The Spiritglass Charade Page 12

  The chill there was so cold it burned.

  All at once, a dark figure loomed over me in the narrow stairwell. A flash of glowing eyes told me I’d found my quarry.

  I barely had time to duck before a powerful hand swooped down, narrowly missing me. I slammed into the stone wall, dropping my handful of skirts as I grabbed at something—anything—to keep from falling. The wall was rough and cool, and there was nothing to hold onto. . . .

  My foot stepped into air and I tipped backward. My free hand flailed and I grasped fabric . . . yes. The vampire’s coat!

  I gave a sharp yank. He shifted off-balance but held steady, and neither of us went tumbling. By now, I found my feet and looked up. Big mistake.

  Two red eyes burned down at me. White fangs gleamed in the drassy light. I was aware of the stake in my hand . . . so flimsy in the face of this threat. The enthralling gaze captured me. I couldn’t even blink.

  My world slowed . . . became sluggish. My heart pounded, and I felt as if I’d been shoved underwater. My breathing turned shallow. Everything faded away but those eyes . . . red . . . glowing . . . hypnotic.

  I was hardly aware when he grabbed my arm. Pulling me off my feet, he bored into me with his stare. He smelled . . . it was the scent of age and evil. I forced myself to remember the stake in my hand, digging deeply into my mind . . . use the stake . . . trying to remember Siri’s lessons.

  But the vampire’s pull was strong. The world wavered around me as I struggled to pull myself out of it. My arms were like stone, heavy and cumbersome. A strong band crushed my torso.

  The cold, rough stone wall was against my spine, trapping me. A hand grasped the back of my skull. Sharp fingernails dug into my scalp, yanking my head back. Baring my throat.

  I smelled stale blood on his breath as he drew closer, still holding me with his gaze. His fangs gleamed, lethal and long. My veins leapt and pounded as if waiting for release, thudding madly in my throat and in my chest, swelling in anticipation.

  He was going to bite me. I knew this . . . I fought it . . . deep inside I struggled to break free from his gaze.

  The stake.

  The world pressed down on me. I dredged for strength, calling on my training, my desire to succeed . . . my need to prove myself. My calling.

  Use the stake.

  He plunged his fangs into my shoulder.

  Miss Stoker

  Miss Holmes Is Gravely Disappointed

  As the vampire swooped forward, his gaze released mine. The thrall shattered just as his fangs penetrated my skin, sliding in with hardly a prick of pain. My veins erupted, the blood coursed out. . . .

  But I was free.

  The stake was still in my hand. His chill mouth fastened on my skin as blood drained from my body, pumping forth. Warmth bled from me but I focused on my weapon. Still imprisoned against the wall, I shifted my arm loose.

  I drew in a deep breath, fighting against the soft lull of having the life sucked from my body. My arm reared down and back, my elbow slamming painfully against the wall. I tightened my grip on the stake.

  Then I rammed it up and into the vampire’s torso. Precisely where Siri had taught me.

  Time stopped.

  The vampire froze. And then he exploded in a poof of foul-smelling ash. He was gone.

  I dropped the stake and it made a hollow sound as it rolled across the metal step. My knees were shaking and I sagged against the wall.

  I did it.

  Covered with vampire dust, I gasped for breath. The wall became a support rather than a blockade as I leaned against it.

  I had proven myself. Inside I danced and trembled, and a great rush of light roared through me. Even so, my knees were too weak to support my body.

  Just then Mina appeared, panting and bedraggled. Her hair fell in strands from her temples and she carried an object that beamed a slender light. “Can’t . . . run. . . . Corset . . . too . . . dratted . . . tight,” she gasped. “What . . . happened? Did you lose . . . the vampire?”

  “Dead. I killed it.” I couldn’t contain a boastful grin.

  “Dead? Already? Where?” She actually sounded disappointed. Then her nose wrinkled. “Is that what I . . . smell? That awful . . . stench? Like a corpse. Is that . . . dust?”

  “Yes. It’s UnDead ash. What do you expect?” I brushed some of the residue off my skirt.

  “I didn’t even . . . hear. . . . How did you do that so . . . easily?”

  The warm trickle pooling in the hollow of my collarbone was blood. “I’m a vampire hunter. It’s supposed to be easy for me. It’s what I’m meant to do. So I guess you believe in vampires now, hm?”

  But even as I said that, I remembered the imprisonment of his thrall, the sluggish feeling . . . the sleek penetration of his fangs.

