It had been three hours already, and he was deeply uncomfortable on both a physical and emotional level. He reminded himself that he was not spying on Miss Graves, per se, but he wasn’t sure she’d appreciate the difference if she spotted him from across the street.
He pressed his fingers against his temple, in a futile attempt to ward off an oncoming headache. More to the point, though, was that his actual target had finally arrived – but he’d been in there for nearly an hour now, which was certainly longer than it took to offer a grieving young lady his condolences.
“Hell,” said Edward, under his breath. He wasn’t supposed to be doing anything other than observing, and tailing Jemmings’s associate if they split up after they left – Andrews was hanging around near a lamppost a few yards away waiting for Jemmings – but on the other hand, he had no wish to see Julia Graves get sucked into this mess, and she’d hardly be thinking straight right now. “Damn him!”
He’d been dogged by a continual sense of misery all through this week, ever since Rudy Graves had been killed and he’d been the one who’d had to inform the boy’s sister Julia. But then he hadn’t intended to still be working for Intelligence this long after the war. He’d previously worked in the office of the Minister for Health, including spending some time gathering information for a special committee on soul marks, which had seemed a harmless way of earning his salary. Ironically, it was why he was still in SIS, since Jemmings’s group were protesting against the tyranny of imposed destiny in the shape of soul marks. Having a semi-expert on hand suited the department, and so Edward’s secondment had continued.
There were aspects of intelligence work he enjoyed at times, but it did rather leave one on the outside of life, looking in on everyone else. Edward looked across and up at Julia’s second floor apartment, and got out of the car.
A change of plan might do some good, he decided, and slammed the door shut. Time to act like a real person.
#4. pink: please believe me
Julia’s week had started as badly as possible, when her brother Rudy had been found dead, and now it seemed to be ending with yet more officious men lecturing her about how and why it had happened.
Mr Jemmings, who was supposedly a friend of Rudy’s, a part of the group he’d been with when he died, had been the first. He’d kept talking about soul marks and how they should be done away with until Julia had wanted to scream.
Mr Jemmings had been in full flow when Mr Iveson had turned up at the door to demand that she come with him back to his office and answer more questions about Rudy. It might have seemed a timely rescue if he’d wanted anything else.
She stared out of the car window as they drove along, angling away from him, too weary to talk. It wasn’t that far to the office he was using, and once they stopped, he ushered her out of the car and into the building.
Julia followed him up the stairs, feeling queasy. Last time she’d been here, Mr Iveson had told her about Rudy, and then made her go and identify the body. She clenched her fists and raised her head. “Isn’t this a bit late? It’s after tea time, you know. I thought all civil servants went home long before this.”
Mr Iveson merely gave a vague smile and opened the door to his office for her.
“Anyway,” she said, working herself up to a satisfactory anger, “I told you everything I know last week. I don’t see what you could possibly want to ask me that would be worth dragging me out here for.”
Mr Iveson shut the door behind them and paused, ready to take her coat, but she pulled it closer around her and marched over to the wooden chair at the desk and sat down.
“Tea?” said Mr Iveson, shrugging off his long coat and scarf and placing them on the hat stand.
Julia thought about standing on her dignity, but decided she would rather have the tea, and nodded.
“Sugar?”
She folded her arms. “Just the one. What is it you want to ask me?”
Mr Iveson disappeared into a small adjoining kitchen. “One moment.” He reappeared two minutes later. “I’m afraid I don’t have any questions. You must have realised by now that we’re, er, not entirely happy about the nature of your brother’s death.”
“Neither am I!”
Edward acknowledged that hit with a small nod. “Yes. Of course. Sorry. At any rate, I was waiting to see if they’d contact you, and when they did, they were so long that I thought I should intervene.”
“You were spying on me?”
“On your visitors,” he said. “Not you. We needed to get hold of Jemmings – we can’t have a repeat of what happened last week. I was worried that might be what we’d get tonight if I didn’t stop him. I suppose he was trying to persuade you that you also needed your mark removed?”
Mr Jemmings had, and at length, but Julia didn’t feel like telling Mr Iveson he was right. “And why shouldn’t I, if I wanted to? It’s my life, and I don’t see why we should have our lives ruled by some arbitrary birth mark, not to mention all the nonsense people talk about it. And,” she added, with a hard look at him, “I don’t see what business it is of the government’s in either case.”
“I daresay his makes his ideals sound very rational,” said Mr Iveson, and then held up a hand. “One moment,” he said again, and vanished into the tiny kitchen a second time.
Julia stood, kicking the chair back away from her and walked over. “Honestly, forget the tea!”
“I don’t think leaving a kettle boiling after hours would be advisable,” he said. “And even if you don’t want tea, I do.”
Julia leant against the door jamb. “Well, I’ve heard enough about this from Mr Jemmings for one day. And he says that he was trying to help Rudy. As I told you, Rudy found out he had a rare condition and needed to have the soul mark removed, and Mr Jemmings’s group are on the point of developing a safe method of doing so at last, so Rudy knew the risk.”
Mr Iveson frowned over the tea cups. “Milk?”
“Yes,” said Julia, watching him pour, and felt petty enough to add, “and you should pour it in first.”
“I expect we’ll both live,” Mr Iveson murmured passing her a cup and saucer. “At least, if you listen to me, that is. Did Mr Jemmings also inform you that the condition tends to be hereditary?”
Julia felt oddly close to tears, and turned away, walking back over to her chair, heedless of slopping the tea into the saucer. “He said something like that, yes.”
“I’m sure he did.” Mr Iveson sat opposite her. “The bastard.”
Julia raised her eyebrows and put her tea cup down in shock. “Mr Iveson!”
“He is,” said Mr Iveson. “The rest of the group may be well-intentioned, I don’t know. But he isn’t. Rudy saw a doctor in the pay of Jemmings. That’s what started this. I’m sure they’d do the same to you if you let them.”
“Not if you’re following me about.”
Mr Iveson sighed, and pushed his cup and saucer away. “I realise that I don’t have much of a moral high ground to stand on here, but please believe me. Besides which, soul marks may be a mystery to us on many levels, but given that they are the outward manifestation of a deep mental connection, I cannot think that it would be –”
“Do you have a helpful pamphlet?” Julia cut in, leaning forward. She really was not prepared to sit through a second lecture on the same subject in one evening. “Mr Jemmings had a pamphlet that explained everything.”
A shadow crossed over Mr Iveson’s face. “I’m sorry, no.” Then he looked up, one corner of his mouth quirking into a smile. “I did write several reports on the subject before the war, but they were confidential, I’m afraid.”
“I might have guessed,” Julia said, although she was almost betrayed into an unwilling smile. Despite everything, part of her treacherously wanted to like Mr Iveson. He had been as kind as he could last week when he’d told her about Rudy. She was not about to relent yet, however. It felt good to vent her feelings on someone, and Mr Iveson seemed the safest available candidate.
She stood up and removed her coat, before sitting back down. “Wait,” she said, “let’s see what we’re talking about, shall we?” She stretched her arm out across the desk towards him, pulling up the sleeve of her cardigan and blouse to reveal the mark on her wrist. Hers was a circular, dark pink mark, shaped almost like a rose. Once upon a time, she’d had romantic ideas about soul marks, and she’d been sure it was a rose and wondered if it signified something special. She knew now that it didn’t. Marks were simply formed in an almost unique pattern, like fingerprints, and anything else about them was completely random, including whichever person got the matching mark. “Still there, and I don’t actually have plans to let anyone –”
She stopped, her voice trailing away. Mr Iveson was staring at her wrist as if he’d never seen a soul mark before. Which was rude and ridiculous, since he must have at least have seen his own, and it wasn’t as if there was anything particularly odd about hers.
“Good God,” he said eventually, his gaze still fixed on her wrist.
Julia glared and withdrew her arm, pulling her sleeve back down, her hand over her wrist defensively. “Can I go now?”
“Miss Graves,” said Mr Iveson, shaking himself. He glanced about him, and then pulled off his jacket, unfastening the cuff link on his left sleeve, and pulling the shirt up.
Julia drew back. “Oh, honestly, Mr Iveson. I’d like to go home, and I don’t need to see yours, thank you.” She halted again, realisation dawning as to what he was doing even before she took in the shape on his wrist. She shook her head. “No – wait – but, no –”
Mr Iveson’s mark was identical: a round, almost rose-like shape.
It couldn’t be true, though, she thought, shaking herself out of her immediate reaction of shock. She’d have felt something last week when she met him. And even if she hadn’t, because of being too taken up with the news of Rudy’s death, he surely would have done, and he’d have said something, not hung around spying on her.
She got to her feet, reaching out clumsily for her coat, managing to swing round so that she knocked the cup and saucer off the desk onto the floorboards, tea spilling and china smashing.
“It’s not true!” she said. “It can’t be. It’s a trick! How could you? I don’t care what or who you’re trying to investigate – this is going too far!”
Mr Iveson stood slowly on the other side of the desk, tugging down his shirt sleeve. “Miss Graves,” he tried again, but didn’t seem to know how to continue. “Miss Graves –”
Julia shook her head, and ran away.
10. blue: the unattainable
“Ned,” said Amyas Harding, a lift of surprise in his voice as he looked in through the office door. “I didn’t expect to see you back again. Weren’t you tailing one of Jemmings’s lot?”
Edward raised his head and rose from his chair. “Sir. I was, but I thought it best to extract Miss Graves. Besides, best if I’m out the way. I’ve run into Jemmings before, although I don’t know if he’d remember.”
“I see,” said Mr Harding. “Ah, well. Get anything further out of the Graves girl, then?”
Edward had to bite back wry amusement. “Not of any particular relevance to the case. I’m sorry. I was worried we’d have another body on our hands if I didn’t intervene.”
“Oh, quite,” Mr Harding said. “Last thing we want is another death being shouted about in the press. I’m off, at any rate. Coming? I’ll buy you a drink, if you like.”
Edward almost said yes. He could have used a brandy right now, possibly several, and Harding was generally happy to oblige, but he needed privacy to deal with this revelation, not the presence of an inquisitive senior officer. “No, thank you,” he murmured, gesturing at his desk. “One last report to file – and I’ve an early morning tomorrow.”
“Another time, then!” said Harding with a grin and swept out of the office. Edward could hear his steps as he took the stairs at a pace, and the more distant sound of the door onto the street opening and closing below.
“Oh, God,” Edward said under his breath, sinking back into his chair and putting his head in his hands.
There hadn’t been any point in going after Julia. There was no reason to suppose she was in any immediate danger, and Jemmings was under observation anyway. Edward would have to find her again, but he didn’t think it was likely to go any better until they’d both had some time to take in the truth. He couldn’t blame her for fleeing the scene. Even if he hadn’t been technically spying on her tonight, he was the man who’d broken the news to her about her brother’s death. He’d even escorted her to the morgue to identify the body.
It was Rudy Graves’s death that had prevented them from seeing the truth last week. Julia had been overwhelmed by shock and grief, and what would any other sensations have meant to her then? Edward had felt an unusual level of interest in her, but he’d assumed that was merely concern for her situation, and if he’d also liked her on sight, that was perfectly natural. She was very attractive, and while he might not be a lothario by any stretch of the imagination, he had eyes; he wasn’t dead yet. Still, now he at least understood the sense of misery that dogged him without reason all week: it was her grief echoing through their shared link.
It was damned ironic, though. He knew more about soul marks than just about anyone who wasn’t an expert, and yet he’d still been taken completely unawares. He had collated endless information on soulbonds and written several reports on the subject, back in his pre-war days at the Ministry of Health, and his first marriage had ended prematurely when his wife had met her soul mate. (The law allowed for a swift dissolution of the match in such cases). He’d assumed until now that he was unlikely to find his own soul mate – the percentage of those who did was around 47% when he had last had occasion to check the statistics, so why should he be in the fortunate minority? – but he had always imagined that if he did, that they’d be glad to find each other, even in awkward circumstances. He thought of Julia racing out of the door, but worse than that, the horror on her face when she’d understood.
He pressed his fingers to his temple, although it didn’t halt his growing headache. He’d have liked to have told himself that he was equally dismayed, given Julia’s opinions on the matter and the inconvenience of the situation, but it would have been a lie. He had felt an attraction to her the moment he’d seen her sitting in the corridor outside his office. He’d had to stifle an instinctive desire to lie, to tell her he wanted to see her for any other reason but the truth, unhelpful as that would have been. He’d wanted to see her smile, not make her cry.
Not all soul mates had relationships of a romantic nature, of course. Perhaps he’d have to resign himself to that with Julia; to a life that was a painful mixture of heaven and hell, at least on his side.
He closed his eyes. Perhaps, after all, it was only what he deserved.
1. red: courage
Julia didn’t stop fuming for hours, not until long after the taxi had deposited her back at her flat and she had locked the door against any more missionaries, spies, or government officials. She almost enjoyed the anger: it made a nice change from crying and punching pillows over Rudy and the rest of her family who’d gone before, one by one over these last ten years.
Her fury and the adrenaline that went with it deserted her mid rant to the air as to how Mr Iveson could have thought she was stupid enough to believe in such a ridiculous coincidence, and why would he even try? What good did he think it would do?
Which was when, inconveniently but inarguably, she realised that it must have been the truth. There simply was no rational reason she could think of for Mr Iveson to lie about it. She wasn’t sure what she thought of Mr Iveson after tonight – last week, if she’d thought of him at all, which she couldn’t say she had, she’d have said that he had at least tried to be as kind as he could in breaking the news to her – but he certainly didn’t seem like a stupid man, or the arrogant sort who’d believe she’d fall over herself at the chance to be his soul mate and immediately renounce all connection with the pressure group.
“Oh, heavens,” she said and slumped back onto her bed, gripping her wrist and staring at the ceiling. And if it was true, could he tell what she was feeling now? Would he be trying? Could she sense him?
She closed her eyes, making an effort to calm her stormy emotions to explore the link between them she would find if it was true. It was hard to be sure, since she was hazy on how it worked, but she thought she felt something outside herself; something hard to define – resignation, perhaps – and on top of that, she suspected Mr Iveson might be a little drunk.
Julia sat up again and pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear,” she said aloud and tried to stifle nervous laughter. “It isn’t going to end well, is it?”
She slept badly, her mind continually churning over everything Mr Jemmings and Mr Iveson had said, as well as that last unexpected revelation. By the morning, she felt unsure of anything again. Was Mr Iveson really her soul mate? If he was, maybe that was all the more reason to listen to Mr Jemmings and get the wretched thing removed. On the other hand, she didn’t care for Mr Jemmings at all, and if Mr Iveson was to be believed, then he was dangerous and best avoided altogether.
