Текст книги "Quicksilver"

Автор книги: Amanda Quick

Соавторы: Amanda Quick
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

FORTY-TWO

“ Something has gone wrong,” Alcina said. “I can sense it.”

“Nonsense.” Welch examined his pocket watch. “I have calculated very carefully. Miss Dean is dying at this very moment. Her energy is being infused into the mirrors. You can sense the power because there is so much of it, but that is a good sign. It means that my Great Engine has begun to ignite. I have achieved what the ancients failed to accomplish, an astonishingly powerful alchemical furnace that will deliver up the secrets of the paranormal.”

They were standing together in the library of the mansion, awaiting the conclusion of the experiment that was taking place on the floor above. Welch was beside himself with excitement. He had waited so long for this moment, he thought, overcome so many obstacles. Now, at last, success was within his grasp. By dawn he would be the master of alchemical power beyond description. The arrogant Joneses of Arcane would be forced to bow to his superior talents. Royalty would be dazzled.

But the true prize was beyond measure. He was certain that the energy trapped in the mirrors could do more than bring him great wealth and power. It would do what Sylvester Jones’s formula had failed to achieve. It would enhance his paranormal senses, and if the ancients were correct, that enhancement would add decades to his normal life span.

A small, muffled explosion rumbled through the ceiling of the library. Alcina looked up, horrified.

“My artifacts,” she shrieked. “Your engine is destroying them.”

“Perhaps one or two of the relics will not survive the storm of energy in that room, but that is no great matter,” Welch said.

“No, I cannot allow that to happen. They are too precious. They enhance my talent.”

Alcina grabbed fistfuls of her skirts and ran out of the library. He heard her footsteps on the staircase.

“Alcina, wait,” he called. “Come back.”

He started after her, but the window behind him exploded inward with violent force. Glass rained down. Stunned, he whirled around.

A dark figure swept in out of the night. Welch felt a terrible force strike at him, nearly stopping his heart. Terror unlike anything he had ever known paralyzed him.

“Where is she?” Owen Sweetwater asked.

Welch’s brain seemed to be fragmenting.

“Too late,” Welch wheezed. “Experiment has started.”

“Where is she?”

“You can’t stop it.”

Another wave of terror struck Welch.

“Upstairs,” Welch managed. “She will still be alive. It will take some time to infuse her energy into the walls.”

Owen said nothing. He took a step forward and put a hand on Welch’s throat.

A shocking jolt of energy swept through Welch. There was a cold, crushing weight on his senses. He was vaguely aware that his heart was beating far too fast.

And then he was aware of nothing at all.

FORTY-THREE

“ Can you open the door?” Mrs. Crofton asked.

“I don’t know,” Virginia said. She tried to concentrate, but it was difficult because she was using so much energy to keep an invisible shield around herself and Mrs. Crofton. “This lock is much more complicated.”

Across the room the interior of the glass coffin started to glow with an eerie green radiance.

Virginia sighed and straightened away from the door. “We’re trapped in here, Mrs. Crofton. I do not have the necessary skill required to open this lock.”

“We are dead, then.”

“Maybe not. This is glasslight. Powerful glasslight, to be sure, but I know how to work it.”

She took Mrs. Crofton’s hand again and focused on the fire in a nearby mirrored wall panel. She opened her senses to the fullest extent. The flames inside the looking glass leaped higher. Without warning, they flashed free of the glass and lanced through the chamber. More artifacts exploded.

Mrs. Crofton gasped. “What is happening?”

“There is an incredible amount of energy trapped in these mirrors,” Virginia said. “I am setting some of it free. If I can channel it, I might be able to use it to destroy the door.”

“Won’t it destroy us as well?”

“I think I can protect you as long as you hold on to me, Mrs. Crofton.”

“Trust me, I won’t be letting go anytime soon.”

Another wall panel ignited, sending out flames of hot energy in response to Virginia’s summons. She seized control of the currents and channeled them toward the door.

More artifacts were heating now, as the objects inside them responded to the wild energy in the atmosphere.

The door of the chamber began to shudder. When there was a great quantity of paranormal energy in the atmosphere, it affected the normal energy in the space.

The door started to char. In another moment it would surely burst into flames, Virginia thought. She would have to maintain very careful control of the energy she had unleashed.

The door slammed open. Alcina stood on the threshold, the rage on her face as hot as the storm in the chamber.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked. “You are destroying my artifacts, my chamber.” She brought the gun up. “I will not allow you to do this to me.”

Virginia released Mrs. Crofton’s wrist and moved away from her. Alcina swiveled to follow Virginia. She no longer seemed to be aware of Mrs. Crofton.

“Run, Mrs. Crofton,” Virginia whispered. “I will deal with this.”

Mrs. Crofton hesitated and then hiked up her skirts and fled through the doorway. She disappeared into a dark hall.

