Текст книги "Quicksilver"

Автор книги: Amanda Quick

Соавторы: Amanda Quick
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NINE

Owen returned to Garnet Lane that evening in an anonymous hired carriage. Virginia was waiting for him. She wore a hooded cloak against the chill of the night. He sensed the mix of excitement and foreboding that animated her. When he took her gloved hand to assist her into the carriage he could have sworn that electricity sparked between them. The hair stirred on the nape of his neck.

They spoke little on the drive to the quiet street where Mrs. Ratford had rented a small house, but Owen was intensely conscious of Virginia’s nearness the entire time. He would have given a great deal to know if she felt the same sense of awareness.

When they reached their destination he sent the carriage on its way. There would be other cabs about later, when they left the scene of the murder.

There was an empty, shuttered feeling about the house where Mrs. Ratford had died. The curtains were drawn closed across the windows.

“You’re certain there is no one home?” Virginia asked.

“I checked again earlier today. The house is still vacant. The rumors concerning the former occupant’s death have probably made it difficult to attract new tenants. Prospective renters are no doubt reluctant to move into a house in which the previous resident may have been dispatched by spirits from the Other Side.”

Virginia looked at him. A gas lamp burned close by in the mist, but he could not see her face clearly. Her features were shadowed by the hood of her cloak.

“There are always rumors about those of us who read mirrors,” she said. “Many people are convinced that we see ghosts and spirits. They do not understand that what we perceive are simply afterimages caught in the glass. Mirrors are nothing more than paranormal cameras that capture some of the energy given off at the time of death or near death.”

“I understand.”

They went down the alley behind Number Fourteen. Owen opened the gate that guarded the tiny garden. They went up the back steps. Owen inserted the lock pick into the kitchen door. The lock gave way immediately.

“May I ask where one buys that sort of tool?” Virginia asked.

He smiled a little at the bright curiosity in her voice.

“This particular pick was crafted by one of my uncles. He has a knack for that sort of thing.”

“Yours is an interesting family, sir.”

“That is certainly one way to describe my relatives.” He opened the door and listened for a moment with all of his senses. “Still vacant.”

Virginia moved past him to enter the house. He heard the soft, sultry swish of the ruffles at the hem of her gown as they brushed across the toe of his boot. Her scent briefly clouded his mind. He was aroused not just by the anticipation of the hunt but by the woman who shared it with him tonight.

He followed her into the narrow hall, closed the door and turned up the lantern he had brought along. The light did little to alleviate the heavy gloom.

“Death always affects a house, doesn’t it?” Virginia looked around. “One can sense it in the atmosphere.”

“Yes. Which is why so many people find it easy to believe in ghosts.”

“What, exactly, are we looking for?” she asked.

“Something, anything, that will give us a clue to how Mrs. Ratford was killed. I went through this house, and Mrs. Hackett’s as well, shortly after I accepted the case. I am certain that both deaths were caused by paranormal means, but I do not think the killer was present at the time of the actual murders. He has come and gone on several occasions since the murders, however.”

“You can detect those sorts of details so plainly?”

“It is the nature of my talent, Virginia,” he said, willing her to understand and accept the compulsion that drove him.

Virginia said nothing. She halted in the doorway of the small parlor. “There is a mirror over the fireplace. I may be able to discern something in the glass.”

Owen stood behind her and waited. The light of the lantern flashed on the mirror, casting ominous shadows around the room.

Virginia walked forward and stopped in front of the fireplace. Her eyes met his in the darkly silvered glass. He felt the atmosphere heat and knew that she had raised her talent.

She turned her full attention on the mirror, gazing into it as though into another dimension. She concentrated intently, not speaking for a time.

A moment later she lowered her talent and turned to face him with eyes that were still filled with mysteries.

“The mirror has been hanging above the fireplace for a very long time,” she said. “There are certainly shadows in it but nothing distinct. Certainly nothing of violent death.”

“That makes sense. The body was found upstairs in a bedroom. There is a mirror on the dressing table.”

They went back out into the hall and up the narrow staircase.

“I noticed that the mirror over your own mantel is new,” he said.

“I purchased it when I rented the house. There was an old one in that room and another in the front hall. I removed both of them.”

“You do not like old mirrors?”

“Looking glasses absorb energy over the years. The old ones hold a lot of shadows. I find them disturbing.”

“Yet Mrs. Ratford kept the old one in this house.”

“Perhaps she could not afford to replace it. It is also possible that it did not bother her greatly. She had some talent, but she was not a very strong glass-reader. Only powerful glasslight-talents find old mirrors disturbing.”