Julia sighed over her porridge. Her mind kept going round in circles, and what she most wished was that everyone would just leave her alone. After Rudy’s death, she’d talked to Mr Iveson, to somebody from Special Branch, to Jemmings and his people, as well as trying to do all the usual sorts of awful things one had to do when people died – sorting out the death certificate and the funeral arrangements, and all the legal business. That was bad enough without pressure groups and sinister government departments wrangling over her as well.
“Maybe I should have the stupid mark removed,” she said aloud to herself as she washed the dishes. “That would silence everyone – either Mr Jemmings is right and it would get rid of Mr Iveson for good, or Mr Iveson is right and then I suppose it’d get rid of me for good and at least I wouldn’t have to worry about any of it any more.”
Julia halted, hands in the water, struck by a thought. She didn’t actually want to die to prove a point, but taking Mr Jemmings up on his offer would cut through this tangle. The authorities wanted evidence against Mr Jemmings, and if Mr Iveson was right, if she gave him half a chance, he’d give them what they needed. All she had to do was seem desperate enough to go along with him, then change her mind at the last minute. She was already being followed by Mr Iveson’s colleagues, so someone would be there to arrest Jemmings before he went too far.
Julia telephoned Mr Jemmings and told him she’d been thinking about everything he’d said last night and that she wanted to talk to him about the operation. She’d thought she should remember to sound nervous, but it required no pretence. Her voice was unsteady throughout and when she put the telephone down, her hand was shaking.
She didn’t want her efforts to be wasted, so to make sure that she was being followed, she penned a note to Mr Iveson, which took several tries, some too sharp and some too kind, but in the end she settled on this:
Dear Mr Iveson,
I thought it was only fair to tell you that I have taken Mr Jemmings’s advice about removing my soul mark. I‘m sure you will be as relieved as I am for us to be free of each other, and it’ll be one way of proving you’re wrong about Rudy’s friends. Hopefully after this, you and your department will cease persecuting them and me. As I told you yesterday, I detest the whole notion of soul marks and cannot change my mind on the matter now.
Please be assured that it isn’t personal, even if you are a government lackey.
Yours sincerely,
Julia Graves.
She folded the note, and went out to deliver it, although she felt a pang of doubt. What if Mr Iveson and his department weren’t very good at their jobs? But, she reminded herself, while Mr Jemmings might be a questionable person, he was trying to persuade her to agree to the operation, not tie her down and force her. She thought of Rudy, and knew he wouldn’t have taken much persuading, which hardened her resolve. If Mr Iveson was right, then it was the only thing left she could do for Rudy now.
She felt even less certain of anything by the time she was, late that evening, sitting in the surgery of a Dr Robinson preparing her for the procedure to remove the soul mark.
He finished taking a blood sample and said, “As you know, while this is a successful procedure, it’s also new. There is a considerable risk.”
“I understand,” said Julia, with a glance over at the man Mr Jemmings had sent to take her there. “But, as you say, otherwise I might die anyway.”
The doctor nodded. “Indeed. However, if you’re ready, I don’t think we should waste any more time.”
“Oh,” said Julia. “I thought I could have more time to consider? It is a very serious step. I was thinking I should maybe at least put things in order first –”
The two of them exchanged a glance over her head and she turned cold even as she pretended she hadn’t noticed. They weren’t prepared to let her go so easily.
“No, no,” said Dr Robinson. “Mr Jemmings assured me you were ready and, as you may have noticed, certain shady figures have been taking too much of an interest in our doings lately. It’s now or never and, given your condition, I wouldn’t advise never, Miss Graves.”
Julia’s mouth went dry, and her heart was beating fast and hard as she leapt up from the couch. Mr Jemmings’s agent behind her immediately stood, blocking the doorway.
“Please,” she said. “I understand, but Mr Jemmings didn’t seem to think the risk was that high – I need to see to some things first, that’s all. I’ll come back tomorrow – as you say, I have every reason to.”
Dr Robinson gave a short sigh and looked across at the other man again. “Hold her down for me,” he said.
Julia gave an undignified squeak of outrage and alarm, kicking at the man advancing on her, when the door opened behind them, causing them both to start and turn to look at the newcomer.
“Excuse me,” said Mr Iveson, slipping into the room. He was, Julia felt, really not very stealthy as spies went. This was the second time he’d just knocked on the door and walked in. “I’m here to collect Miss Graves.” He held out a hand to Julia.
Julia jumped towards him, grabbing hold of his coat sleeve, even as Robinson lashed out at her with a scalpel. He failed to stop her, but she bit back a cry, more of surprise than of pain, holding her arm against herself.
Mr Iveson gripped her shoulder. “Special Branch have the place surrounded,” he told the other two. “I wouldn’t do anything to make your case worse, if I were you.”
Julia thought Mr Jemmings’s unnamed friend was going to try and hit Mr Iveson, as he led her out the door, but Robinson swore and ran out of the other door, and, after a glance between her and the doctor, the hired man went after the doctor.
“Quickly,” said Mr Iveson, pushing her along the corridor and out the main door into the street. “Before it becomes self-evident that Special Branch aren’t here, although what’s keeping them is beyond me.”
He picked up his pace into a run, over towards one of the parked cars outside the building, and Julia followed, gripping her wounded arm, her hand becoming sticky with blood.
Mr Iveson pushed her into the car and darted round to the other side, jumping in, and starting up the engine on the second try. They drove away just as a figure ran out into the street behind them.
Julia pressed herself into the seat and concentrated on trying to breathe normally. She risked a look across at Mr Iveson, who had his attention fixed on the road ahead, but he seemed to sense her gaze, and turned his head briefly. He nodded towards her arm and said, “Apply pressure. I’ll stop as soon as I can and see to it properly.”
“I know first aid, thank you,” said Julia, but her voice came out unsteadily and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying. She tried to keep her hand pressed down firmly on the wound, but she was shaking uncontrollably. Giving first aid to other people was one thing; it was another again when it was her blood leaking over her hands.
It had all been a game until now. She hadn’t truly believed there could be any real danger, and now, especially in the light of what had happened to Rudy, she couldn’t understand her own stupidity. She closed her eyes.
Mr Iveson turned off sharply, taking them down a residential side street and pulling to a halt out of sight of the main road. He switched off the headlights and turned to her. She swallowed and flinched back, sure he was going to shout at her after what she’d done.
All he said was, “It’s all right. They won’t come after us. Now, let me look at that arm.”
Julia blinked away tears. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think it’s very bad. I expect you should take me to a police station or somewhere so I can give a statement.”
Mr Iveson shook his head, leaning over her to fish out a torch from the glove compartment before disappearing outside. He returned with a first aid tin and a blanket from the boot. “Come on,” he said, keeping his voice level. “No harm in letting me take a look, is there?”
Julia, still shaking, shrugged off her coat with difficulty and some help from him and then rolled up her cardigan and blouse, before giving a nervous giggle at the fact that she kept going to great lengths to show him her arm.
Mr Iveson placed the torch on the dashboard in front of her and bent his head, giving the cut a brief examination. “No, not too bad,” he agreed, giving her a smile. “It might need a stitch or two, though, so we’d better get you to the hospital.” He unrolled a strip of bandage and bound it up for her. “First I need to make a quick phone call, however. Will you be all right for five minutes?”
Julia nodded, despite a wish to tell him not to go. She wasn’t sure what she thought of Mr Iveson yet, but there was something terribly reassuring about him.
“Good,” he said. “Keep your head down just to be on the safe side, but I’ll be as quick as I can. Oh, wait – one more thing.” He fished out a small tin of humbugs and offered it to her. “Have one. It’ll probably help. The shock, you know.”
Julia took it and then slid down against the seat, hoping he wouldn’t be long. She sucked the humbug, and tried to comfort herself that at least she had found out who had been telling the truth. She only hoped she hadn’t alienated her soul mate in the process. That, too, was not a game.
2. burgundy: unconscious beauty
Edward spent his time at the hospital first waiting with Miss Graves until someone took a look at her arm and then, while she was being attended to, he made several phone calls – a second call to the office, to his superiors, to Mr Morley and Mr Harding, and to Special Branch, to an irate someone. However, Robinson and Jemmings’s agent had been apprehended and they finally had sufficient evidence to charge Jemmings. He had not been found yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Edward could now turn his mind to more personal matters. He wasn’t sure whether or not Miss Graves wanted him here, but since she didn’t seem to have anyone else to turn to and she couldn’t possibly go home alone to her flat until Jemmings had been picked up, he felt obliged to stay. He put a hand up to his mouth to hide a brief, wry smile. Be honest, he told himself. You want to stay.
Where she was going to go, if not back home, was a good question. If she had no one able to come to the hospital when she was in trouble, did she have a friend or relative to stay with? Edward decided it was better to be safe than sorry and waited for the telephone again, to make yet another call.
Miss Graves eventually rejoined him with her arm neatly bandaged and tucked into a sling. Edward escorted her out to the car, hovering at her side, uncertain what to say next.
“Oh, dear,” she said, when she got into the car. “I think I bled all over the seat earlier.”
Edward laughed, the tension in him easing a little. “Well, do try not to be so inconsiderate this time,” he said, shutting the door after her, and crossing back round to the driver’s side. He climbed in and looked over at her. “If you make a habit of it, I’ll have to send you a cleaner’s bill.”
Miss Graves managed a faint smile and then slumped back into the seat.
“There is one thing,” said Edward, once he’d got the engine running. “You can’t go back to your flat now. Not alone anyway. Is there anyone else who might put you up for the night?”
She turned her head slowly. “Why can’t I?”
“We’ve got Dr Robinson and several more of the group, but as of last time I checked, Jemmings hasn’t been run to ground. We don’t think it’s very likely that he will come after you, but as he knows exactly where you live, it might be a reasonable precaution not to drop you off there, alone and injured.”
Miss Graves screwed up her face. “Oh, thank you. What a charming thought. But I don’t have anywhere else I can go – not at this hour anyway.”
“I did wonder,” said Edward, driving out of the hospital car park and turning back onto the road. “So, I rang my cousin Nancy earlier, and she and her wife are willing to have you, if you’re happy with that.” He paused. “They’re both very nice, and I didn’t tell them about us being soul mates. I’m not trying to pressurize you, merely keep you safe.”
Miss Graves nodded. “Thank you.”
Edward tried again to think of how to address their situation. The trouble was, she had gone to Jemmings to try and rid herself of her soul mark and thereby him, which said everything. She didn’t seem to mind him being here with her now, but perhaps that was due to the shock.
“We do have to talk,” he said, after another ten minutes of driving along in silence, his attention on the road and Miss Graves sitting there, eyes closed, possibly even sleeping. He glanced over, seeing her blinking, and pulling herself up at his words. “At some point, that is. Not now, not tonight, of course. But I want you to know that I won’t try to force you into anything. Not all soul mates are romantic partners, you know, despite the impression one gets from the popular press.”
Miss Graves turned her head. “Mr Iveson,” she said. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean what I said in the letter. I only wrote it like that because I was angry. I went to Mr Jemmings to be sure – to get evidence against him, if he really got Rudy killed. I didn’t think it would end up quite like it did. I thought I could change my mind at the last minute.”
Edward cleared his throat, unsure of his next words again. It was kind of her, and it was at least an apology of sorts, but he wasn’t sure if he believed her, or that she truly had stopped trying to run away from him.
“I thought it would settle everything,” she said, giving a shaky laugh. “I suppose it did.”
When he stopped at the next traffic lights, she leant over, putting her hand on his arm.
“So, thank you,” she murmured, before releasing him, turning away and closing her eyes again. “If I’d written myself that note, I’m not sure I’d have bothered trying to rescue me.”
Edward had to laugh at that convoluted statement. He felt something lighten within him at her touch. “Ssh,” he said. “I think you’ve turned delirious, Miss Graves. Next thing you’ll be telling me you like me, after all.”
“I think,” said Julia, indistinctly as she grew drowsier, “probably I do, Mr Iveson. As long as you don’t keep spying on me.”
“Never again,” he said. “It would be terribly unprofessional of me at this point, I feel.”
6. orange: enthusiasm
Julia woke later than usual, her arm sore and with a faint lingering headache. She sat up slowly, taking in her surroundings. The bed had a metal frame and sagged slightly in the middle, while the furniture in the small room was a jumble of things of varying ages – a red rug, orange-patterned curtains, and a wooden wardrobe, with an elaborate carved border and a long, narrow mirror on one side of it. Opposite the bed, there was a bookshelf, stuffed with worn paperbacks, while on the wall beside her there was a picture of a sunset or possibly sunrise. She studied it with idle interest and decided it was probably sunrise.
The sun was leaking in through the gaps in the curtains, and Julia knelt up to draw them back, smiling to herself as she looked out of the window. Yesterday had been awful, but today she wasn’t alone any more, and she’d be seeing Edward Iveson again soon. As she leant against the white, painted window sill, she found nothing seemed as terrible as they had the day before.
“Oh, hello,” said Isabel, when Julia made it downstairs. “First, before I forget – Ned rang. He said to tell you that he won’t be able to make it this morning, but he’ll be over first thing this afternoon.” She paused and glanced at her watch, then looked up at Julia with a smile. “Which is probably all for the best, given the time. Would you like some toast and coffee?”
Julia thanked her and assured her that she would and then watched the other women while she sat down at the wooden kitchen table. Isabel and Nancy were soul mates, and they had seemed quite happy, at least as far as Julia could tell from their brief meeting last night. She felt as if she ought to ask questions, but had no idea how she’d begin.
“Nan has gone to work,” said Isabel, as she brought across the toast, margarine and marmalade. She sat down opposite Julia and gave a smile. “Now, how do you know Edward? I think it’s fair to say that he was rather cryptic last night, and insisted it was all to do with work, but Nancy didn’t believe him.”
Julia bit into the toast and contemplated how to answer, but truth wasn’t something she or Mr Iveson could hide for long. “Well, actually, it was through his work,” she said, once she’d swallowed her mouthful, “but it turns out we’re also soul mates, so it’s all a bit awkward. We hardly know each other.” She put down the toast. “Did you find it strange when you met Nancy?”
“At the risk of sounding like one of my worst novels,” said Isabel, “I’m not sure I did. We met in a bookshop and I was trying to think how to continue, when we realised. And since otherwise Nancy might have walked out with a signed copy and left me behind, I’m grateful. It always seemed quite natural to me.”