  I should have known better than to look in his eyes. That was a beginner’s mistake. It could have been my death.

  Never again.

  “Oh, gad! You’re bleeding.” Mina, having caught her breath, began to dig in that obnoxious reticule. Apparently unaware that I’d been bitten by my victim. Which was amazing, given her considerable “observation” skills. “I think I have a handkerchief in here somewhere.”

  “And some paper?”

  A new voice had both Mina and me spinning to look up. A figure stood on the steps above us, her bonnet askew and her gloves missing. She appeared to be trying to repair her sagging hair in the back.

  “Miss Babbage!” Mina said.

  Miss Babbage? Blooming Pete, how could I have forgotten about her? Mortification swept over me. She might have been the vampire’s next victim if I hadn’t shaken off the thrall.

  “Paper,” she said again, this time with a tone of impatience as she withdrew her hand from the back of her head. She held a pencil instead of a hairpin. “I’m in need of paper. Even a scrap. Otherwise I’ll ruin my sleeve again, and Merry will be annoyed. I think this is a new bodice.”

  She didn’t appear to be worse for wear, although she did seem a bit distracted. I saw no sign of vampire bites, and the chill at the back of my neck had evaporated along with the Un-Dead. Clearly, she wasn’t a vampire herself.

  “Are you all right, Miss Babbage?” I asked as Mina produced a small journal from the depths of her bag. “Were you injured?”

  “Much obliged.” Ignoring my question, she took the notebook. Using the wall as a desk, she began to scrawl quickly on a page of the book. Thanks to Mina’s small light, I was able to make out numbers, arrows, and other shapes. “I’ve been trying to figure this out for weeks,” she muttered.

  She filled the paper, writing down into the corner until her notations were very small and squashed at the edge of the page. Then she tore the paper out, flipped it over, and continued to write.

  At last, she made a satisfied sound and handed the notebook back to Mina. She folded the paper and tucked it inside her sleeve, then jabbed the pencil into the back of her hair. Her bonnet was still askew. “Now then. Who are you? And what happened to that awful man? His eyes turned red. Most curious.”

  “I’m Mina Holmes. This is Evaline Stoker. We . . . er . . .” She glanced at me as if to ask what exactly she could say—a miracle in its own right.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked, aware I was still bleeding. I needed to attend to my bite as soon as possible, but I wouldn’t shirk my duty again. At the same time, I couldn’t stop smiling.

  I’d killed a vampire. Now I’d proven myself. I was still dancing inside, still in shock at how quickly and easily it had happened.

  And neither of my companions had any idea the importance of what I’d accomplished!

  “Injured? Me? Not that I’ve noticed.” Miss Babbage checked her hands and arms, then over her shoulder as if to confirm her posterior was still in place. “No. I seem to be intact. Did something happen?”

  She was a very odd young woman.

  “You weren’t attacked by the man with the red eyes? We were under the impression you were being taken off somewhere whe
re he might . . . erm . . . ravish or otherwise injure you.”

  “He did get a bit rough,” Miss Babbage replied. “He pushed me against the wall. And his teeth—wait a moment.” Her face became lax and her gaze blank, as if she were trying to remember something. “May I have that book again?”

  She pulled the pencil from her hair. When Mina didn’t immediately give her the journal, she withdrew the paper from her sleeve and began to write on it once more.

  Mina glanced at me then back at the red-headed young woman. “Miss Babbage. Were you not afraid? Did that man attack you?”

  “Yes, I believe he did.” She was still writing. When she finished, she shoved the pencil back into her hair. “But then he must have heard someone coming, because he wrapped me tightly in a heavy cloak and threw me to the floor. I bumped my head.”

  A bump on the head would explain a lot. “Well, you’re safe now. He’s gone and will never bother anyone again,” I announced, brushing the last bit of vampire ash off my arm.

  “Who?” Her eyes were owlish.

  At that, I gave up.

  “Why would a vampire be at the Oligary Building? I was under the impression they didn’t come out in the daylight—although it was raining today. That must be enough of a barrier from the harmful rays of the sun. Unless the vampire was in the Oligary Building all along. . . .”

  “I don’t know,” I said for the hundredth time.

  Mina had begun her interrogation the moment we climbed into my carriage. Apparently, she had already forgotten her disbelief in the UnDead. Now she wanted to study them as closely as she’d studied women’s face powders.

  I thought about calling her out on it, but why bother? She’d just argue me into exhaustion—just like she was doing now, with her incessant lecturing. Or she’d sniff and change the subject.

