Incarnation by Emma Cornwall Page A

help but sense that we were being spied on by means not immediately apparent.
    At first glance, the interior appeared similar to those of the more exclusive gentlemen’s clubs—Oriental rugs, crystal chandeliers, leather smoking chairs, and the like. I half expected an ancient butler to appear and remind us that ladies were not permitted. Instead, we were greeted by the aroma of burning sage and the pounding of drums accompanied by chanting.
    “What on earth is that?” I asked. Vampire though I was, the occult was still very new to me.
    Marco grimaced. “We have a bit of a demon problem atpresent. It’s being dealt with. Shall we go through to the library?”
    We continued down a long, oak-paneled corridor lit by wall sconces set within inlaid glass shades that cast shadows in the shapes of runes across the ceiling. As we neared, double doors at the far end opened, and a tall, slim man emerged. Elegantly dressed, he had a full head of silver hair and a long, hawkish face. Seeing us, he stopped. His gaze flicked from Marco to me and back again as his nostrils flared.
    My heightened senses captured a flood of impressions—the rigid set of his shoulders, the tightening of his mouth, the elevation of his heart rate, even the sudden alteration in his scent—a combination of musk and copper that I associated instinctively with violence.
    Yet he inclined his head with apparent civility. “Di Orsini, nice to see you again. Keeping well, I hope?”
    So smoothly that he scarcely seemed to move, Marco blocked me from the other man’s view. With icy courtesy, he said, “I thought you were still in Berlin, de Vere.”
    “I’ve only just returned.” Attempting to peer around his shoulder, with very limited success, he said, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure . . .”
    Without stepping aside, Marco volunteered, “Miss Devinia Blanderkamp is assisting me in an inquiry.”
    “Indeed . . . ?”
    “A bit urgent, I’m afraid. You understand.”
    Before de Vere could reply, Marco ushered me into the library and shut the doors behind us.
    “What was that about?” I asked when we were alone.
    His face tightened. For a moment, I glimpsed how verydaunting he could be when he was so inclined. The impression passed quickly enough but it lingered in my memory.
    “I would prefer that Sebastian de Vere not be aware of your presence here,” he said.
    “Why? Is he a danger of some sort?”
    “He is a renowned Darwinist and an expert on human cell structure.”
    “Surely that must be counted to his credit?”
    “As it would be if that were all he is. De Vere is a member of the Golden Dawn because of his obsessive interest in all things occult and his connections to powerful people in the government. But he has skirted close to the wind on more than one occasion in matters regarding his research. Under no circumstances is he to be trusted.”
    His vehemence surprised me, but I gave it little thought except to be amused by the notion that he needed to protect me from the likes of Sebastian de Vere or, for that matter, anyone else. The library was large, stretching the full length of the building on the ground floor overlooking the garden. Despite its spaciousness, it was dominated by a larger-than-life-size portrait of a stern man with a long white beard and glittering eyes that hung directly opposite the doors, commanding the attention of all who entered. The personage wore a black velvet robe in the Elizabethan style, with a heavy silver chain of intricate design hung around his neck. Silver rings also adorned his fingers. Even the buttons of his robe and the subtle patterns of embroidery on it appeared crafted of the same metal.
    “Dr. John Dee,” Marco said when he saw the direction of my gaze. “Our sixteenth-century founder. He was a mathematician and astrologer, as well as a magus of rare talent.”
    “I’ve read about him, but I did not realize that his interest in the occult extended to founding a society