Resting his forehead against hers, he said, “Bye, Ellen. I'll e-mail you when I get there.”

She swallowed hard, then turned away. Jack watched as she moved across the lawn, her white sweater pale against the darkness until she turned the corner.

Chapter Twelve

A Visit with Dr. Longbranch

Linda had booked rooms for herself, Jack, and Becka in a small, elegant hotel on Thurloe Place, near the Victoria and Albert Museum and Kensington Gardens. Jack's room was bright and airy, and opened out onto a garden. He threw open the garden doors and breathed deeply. Roses. He slid the bag with the sword in it under his bed, laid wards along the perimeter of the room, and collapsed, exhausted, on the bed.

From the time the plane had landed, he had been overwhelmed with a feeling of homecoming, although he'd never been to England before. From the street signs to the buses to the greenery to the architecture, everything was uncannily familiar. What was more disconcerting was the constant murmuring, a cacophony of voices of the Weirlind long dead. They were everywhere, calling from church graveyards and gardens and old buildings. “Welcome the warrior,” they whispered. He had begun to understand what Nick meant by noise. He hardly felt he'd slipped into town unnoticed.

Once they were unpacked, he and Becka had lunch in the hotel dining room. Linda had other business to take care of, she'd said. Although they had traveled all night, Becka was full of plans. “Harrods is just up the street, so we'll have to go there. We can walk over to Kensington Palace, and you can see the gardens and the Serpentine, and walk along Rotten Row.” She waved her fork in the air. “Then, tomorrow we'll go over to Buckingham Palace in the morning, and maybe see the Tower in the afternoon.” She grinned wickedly. “I think you'll like that.”

“Sounds great, Mom.” After all that had happened, Jack was genuinely looking forward to being a tourist.

He and Becka toured Kensington and Knightsbridge that afternoon, and all three spent the next day seeing tourist London: Buckingham Palace and Big Ben, Trafalgar Square and the Tower.

Jack found Westminster Abbey exhausting, and not because of jet lag. They began their tour in the shrine of Edward the Confessor. A sour-looking cleric delivered a rather long, boring speech about the history of the church, while ghost warriors drifted above his head and shoulders, gesturing urgently to Jack. Their voices echoed against stone like a tuneless choir. They trailed him through the Lady Chapel, where were buried the three great female adversaries of Tudor times: Elizabeth I, Mary Tudor, and Mary, Queen of Scots, partners both in THRONE AND GRAVE, HERE REST WE TWO SISTERS, ELIZABETH AND MARY, IN THE HOPE OF THE RESURRECTION.

Jack paused at the tombs of Henry the VII and Elizabeth of York. Their marriage had ended the War of the Roses. Officially, at least. Here the Weirlind became almost frantic. A gaunt ghost soldier seized Jack by the arm. His gray flesh was nearly translucent. A great gash beneath his chin stretched from ear to ear.

“Beware, Warrior!” he intoned, reminiscent of Caesar's ghost. “Beware the Ghyll!”

Jack allowed Becka and Linda to get a little ahead of him, then spun around and hissed, “Will you leave me in peace?”

“Beware, Warrior!” the ghost repeated. “They'll pin a rose on your breast, the White of York or the Red of Lancaster, and send ye out to the butcher's field!”

“Look, I have no intention of fighting anybody,” Jack retorted, then clamped his mouth shut. An overweight couple in matching Bermuda shorts and tank tops was staring at him. One of them raised a digital camera and snapped his picture.

“Jack, will you come on?” Becka stood framed in the entrance of the Lady Chapel, tapping her foot impatiently. “You've been totally distracted today!”

“Sorry.” Jack followed her toward the front of the sanctuary. “After lunch, do you think we could go someplace where there aren't so many ghosts?”

“Beware!” the ghost called after him. If he'd had a chain, he would have rattled it.

For the next several days, they immersed themselves in London. They went to the theater, ate in pubs and Indian restaurants, and took the train to Kew Gardens. There was a full-day tour to Bath and Salisbury Cathedral and Stonehenge. Stonehenge turned out to be another spot that spoke to Jack.

Jack shopped for a gift for Ellen, a British football club jersey. Manchester United or Chelsea? He bought both. He labored over a postcard for an hour. Wrote “Hope you're having fun!” and scratched it out. Finally sketched out a brief list of sights they'd seen and ended with, “Miss you. Wish you were here.” He posted it to her Trinity address, hoping her parents would forward it. He e-mailed her from an Internet café, but got no response.