At the top of the stairs they paused. The light of the lantern revealed three doors. Two stood open. The one at the far end of the hall was closed.

“That is the room where she died,” Owen said.

They both heard the muffled scraping, clanking noise at the same time. It came from the nearest open doorway.

“What in the name of heaven?” Virginia whispered.

Owen angled the lantern for a closer look. An elegantly made mechanical dragon appeared from the darkened room. The clockwork device was the size of a small dog. Its segmented tail, set with crystals, snaked from side to side. Long, gilded claws rasped on the floor. The glass eyes radiated a cold, compelling paranormal fire.

“Another one of those damned weapons,” Owen said. “Where the hell did that come from? It wasn’t here the last time I visited this house.”

He seized Virginia’s arm and started to haul her back toward the staircase.

She moved willingly and with some speed, but it was too late.

A dark fog descended. The nightmare exploded around him, inundating the hall with hellish visions from a madman’s fevered dreams. The dead and the dying descended on him, mouths open in silent screams.

TEN

All the terrible shadows that Virginia had seen in mirrors since she had first come into her talent at the age of thirteen prowled the eerie mist that filled the hall. The dying stared at her with horrified, dread-filled eyes, as if they somehow sensed that she bore witness to their deaths. They did not plead for her to save them. They knew there was no hope. They asked for something else from her, something she could almost never provide: justice.

The ghastly visions whirled around her. She was suddenly dizzy. Her stomach roiled. For an instant she thought she would be ill, and then she realized she could not orient herself in the strange fog. There was no way to distinguish up from down. If she put one foot wrong she might tumble down the staircase that she could no longer see.

A voice came out of the mist, edged with the grim determination of a man who is hanging on to sanity by sheer force of will.

“Hallucinations,” Owen rasped. “Get down. This energy is so thick we won’t be able to find the stairs.”

He used the grip on her arm to pull her down onto her knees and then into a sitting position beside him. They locked hands and scrambled backward, feeling their way, until they came up against a hard surface. The wall,Virginia thought. At least she now had a sense of direction.

“It’s glasslight energy,” she said. “The same energy that was infused in the clockwork carriage. But there’s so muchof it. It’s as if I’m trapped in a nightmare. I can’t lower my talent.”

“Neither can I,” Owen said. “Too much stimulation. The radiation is so intense, it’s electrifying our senses.”

“This thing is a far more powerful weapon than the carriage.”

“I think the carriage was designed to induce unconsciousness. This device was made to kill.”

“Or drive one to one’s death,” Virginia said.

“Can you control it? If not, we’re going to have to feel our way to the staircase.”

“I am doing my best.”

She strained to concentrate her senses in an effort to perceive some image in the mist that she knew was real. The horrific visions blurred and faded slightly. The clockwork dragon came back into view. It wavered in and out of focus as it slithered, scraped and clanked toward her.

“Much better,” Owen said. “A little closer and I will be able to kick it over.”

The device halted several feet away. The nightmarish scenes flickered on and off like visions in some ghostly magic lantern show.

“Not close enough,” Owen said. “But given the erratic way in which it is generating energy now, I may be able to reach it.”

She felt him shift beside her and knew that he was about to push himself away from the wall.

“Wait,” she said quickly. “I’ve managed to neutralize some of the energy, but if you get too close, it will get a better fix on you. Right now it appears to be confused.”

“You speak of the damn thing as though it were alive. It’s just a machine, a bloody damn clock.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you very much,” she snapped.

“Right,” Owen said, his tone suddenly very neutral. “Sorry.”

This was hardly the best moment for a quarrel,she thought. She concentrated on holding the currents steady.

“I believe the problem from the machine’s point of view is that we are touching each other,” she said. She tightened her hand around Owen’s gloved fingers and pressed her shoulder more firmly against his. “Our auras are overlapping. I think we appear to be a single entity to the dragon.”

“A single entity with two auras. It can’t get a strong fix.”

“Yes, I think so. But I cannot hold it still much longer. Let’s remove our gloves. Perhaps we can increase the confusion with skin-to-skin contact.”

“Worth a try.”

Arms linked, they each stripped off a glove. Seconds later Owen’s powerful bare hand closed firmly around Virginia’s fingers. A shock of awareness shivered through her. The surging currents of masculine energy thrilled her. It seemed to her that she was drawing power from him, as if the currents of her aura were now carried along on the rush of Owen’s energy field. Like a swimmer taking advantage of a powerful ocean wave,she thought. She should have been terrified, but the unfamiliar sensation was exhilarating. Because it is connected to Owen.