Julia coloured, wondering if Isabel might think she was complaining about Mr Iveson. “I suppose it couldn’t help being awkward for us, what with meeting in such horrible circumstances. And I’m opposed to soul marks in theory, anyway. I don’t like having one’s fate mapped out for one. Soul marks are just an infection, and it’s about time someone found a cure.”
“Perhaps,” said Isabel, raising her eyebrow, although she only sounded amused. “I’d say there are some advantages – speaking from practical experience.”
Julia pushed her empty plate away from her. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound obnoxious. It’s just horrible timing, like I said.”
“Poor dear,” Isabel said. “But Edward is quite nice, you know. He and Nan grew up like brother and sister, and she’s very fond of him. I’m biased, of course, but it could have been worse. Perhaps not what you’d call exciting, but that’s not always a virtue in the end.”
Julia bristled a little, because while she had plenty of things she could say about Mr Iveson – Edward – she would hardly have said he was boring, and she resented the implication. She closed her eyes momentarily, remembering last night in the car, looking across at Edward as he drove, his profile illuminated intermittently by the lamplight as she familiarised herself with him and the way she could sense his concern for her within. She’d felt a fluttering lift in her – of interest, or hope, maybe.
“Oh, no, it isn’t that,” she said. “It’s me that’s the problem. I’m not very good soul mate material. It’s probably some sort of awful celestial mistake all round.”
Isabel smiled, and stood, whisking Julia’s plate away so that she could wash it. “I suppose that much is for Ned to decide.”
When Mr Iveson finally arrived, Julia was lying on the sofa with one of Isabel’s books. Isabel had gone to her study, presumably to continue writing another of them.
“Miss Graves,” said Edward, after tapping on the door, despite it being ajar. Behind him, Julia heard the sound of Isabel running back upstairs and, a few minutes later, the sound of thumping on the typewriter keys resumed. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought we should talk.”
Julia put down the book beside her. “Yes.”
“I meant what I said last night,” said Edward. “I know you’re uncomfortable with our situation, but our relationship can be whatever you choose it to be. What we do need to acknowledge is the connection between us. We have a psychic bond that we must learn to use – and also when not to use.”
Julia surveyed him carefully, as he sat down on the arm of the armchair, draping his coat over the back, watching her equally closely in return. “Mr Iveson – Edward – don’t you mean what we choose to make it, not what I choose? I mean, that’s very kind of you, but I’d have thought this thing went both ways.”
“Of course,” he said, and glanced downwards.
Julia straightened herself. He didn’t object to this; he thought that she did.
“There’s something else,” said Edward, raising his head and leaning forward. “Jemmings. We had suspected for some time that he was with the group for selfish reasons rather than idealistic, and now we know. Whatever else he may have been up to, his chief aim in encouraging people like your brother to go through with the procedure was purely mercenary. When the mark is removed, there’s a substance beneath the skin they call soul powder once it’s been dried out. For obvious reasons, it’s extremely rare – it cannot be extracted from a corpse, or at least, not satisfactorily – and fetches indecent sums on the black market.”
“I’d heard of it, or vaguely, anyway. What does it do?”
Edward stiffened slightly. Julia, aware of their link, could feel the discomfort radiating out of him, and had to put a hand to her mouth to hide instinctive amusement. “It’s – well, it’s –” He stopped, giving her a bemused look.
“Don’t mind me,” said Julia. “Go on. What does it do?”
Edward looked around the room. “Magic, I suppose, if we must. What people call magic, at any rate. I wish they wouldn’t. We may not yet have come up with a proper scientific explanation for soul marks, but one day we will.”
“Yes, we humans have been a bit baffled and superstitious about them,” agreed Julia. “Ever since they first appeared in the Dark Ages – as if by magic!”
Edward drew himself up. “Yes, yes, I do realise, but nevertheless –”
“You disapprove,” she said for him, and smiled.
He put a hand up to his head. “Sorry. At any rate, that’s what it is. And since it has powerful properties, there are people who’ll pay a fortune for it. Jemmings wouldn’t need to have many successes to make it worth his while, and it explains a great deal. He used to be in Intelligence himself, and nobody really thought he’d turned idealistic.”
“I see,” said Julia. “Why are you telling me? Isn’t that breaking the Official Secrets Act?”
Edward remained serious. “No. I trust you won’t ever have to see Jemmings again, but until we’ve apprehended him, I think you’d better continue to stay away from your flat. I’d be very surprised if he came after you, especially when he’d guess we’d be keeping the flat under observation, but we can’t rule out the possibility he’ll try to finish the job or think it worth his while to silence you.”
“Thank you,” said Julia. “I shall try not to have nightmares.”
Edward reached out his hand to take hers. “I’m sorry. As I said, it’s unlikely, but I want you to be careful. The department don’t think it’s a serious risk, or they’d put you in a safe house.”
He made a move to withdraw his hand from hers, but Julia tightened her hold on him, preventing him, and he glanced up in surprise.
“Come here,” she said, gesturing for him to sit beside her on the sofa. “I feel as if I’m still being interviewed, especially when you start sounding so official.”
Edward gave a reluctant laugh and obliged, crossing to sit next to her. “As I said, I realise this isn’t ideal –”
“The thing is,” said Julia, straightening herself, and feeling more confident now he’d given her an opening, “the idea of not having to be romantic is nice to know, but I was only startled the other day. It was the last straw, after everything else. I’m not ready for this. But if I’m to have a soul mate, then speaking for myself, I want the whole thing, thank you. Eventually, I mean.”
Edward looked down at her, frowning faintly, and, even with him so close to her, she couldn’t sense what he was feeling. He must be carefully shielding himself.
“It’s always best to make the most of things,” said Julia, nerves making her continue. She gave a glimmer of a smile. “I don’t think it’ll be all that difficult.”
Edward nodded, but she wasn’t sure he had taken her words in fully, or at least not the right ones. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Good. And, obviously, we’ll have to learn to navigate the link between us – get to know each other.”
Julia clasped her hands in her lap, thinking, while Edward talked about the nature of the psychic link. He was being careful again, but she was fairly sure that was mainly nerves. He hadn’t really believed her, had he? Did he think she was only trying to be polite, or desperately hoping that time and the magic of the soul mark would work a miracle?
She stole a sideways glance at him, tightening her hold on her hands. She hadn’t been in any place to think much about Edward Iveson when they’d first met, but even if he wasn’t precisely handsome, he had his own attractions, something she was becoming more aware of every time they met. He seemed to like her, as far as she could judge, and yet something was keeping him from accepting her words.
“Julia,” said Edward, making her start. “Are you listening?”
She turned, looking up at him and coloured. Her fingers itched in her lap again, as she contemplated how easy it would be to touch him. She had a feeling that if she did, he’d let down his guard. What if, she thought, suddenly a little breathless at the possibility, she stretched up and kissed him? She tried to hide her instinctive glance at his mouth.
Edward only turned away, pressing a hand up to his forehead in sudden weariness. “Forgive me,” he said. “It’s been a long day with several meetings and now I’m lecturing you as if this is another.”
Julia patted his arm. “Never mind.” Then she leant back in the chair, watching him closely. “Can’t you tell what I’m thinking?”
“It’s not telepathy,” said Edward. “Emotions, pain, a general sense sometimes of where the other person is – if it’s somewhere familiar, or unfamiliar and so on – depending on whether you’re concentrating and whether your soul mate is closed off from you, or open.”
Julia bit her lip. “Yes, well,” she said, after a moment, “I suppose it’s probably for the best.”
8. coral: desire
“I can’t feel anything from you,” said Julia, standing next to Edward in the dance hall, close enough to be heard over the band. She hung onto his arm. “Is that me or you?”
Edward shook his head at her. “Me. We’re in public. Besides, it’s best to allow each other more rather than less privacy.”
“Well, stop it,” she said. “I’m trying to reach you.”
“If you insist,” he said, and smiled after her as she walked away through the crowd.
Things seemed to have been going well lately. Julia had been quick to grasp the way the psychic bond worked, and she had stopped telling him that she hated the whole system of soul marks, at least unless she was particularly annoyed with him. Edward couldn’t help remaining wary despite that. He hadn’t forgotten the look on her face when she’d realised the truth and he didn’t see how she could possibly have put that revulsion at the idea behind her so swiftly.
“Edward,” said Julia from beside him, and he turned without looking to take her hand and lead her out onto the dance floor.
She grinned up at him as they danced. “That was better. You knew what I wanted straight away.”
“It wasn’t difficult,” said Edward, shifting his hold on her waist, and breaking into a brief grin. He preferred to be more careful about these things, but he still found it fascinating to feel her attention shift from him to someone over in the crowd, and the pang of grief that went with it. He didn’t need to look: some young, fair-haired lad, who, for a moment, could have been Rudy.
She tightened her grip on his hand in response, and quickened her step, a determined expression on her face. Edward knew that one by now: she was going to keep cheerful if it killed her. He couldn’t help worrying that was exactly what she was doing with their situation as soulmates.
“I’m all right,” she murmured, leaning her head against him as the music slowed, evidently sensing something of his uncertainty.
Her statement wasn’t untrue, Edward realised in surprise. The sense of hurt in her lessened as she concentrated on the music, disappearing into it, before she looked up at him, and he could feel her attention as a faint warmth within, and she responded, gripping the edges of his jacket.
“Julia,” he said in warning, guiding her to the side of the room.
She pressed herself against the wall, blinking back tears, before she tightened her hold on him further, pulling him in and stretching up to kiss him. He closed his eyes, putting his hand to her cheek, and returned the kiss with interest, but underneath it all, he could feel her desperation, the sharpness of her isolation, and a growing strand of desire, or maybe only need. He felt an echo inside himself of all of those things that were, in different measures, his own feelings as well as the reflection of hers.
“Julia,” he said again, pulling back unwillingly.
She forced out a laugh. “You worry so much. Life’s too short, and we’re soul mates, anyway. Why not?”
He looked down, closing himself off from her, but keeping his hand lightly resting on her wrist. “Those aren’t the best of reasons,” he said, and bent down to kiss her on the cheek, meant as a chaste but kind end to the moment, but it was a reminder of why this sort of thing shouldn’t be played with in public. He couldn’t keep from sensing her reaction, and his to hers, repeated if diminished over and over within. The echo effect was well-known and could get completely out of control if one wasn’t careful. Edward always tried to be careful.
“You know,” said Julia, her mouth curving into a satisfied smile, “Isabel told me there were advantages. I think she was right.”
The warmth faded, as did any sense that he had understood her feelings, and Edward felt only the coldness of doubt.
9. lavender: enchantment
Edward scanned the newspaper idly, before glancing at his watch. He was supposed to be meeting Julia later, but not, he reminded himself, until after lunch. The time wasn’t going to go any faster if he kept looking. He turned over the page with a minute sigh, failing to find anything of interest there, either.
He felt something, then, tugging at him through his link with Julia. He lifted his head, frowning as he tried to work out the nature of the feeling. He couldn’t pin it down beyond a vague sense of something being wrong, and yet Julia seemed oddly close – almost as if she was in the next room.
He dropped the paper onto the desk and left the study, crossing the hall into the living room, to be certain. There was no sign of her, but the sense of wrongness grew stronger.
“Julia?” he said, moving further into the room, even though he couldn’t imagine she was hiding behind the curtains or the sofa, or how she would have got in. He was certain he hadn’t left the front door unlocked. Then, behind him, he heard a distinctly real rustle of movement, and swung around – in time to see Jemmings standing there, closing the door.
“You,” said Edward, taking an instinctive step back and clenching his fists. “What have you done to Julia?”
Jemmings smiled and shook his head. “Nothing. I’ve no idea where she is. That really shouldn’t be your primary concern just now.” He sat down on the edge of the armchair, his gaze fixed on Edward.
Edward tried to move forward, towards him, but he was halted by a blaze of pain flaring up within him. When it finally ceased, he was lying on the carpet, shaking and breathless and still unsure if it was his pain or Julia’s.
Jemmings was crouching nearby. “It works,” he said. “This is my first chance to test it out properly, so it was a risk, but the odds were good.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” said Edward, hastily pulling himself up. “Where is Julia?”
“I don’t think you even remember, do you?” Jemmings queried. “And I thought you were the sort to catalogue every conversation. I apologise, Iveson. I wronged you.”
Edward was struggling against a fresh bout of pain that was everywhere and nowhere – one minute his heart, making him catch his breath, the next a stabbing pain in the head that made him feel nauseous if he moved. He forced himself to concentrate on breathing, and managed, “What the hell, Jemmings?” He’d had a couple of encounters with the man before in his previous line of work. Jemmings had wanted to know about some archaic superstitions surrounding soul marks. The relevance of that registered, even if Edward couldn’t recall precisely which superstitions. “Oh, God,” he said. “The soul powder. You’ve used it on us.”
“Yes,” said Jemmings. “When you and your friends spoiled everything for me, I wasn’t sure what to do, until I realised that I could get you to help me. Miss Graves told me you were her soul mate, and naturally expected me to feel for her in her plight. And when Robinson came running to me after you gatecrashed his operation, he tried to dump a number of things on me, including her blood sample. That and the powder allows me to make my own use of the psychic link between you. Now you’re going to help me get out of the country.”
Edward shook his head.
“It wasn’t a question,” said Jemmings. “I’m not threatening you, I’m going to make you. This is a necessity but, my God, it’s a fantastic opportunity to test this. I appreciate the heroic gesture, though. If they catch me after all, I’ll let them know you went through all the proper motions.”
Edward, through the pain, seemed to sense something from Julia again – loathing. He could see again her expression as she realised their soul marks were identical. No, no, he told himself, shutting his eyes, and making an effort to pull himself up, using the nearby armchair as support. It’s Jemmings; it’s all Jemmings. He had to remember that.
He steadied himself, turning to try and launch himself at Jemmings, but he was halted by a sudden intense agony in the side of his head. He fell back against the chair, sliding to the ground. He tried to concentrate, to close down the link, but whatever Jemmings had done, it was impossible. There seemed to be no reaching Julia, either. When he tried, he seemed to hit up against a cold wall of glass and silence.
There was a fresh wave of pain coursing through his veins and while he tried to tell himself it was illusion, it felt all too real. And when, gradually, it began to fade, it was replaced by an increasing blurry feeling, and, on his next attempt to rise, he fell back, heavy and uncoordinated – intoxicated. And there was something he had to remember, but he couldn’t focus, couldn’t recall what he was doing. He closed his eyes, the living room spinning around him.
“Time to get started,” said Jemmings, his voice fading in and out of Edward’s hearing. “I’m not sure we’ve got all day.”
