Page 11 of Ashes To Ashes
"Of course it is," Gillingham bit off. "It must be."
"Why?"
"He could move objects with his mind, like Drinkwater. Couldn't he?"
"He could." Lincoln glared at Gillingham, hoping to get him to say more than he wanted to. Of all the committee members, he was the easiest to intimidate. "How do you know?"
Gillingham snorted. "I read about his superior strength in the article reporting on his death in this morning's papers. Nobody is that strong."
"With Drinkwater fresh in our minds," the general said, "is it surprising that we immediately thought O'Neill was a supernatural? I too was skeptical about his feats of strength."
"I recognized his name from the archives," Julia said. "After checking, I sent word to everyone to meet here this afternoon to discuss it with you."
O'Neill was hardly a memorable name, but he didn't question her. "As I said, I have already begun investigating."
"And?" the general prompted.
"And there is nothing to report yet."
Gillingham clicked his tongue. "Come on, man, we are not the enemy! You must tell us what you know."
"I will," Lincoln said through a tight jaw, "once I've learned something."
Eastbrooke held up his hands. "Very well, very well. We'll leave it with you. No, Gilly," he said when Gillingham protested. "He has never failed to keep us informed of ministry business."
"The necromancer is ministry business, and he has failed to keep us informed of her whereabouts." Gillingham stamped his stick into the floor again and pushed himself to his feet. "Good day, gentlemen, Julia."
"I'm going too," Marchbank announced, standing.
They departed, along with Eastbrooke, but Julia remained. It would probably be rude of him to ask her to leave.
"You look very tired, Lincoln," she said, frowning. "Is something troubling you?"
"No," he lied.
"I'm glad to hear it." She smiled. "I'm sure that many of your troubles have disappeared now." She came to where he sat, her steps slow and light, as if she glided across the floor. She rested a hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps you're tired because you're not sleeping well."
"That is generally the cause of tiredness."
Her hand moved from his shoulder to his neck. Her fingers skimmed his hairline. She leaned down so that the swell of her breasts brushed his cheek. "Perhaps you're not sleeping well because you're frustrated," she whispered. "I have a special remedy for frustration. A remedy that you once desired very much."
Her misguided confidence in her own appeal would have been laughable if it weren't so pathetic. How had he ever thought her alluring? She repulsed him now.
She touched his tie to loosen it, but he caught her hand. "I no longer desire your particular remedy. Good day, Julia."
She hopped off the chair arm and stepped back. Tears welled in her eyes, as if his words had stung, but he couldn't be sure if they were real tears or false.
"She's gone, Lincoln." Her usually lilting voice turned ugly. "Your littleaffaire de coeuris over."
He finished his tea as slowly and deliberately as he could. He counted the seconds in his head.
"Whether you sent her away or she left of her own accord doesn't matter. She's gone, and it's for the best. You'll miss her for a few weeks, but it will pass and you will once again be as you were."
A few weeks. He wanted to ask if she could be more specific, but didn't. She might not even be telling the truth. As far as he was aware, she'd never been in—
He dropped the cup back in its saucer and tossed them both onto the table beside him. It clattered and possibly chipped, but he didn't care. "That's enough, Julia. It's time you left."
She pressed her hand to her heaving breast. "I—I need to speak with you about something else first. Something of a personal nature."