Virginia channeled some of the energy at the gun in Alcina’s hand. The weapon glowed red. Alcina screamed and flung it aside. She ran to the nearest glass case, opened it and took out the obsidian dagger. She aimed the tip of the blade at Virginia.

Black flares flashed from the dagger. Virginia felt the blood in her veins turn cold. She could not move.

“You cannot do this to me,” Alcina shrieked at Virginia. “I will not let you destroy me.”

More energy arced from the tip of the dagger. But this time Virginia was ready for it. Her psychical resources were fading rapidly now. She was close to exhaustion. But she managed a dampening current of power.

The dagger heated with paranormal fire. Alcina screamed. Her body jerked violently. She tried to drop the dagger, but her hands seemed frozen around the hilt.

The chamber erupted into flames, the normal kind as well as the paranormal variety. Mirrors cracked, splintered, fractured and exploded. Virginia realized vaguely that the wood walls behind the looking glasses were burning. Smoke boiled into the atmosphere.

She tried to stagger toward the door, but it was a million miles away in another dimension. She knew she would not make it.

She fell to her knees, sliding into the darkest night she had ever known. Her vision wavered. When she saw Owen coming toward her through the storm of energy, she knew she was hallucinating.

“Virginia,” he said.

She looked up at him, dazed.

“I meant to tell you that I love you,” she said. “Too late now, though. You’re not really here, are you?”

“I’m here, Virginia.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, remembering. “You told me that you would walk through hell to save me.”

“Yes.”

He reached down, scooped her up into his arms and ran for the door.

The mirrored chamber exploded around them.

Ashort time later Owen stood with Nick, Tony, Matt and Mrs. Crofton in the shadows of a small park. With the exception of Virginia, who was sound asleep in Owen’s arms, they all watched the big house burn. Flames roared from every window. Black smoke billowed into the night.

“Both bodies are inside the house?” Owen asked, mentally tying up loose ends.

“Yes,” Nick said. “It will look like they died in the blaze.”

“I didn’t know paranormal fire could start a normal fire,” Tony said. He sounded awed.

“There is no hard-and-fast line on the spectrum between the normal and the paranormal,” Nick said. “How many times have I explained to you that it’s a continuum? Get enough energy going in one section and it will affect the currents in the neighboring regions.”

Matt grinned. “Thanks, as always, for the lecture, Uncle Nick.”

“Huh,” Nick muttered. “All I can say is Miss Dean must have set free a lot of very hot glasslight tonight.”

“I don’t know anything about this spectrum you’re all talking about,” Mrs. Crofton declared, “but I must admit that Miss Dean is a most unusual employer. My life has become a good deal more exciting since I entered her service.”

“She’ll fit in nicely with the Sweetwater family,” Owen said.

“I see.” Mrs. Crofton nodded in a knowing manner. “I had a feeling that might be the way of things.”

Owen looked at her. “Plenty of room for you, as well, Mrs. Crofton.”

“Is there, now?” Mrs. Crofton said softly.

“Recent evidence to the contrary, we’re actually a very normal family,” Nick said.

“Is that so?” Mrs. Crofton said.

“Assuming you can overlook our talents and the sort of work that we do,” Tony added.

“Miss Dean says you hunt monsters,” Mrs. Crofton said.

“You might call it the family business,” Owen said.

“Would I get to do more of the sort of inquiries that I did this afternoon?” Mrs. Crofton asked.

“If you like,” Owen said. “Sweetwaters are happy to take all the help we can get, so long as it comes from within the family.”

“My inquiry today left me sleeping in a glass coffin.”

“Perhaps you won’t want to continue with a career as an inquiry agent,” Owen said. “Understandable. There are other positions available.”

“Might have been a different outcome if I’d been properly armed,” Mrs. Crofton said. “A pistol in my handbag, for example, would have been useful.”

“That won’t be a problem in the future,” Owen said.

FORTY-FOUR

Virginia opened her eyes and saw Owen standing at the window, looking out into the moonlit night. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up on his forearms. His collar was open. He had one hand braced against the sill. The silver light limned his face in shadows and mysteries.

“Owen,” she said softly.

He turned and walked to the bed. His eyes heated.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Tentatively she heightened her senses. There was no need to focus. One knew when one’s talent was functioning properly, just as one knew if one’s hearing or eyesight or sense of touch was working. She felt the familiar tingle of awareness.

“I feel fine,” she said. “What of Mrs. Crofton?”

“She has concluded that she has a talent for the private inquiry business, but she insists on being properly armed the next time she goes off to track down persons of interest in a case.”

“I told you at the start of this affair that she is an excellent housekeeper and that I was very lucky to have her.”

“So you did. She seems to think that she is fortunate in her employer, as well.”

“Hardly. I very nearly got her killed today.”