5. yellow: jealousy
Julia was idling her way along the path in Southwark Park, having made a brief return to her flat. She wondered what to do for lunch and guiltily wished she’d arranged to meet Edward then and not after. He would have bought her something.
She was distracted by a faint twinge of pain, like the beginnings of toothache, if it hadn’t been too vague to pin down to anything so specific. She frowned as the sense persisted until it finally dawned on her that it might not be her who was hurting, but Edward. Usually, unless she probed, she didn’t feel anything from him, and often little even when she tried, although there was a certain comforting awareness of his presence that she’d already begun to take for granted.
Julia crossed to the nearest bench and sat down on the end of it, despite the glare of an elderly tramp on the other end, hugging a whisky bottle to his chest, and cautiously explored the link. As soon as she opened herself up to it, she leant forward, gasping at sudden agony. She put her hand to her mouth, her eyes watering at the pain and forced herself to close down the link. She let her hand drop into her lap as she tried to think what to do.
First, she must know more about what was wrong and where he was. She curled her fingers around the edge of the bench, bracing herself, and tried again, closing her eyes. She still had to grit her teeth against the pain, but she tried to side round it, to search for anything else she could sense.
He was lying on carpet, afraid, somewhere familiar (home, she thought), and there was someone else there. Julia tested trying to let her worry bleed through, seeing if he reacted, but she sensed nothing. It was as if she had hit a wall – and, worse, it was as if there was an alien presence in there with them. She could feel hate, scorn, emotions in shapes that belonged to neither of them. Jemmings, she realised suddenly. She could hear echoes of his voice, and the relentlessness she recalled from when he’d explained his supposed ideals to her for well over half an hour.
Julia opened her eyes, hanging onto the bench as if for dear life. She might not be entirely sure what she thought about being presented with a soul mate, nor want to go so far as trying to claim that she loved Edward when she had known him only a few weeks, but she one thing was suddenly very clear: if the universe had given her a soul mate, nobody was taking him away again. Edward Iveson was hers, and he was going to stay her, and, even more importantly, he was also going to stay alive. That was the point.
Julia stood up and shouldered her bag. First of all, she was going to telephone the department, and then she was going to make sure that Jemmings didn’t do anything to Edward before any help could arrive.
“Chalcot Crescent,” Julia said to the driver as she clambered into the cab, breathless and feeling more like a steel blade of avenging fury than a human being. She wasn’t sure how seriously Edward’s office had taken her, especially once she’d started talking about the link between soul mates, and that had only sharpened her resolve. (“So Miss Graves, you haven’t actually seen for yourself that he is in any danger?”)
In search of a taxi, she’d picked up stray bricks from one of the many bomb sites still vacant and full of debris. She’d also given the bemused tramp a pound note for his half-empty bottle and now pulled a couple of spare hankies out of her bag and, with a glance at the driver, who didn’t seem to be paying any attention whatsoever, shifted on the seat, trying to tear strips off her petticoat. She was not going into this unarmed.
Intermittently, she tested the link, and found the pain still present, but sometimes swamped by fog. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but at least she knew that Edward wasn’t dead yet.
Chalcot Crescent, near Primrose Hill, was a thoroughly respectable street, made up of typical London Georgian terraced houses, elegant and uniform, trimmed with railings around narrow basement steps. There were no children playing in the streets and little signs of life, despite it being the weekend.
Julia raced along the pavement until she reached number 12. Stopping outside, she closed her eyes, checking on Edward’s state, and found it unchanged. However, no one else had yet arrived to stop Jemmings. Perhaps they hadn’t believed her; perhaps they weren’t coming. It was Saturday, after all, and maybe they didn’t have the staff to deal with fanciful females imagining their soul mates were in mortal danger.
Julia stepped back and suffered a sudden loss of the furious purpose that had carried her here. What if she was imagining things? What if Edward had only stubbed his toe or developed toothache and she had built it up into a feverish nightmare? She had been through a lot recently. Who would be surprised?
She felt the reverberations of the pain again and lost her doubt, steadying her hold on one of the bricks before drawing in her breath and throwing it at the nearest ground floor window. She had to distract Jemmings enough to make him stop whatever awful thing it was he was doing to Edward.
The crash sounded loud in the quiet street. Julia stiffened her resolve and threw the second, breaking another pane. She then picked up the whisky bottle with the cloth stuffed into it and lit the top with a match before flinging it after.
“Help!” she yelled out, flinging the last brick after. “Thieves! Fire! Help!”
She couldn’t see any sign of movement from within Edward’s house, although surely Mr Jemmings couldn’t have ignored that, but some of the neighbours began to emerge or peer out the window.
“Help!” she shouted again, and ran over when the next-door neighbour appeared. “Oh, thank goodness! You have to help – there’s a fire, and Mr Iveson is trapped inside!”
He gave her an odd look.
“He’s my soul mate,” said Julia. “I know. Please, there’s no time to waste – look, see the smoke!”
There was a thin strand of smoke escaping from the broken window and a flicker that might be flames beyond. Julia suddenly wondered if arson had not been the best plan. What if Jemmings had finished and left Edward alone and injured in there? What if she’d one of the bricks had hit Edward, or Jemmings had panicked and killed him?
“We need to get in there,” Julia said, grabbing hold of the man’s arm, shaking him. “Now!”
Her urgency seemed to get through to him. “Wait there,” he said, and raced back indoors, leaving the door open.
Behind her she could hear some of the other residents talking about getting the fire brigade in, and she turned around, and said, “Yes, please do – and the police, and an ambulance!”
The next-door neighbour reappeared with a sledgehammer, and set about breaking one of the front door panels, so that he could reach in and turn the handle. Julia hurried over to follow him in.
She hesitated in the hallway, trying to see if she could feel where Edward was in the house. The neighbour disappeared into the study, and then came out again, snatching one of the coats off the coat rack and rushing back in, presumably to put out the fire she’d started.
Julia pushed at the opposite door, almost overbalancing on finding it already ajar. She peered around it to find Edward lying on the floor.
“Edward!” she said, throwing herself forward onto the carpet beside him.
He stirred on hearing her voice, and struggled to prop himself up. She put out a hand to his chest to stop him. “Stay still,” she said. “Mr Jemmings hurt you badly, didn’t he?”
“Julia?” he said, blinking up at her in confusion.
She leant forward and kissed his forehead, and he flinched.
“Edward,” she said, drawing back but taking his hand. “It’s me. It’s Julia, not Mr Jemmings. I know what he did, although I don’t understand how, but it’s me.”
He swallowed, meeting her gaze, and then sagged back against the carpet. “Yes. So, it is.”
“Where is Jemmings?”
Julia stroked his hand. “I can only imagine he went out the back when he heard the commotion. There are a lot of people out there now, though, and there’ll soon be more. Hopefully, he won’t get very far.”
“Wouldn’t you have been glad to be rid of me?” he asked, an unaccustomed hardness in his voice that startled her; spewing out some of the poison he’d been fed. “You should have waited. I think he might have destroyed me, and that would have been an end to it.”
Julia helped Edward up into a sitting position, and resting her hand on his arm. He could feel her now; she could sense that clearly. He wasn’t shut off, wasn’t capable of yet. She held back nothing, either, letting him feel a floodwave of her concern and anger until something in him eased and he leant back against the armchair behind him, closing his eyes.
“I know I was angry to begin with,” she said softly, “but that wasn’t about us. And even if I don’t know what to think about it yet, I won’t let anybody take you away from me.”
He closed his eyes and nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. It was only – I’m not myself.”
“Well,” said Julia, “you might not want to apologise to me yet – I’ve broken two window panes, a door panel and set light to something in your study, and I’m not even sure any of it was even really necessary.”
Edward gave a laugh, and let her help him to his feet, putting his arm around her. “I shall remember to try and avoid getting on the wrong side of you.”
7. peach: closing the deal
It took hours for the resultant fuss to die down. Edward, once he’d answered questions from both Special Branch and his superiors, and seen the doctor, had been instructed to go upstairs and lie down and, given all the people trampling about his house, it had seemed like a good idea. Now he was feeling less shaken, he wanted to get up and do something – anything – to keep from thinking about what Jemmings had done. Dark thoughts and brief, shadowy twinges of pain kept stealing back in.
He shivered and crossed to the window, standing there in his shirt sleeves, gazing unseeing across the street. Edward closed his eyes, putting a hand to the window sill. When the noise had started outside the house on Julia’s arrival, it had broken Jemmings’s concentration. Jemmings had hesitated between flight or finishing Edward off first, but Edward had pulled himself up, and shown himself prepared to struggle with what strength he had left, and Jemmings had cut his losses and run for it. They’d got him now, though; that was a something. He’d been picked up in somebody’s garden, Harding had said earlier.
“Edward,” said Julia, poking her head round the door after a quick tap on it. “How are you feeling now?”
He couldn’t keep from tensing. When she was with him and he could feel her very present emotions spilling out, he was glad of her, but the moment she went away again, he kept associating the pain and the dislike from Jemmings with her, and it took a moment to overcome the reaction.
She sat down on the end of the bed, looking over at him, evidently understanding. He couldn’t seem to close himself off from her yet. His usual control was returning to him only slowly.
“I’m not Jemmings,” she said quietly.
Edward knew what she meant, but the incongruity made him laugh, despite the tension in him. “No, you’re not,” he agreed, crossing back over to sit beside her, upright and vivid in his bedroom; another incongruity. “You shouldn’t be here, you know.”
“I’m not Jemmings,” she said again, turning to face him, misunderstanding him. “How many times do I have to tell you I was only angry at you in the beginning because you were spying on me? Anyone would be! And because I liked you from the start, it made me all the angrier.”
“Julia –”
She drew in her breath, and he nearly laughed again, because he could feel the same determination that was currently written in broad strokes across her face. “And I do like you still – very much!” She put a hand up to his face, her fingers brushing his cheek lightly, uncertainly. “I don’t blame you for wondering, because I know my feelings are rather selfish – I needed someone, and there you were. Not love at first sight, like it’s supposed to be, but –”
Edward leant in and kissed her before drawing back, so that he could see her expression. “Julia,” he said, biting back laughter. “All I meant was that if you stay the neighbours may talk.”
“Oh. Well, darling, if that worries you,” said Julia, “I’m afraid you’ll have to move house. What with me smashing windows, and the police arresting your visitors, you’re already notorious.”
Edward laughed and put his arm around her waist, pulling her back round to lean against the pillows next to him. Darling, she’d called him, without even registering what she’d said, and she might tell him she was being selfish, that wasn’t what he sensed in her. Poor Julia. It must have been a terrible few weeks. “I think I’m equally selfish, then,” he murmured, and clasped her wrist with his free hand, stroking her soul mark with the flat of his thumb. “I need you too.”
Julia wiped away tears with her other hand and, for a moment, seemed about to move, but then settled down against him. “I suppose that makes it even, then.”
“There’s a story,” said Edward, kissing her hair and tightening his hold on her. “No more true than the rest, of course, but they say that a long time ago, when there were no soul marks, there was a girl who lived on a farm in the middle of a west country moor, struggling on alone after first one member of her family died, and then another. She did the best she could, though she lost half the crops and most of the animals, and though she thought to ease her problems by marrying someone to work the farm with her, she had no dowry left to bring it about. Then, one day, driven by desperation, she went to a holy site, a stone circle, and prayed for something to prevent anyone ever being as alone as she was. The gods were touched because she hadn’t asked for anything for herself, so they granted her request. Which, they say, is where soul marks came from, and why, in your greatest need, your soul mate will find you, and hardship doesn’t have to be suffered alone.”
Julia nudged his arm with her head. “Did you make that up?”
“No,” said Edward. “Somebody else did a long time ago. You reminded me of it just then. I’m sorry, Julia. I’ve been trying to be sensible – to be careful of your situation – but when it comes to being soul mates, I suppose that’s only cowardice, because there is no breaking this connection, whatever we do, or however we found each other. I should have been more selfish.”
Julia smiled and he felt, for the first time in these five or six weeks, a glimmer of happiness in her. “Yes, exactly. We’re stuck with each other. We could get married tomorrow and it wouldn’t make any difference.”
“Not tomorrow – I doubt I could arrange it before Tuesday,” said Edward, pulling her in closer. “One would have to arrange the license and book the register office, and I doubt they’re open on a Sunday. Other than that, I’ve no objection. I wanted to take you home that first day. It was wouldn’t have been terribly appropriate in the general way, you see.”
Julia laughed and turned, gripping his shirt and stretching up to kiss him. “Tuesday it is, then. It’ll stop the neighbours talking, too.”
He smiled, pausing for a moment to appreciate the warmth of her, both physically against him as well as her feelings for him, and his for her, echoed back at him, along with a growing strand of desire between them. “Yes, Tuesday,” he said, and, like everything else between them, it wasn’t a game any more.
***
Story: Divide & Rule
Colors: Dogwood Rose
Supplies and Styles: Saturation + mural + novelty beads (Flower Cart for the May Flowers challenge) + eraser + pastels (also for
hc_bingo square “accidentally mating for life” and genprompt_bingo “Ritual marks and body decorations”.)Word Count: 12,341
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Mentions of grief/death.
Notes: Soulmark AU – 1947: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves, Isabel Andrews, Amyas Harding, Alan Jemmings. (Sorry, me trying to keep my Edward/Julia AUs short is a losing battle generally. *collapses*)
Summary Edward is looking for an enemy of the state; Julia only wants to be left alone. Neither of them are looking for a soul mate…
***
3. white: silence and secrecy
Edward Iveson shifted his position in the darkened car, pressing his head back against the seat, and wondering how much longer he was going to be waiting out here. It had been three hours already, and he was deeply uncomfortable on both a physical and emotional level. He reminded himself that he was not spying on Miss Graves, per se, but he wasn’t sure she’d appreciate the difference if she spotted him from across the street.
He pressed his fingers against his temple, in a futile attempt to ward off an oncoming headache. More to the point, though, was that his actual target had finally arrived – but he’d been in there for nearly an hour now, which was certainly longer than it took to offer a grieving young lady his condolences.
“Hell,” said Edward, under his breath. He wasn’t supposed to be doing anything other than observing, and tailing Jemmings’s associate if they split up after they left – Andrews was hanging around near a lamppost a few yards away waiting for Jemmings – but on the other hand, he had no wish to see Julia Graves get sucked into this mess, and she’d hardly be thinking straight right now. “Damn him!”