On the heels of that thought came another: What is happening here between us?

But there was no time to try to understand the sense of intimate connection that she was experiencing. The dragon’s energy was becoming increasingly violent.

She drew on the link with Owen to heighten her talent and intensify her focus. Underneath the waves of raw power that she was wielding, she sensed a danger, one she had never before encountered. Like the swimmer riding the crest of the wave, she had to remain in control of the dazzling white-hot storm she had created. She did not know for certain what would happen if she failed, but her intuition warned her that if she lost her focus for even a second, she and Owen would both drown in the raging sea of energy.

For a heartbeat or two it seemed that the effort was not working. But in the next breath the room steadied around them. The visions did not evaporate entirely, but they faded to ghostly images. The eyes of the clockwork dragon continued to spark and flash with ominous light, but the death masks in the magic lantern show that filled the hall grew pale and erratic.

“Let’s approach it together,” Owen said. “With luck, it will remain confused.”

Hands tightly clasped, they pushed themselves to their feet against the wall. Virginia kept up a high level of dampening energy. They waited a moment. When the paranormal storm did not flare up again, they moved toward the dragon.

When he got within range, Owen lashed out with one booted foot. The dragon toppled onto its side, glass eyes rattling in their sockets in an attempt to obtain another focus on its target. Virginia breathed a sigh of relief as the last of the dreadful hallucinations evaporated.

“I am no longer seeing visions,” she said.

“Neither am I,” Owen said. “Let’s get this damn thing deactivated.”

Keeping his grip on Virginia’s hand, he stripped off his other glove and crouched beside the device. He moved his fingers over the enameled body of the dragon and pressed a spot on the side. The back of the device opened on small hinges, revealing a complicated clockwork mechanism. Owen reached into the beast and did something to the metal innards. The dragon’s gilded claws froze in midair. Its eyes went dark as the energy inside faded.

In the eerie stillness that settled in the hall, Virginia was suddenly conscious of the rapid beat of her own pulse and an edgy sensation. She was acutely aware that Owen still gripped her hand. Little frissons continued to crackle through her, jangling her senses, arousing them in unfamiliar ways.

Owen released her fingers. The strange sensations dimmed a little, but they did not vanish altogether. She was certain that if Owen touched her again the thrilling feelings would flare up at once. She took a step back, putting some distance between herself and Owen, who seemed oblivious to the stirring energy in the atmosphere.

“I’ve got the key,” Owen said. He slipped it into the pocket of his coat. “I’m certain the device won’t operate now until it is rewound.”

“Like a clock?”

“Exactly like a clock.” Owen inspected the insides of the dragon. “And an elegantly made one, at that. Our clock maker spares no expense when it comes to materials.”

“Why on earth would anyone leave such an expensive device in an empty house?”

“It is hardly likely to be stolen,” Owen pointed out. “The average housebreaker would not survive an encounter with this toy.”

“True. Which implies that someone left it behind to guard the premises.”

Owen gave that a few seconds of close thought. “But it was not on guard when I came here the first time. That means that on one of his return visits the killer realized that someone else had been inside. He set the dragon to make certain that any future intruder would not survive.”

“He is protecting something that is very important to him.”

“I found nothing of value here on my first visit.” Owen got to his feet and looked at the closed door at the end of the hall. “I overlooked something. We must find out what there is in this house that warrants such an exotic guardian.”

ELEVEN

Owen collected the lantern and walked to the end of the hall, very aware of Virginia beside him. His senses were still on fire from whatever had just happened between them a few minutes ago. Had she felt that compelling intimacy, too?

“If there is something of value in the last bedroom, there may be another clockwork curiosity guarding it,” Virginia warned.

He glanced at her, but it was impossible to tell if she had experienced the same surge of psychical connection. In the glare of the lantern her intelligent face appeared concerned but resolute. A casual observer would never guess that she had just faced a withering hail of nightmares. She was concentrating on the project at hand. He should be doing the same, he reminded himself.

“This time we are prepared,” he said.

He put his back against the wall and opened the door with great care, listening for the telltale clink and thud of another clockwork device. But no sound came from the room.

He pushed the door wider, moved into the opening and held the lantern aloft. The light fell on the bed, an old chest of drawers and the dressing table.

“Everything is just as it was the last time I was here,” he said.