Owen leaned over the bed, palms flattened on either side of her shoulders. “I’m the one responsible for what happened today. I put you both at risk.”

“I was already at risk, if you will recall. That is why you came to me in the first place. You wanted to keep me safe.”

“I failed.”

“Here is what I know, Owen Sweetwater. If you had not come looking for me that night that I went to the Hollister mansion, I would likely never have made it out of that terrible place alive. The girl we found there would have died as well.”

“Virginia—”

“If you had not convinced me that I was in grave danger, and if you had not allowed me to participate in the investigation, I would not have been prepared for what happened tonight. The lock pick you gave me helped save Mrs. Crofton and me. By the time I had finished dealing with Alcina Norgate, I was so exhausted I would not have been able to escape the flames. But you carried me out of that storm of energy and fire. All in all, I would say that you took very good care of me.”

“However that may be, I swear I will do an infinitely better job of taking care of you in the future.”

She touched his hard jaw. “Will you?”

“I have no choice,” he said. “Last night when I carried you out of that chamber you said you loved me.”

“Yes.”

“I realized I had never told you that I love you. I have loved you since I watched you give the reading in Lady Pomeroy’s drawing room. I will always love you.”

A sensation of radiant joy rushed through her. Mercilessly, she crushed it with an act of will.

“You don’t have to romance me,” she said. “I understand that what you believe we have is some sort of psychical bond. But it is enough. For now.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. When he raised his head, his eyes burned. “For a man like me, there is no difference between the psychical bond and the bond of love. It is all one and the same.”

She searched his face in the shadows. “How can you know that?”

“Sweetwaters take this kind of thing very seriously. It is part of our talent. Trust me, I am certain.”

“You must realize that I will not be the mistress of a married man. I will not live in the shadows as my mother did.”

“Has some married man asked you to be his mistress?” Owen’s eyes glittered with dark laughter. “If so, give me his name and I will see to it that he disappears.”

“I am serious.”

“You insult me gravely if you think that I am the kind of man who would keep a lover on the side while I married another woman and fathered children by her. I realize that may be common in society, but we do not do that sort of thing in the Sweetwater family.” He smiled a quick, wicked smile. “Our ladies do not condone the practice.”

She stared at him. “But you must marry a woman of your own station. It is your duty to your family.”

He stopped smiling. “My family hunts monsters, Virginia, not foxes or deer or squirrels. What is more, we do it for money whenever possible. It is, as I made clear to Mrs. Crofton, the family business. I’m afraid that there is no getting around the fact that we are in trade. Where does that put us on the social ladder?”

“I hadn’t thought about it in those terms,” she admitted.

“Sweetwaters are not bound by society’s conventions when it comes to marriage. We cannot afford to abide by them. For us, too much depends on finding the right woman. I have found you. You are what I need to help me survive the night.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sweetwater men must marry women who can accept the talent and the compulsion that drives us to hunt, strong women who can be our partners as well as our lovers. We must choose women who can keep and protect the family secrets.”

“Well, yes, I can understand how trust would be of paramount importance in a Sweetwater marriage, given your family’s eccentricities, but that’s not my point here.”

“It goes far beyond trust,” Owen said evenly. “It is a matter of survival.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I am going to tell you the greatest Sweetwater secret of all. The men of my family can survive the hunt over time only if we succeed in finding the right women. Each of us must find the one with whom we can truly bond. If we fail to establish such a connection, we are doomed.”

“To die?” She gasped, horrified. “I can’t believe that.”

“Death is not what we fear. In the end we all die. What the men in my family risk is far worse, the slow, cold, empty doom we call nightwalking. When a Sweetwater becomes a true nightwalker he is consumed utterly by the passion for the hunt. Nothing else matters. The bloodlust is the only emotion he can feel, an absolute obsession that can never be satisfied. There is no peace, no rest, no other passion. The darkness takes over. He seeks the only escape available to him.”

“Suicide?”

“You could call it a form of suicide, perhaps.” Owen straightened away from the bed. “The Sweetwater who becomes a true nightwalker starts to take great risks. He shuts himself off from the family. He begins to hunt alone. He goes out again and again, seeking prey. Eventually he miscalculates. Some say deliberately.”

She shuddered. “That night, after you were attacked, one of your nephews said something to the effect that your family was worried because you were starting to walk the streets at night. Now I understand the concern. Are you sliding into this dangerous obsession you speak of?”

He smiled. “Not any longer. I have found you.” Methodically he began to unfasten his shirt. “Now all I have to do is convince you to marry me.”

This was the one man she could trust, she thought, the one she had been waiting for. If he said he loved her, she could believe him.

She smiled slowly. “Well, when you put it that way, I can hardly refuse.”

His hands dropped away from the unbuttoned shirt. His eyes burned with a stark hunger.