Becka had scheduled an appointment for Jack with Jessamine Longbranch on their last day in London. Both Linda and Jack were trying not to think about it, but it came quickly nonetheless. The night before the appointment, they had dinner at a Thai restaurant in Knightsbridge. Lost in worry, Linda and Jack had little to say. Finally, over dessert, Linda convinced Becka to take a tour to the William Morris Gallery while Linda took Jack to his appointment. It was sorcery, plain and simple. But they both felt better with Becka out of danger.

The next morning Jack and Linda took the underground to St. James Park. Longbranch's offices were in Westminster, near Parliament Square. All the way there, Linda second-guessed their decision to keep the appointment, even after they'd exited the train and left the stale air of the underground station behind. Linda was sure Dr. Longbranch would contact Becka to reschedule if they didn't show. The next time it might be Becka and Jack alone.

The building was ancient, and the elevator was only a little less so, but Dr. Longbranch's offices were elegantly appointed, with expensive fabrics and antique furniture. The receptionist offered them tea, which they declined. They were the only ones in the waiting room. Soon, a nurse led them to an exam room. It was really more of an office, without the cold medical feel Jack was used to in American clinics. The nurse weighed him in his sock feet, then directed Jack to take off his shirt and sit up on the exam table. Jack removed both shirt and vest and set them next to him on the table.

He glanced down at himself. The star-shaped surgical scar gleamed faintly over his breastbone. He realized he must look pretty pale. His chest had not seen the sun all summer. Linda seemed even more unsettled, seeing the changes in him, the muscles that stood out along his arms and across his chest. She paced nervously.

Finally, Jessamine Longbranch swept into the room. She was dressed in silk trousers and an elegant sweater, a pristine white lab coat over top, that unusual stethoscope draped around her neck. She was carrying a folder, his file, he assumed. It struck Jack that she didn't look any older, but then he remembered that wizards don't show their age like other people.

She stopped just in front of Jack and looked him up and down, holding the folder close to her chest. “Well, Jackson,” she said, drawing out his name. “I do believe you've grown.” Something in the way she said it made him feel even more self-conscious than before. She glanced at Linda. “Becka couldn't come? That's too bad.”

She kept talking as she examined him, her fingers full of power, sending off tiny electrical shocks as they touched his skin. He flinched and gritted his teeth. “Now, don't tense up, Jack. That's better. I understand this is your first trip to London? I hope your mother and aunt have been showing you around?”

Jack nodded, then gasped as she ran her hot hands over the muscles in his back. “Ah … we've seen a lot in a short time,” he managed to say. “I'm really enjoying it.” He didn't remember his previous sessions with Longbranch as being quite so physical.

“As you should,” said the doctor. “Land of your ancestors, I believe? Have you been to the Tower? Thrilling, really. All those stories of torture and murder.” Dr. Longbranch kept up a constant stream of conversation, asking questions about their stay in London as she checked Jack's blood pressure and pressed her strange stethoscope against his chest. She had him jump down from the table and walk across the room and back, watching him, arms folded, as he did so. The exam took longer than usual, but he told himself that perhaps it was because he had come such a long way to see the her. She'd never shown nearly so much interest in him before. Finally, the doctor stepped back and looked him up and down approvingly. “You're in great shape,Jack. Tell me, when did you stop taking your medicine?”

She snapped out the question, and it took Jack by surprise, like a quick blade under the ribs, as Nick would say. It took him a moment to respond. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he stammered.

Linda spoke up. “Jack and Becka have always been very good about following instructions, Jessamine.” Her face had lost its color.

“Is that so, Linda? I was thinking Jack here looks like someone who likes to break the rules. Have you ever heard of the White Rose?” Another quick blade, but this time Jack was better prepared for it. He considered a moment, then said, “Wasn't that a battle emblem in the War of the Roses? York carried the white rose, Lancaster the red.”

“Very good!” She moved to the side of the examination table and ran her fingertips lightly across his shoulder. He tensed as the current went through him. She didn't seem to be making any attempt to blunt its effects. “You've been studying your history. There's a great deal of history in this part of the world. Much more than most people realize. And your family has been in the thick of it, did you know that?” Now she was stroking him, petting him like a dog. "I think it's time you became better acquainted with it. I know some people who can teach you.” The change in her voice warned him, and he was prepared for the charm when it came. She spoke it quickly, tightening her fingers on the back of his neck, a simple immobilization charm. He spoke the counter charm under his breath before she could complete it. Then he stilled himself, looking as immobile as he could. He didn't have to pretend to be frightened.