He’d been dogged by a continual sense of misery all through this week, ever since Rudy Graves had been killed and he’d been the one who’d had to inform the boy’s sister Julia. But then he hadn’t intended to still be working for Intelligence this long after the war. He’d previously worked in the office of the Minister for Health, including spending some time gathering information for a special committee on soul marks, which had seemed a harmless way of earning his salary. Ironically, it was why he was still in SIS, since Jemmings’s group were protesting against the tyranny of imposed destiny in the shape of soul marks. Having a semi-expert on hand suited the department, and so Edward’s secondment had continued.
There were aspects of intelligence work he enjoyed at times, but it did rather leave one on the outside of life, looking in on everyone else. Edward looked across and up at Julia’s second floor apartment, and got out of the car.
A change of plan might do some good, he decided, and slammed the door shut. Time to act like a real person.
#4. pink: please believe me
Julia’s week had started as badly as possible, when her brother Rudy had been found dead, and now it seemed to be ending with yet more officious men lecturing her about how and why it had happened.
Mr Jemmings, who was supposedly a friend of Rudy’s, a part of the group he’d been with when he died, had been the first. He’d kept talking about soul marks and how they should be done away with until Julia had wanted to scream.
Mr Jemmings had been in full flow when Mr Iveson had turned up at the door to demand that she come with him back to his office and answer more questions about Rudy. It might have seemed a timely rescue if he’d wanted anything else.
She stared out of the car window as they drove along, angling away from him, too weary to talk. It wasn’t that far to the office he was using, and once they stopped, he ushered her out of the car and into the building.
Julia followed him up the stairs, feeling queasy. Last time she’d been here, Mr Iveson had told her about Rudy, and then made her go and identify the body. She clenched her fists and raised her head. “Isn’t this a bit late? It’s after tea time, you know. I thought all civil servants went home long before this.”
Mr Iveson merely gave a vague smile and opened the door to his office for her.
“Anyway,” she said, working herself up to a satisfactory anger, “I told you everything I know last week. I don’t see what you could possibly want to ask me that would be worth dragging me out here for.”
Mr Iveson shut the door behind them and paused, ready to take her coat, but she pulled it closer around her and marched over to the wooden chair at the desk and sat down.
“Tea?” said Mr Iveson, shrugging off his long coat and scarf and placing them on the hat stand.
Julia thought about standing on her dignity, but decided she would rather have the tea, and nodded.
“Sugar?”
She folded her arms. “Just the one. What is it you want to ask me?”
Mr Iveson disappeared into a small adjoining kitchen. “One moment.” He reappeared two minutes later. “I’m afraid I don’t have any questions. You must have realised by now that we’re, er, not entirely happy about the nature of your brother’s death.”
“Neither am I!”
Edward acknowledged that hit with a small nod. “Yes. Of course. Sorry. At any rate, I was waiting to see if they’d contact you, and when they did, they were so long that I thought I should intervene.”
“You were spying on me?”
“On your visitors,” he said. “Not you. We needed to get hold of Jemmings – we can’t have a repeat of what happened last week. I was worried that might be what we’d get tonight if I didn’t stop him. I suppose he was trying to persuade you that you also needed your mark removed?”
Mr Jemmings had, and at length, but Julia didn’t feel like telling Mr Iveson he was right. “And why shouldn’t I, if I wanted to? It’s my life, and I don’t see why we should have our lives ruled by some arbitrary birth mark, not to mention all the nonsense people talk about it. And,” she added, with a hard look at him, “I don’t see what business it is of the government’s in either case.”
“I daresay his makes his ideals sound very rational,” said Mr Iveson, and then held up a hand. “One moment,” he said again, and vanished into the tiny kitchen a second time.
Julia stood, kicking the chair back away from her and walked over. “Honestly, forget the tea!”
“I don’t think leaving a kettle boiling after hours would be advisable,” he said. “And even if you don’t want tea, I do.”
Julia leant against the door jamb. “Well, I’ve heard enough about this from Mr Jemmings for one day. And he says that he was trying to help Rudy. As I told you, Rudy found out he had a rare condition and needed to have the soul mark removed, and Mr Jemmings’s group are on the point of developing a safe method of doing so at last, so Rudy knew the risk.”
Mr Iveson frowned over the tea cups. “Milk?”
“Yes,” said Julia, watching him pour, and felt petty enough to add, “and you should pour it in first.”
“I expect we’ll both live,” Mr Iveson murmured passing her a cup and saucer. “At least, if you listen to me, that is. Did Mr Jemmings also inform you that the condition tends to be hereditary?”
Julia felt oddly close to tears, and turned away, walking back over to her chair, heedless of slopping the tea into the saucer. “He said something like that, yes.”
“I’m sure he did.” Mr Iveson sat opposite her. “The bastard.”
Julia raised her eyebrows and put her tea cup down in shock. “Mr Iveson!”
“He is,” said Mr Iveson. “The rest of the group may be well-intentioned, I don’t know. But he isn’t. Rudy saw a doctor in the pay of Jemmings. That’s what started this. I’m sure they’d do the same to you if you let them.”
“Not if you’re following me about.”
Mr Iveson sighed, and pushed his cup and saucer away. “I realise that I don’t have much of a moral high ground to stand on here, but please believe me. Besides which, soul marks may be a mystery to us on many levels, but given that they are the outward manifestation of a deep mental connection, I cannot think that it would be –”
“Do you have a helpful pamphlet?” Julia cut in, leaning forward. She really was not prepared to sit through a second lecture on the same subject in one evening. “Mr Jemmings had a pamphlet that explained everything.”
A shadow crossed over Mr Iveson’s face. “I’m sorry, no.” Then he looked up, one corner of his mouth quirking into a smile. “I did write several reports on the subject before the war, but they were confidential, I’m afraid.”
“I might have guessed,” Julia said, although she was almost betrayed into an unwilling smile. Despite everything, part of her treacherously wanted to like Mr Iveson. He had been as kind as he could last week when he’d told her about Rudy. She was not about to relent yet, however. It felt good to vent her feelings on someone, and Mr Iveson seemed the safest available candidate.
She stood up and removed her coat, before sitting back down. “Wait,” she said, “let’s see what we’re talking about, shall we?” She stretched her arm out across the desk towards him, pulling up the sleeve of her cardigan and blouse to reveal the mark on her wrist. Hers was a circular, dark pink mark, shaped almost like a rose. Once upon a time, she’d had romantic ideas about soul marks, and she’d been sure it was a rose and wondered if it signified something special. She knew now that it didn’t. Marks were simply formed in an almost unique pattern, like fingerprints, and anything else about them was completely random, including whichever person got the matching mark. “Still there, and I don’t actually have plans to let anyone –”
She stopped, her voice trailing away. Mr Iveson was staring at her wrist as if he’d never seen a soul mark before. Which was rude and ridiculous, since he must have at least have seen his own, and it wasn’t as if there was anything particularly odd about hers.
“Good God,” he said eventually, his gaze still fixed on her wrist.
Julia glared and withdrew her arm, pulling her sleeve back down, her hand over her wrist defensively. “Can I go now?”
“Miss Graves,” said Mr Iveson, shaking himself. He glanced about him, and then pulled off his jacket, unfastening the cuff link on his left sleeve, and pulling the shirt up.
Julia drew back. “Oh, honestly, Mr Iveson. I’d like to go home, and I don’t need to see yours, thank you.” She halted again, realisation dawning as to what he was doing even before she took in the shape on his wrist. She shook her head. “No – wait – but, no –”
Mr Iveson’s mark was identical: a round, almost rose-like shape.
It couldn’t be true, though, she thought, shaking herself out of her immediate reaction of shock. She’d have felt something last week when she met him. And even if she hadn’t, because of being too taken up with the news of Rudy’s death, he surely would have done, and he’d have said something, not hung around spying on her.
She got to her feet, reaching out clumsily for her coat, managing to swing round so that she knocked the cup and saucer off the desk onto the floorboards, tea spilling and china smashing.
“It’s not true!” she said. “It can’t be. It’s a trick! How could you? I don’t care what or who you’re trying to investigate – this is going too far!”
Mr Iveson stood slowly on the other side of the desk, tugging down his shirt sleeve. “Miss Graves,” he tried again, but didn’t seem to know how to continue. “Miss Graves –”
Julia shook her head, and ran away.
10. blue: the unattainable
“Ned,” said Amyas Harding, a lift of surprise in his voice as he looked in through the office door. “I didn’t expect to see you back again. Weren’t you tailing one of Jemmings’s lot?”
Edward raised his head and rose from his chair. “Sir. I was, but I thought it best to extract Miss Graves. Besides, best if I’m out the way. I’ve run into Jemmings before, although I don’t know if he’d remember.”
“I see,” said Mr Harding. “Ah, well. Get anything further out of the Graves girl, then?”
Edward had to bite back wry amusement. “Not of any particular relevance to the case. I’m sorry. I was worried we’d have another body on our hands if I didn’t intervene.”
“Oh, quite,” Mr Harding said. “Last thing we want is another death being shouted about in the press. I’m off, at any rate. Coming? I’ll buy you a drink, if you like.”
Edward almost said yes. He could have used a brandy right now, possibly several, and Harding was generally happy to oblige, but he needed privacy to deal with this revelation, not the presence of an inquisitive senior officer. “No, thank you,” he murmured, gesturing at his desk. “One last report to file – and I’ve an early morning tomorrow.”
“Another time, then!” said Harding with a grin and swept out of the office. Edward could hear his steps as he took the stairs at a pace, and the more distant sound of the door onto the street opening and closing below.
“Oh, God,” Edward said under his breath, sinking back into his chair and putting his head in his hands.
There hadn’t been any point in going after Julia. There was no reason to suppose she was in any immediate danger, and Jemmings was under observation anyway. Edward would have to find her again, but he didn’t think it was likely to go any better until they’d both had some time to take in the truth. He couldn’t blame her for fleeing the scene. Even if he hadn’t been technically spying on her tonight, he was the man who’d broken the news to her about her brother’s death. He’d even escorted her to the morgue to identify the body.
It was Rudy Graves’s death that had prevented them from seeing the truth last week. Julia had been overwhelmed by shock and grief, and what would any other sensations have meant to her then? Edward had felt an unusual level of interest in her, but he’d assumed that was merely concern for her situation, and if he’d also liked her on sight, that was perfectly natural. She was very attractive, and while he might not be a lothario by any stretch of the imagination, he had eyes; he wasn’t dead yet. Still, now he at least understood the sense of misery that dogged him without reason all week: it was her grief echoing through their shared link.
It was damned ironic, though. He knew more about soul marks than just about anyone who wasn’t an expert, and yet he’d still been taken completely unawares. He had collated endless information on soulbonds and written several reports on the subject, back in his pre-war days at the Ministry of Health, and his first marriage had ended prematurely when his wife had met her soul mate. (The law allowed for a swift dissolution of the match in such cases). He’d assumed until now that he was unlikely to find his own soul mate – the percentage of those who did was around 47% when he had last had occasion to check the statistics, so why should he be in the fortunate minority? – but he had always imagined that if he did, that they’d be glad to find each other, even in awkward circumstances. He thought of Julia racing out of the door, but worse than that, the horror on her face when she’d understood.
He pressed his fingers to his temple, although it didn’t halt his growing headache. He’d have liked to have told himself that he was equally dismayed, given Julia’s opinions on the matter and the inconvenience of the situation, but it would have been a lie. He had felt an attraction to her the moment he’d seen her sitting in the corridor outside his office. He’d had to stifle an instinctive desire to lie, to tell her he wanted to see her for any other reason but the truth, unhelpful as that would have been. He’d wanted to see her smile, not make her cry.
Not all soul mates had relationships of a romantic nature, of course. Perhaps he’d have to resign himself to that with Julia; to a life that was a painful mixture of heaven and hell, at least on his side.
He closed his eyes. Perhaps, after all, it was only what he deserved.
1. red: courage
Julia didn’t stop fuming for hours, not until long after the taxi had deposited her back at her flat and she had locked the door against any more missionaries, spies, or government officials. She almost enjoyed the anger: it made a nice change from crying and punching pillows over Rudy and the rest of her family who’d gone before, one by one over these last ten years.
Her fury and the adrenaline that went with it deserted her mid rant to the air as to how Mr Iveson could have thought she was stupid enough to believe in such a ridiculous coincidence, and why would he even try? What good did he think it would do?
Which was when, inconveniently but inarguably, she realised that it must have been the truth. There simply was no rational reason she could think of for Mr Iveson to lie about it. She wasn’t sure what she thought of Mr Iveson after tonight – last week, if she’d thought of him at all, which she couldn’t say she had, she’d have said that he had at least tried to be as kind as he could in breaking the news to her – but he certainly didn’t seem like a stupid man, or the arrogant sort who’d believe she’d fall over herself at the chance to be his soul mate and immediately renounce all connection with the pressure group.
“Oh, heavens,” she said and slumped back onto her bed, gripping her wrist and staring at the ceiling. And if it was true, could he tell what she was feeling now? Would he be trying? Could she sense him?
She closed her eyes, making an effort to calm her stormy emotions to explore the link between them she would find if it was true. It was hard to be sure, since she was hazy on how it worked, but she thought she felt something outside herself; something hard to define – resignation, perhaps – and on top of that, she suspected Mr Iveson might be a little drunk.
Julia sat up again and pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear,” she said aloud and tried to stifle nervous laughter. “It isn’t going to end well, is it?”
She slept badly, her mind continually churning over everything Mr Jemmings and Mr Iveson had said, as well as that last unexpected revelation. By the morning, she felt unsure of anything again. Was Mr Iveson really her soul mate? If he was, maybe that was all the more reason to listen to Mr Jemmings and get the wretched thing removed. On the other hand, she didn’t care for Mr Jemmings at all, and if Mr Iveson was to be believed, then he was dangerous and best avoided altogether.
Julia sighed over her porridge. Her mind kept going round in circles, and what she most wished was that everyone would just leave her alone. After Rudy’s death, she’d talked to Mr Iveson, to somebody from Special Branch, to Jemmings and his people, as well as trying to do all the usual sorts of awful things one had to do when people died – sorting out the death certificate and the funeral arrangements, and all the legal business. That was bad enough without pressure groups and sinister government departments wrangling over her as well.
“Maybe I should have the stupid mark removed,” she said aloud to herself as she washed the dishes. “That would silence everyone – either Mr Jemmings is right and it would get rid of Mr Iveson for good, or Mr Iveson is right and then I suppose it’d get rid of me for good and at least I wouldn’t have to worry about any of it any more.”