“You’re right, there is nothing in this room that is obviously of great value.” Virginia crossed her arms, hugging herself, and surveyed the small space. “But the energy is certainly disturbing, is it not?”

“This is the room where Mrs. Ratford was murdered,” Owen said. “I am certain of it. And I am equally certain that the killer has been here a number of times since committing the crime. So, yes, there is a lot of bad energy in this room.”

He walked into the small space and heightened his senses. The hot, dark currents of violence fluoresced in the shadows, painting the room in the deepest shades of ultralight. Although he was braced for the impact, there was nothing he could do to suppress his response. The hunter in him was always aroused by such energy.

Virginia watched him. “What do you see?”

“What I perceived the last time I was here. She was murdered, but no gun or knife was used to commit the crime. It was murder by paranormal means, but it was not a swift kill. Whoever did this wanted Mrs. Ratford to suffer for a time.”

“But you are sure that psychical energy was involved?”

“There can be no doubt.” He concentrated on the residue of iridescent energy in the room. “Strong psychical currents were employed to commit murder in this room, but the killer was not present at the time. I can usually identify the precise location where he or she stood at the moment the murder took place. There is always a great deal of energy generated when one kills.”

“As the adage says, murder always leaves a stain.”

“Yes. We have made some progress this evening. We have found a means by which the killer could have committed the crime without being physically present in the room.”

“He used a clockwork curiosity,” Virginia said. “Perhaps the dragon.”

“It is a possibility.” Mentally he went through the logic and nodded once, satisfied. “He would have had to enter the room to set up the device, of course. Then he would have left and returned later when he was certain the clockwork weapon had performed the kill and had time to wind down. He retrieved the dragon but brought it back when he realized an intruder had been inside the house.”

“You said he has been here several times since the murder.”

“Yes.” Owen opened a drawer and glanced inside to make certain he had not overlooked anything on his first visit.

“Why would he do that?”

“To savor the energy of the kill,” he said absently.

There was a short, awful silence behind him. He closed the drawer and looked at Virginia.

“The killer comes here to savor the energy of death?” Virginia asked uneasily.

“In my experience it is not uncommon.”

“I see.” Virginia turned back to the mirror. “There were rumors after Mrs. Ratford died. She made her living claiming to communicate with spirits through mirrors. There are some who are convinced she really did manage to summon a malevolent entity from the Other Side. They believe it killed her.”

“We know one thing for certain: If Mrs. Ratford claimed to communicate with the dead, she was, by definition, a fraud.”

“No, not in her own mind.”

“I thought we agreed that there is no such thing as communicating with the dead,” he said flatly. “All those who claim to be mediums are, by definition, frauds of the lowest order, because they prey on the gullible and those who are made vulnerable by grief or a weak mind.”

“I was acquainted with Mrs. Ratford because she was a member of the Institute.” Virginia contemplated the mirror on the dressing table. “We were not close, but we had what you would call a professional connection. We occasionally had tea together in the Institute’s tearoom. We talked. I am convinced that she actually did have some degree of genuine glasslight talent.”

“Then why the devil would she claim to speak with spirits? Why not use her talent in an honest fashion, as you do?”

“Probably because she did not understand what she saw in the mirrors, let alone know how to interpret the visions and images. I told you, her talent was only middling at best. She did not comprehend that what she was viewing was the psychical residue that is absorbed by a looking glass. She was convinced that she really did see ghosts. One cannot blame her.”

“It’s true that most people with psychical abilities lack a scientific understanding of their talents,” he said. “I will concede that some with certain forms of clairvoyance might mistakenly believe that they are, in fact, sensing ghosts or spirits.”

“That is very broad-minded of you, sir.”

“Gabriel Jones is right. One of Arcane’s primary missions in the years ahead should be to educate the public on the physics of the paranormal.”

Virginia raised her brows. “You refer to the new Master of the Society?”

“Right. Jones is convinced that until there is a scientific understanding of psychical energy, those who possess talent will continue to be treated at best as entertainers. At worst, we will be regarded with fear and suspicion.”

“I wish Mr. Jones luck with his plans to inform and enlighten the public.”

Her dry tone caught his attention. “You don’t think it can be done?”

“I suspect it will be very long indeed before attitudes change. Meanwhile, those of us with a little talent must rely on our wits.”

“You have more than a little talent, Virginia Dean. And we are wasting time. If you would be so good as to examine the looking glass?”

“Yes, of course.” She turned her attention to the dressing-table mirror. Once again he felt currents of energy pulse in the atmosphere. He heightened his own talent so that he could watch Virginia with all of his senses.