“Virginia—”

“I love you, Owen Sweetwater. You are the only man who has ever understood me, the only one who can handle my talent. I need you as much as you need me. I will love you to the end of my days and beyond, if such a thing is possible.”

He smiled his dangerous smile. “That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed. One boot hit the floor, and then the other. Virginia watched as he unbuckled the leather sheath containing the knife and placed it on the nightstand.

He stood long enough to remove his trousers, and then he came to her in a fever of passion. She shivered when he touched her, thrilling to his touch, as she always would. A great longing built deep inside her.

She felt his strong fingers move on her, stroking all the secret places. When she touched him intimately he shuddered in response. She could feel the perspiration on his sleek back.

He lowered himself on top of her and slowly, reverently joined their bodies together, generating the intimate currents of the most powerful force on the spectrum—the energy of love.

FORTY-FIVE

“ How did you find us last night?” Mrs. Crofton asked.

They were gathered once again in the tiny parlor. The space was crowded. Virginia and Charlotte occupied the sofa. Mrs. Crofton sat on one of the dainty chairs. The four Sweetwater men ignored the spindly furniture. They lounged around the room like great cats or propped themselves gracefully against the walls and mantel.

“I discovered that a woman named Alcina Norgate was the sole beneficiary of Lady Hollister’s will,” Owen said. “But it appeared to be a dead end. So I went back to the start of the case and considered events from another angle.”

“What angle?” Nick asked.

Owen gripped the marble edge of the mantel. “It occurred to me that the killer was too sure of himself, too certain that his experiments with Ratford and Hackett were not likely to be disturbed. Later, after I did disturb them, he felt confident enough to place the curiosities on guard.”

“I understand,” Virginia said. “You wondered why he felt comfortable returning again and again to the scenes of the crimes.”

“It is not uncommon for a villain to do that,” Owen said. “But this particular killer seemed especially casual about it. There was one obvious reason why that might be true. If he owned the houses, he could make sure they remained empty as long as he wished.”

“Of course.” Enthusiasm leaped in Nick’s eyes. “He did not need to fear that a new occupant would move in.”

Owen looked at Virginia. “I paid a call on the agent who rented this house to you. It took some time, but I eventually discovered that Welch was your landlord. I also learned that he owned the two houses that had been rented by the glass-readers who were murdered.”

Tony grinned. “As my father would say, that is an example of the importance of basic detective work. No paranormal talent involved.”

“It wasn’t proof that Welch was a murderer,” Owen said. “But it did raise some interesting questions and suggested some answers.”

Virginia winced. “No wonder Mr. Welch was so helpful when I signed the contract with the Institute. He was delighted to find another glass-reader. He directed me to the agent who rented this house to me. I expect that is how the other two glass-readers came by their leased houses as well.”

“Yes.”

Charlotte looked at him, intrigued. “How did you discover Mr. Welch’s address?”

“That was not so easy,” Owen said. “The agent did not have it. He simply deposited the funds into a bank account. But I was fairly certain someone else did know where Welch lived.”

Mrs. Crofton’s brow wrinkled. “Who was that?”

Owen looked at her. “Gilmore Leybrook.”

Virginia raised her brows. “You called on Leybrook?”

Owen smiled his Sweetwater smile. “He was very helpful.”

Virginia groaned. “I doubt that. Please tell me that he is alive and in reasonably good condition.”

“Leybrook is recovering from a shock to the senses, but he is fine,” Owen said.

Virginia decided not to pursue that subject. She turned to Mrs. Crofton. “What did you learn from the Hollister housekeeper?”

“Mrs. Tapton was deep into her gin when I found her. She talked quite freely. Told me that Lady Hollister was mad but that Hollister himself was the one who terrified the staff. The only reason Mrs. Tapton stayed was out of loyalty to Lady Hollister. She had been with her since Lady Hollister was a girl in her teens. When Lady Hollister entered the mansion as a young bride, the housekeeper went with her.”

“Did the housekeeper and the rest of the staff know what was going on in the basement of the Hollister mansion?” Charlotte asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Mrs. Crofton said. “I’m sure they sensed that something dreadful was happening inside that house, but they took the sensible approach.”

“In other words, they did not go looking for trouble,” Virginia said.

“They were paid well to look the other way,” Mrs. Crofton said. “And it is not as if the Hollister household was the only one in London that held secrets that the staff preferred not to know.”

“No,” Owen said. He caught Virginia’s eye. “Every house holds a few secrets.”

“Some secrets are decidedly more dreadful than others,” Virginia said briskly. She frowned in thought. “There is still one question that we have not answered. Who helped Lady Hollister stage the scene in the mirrored room under the mansion so that it would appear that I had murdered Hollister?”

Mrs. Crofton looked at her, surprised. “Isn’t it obvious? Who else could the lady of the house count on at such a time?”

“Of course,” Virginia said. “The housekeeper.”