Julia halted, hands in the water, struck by a thought. She didn’t actually want to die to prove a point, but taking Mr Jemmings up on his offer would cut through this tangle. The authorities wanted evidence against Mr Jemmings, and if Mr Iveson was right, if she gave him half a chance, he’d give them what they needed. All she had to do was seem desperate enough to go along with him, then change her mind at the last minute. She was already being followed by Mr Iveson’s colleagues, so someone would be there to arrest Jemmings before he went too far.
Julia telephoned Mr Jemmings and told him she’d been thinking about everything he’d said last night and that she wanted to talk to him about the operation. She’d thought she should remember to sound nervous, but it required no pretence. Her voice was unsteady throughout and when she put the telephone down, her hand was shaking.
She didn’t want her efforts to be wasted, so to make sure that she was being followed, she penned a note to Mr Iveson, which took several tries, some too sharp and some too kind, but in the end she settled on this:
Dear Mr Iveson,
I thought it was only fair to tell you that I have taken Mr Jemmings’s advice about removing my soul mark. I‘m sure you will be as relieved as I am for us to be free of each other, and it’ll be one way of proving you’re wrong about Rudy’s friends. Hopefully after this, you and your department will cease persecuting them and me. As I told you yesterday, I detest the whole notion of soul marks and cannot change my mind on the matter now.
Please be assured that it isn’t personal, even if you are a government lackey.
Yours sincerely,
Julia Graves.
She folded the note, and went out to deliver it, although she felt a pang of doubt. What if Mr Iveson and his department weren’t very good at their jobs? But, she reminded herself, while Mr Jemmings might be a questionable person, he was trying to persuade her to agree to the operation, not tie her down and force her. She thought of Rudy, and knew he wouldn’t have taken much persuading, which hardened her resolve. If Mr Iveson was right, then it was the only thing left she could do for Rudy now.
She felt even less certain of anything by the time she was, late that evening, sitting in the surgery of a Dr Robinson preparing her for the procedure to remove the soul mark.
He finished taking a blood sample and said, “As you know, while this is a successful procedure, it’s also new. There is a considerable risk.”
“I understand,” said Julia, with a glance over at the man Mr Jemmings had sent to take her there. “But, as you say, otherwise I might die anyway.”
The doctor nodded. “Indeed. However, if you’re ready, I don’t think we should waste any more time.”
“Oh,” said Julia. “I thought I could have more time to consider? It is a very serious step. I was thinking I should maybe at least put things in order first –”
The two of them exchanged a glance over her head and she turned cold even as she pretended she hadn’t noticed. They weren’t prepared to let her go so easily.
“No, no,” said Dr Robinson. “Mr Jemmings assured me you were ready and, as you may have noticed, certain shady figures have been taking too much of an interest in our doings lately. It’s now or never and, given your condition, I wouldn’t advise never, Miss Graves.”
Julia’s mouth went dry, and her heart was beating fast and hard as she leapt up from the couch. Mr Jemmings’s agent behind her immediately stood, blocking the doorway.
“Please,” she said. “I understand, but Mr Jemmings didn’t seem to think the risk was that high – I need to see to some things first, that’s all. I’ll come back tomorrow – as you say, I have every reason to.”
Dr Robinson gave a short sigh and looked across at the other man again. “Hold her down for me,” he said.
Julia gave an undignified squeak of outrage and alarm, kicking at the man advancing on her, when the door opened behind them, causing them both to start and turn to look at the newcomer.
“Excuse me,” said Mr Iveson, slipping into the room. He was, Julia felt, really not very stealthy as spies went. This was the second time he’d just knocked on the door and walked in. “I’m here to collect Miss Graves.” He held out a hand to Julia.
Julia jumped towards him, grabbing hold of his coat sleeve, even as Robinson lashed out at her with a scalpel. He failed to stop her, but she bit back a cry, more of surprise than of pain, holding her arm against herself.
Mr Iveson gripped her shoulder. “Special Branch have the place surrounded,” he told the other two. “I wouldn’t do anything to make your case worse, if I were you.”
Julia thought Mr Jemmings’s unnamed friend was going to try and hit Mr Iveson, as he led her out the door, but Robinson swore and ran out of the other door, and, after a glance between her and the doctor, the hired man went after the doctor.
“Quickly,” said Mr Iveson, pushing her along the corridor and out the main door into the street. “Before it becomes self-evident that Special Branch aren’t here, although what’s keeping them is beyond me.”
He picked up his pace into a run, over towards one of the parked cars outside the building, and Julia followed, gripping her wounded arm, her hand becoming sticky with blood.
Mr Iveson pushed her into the car and darted round to the other side, jumping in, and starting up the engine on the second try. They drove away just as a figure ran out into the street behind them.
Julia pressed herself into the seat and concentrated on trying to breathe normally. She risked a look across at Mr Iveson, who had his attention fixed on the road ahead, but he seemed to sense her gaze, and turned his head briefly. He nodded towards her arm and said, “Apply pressure. I’ll stop as soon as I can and see to it properly.”
“I know first aid, thank you,” said Julia, but her voice came out unsteadily and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying. She tried to keep her hand pressed down firmly on the wound, but she was shaking uncontrollably. Giving first aid to other people was one thing; it was another again when it was her blood leaking over her hands.
It had all been a game until now. She hadn’t truly believed there could be any real danger, and now, especially in the light of what had happened to Rudy, she couldn’t understand her own stupidity. She closed her eyes.
Mr Iveson turned off sharply, taking them down a residential side street and pulling to a halt out of sight of the main road. He switched off the headlights and turned to her. She swallowed and flinched back, sure he was going to shout at her after what she’d done.
All he said was, “It’s all right. They won’t come after us. Now, let me look at that arm.”
Julia blinked away tears. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think it’s very bad. I expect you should take me to a police station or somewhere so I can give a statement.”
Mr Iveson shook his head, leaning over her to fish out a torch from the glove compartment before disappearing outside. He returned with a first aid tin and a blanket from the boot. “Come on,” he said, keeping his voice level. “No harm in letting me take a look, is there?”
Julia, still shaking, shrugged off her coat with difficulty and some help from him and then rolled up her cardigan and blouse, before giving a nervous giggle at the fact that she kept going to great lengths to show him her arm.
Mr Iveson placed the torch on the dashboard in front of her and bent his head, giving the cut a brief examination. “No, not too bad,” he agreed, giving her a smile. “It might need a stitch or two, though, so we’d better get you to the hospital.” He unrolled a strip of bandage and bound it up for her. “First I need to make a quick phone call, however. Will you be all right for five minutes?”
Julia nodded, despite a wish to tell him not to go. She wasn’t sure what she thought of Mr Iveson yet, but there was something terribly reassuring about him.
“Good,” he said. “Keep your head down just to be on the safe side, but I’ll be as quick as I can. Oh, wait – one more thing.” He fished out a small tin of humbugs and offered it to her. “Have one. It’ll probably help. The shock, you know.”
Julia took it and then slid down against the seat, hoping he wouldn’t be long. She sucked the humbug, and tried to comfort herself that at least she had found out who had been telling the truth. She only hoped she hadn’t alienated her soul mate in the process. That, too, was not a game.
2. burgundy: unconscious beauty
Edward spent his time at the hospital first waiting with Miss Graves until someone took a look at her arm and then, while she was being attended to, he made several phone calls – a second call to the office, to his superiors, to Mr Morley and Mr Harding, and to Special Branch, to an irate someone. However, Robinson and Jemmings’s agent had been apprehended and they finally had sufficient evidence to charge Jemmings. He had not been found yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Edward could now turn his mind to more personal matters. He wasn’t sure whether or not Miss Graves wanted him here, but since she didn’t seem to have anyone else to turn to and she couldn’t possibly go home alone to her flat until Jemmings had been picked up, he felt obliged to stay. He put a hand up to his mouth to hide a brief, wry smile. Be honest, he told himself. You want to stay.
Where she was going to go, if not back home, was a good question. If she had no one able to come to the hospital when she was in trouble, did she have a friend or relative to stay with? Edward decided it was better to be safe than sorry and waited for the telephone again, to make yet another call.
Miss Graves eventually rejoined him with her arm neatly bandaged and tucked into a sling. Edward escorted her out to the car, hovering at her side, uncertain what to say next.
“Oh, dear,” she said, when she got into the car. “I think I bled all over the seat earlier.”
Edward laughed, the tension in him easing a little. “Well, do try not to be so inconsiderate this time,” he said, shutting the door after her, and crossing back round to the driver’s side. He climbed in and looked over at her. “If you make a habit of it, I’ll have to send you a cleaner’s bill.”
Miss Graves managed a faint smile and then slumped back into the seat.
“There is one thing,” said Edward, once he’d got the engine running. “You can’t go back to your flat now. Not alone anyway. Is there anyone else who might put you up for the night?”
She turned her head slowly. “Why can’t I?”
“We’ve got Dr Robinson and several more of the group, but as of last time I checked, Jemmings hasn’t been run to ground. We don’t think it’s very likely that he will come after you, but as he knows exactly where you live, it might be a reasonable precaution not to drop you off there, alone and injured.”
Miss Graves screwed up her face. “Oh, thank you. What a charming thought. But I don’t have anywhere else I can go – not at this hour anyway.”
“I did wonder,” said Edward, driving out of the hospital car park and turning back onto the road. “So, I rang my cousin Nancy earlier, and she and her wife are willing to have you, if you’re happy with that.” He paused. “They’re both very nice, and I didn’t tell them about us being soul mates. I’m not trying to pressurize you, merely keep you safe.”
Miss Graves nodded. “Thank you.”
Edward tried again to think of how to address their situation. The trouble was, she had gone to Jemmings to try and rid herself of her soul mark and thereby him, which said everything. She didn’t seem to mind him being here with her now, but perhaps that was due to the shock.
“We do have to talk,” he said, after another ten minutes of driving along in silence, his attention on the road and Miss Graves sitting there, eyes closed, possibly even sleeping. He glanced over, seeing her blinking, and pulling herself up at his words. “At some point, that is. Not now, not tonight, of course. But I want you to know that I won’t try to force you into anything. Not all soul mates are romantic partners, you know, despite the impression one gets from the popular press.”
Miss Graves turned her head. “Mr Iveson,” she said. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean what I said in the letter. I only wrote it like that because I was angry. I went to Mr Jemmings to be sure – to get evidence against him, if he really got Rudy killed. I didn’t think it would end up quite like it did. I thought I could change my mind at the last minute.”
Edward cleared his throat, unsure of his next words again. It was kind of her, and it was at least an apology of sorts, but he wasn’t sure if he believed her, or that she truly had stopped trying to run away from him.
“I thought it would settle everything,” she said, giving a shaky laugh. “I suppose it did.”
When he stopped at the next traffic lights, she leant over, putting her hand on his arm.
“So, thank you,” she murmured, before releasing him, turning away and closing her eyes again. “If I’d written myself that note, I’m not sure I’d have bothered trying to rescue me.”
Edward had to laugh at that convoluted statement. He felt something lighten within him at her touch. “Ssh,” he said. “I think you’ve turned delirious, Miss Graves. Next thing you’ll be telling me you like me, after all.”
“I think,” said Julia, indistinctly as she grew drowsier, “probably I do, Mr Iveson. As long as you don’t keep spying on me.”
“Never again,” he said. “It would be terribly unprofessional of me at this point, I feel.”
6. orange: enthusiasm
Julia woke later than usual, her arm sore and with a faint lingering headache. She sat up slowly, taking in her surroundings. The bed had a metal frame and sagged slightly in the middle, while the furniture in the small room was a jumble of things of varying ages – a red rug, orange-patterned curtains, and a wooden wardrobe, with an elaborate carved border and a long, narrow mirror on one side of it. Opposite the bed, there was a bookshelf, stuffed with worn paperbacks, while on the wall beside her there was a picture of a sunset or possibly sunrise. She studied it with idle interest and decided it was probably sunrise.
The sun was leaking in through the gaps in the curtains, and Julia knelt up to draw them back, smiling to herself as she looked out of the window. Yesterday had been awful, but today she wasn’t alone any more, and she’d be seeing Edward Iveson again soon. As she leant against the white, painted window sill, she found nothing seemed as terrible as they had the day before.
“Oh, hello,” said Isabel, when Julia made it downstairs. “First, before I forget – Ned rang. He said to tell you that he won’t be able to make it this morning, but he’ll be over first thing this afternoon.” She paused and glanced at her watch, then looked up at Julia with a smile. “Which is probably all for the best, given the time. Would you like some toast and coffee?”
Julia thanked her and assured her that she would and then watched the other women while she sat down at the wooden kitchen table. Isabel and Nancy were soul mates, and they had seemed quite happy, at least as far as Julia could tell from their brief meeting last night. She felt as if she ought to ask questions, but had no idea how she’d begin.
“Nan has gone to work,” said Isabel, as she brought across the toast, margarine and marmalade. She sat down opposite Julia and gave a smile. “Now, how do you know Edward? I think it’s fair to say that he was rather cryptic last night, and insisted it was all to do with work, but Nancy didn’t believe him.”
Julia bit into the toast and contemplated how to answer, but truth wasn’t something she or Mr Iveson could hide for long. “Well, actually, it was through his work,” she said, once she’d swallowed her mouthful, “but it turns out we’re also soul mates, so it’s all a bit awkward. We hardly know each other.” She put down the toast. “Did you find it strange when you met Nancy?”
“At the risk of sounding like one of my worst novels,” said Isabel, “I’m not sure I did. We met in a bookshop and I was trying to think how to continue, when we realised. And since otherwise Nancy might have walked out with a signed copy and left me behind, I’m grateful. It always seemed quite natural to me.”
Julia coloured, wondering if Isabel might think she was complaining about Mr Iveson. “I suppose it couldn’t help being awkward for us, what with meeting in such horrible circumstances. And I’m opposed to soul marks in theory, anyway. I don’t like having one’s fate mapped out for one. Soul marks are just an infection, and it’s about time someone found a cure.”
“Perhaps,” said Isabel, raising her eyebrow, although she only sounded amused. “I’d say there are some advantages – speaking from practical experience.”
Julia pushed her empty plate away from her. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound obnoxious. It’s just horrible timing, like I said.”
“Poor dear,” Isabel said. “But Edward is quite nice, you know. He and Nan grew up like brother and sister, and she’s very fond of him. I’m biased, of course, but it could have been worse. Perhaps not what you’d call exciting, but that’s not always a virtue in the end.”
