A Case of Possession (A Charm of Magpies #2)

by K.J. Charles

Judging that a sufficiently comprehensive analysis of his capabilities to put the young spark off, Crane

I’m going to call in some obligations and do a bit more work on Rackham’s affairs. Buy up some debts. Revive some old grudges. See how fast I can get him to the verge of ruin.” “Ah,” said Merrick, satisfied. “That kind of civilised.”

You’re bloody tall. And you’re rich, and you ain’t stupid, mostly, and there’s people reckon you’re not bad looking, which I got no opinion on, and your old man was an earl and that shows. It always did.” “Right, you’ve met me,” Crane said. “So?” Merrick rolled his eyes. “So, what I’m saying is, you might think you’re treating someone as an equal, but you ain’t. Because, my lord earl, when you’re bigger and older and richer and all that and you’re naturally a domineering sod, maybe that person don’t feel equal, no matter what you might reckon. I don’t mean me,” he added, in case Crane should get the wrong idea.

He turned to see Dr. Gold jerking his head in summons, and moved over to him. “Doctor?” “Nothing, really,” said Dr. Gold quietly. “It’s just that if Esther realises you’ve seen her cry, she’ll never forgive you.”

You don’t seem surprised.” “Well, he’s been my best friend for ten years and my wife’s partner for five. We have had occasion to observe him. It’s the total lack of interest in the fair sex that gives it away, over the long run,” Dr. Gold added helpfully.

“Esther’s bark is worse than her bite. Well, actually, it isn’t,

“They’re moving!” “They do,” Stephen said. “Don’t ask.” “This is typical of you, Steph,” said Dr. Gold bitterly. “Typical. Of course you can’t just be unnatural like everyone else. Go on, get this overgrown magic lantern out of my way, this is a surgery, not a circus.

“Why didn’t I say what?” demanded Merrick. “‘Hey, them two Chinese shamans, they was shamans from China?’ I told you every time I passed someone I ever met, we’d never talk about anything else! My lord.” Crane glared at him. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.

But, well, I said I’d understand if she wanted a new partner, and she said yes, she wanted one who wasn’t congenitally stupid, so I think things might be all right.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to be horribly killed. I’m sure you said that.” “I said I wasn’t going to be horribly killed by rats. I never promised not to have my soul eaten by a demented ghost.”

Saint went on, “But Mrs. Gold doesn’t—” “When you can do what Mrs. Gold does, you can decide for yourself what’s important,” Stephen said.

He had always loved the rainy season in Shanghai. (Merrick hated it, grumbling relentlessly that the whole point of not being in sodding England was you didn’t get the sodding rain.)

She got in posing as a patient and then started lecturing me about the use of rubbing alcohol. Which, let it be said, I almost never drink.” Gold rubbed at his face again.

“That’s giving me ideas.” Stephen’s eyes widened. “Not in a church, Lucien.” “I’ll have ideas anywhere I damned well please.”