She concentrated intently for a long moment.

“There are some images here,” she said at last. Her brows came together in a baffled frown. “I can see the afterimage of the victim. It is burned deeply into the mirror. But there is something else in there as well.”

“What?”

“There is raw energy trapped in the mirror. It is very odd. Like frozen fire.”

“Take your time. Describe the victim.”

“She is sitting at the table, gazing into the mirror. She is dying, and she knows it. She clutches her chest and looks to the right. She is both terrified and bewildered by whatever she sees.”

Owen glanced to the right of the dressing table. “The bed. The killer hid the device underneath it. The dragon, or whatever curiosity was used to commit the murder, emerged when it sensed the victim enter the room and sit down at her dressing table.”

“She never had a chance. She died just at the instant she began to comprehend the means of her death.”

“Is there any indication that she knew her killer?”

“No. I think all she can see is the device that is murdering her.”

“It is, nevertheless, quite possible that she did know the killer. She simply was not aware that he was the one who placed the clockwork device under the bed.”

“I think you’re right.” A visible shudder went through Virginia. In the mirror her eyes were wide and haunted.

Owen crossed the room and stopped behind her. Instinctively he put his hand on her shoulder. He could feel the heat generated by the use of her talent through the fabric of her cloak and gown. He knew that particular fever in the blood. He had experienced it often.

“That’s enough,” he said gently. “We have discovered what we came here to find, the cause of death. It is time to go home.”

They found a hired carriage two streets over. Both horse and driver were asleep. The coachman roused himself when Owen opened the door of the carriage and ushered Virginia up inside.

“Garnet Lane,” Owen said.

“Aye, sir.” The driver collected the reins.

Owen had wrapped the dragon in a quilt. He set the shrouded automaton on the floor of the carriage and sat down across from Virginia. His senses were still flaring. That was only to be expected, he thought. A close brush with danger or violence always resulted in an edgy tension that lingered, sometimes for hours or even days. But the events in the Ratford house had left him physically as well as psychically aroused. He knew that part of what he was feeling now was directly linked to Virginia’s presence. Something had happened when they had held hands to battle the clockwork dragon, something as intimate as it was inexplicable.

He was certain the experience had strengthened the growing bond between them. He longed to ask Virginia if she was aware of the connection, but he was worried that the intimate question would alarm her. She was already wary enough about their association.

He did not know how much longer he could wait for her to acknowledge the link between them. For now the bond was of a psychical nature, but the need to seal it with the hot energy of physical passion was stirring his blood.

He looked at her. In the low glow cast by the carriage lamps he could have sworn that he saw some heat in her eyes. She feels it, too,he thought. But perhaps the energy he perceived in her was simply the remnants of the fever that had resulted from the use of her talent tonight. It always took one a while to cool down after such an intense burn.

“Are you all right?” he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Yes,” she said. She pulled her cloak more snugly around herself. “But I must admit that my senses are still rattled. I have never before encountered anything like that storm of hallucinations.”

“Neither have I. If it is any consolation, my nerves are also badly frayed.”

She smiled. “It would take more than a clockwork dragon to shatter your nerves, sir.”

“Or yours. You are the one who slew the dragon tonight.”

“I could not have done it without you.” She looked down at the blanket-wrapped dragon. “It is very powerful. Unlike a human, it would not tire until it winds down. It is a machine, capable of radiating that high level of energy for a considerable length of time. No person of talent, regardless of the degree of that talent, could control such a device for long before exhausting the senses.”

“It is astonishing that someone actually possesses the ability to construct such a weapon. I talked to my cousin Nick today. Thus far he has not had any luck finding the clock maker, but he has picked up a few intriguing rumors from some rather eccentric collectors.”

The carriage halted in front of Virginia’s town house. He opened the door, vaulted down to the pavement and turned to lower the carriage steps. Virginia gave him her hand and descended to the pavement. She had put her gloves back on, he noticed.

“I believe I need a strong dose of medicinal spirits tonight,” she said.

He smiled. “I certainly plan to take the same therapeutic medicine when I get home.”

She contemplated the dark windows of the town house for a moment, and then she turned back to face him. In the shadows cast by the gas lamp and the hood of her cloak it was impossible to make out the expression on her face. But he could sense the heat in her eyes.

“Would you care to share a glass of my tonic with me, sir?” she asked. “I have some excellent brandy.”

His blood was suddenly several degrees warmer. He felt as if he had just received an invitation to enter paradise.