Julia bristled a little, because while she had plenty of things she could say about Mr Iveson – Edward – she would hardly have said he was boring, and she resented the implication. She closed her eyes momentarily, remembering last night in the car, looking across at Edward as he drove, his profile illuminated intermittently by the lamplight as she familiarised herself with him and the way she could sense his concern for her within. She’d felt a fluttering lift in her – of interest, or hope, maybe.
“Oh, no, it isn’t that,” she said. “It’s me that’s the problem. I’m not very good soul mate material. It’s probably some sort of awful celestial mistake all round.”
Isabel smiled, and stood, whisking Julia’s plate away so that she could wash it. “I suppose that much is for Ned to decide.”
When Mr Iveson finally arrived, Julia was lying on the sofa with one of Isabel’s books. Isabel had gone to her study, presumably to continue writing another of them.
“Miss Graves,” said Edward, after tapping on the door, despite it being ajar. Behind him, Julia heard the sound of Isabel running back upstairs and, a few minutes later, the sound of thumping on the typewriter keys resumed. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought we should talk.”
Julia put down the book beside her. “Yes.”
“I meant what I said last night,” said Edward. “I know you’re uncomfortable with our situation, but our relationship can be whatever you choose it to be. What we do need to acknowledge is the connection between us. We have a psychic bond that we must learn to use – and also when not to use.”
Julia surveyed him carefully, as he sat down on the arm of the armchair, draping his coat over the back, watching her equally closely in return. “Mr Iveson – Edward – don’t you mean what we choose to make it, not what I choose? I mean, that’s very kind of you, but I’d have thought this thing went both ways.”
“Of course,” he said, and glanced downwards.
Julia straightened herself. He didn’t object to this; he thought that she did.
“There’s something else,” said Edward, raising his head and leaning forward. “Jemmings. We had suspected for some time that he was with the group for selfish reasons rather than idealistic, and now we know. Whatever else he may have been up to, his chief aim in encouraging people like your brother to go through with the procedure was purely mercenary. When the mark is removed, there’s a substance beneath the skin they call soul powder once it’s been dried out. For obvious reasons, it’s extremely rare – it cannot be extracted from a corpse, or at least, not satisfactorily – and fetches indecent sums on the black market.”
“I’d heard of it, or vaguely, anyway. What does it do?”
Edward stiffened slightly. Julia, aware of their link, could feel the discomfort radiating out of him, and had to put a hand to her mouth to hide instinctive amusement. “It’s – well, it’s –” He stopped, giving her a bemused look.
“Don’t mind me,” said Julia. “Go on. What does it do?”
Edward looked around the room. “Magic, I suppose, if we must. What people call magic, at any rate. I wish they wouldn’t. We may not yet have come up with a proper scientific explanation for soul marks, but one day we will.”
“Yes, we humans have been a bit baffled and superstitious about them,” agreed Julia. “Ever since they first appeared in the Dark Ages – as if by magic!”
Edward drew himself up. “Yes, yes, I do realise, but nevertheless –”
“You disapprove,” she said for him, and smiled.
He put a hand up to his head. “Sorry. At any rate, that’s what it is. And since it has powerful properties, there are people who’ll pay a fortune for it. Jemmings wouldn’t need to have many successes to make it worth his while, and it explains a great deal. He used to be in Intelligence himself, and nobody really thought he’d turned idealistic.”
“I see,” said Julia. “Why are you telling me? Isn’t that breaking the Official Secrets Act?”
Edward remained serious. “No. I trust you won’t ever have to see Jemmings again, but until we’ve apprehended him, I think you’d better continue to stay away from your flat. I’d be very surprised if he came after you, especially when he’d guess we’d be keeping the flat under observation, but we can’t rule out the possibility he’ll try to finish the job or think it worth his while to silence you.”
“Thank you,” said Julia. “I shall try not to have nightmares.”
Edward reached out his hand to take hers. “I’m sorry. As I said, it’s unlikely, but I want you to be careful. The department don’t think it’s a serious risk, or they’d put you in a safe house.”
He made a move to withdraw his hand from hers, but Julia tightened her hold on him, preventing him, and he glanced up in surprise.
“Come here,” she said, gesturing for him to sit beside her on the sofa. “I feel as if I’m still being interviewed, especially when you start sounding so official.”
Edward gave a reluctant laugh and obliged, crossing to sit next to her. “As I said, I realise this isn’t ideal –”
“The thing is,” said Julia, straightening herself, and feeling more confident now he’d given her an opening, “the idea of not having to be romantic is nice to know, but I was only startled the other day. It was the last straw, after everything else. I’m not ready for this. But if I’m to have a soul mate, then speaking for myself, I want the whole thing, thank you. Eventually, I mean.”
Edward looked down at her, frowning faintly, and, even with him so close to her, she couldn’t sense what he was feeling. He must be carefully shielding himself.
“It’s always best to make the most of things,” said Julia, nerves making her continue. She gave a glimmer of a smile. “I don’t think it’ll be all that difficult.”
Edward nodded, but she wasn’t sure he had taken her words in fully, or at least not the right ones. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Good. And, obviously, we’ll have to learn to navigate the link between us – get to know each other.”
Julia clasped her hands in her lap, thinking, while Edward talked about the nature of the psychic link. He was being careful again, but she was fairly sure that was mainly nerves. He hadn’t really believed her, had he? Did he think she was only trying to be polite, or desperately hoping that time and the magic of the soul mark would work a miracle?
She stole a sideways glance at him, tightening her hold on her hands. She hadn’t been in any place to think much about Edward Iveson when they’d first met, but even if he wasn’t precisely handsome, he had his own attractions, something she was becoming more aware of every time they met. He seemed to like her, as far as she could judge, and yet something was keeping him from accepting her words.
“Julia,” said Edward, making her start. “Are you listening?”
She turned, looking up at him and coloured. Her fingers itched in her lap again, as she contemplated how easy it would be to touch him. She had a feeling that if she did, he’d let down his guard. What if, she thought, suddenly a little breathless at the possibility, she stretched up and kissed him? She tried to hide her instinctive glance at his mouth.
Edward only turned away, pressing a hand up to his forehead in sudden weariness. “Forgive me,” he said. “It’s been a long day with several meetings and now I’m lecturing you as if this is another.”
Julia patted his arm. “Never mind.” Then she leant back in the chair, watching him closely. “Can’t you tell what I’m thinking?”
“It’s not telepathy,” said Edward. “Emotions, pain, a general sense sometimes of where the other person is – if it’s somewhere familiar, or unfamiliar and so on – depending on whether you’re concentrating and whether your soul mate is closed off from you, or open.”
Julia bit her lip. “Yes, well,” she said, after a moment, “I suppose it’s probably for the best.”
8. coral: desire
“I can’t feel anything from you,” said Julia, standing next to Edward in the dance hall, close enough to be heard over the band. She hung onto his arm. “Is that me or you?”
Edward shook his head at her. “Me. We’re in public. Besides, it’s best to allow each other more rather than less privacy.”
“Well, stop it,” she said. “I’m trying to reach you.”
“If you insist,” he said, and smiled after her as she walked away through the crowd.
Things seemed to have been going well lately. Julia had been quick to grasp the way the psychic bond worked, and she had stopped telling him that she hated the whole system of soul marks, at least unless she was particularly annoyed with him. Edward couldn’t help remaining wary despite that. He hadn’t forgotten the look on her face when she’d realised the truth and he didn’t see how she could possibly have put that revulsion at the idea behind her so swiftly.
“Edward,” said Julia from beside him, and he turned without looking to take her hand and lead her out onto the dance floor.
She grinned up at him as they danced. “That was better. You knew what I wanted straight away.”
“It wasn’t difficult,” said Edward, shifting his hold on her waist, and breaking into a brief grin. He preferred to be more careful about these things, but he still found it fascinating to feel her attention shift from him to someone over in the crowd, and the pang of grief that went with it. He didn’t need to look: some young, fair-haired lad, who, for a moment, could have been Rudy.
She tightened her grip on his hand in response, and quickened her step, a determined expression on her face. Edward knew that one by now: she was going to keep cheerful if it killed her. He couldn’t help worrying that was exactly what she was doing with their situation as soulmates.
“I’m all right,” she murmured, leaning her head against him as the music slowed, evidently sensing something of his uncertainty.
Her statement wasn’t untrue, Edward realised in surprise. The sense of hurt in her lessened as she concentrated on the music, disappearing into it, before she looked up at him, and he could feel her attention as a faint warmth within, and she responded, gripping the edges of his jacket.
“Julia,” he said in warning, guiding her to the side of the room.
She pressed herself against the wall, blinking back tears, before she tightened her hold on him further, pulling him in and stretching up to kiss him. He closed his eyes, putting his hand to her cheek, and returned the kiss with interest, but underneath it all, he could feel her desperation, the sharpness of her isolation, and a growing strand of desire, or maybe only need. He felt an echo inside himself of all of those things that were, in different measures, his own feelings as well as the reflection of hers.
“Julia,” he said again, pulling back unwillingly.
She forced out a laugh. “You worry so much. Life’s too short, and we’re soul mates, anyway. Why not?”
He looked down, closing himself off from her, but keeping his hand lightly resting on her wrist. “Those aren’t the best of reasons,” he said, and bent down to kiss her on the cheek, meant as a chaste but kind end to the moment, but it was a reminder of why this sort of thing shouldn’t be played with in public. He couldn’t keep from sensing her reaction, and his to hers, repeated if diminished over and over within. The echo effect was well-known and could get completely out of control if one wasn’t careful. Edward always tried to be careful.
“You know,” said Julia, her mouth curving into a satisfied smile, “Isabel told me there were advantages. I think she was right.”
The warmth faded, as did any sense that he had understood her feelings, and Edward felt only the coldness of doubt.
9. lavender: enchantment
Edward scanned the newspaper idly, before glancing at his watch. He was supposed to be meeting Julia later, but not, he reminded himself, until after lunch. The time wasn’t going to go any faster if he kept looking. He turned over the page with a minute sigh, failing to find anything of interest there, either.
He felt something, then, tugging at him through his link with Julia. He lifted his head, frowning as he tried to work out the nature of the feeling. He couldn’t pin it down beyond a vague sense of something being wrong, and yet Julia seemed oddly close – almost as if she was in the next room.
He dropped the paper onto the desk and left the study, crossing the hall into the living room, to be certain. There was no sign of her, but the sense of wrongness grew stronger.
“Julia?” he said, moving further into the room, even though he couldn’t imagine she was hiding behind the curtains or the sofa, or how she would have got in. He was certain he hadn’t left the front door unlocked. Then, behind him, he heard a distinctly real rustle of movement, and swung around – in time to see Jemmings standing there, closing the door.
“You,” said Edward, taking an instinctive step back and clenching his fists. “What have you done to Julia?”
Jemmings smiled and shook his head. “Nothing. I’ve no idea where she is. That really shouldn’t be your primary concern just now.” He sat down on the edge of the armchair, his gaze fixed on Edward.
Edward tried to move forward, towards him, but he was halted by a blaze of pain flaring up within him. When it finally ceased, he was lying on the carpet, shaking and breathless and still unsure if it was his pain or Julia’s.
Jemmings was crouching nearby. “It works,” he said. “This is my first chance to test it out properly, so it was a risk, but the odds were good.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” said Edward, hastily pulling himself up. “Where is Julia?”
“I don’t think you even remember, do you?” Jemmings queried. “And I thought you were the sort to catalogue every conversation. I apologise, Iveson. I wronged you.”
Edward was struggling against a fresh bout of pain that was everywhere and nowhere – one minute his heart, making him catch his breath, the next a stabbing pain in the head that made him feel nauseous if he moved. He forced himself to concentrate on breathing, and managed, “What the hell, Jemmings?” He’d had a couple of encounters with the man before in his previous line of work. Jemmings had wanted to know about some archaic superstitions surrounding soul marks. The relevance of that registered, even if Edward couldn’t recall precisely which superstitions. “Oh, God,” he said. “The soul powder. You’ve used it on us.”
“Yes,” said Jemmings. “When you and your friends spoiled everything for me, I wasn’t sure what to do, until I realised that I could get you to help me. Miss Graves told me you were her soul mate, and naturally expected me to feel for her in her plight. And when Robinson came running to me after you gatecrashed his operation, he tried to dump a number of things on me, including her blood sample. That and the powder allows me to make my own use of the psychic link between you. Now you’re going to help me get out of the country.”
Edward shook his head.
“It wasn’t a question,” said Jemmings. “I’m not threatening you, I’m going to make you. This is a necessity but, my God, it’s a fantastic opportunity to test this. I appreciate the heroic gesture, though. If they catch me after all, I’ll let them know you went through all the proper motions.”
Edward, through the pain, seemed to sense something from Julia again – loathing. He could see again her expression as she realised their soul marks were identical. No, no, he told himself, shutting his eyes, and making an effort to pull himself up, using the nearby armchair as support. It’s Jemmings; it’s all Jemmings. He had to remember that.
He steadied himself, turning to try and launch himself at Jemmings, but he was halted by a sudden intense agony in the side of his head. He fell back against the chair, sliding to the ground. He tried to concentrate, to close down the link, but whatever Jemmings had done, it was impossible. There seemed to be no reaching Julia, either. When he tried, he seemed to hit up against a cold wall of glass and silence.
There was a fresh wave of pain coursing through his veins and while he tried to tell himself it was illusion, it felt all too real. And when, gradually, it began to fade, it was replaced by an increasing blurry feeling, and, on his next attempt to rise, he fell back, heavy and uncoordinated – intoxicated. And there was something he had to remember, but he couldn’t focus, couldn’t recall what he was doing. He closed his eyes, the living room spinning around him.
“Time to get started,” said Jemmings, his voice fading in and out of Edward’s hearing. “I’m not sure we’ve got all day.”
5. yellow: jealousy
Julia was idling her way along the path in Southwark Park, having made a brief return to her flat. She wondered what to do for lunch and guiltily wished she’d arranged to meet Edward then and not after. He would have bought her something.
She was distracted by a faint twinge of pain, like the beginnings of toothache, if it hadn’t been too vague to pin down to anything so specific. She frowned as the sense persisted until it finally dawned on her that it might not be her who was hurting, but Edward. Usually, unless she probed, she didn’t feel anything from him, and often little even when she tried, although there was a certain comforting awareness of his presence that she’d already begun to take for granted.
Julia crossed to the nearest bench and sat down on the end of it, despite the glare of an elderly tramp on the other end, hugging a whisky bottle to his chest, and cautiously explored the link. As soon as she opened herself up to it, she leant forward, gasping at sudden agony. She put her hand to her mouth, her eyes watering at the pain and forced herself to close down the link. She let her hand drop into her lap as she tried to think what to do.
First, she must know more about what was wrong and where he was. She curled her fingers around the edge of the bench, bracing herself, and tried again, closing her eyes. She still had to grit her teeth against the pain, but she tried to side round it, to search for anything else she could sense.
He was lying on carpet, afraid, somewhere familiar (home, she thought), and there was someone else there. Julia tested trying to let her worry bleed through, seeing if he reacted, but she sensed nothing. It was as if she had hit a wall – and, worse, it was as if there was an alien presence in there with them. She could feel hate, scorn, emotions in shapes that belonged to neither of them. Jemmings, she realised suddenly. She could hear echoes of his voice, and the relentlessness she recalled from when he’d explained his supposed ideals to her for well over half an hour.
Julia opened her eyes, hanging onto the bench as if for dear life. She might not be entirely sure what she thought about being presented with a soul mate, nor want to go so far as trying to claim that she loved Edward when she had known him only a few weeks, but she one thing was suddenly very clear: if the universe had given her a soul mate, nobody was taking him away again. Edward Iveson was hers, and he was going to stay her, and, even more importantly, he was also going to stay alive. That was the point.
Julia stood up and shouldered her bag. First of all, she was going to telephone the department, and then she was going to make sure that Jemmings didn’t do anything to Edward before any help could arrive.
“Chalcot Crescent,” Julia said to the driver as she clambered into the cab, breathless and feeling more like a steel blade of avenging fury than a human being. She wasn’t sure how seriously Edward’s office had taken her, especially once she’d started talking about the link between soul mates, and that had only sharpened her resolve. (“So Miss Graves, you haven’t actually seen for yourself that he is in any danger?”)
In search of a taxi, she’d picked up stray bricks from one of the many bomb sites still vacant and full of debris. She’d also given the bemused tramp a pound note for his half-empty bottle and now pulled a couple of spare hankies out of her bag and, with a glance at the driver, who didn’t seem to be paying any attention whatsoever, shifted on the seat, trying to tear strips off her petticoat. She was not going into this unarmed.
Intermittently, she tested the link, and found the pain still present, but sometimes swamped by fog. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but at least she knew that Edward wasn’t dead yet.
Chalcot Crescent, near Primrose Hill, was a thoroughly respectable street, made up of typical London Georgian terraced houses, elegant and uniform, trimmed with railings around narrow basement steps. There were no children playing in the streets and little signs of life, despite it being the weekend.
Julia raced along the pavement until she reached number 12. Stopping outside, she closed her eyes, checking on Edward’s state, and found it unchanged. However, no one else had yet arrived to stop Jemmings. Perhaps they hadn’t believed her; perhaps they weren’t coming. It was Saturday, after all, and maybe they didn’t have the staff to deal with fanciful females imagining their soul mates were in mortal danger.
Julia stepped back and suffered a sudden loss of the furious purpose that had carried her here. What if she was imagining things? What if Edward had only stubbed his toe or developed toothache and she had built it up into a feverish nightmare? She had been through a lot recently. Who would be surprised?
She felt the reverberations of the pain again and lost her doubt, steadying her hold on one of the bricks before drawing in her breath and throwing it at the nearest ground floor window. She had to distract Jemmings enough to make him stop whatever awful thing it was he was doing to Edward.
The crash sounded loud in the quiet street. Julia stiffened her resolve and threw the second, breaking another pane. She then picked up the whisky bottle with the cloth stuffed into it and lit the top with a match before flinging it after.
“Help!” she yelled out, flinging the last brick after. “Thieves! Fire! Help!”
She couldn’t see any sign of movement from within Edward’s house, although surely Mr Jemmings couldn’t have ignored that, but some of the neighbours began to emerge or peer out the window.
“Help!” she shouted again, and ran over when the next-door neighbour appeared. “Oh, thank goodness! You have to help – there’s a fire, and Mr Iveson is trapped inside!”
He gave her an odd look.
“He’s my soul mate,” said Julia. “I know. Please, there’s no time to waste – look, see the smoke!”
There was a thin strand of smoke escaping from the broken window and a flicker that might be flames beyond. Julia suddenly wondered if arson had not been the best plan. What if Jemmings had finished and left Edward alone and injured in there? What if she’d one of the bricks had hit Edward, or Jemmings had panicked and killed him?
“We need to get in there,” Julia said, grabbing hold of the man’s arm, shaking him. “Now!”
Her urgency seemed to get through to him. “Wait there,” he said, and raced back indoors, leaving the door open.
Behind her she could hear some of the other residents talking about getting the fire brigade in, and she turned around, and said, “Yes, please do – and the police, and an ambulance!”
The next-door neighbour reappeared with a sledgehammer, and set about breaking one of the front door panels, so that he could reach in and turn the handle. Julia hurried over to follow him in.
She hesitated in the hallway, trying to see if she could feel where Edward was in the house. The neighbour disappeared into the study, and then came out again, snatching one of the coats off the coat rack and rushing back in, presumably to put out the fire she’d started.
Julia pushed at the opposite door, almost overbalancing on finding it already ajar. She peered around it to find Edward lying on the floor.
“Edward!” she said, throwing herself forward onto the carpet beside him.
He stirred on hearing her voice, and struggled to prop himself up. She put out a hand to his chest to stop him. “Stay still,” she said. “Mr Jemmings hurt you badly, didn’t he?”
“Julia?” he said, blinking up at her in confusion.
She leant forward and kissed his forehead, and he flinched.
“Edward,” she said, drawing back but taking his hand. “It’s me. It’s Julia, not Mr Jemmings. I know what he did, although I don’t understand how, but it’s me.”
He swallowed, meeting her gaze, and then sagged back against the carpet. “Yes. So, it is.”
“Where is Jemmings?”
Julia stroked his hand. “I can only imagine he went out the back when he heard the commotion. There are a lot of people out there now, though, and there’ll soon be more. Hopefully, he won’t get very far.”
“Wouldn’t you have been glad to be rid of me?” he asked, an unaccustomed hardness in his voice that startled her; spewing out some of the poison he’d been fed. “You should have waited. I think he might have destroyed me, and that would have been an end to it.”
Julia helped Edward up into a sitting position, and resting her hand on his arm. He could feel her now; she could sense that clearly. He wasn’t shut off, wasn’t capable of yet. She held back nothing, either, letting him feel a floodwave of her concern and anger until something in him eased and he leant back against the armchair behind him, closing his eyes.
“I know I was angry to begin with,” she said softly, “but that wasn’t about us. And even if I don’t know what to think about it yet, I won’t let anybody take you away from me.”
He closed his eyes and nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. It was only – I’m not myself.”
“Well,” said Julia, “you might not want to apologise to me yet – I’ve broken two window panes, a door panel and set light to something in your study, and I’m not even sure any of it was even really necessary.”
Edward gave a laugh, and let her help him to his feet, putting his arm around her. “I shall remember to try and avoid getting on the wrong side of you.”
7. peach: closing the deal
It took hours for the resultant fuss to die down. Edward, once he’d answered questions from both Special Branch and his superiors, and seen the doctor, had been instructed to go upstairs and lie down and, given all the people trampling about his house, it had seemed like a good idea. Now he was feeling less shaken, he wanted to get up and do something – anything – to keep from thinking about what Jemmings had done. Dark thoughts and brief, shadowy twinges of pain kept stealing back in.
He shivered and crossed to the window, standing there in his shirt sleeves, gazing unseeing across the street. Edward closed his eyes, putting a hand to the window sill. When the noise had started outside the house on Julia’s arrival, it had broken Jemmings’s concentration. Jemmings had hesitated between flight or finishing Edward off first, but Edward had pulled himself up, and shown himself prepared to struggle with what strength he had left, and Jemmings had cut his losses and run for it. They’d got him now, though; that was a something. He’d been picked up in somebody’s garden, Harding had said earlier.
“Edward,” said Julia, poking her head round the door after a quick tap on it. “How are you feeling now?”
He couldn’t keep from tensing. When she was with him and he could feel her very present emotions spilling out, he was glad of her, but the moment she went away again, he kept associating the pain and the dislike from Jemmings with her, and it took a moment to overcome the reaction.
She sat down on the end of the bed, looking over at him, evidently understanding. He couldn’t seem to close himself off from her yet. His usual control was returning to him only slowly.
“I’m not Jemmings,” she said quietly.
Edward knew what she meant, but the incongruity made him laugh, despite the tension in him. “No, you’re not,” he agreed, crossing back over to sit beside her, upright and vivid in his bedroom; another incongruity. “You shouldn’t be here, you know.”
“I’m not Jemmings,” she said again, turning to face him, misunderstanding him. “How many times do I have to tell you I was only angry at you in the beginning because you were spying on me? Anyone would be! And because I liked you from the start, it made me all the angrier.”
“Julia –”
She drew in her breath, and he nearly laughed again, because he could feel the same determination that was currently written in broad strokes across her face. “And I do like you still – very much!” She put a hand up to his face, her fingers brushing his cheek lightly, uncertainly. “I don’t blame you for wondering, because I know my feelings are rather selfish – I needed someone, and there you were. Not love at first sight, like it’s supposed to be, but –”
Edward leant in and kissed her before drawing back, so that he could see her expression. “Julia,” he said, biting back laughter. “All I meant was that if you stay the neighbours may talk.”
“Oh. Well, darling, if that worries you,” said Julia, “I’m afraid you’ll have to move house. What with me smashing windows, and the police arresting your visitors, you’re already notorious.”
Edward laughed and put his arm around her waist, pulling her back round to lean against the pillows next to him. Darling, she’d called him, without even registering what she’d said, and she might tell him she was being selfish, that wasn’t what he sensed in her. Poor Julia. It must have been a terrible few weeks. “I think I’m equally selfish, then,” he murmured, and clasped her wrist with his free hand, stroking her soul mark with the flat of his thumb. “I need you too.”
Julia wiped away tears with her other hand and, for a moment, seemed about to move, but then settled down against him. “I suppose that makes it even, then.”
“There’s a story,” said Edward, kissing her hair and tightening his hold on her. “No more true than the rest, of course, but they say that a long time ago, when there were no soul marks, there was a girl who lived on a farm in the middle of a west country moor, struggling on alone after first one member of her family died, and then another. She did the best she could, though she lost half the crops and most of the animals, and though she thought to ease her problems by marrying someone to work the farm with her, she had no dowry left to bring it about. Then, one day, driven by desperation, she went to a holy site, a stone circle, and prayed for something to prevent anyone ever being as alone as she was. The gods were touched because she hadn’t asked for anything for herself, so they granted her request. Which, they say, is where soul marks came from, and why, in your greatest need, your soul mate will find you, and hardship doesn’t have to be suffered alone.”
Julia nudged his arm with her head. “Did you make that up?”
“No,” said Edward. “Somebody else did a long time ago. You reminded me of it just then. I’m sorry, Julia. I’ve been trying to be sensible – to be careful of your situation – but when it comes to being soul mates, I suppose that’s only cowardice, because there is no breaking this connection, whatever we do, or however we found each other. I should have been more selfish.”
Julia smiled and he felt, for the first time in these five or six weeks, a glimmer of happiness in her. “Yes, exactly. We’re stuck with each other. We could get married tomorrow and it wouldn’t make any difference.”
“Not tomorrow – I doubt I could arrange it before Tuesday,” said Edward, pulling her in closer. “One would have to arrange the license and book the register office, and I doubt they’re open on a Sunday. Other than that, I’ve no objection. I wanted to take you home that first day. It was wouldn’t have been terribly appropriate in the general way, you see.”
Julia laughed and turned, gripping his shirt and stretching up to kiss him. “Tuesday it is, then. It’ll stop the neighbours talking, too.”
He smiled, pausing for a moment to appreciate the warmth of her, both physically against him as well as her feelings for him, and his for her, echoed back at him, along with a growing strand of desire between them. “Yes, Tuesday,” he said, and, like everything else between them, it wasn’t a game any more.
***
no subject
ASNKSFJNG THIS IS SO GOOD. The writing is gorgeous, beautifully early 20th century and also just perfect??? And your CHARACTERS they're so vivid and real even when they're on page for less than 200 words. AND JULIA MADE A MOLOTOV COCKTAIL. And the line about arson! And the description of the soulmarks, and soul powder, and the sheer worldbuilding you put into this, and the conversation at the end which is so delightful and audible and wonderful, and Edward being mad about magic being a Thing and Julia just improvising everything because she's so impulsive and ALL OF THIS.
AKFJBDGKJDNGKLDNHLJDNKGLJNGJKGNEG
(I didn't say no keysmashing.)
no subject
Btw, I keep meaning to say - can I have an author tag please? And probably a story one too.
no subject
I've added your tags! Sorry about that, I spaced on them.
no subject
Btw, I have another question, one that is possibly a bit more cheeky, which is, first off, I've been looking ever since I first started poking around for your equivalent of RaTs's Flavour of the Day and you don't seem to have one. Is that correct or am I just somehow missing it?
If I'm not being dim (as usual), might the mods consider it at some point? I don't expect you to be the same as RaTs, of course, that's part of the fun, and I know you have a whole raft of nice prompt-of-the-day type options in the supplies/styles, but I always really appreciated having that extra option of a prompt that stood alone from my ongoing prompt sets. (I mean, how often I'd use it'd vary from every other day for a week to not at all for a year, but I grew to appreciate it a lot, and I miss it.)
Anyway, thanks! <3
no subject
What sort of prompt did you have in mind?
no subject
RaTs used to use a Word of the Day site, but I don't mind, as long as it's a daily (Or other regular) prompt that the mods don't have to post themselves - like the many nice ones you have in the supplies & styles.
I found a few other Word of the Day sites that seem reasonably established (aside from the Merriam-Webster one you're already using), but anything similar that you preferred would be fine - just having the extra option is the thing for me. My only preference would be for it to be text, as I'm hopeless with picture prompts, heh.
https://www.collinsdictionary.com/word-of-the-day
http://www.wordthink.com/
https://www.lexico.com/en
https://www.dictionary.com/e/word-of-the-day/ (which RaTs used, but they aren't any more anyway)
Googling suggests there are a few potential Quote of the Day sites as well, but I can't remember off the top of my head which one(s) if any you're already using. :-)
Anyway, thank you! <3 And if lack of a banner turns out to be a problem, well, one thing I can do in the fannish art line is reasonably decent graphics (icons, covers etc.), so if the mods aren't around, then I'm sure I could make one. I do banners regularly for my own comms and events.