  “And what was that vampire trying to do, taking Miss Babbage off into that tower? Did he choose her on purpose or was it just convenience? Aren’t you curious? Didn’t you want to know? Why didn’t you at least engage the creature in conversation before doing away with him? Once I got the Ankh talking, I learned a great many things from her before she tried to kill us.”

  “It was obvious what he was doing: trying to feed on Miss Babbage. Or, at the very least, abduct her. I didn’t have the time to ask him. Blooming daggers, Mina, I’m a vampire hunter, not a vampire inquisitor!”

  “But why Miss Babbage? And why at the Oligary Building? And why in the middle of the—”

  “Alvermina.” My teeth gritted so hard my jaw hurt. “If my great-great-aunt Victoria Gardella stopped to interrogate every vampire she came across as a Venator, she wouldn’t have killed half the ones she did. She probably would have been killed herself. He was doing what vampires do: feeding on young, helpless women. Or whoever they can find in a pinch. It was probably convenience. He was hungry and she was there.”

  Mina gave me an unpleasant look, probably because I called her by her despised name. Possibly because I made a very good point. She adjusted her seat in the carriage and thumped her reticule. “It was quite fortuitous for you I was in possession of my equipment. Or you would have been caught without a weapon with which to hunt your vampire. And, incidentally, you ruined my new Allister-MacLeader Depth Perceptor. I hadn’t even had a chance to use it.”

  “I’ll get you a new one.” I realized a good portion of my sudden weariness had to do with the still-oozing vampire bite on my shoulder.

  Mina must have noticed at the same time. “Gad, I’d forgotten about your injury. Did he cut you?”

  “No, he bit me. Siri told me the best thing to do is put salted holy water on it, so we’d best find a church. Unless you have some in that blooming elephant bag of yours.”

  “I’m not a vampire hunter, therefore I don’t carry those sorts of accoutrements. Although perhaps now I should consider. . . . Nevertheless, on the next block. Saint Ursula-on-the Sea. We can stop there and get water from the font. I even have a cup.” She thumped the reticule again.

  “Splendid.”

  I had no idea how much it stung to have salted holy water poured on a vampire bite . . . but unfortunately, I found out.

  I gritted my teeth to keep from shouting at Mina when she dumped a whole cup of it on my bite all at once. The sizzling pain was worse than the actual injury.

  “My gad! Look at how it bubbles up.” She peered at my wound as I struggled to keep from groaning. “It’s amazingly frothy and pink. It’s absolutely fascinating how it dissolves like that. And the bleeding’s stopped.”

  “Brilliant.” The front of my bodice was now soaked with salted holy water, as well as stained with blood. I hoped I was going to be able to get into the house without Florence seeing me . . . let alone noticing the wound on my neck. Blast.

  “Mr. Starcasset didn’t describe that sort of detail in his book.” Mina was still examining my injury. “Would you be adverse to allowing me to collect some of this residue? I’d relish the opportunity to study it in my laboratory. And perhaps a sample of your blood as well, so I can discover the difference between—”

  “No,” I said flatly. “Not necessary. I have no intention of getting bit again by a vampire anyway. For all I know, that was the only vampire in London. So no blood, no sample, no residue.”

  Mina sniffed, crossing her arms over her middle. “Very well. But it could be helpful in the future.”

  Not at all, I thought. I wasn’t going to get bit again.

  It was easy for a trained vampire hunter to slam a stake into the heart of an UnDead. All I had to remember was not to look him in the eye.

  If I remembered that, I’d be invincible.

  Miss Holmes

  Deductions, Theories, and Suspects

  Two days after Evaline killed the vampire at the Oligary Building (the implications of which I was still mulling), Miss Stoker and I arrived at Miss Adler’s office just before noon.

  The four puncture wounds on my companion’s shoulder had almost completely disappeared. It was quite miraculous, and I would insist she allow me to do a more thorough examination if it should occur again.

  I was still quite stunned and even a little disbelieving about the appearance of the UnDead. After all, I hadn’t actually seen the creature. But I certainly had smelled something, and there were the marks on Evaline’s neck.

  “Do you have any further information on the death of Mrs. Yingling, or the Ashton case?” Miss Adler asked as we gathered in her office.

  To my disappointment, Dylan wasn’t present, but I resisted the urge to question his whereabouts. “I was considering a visit to Scotland Yard today to determine whether Inspector Grayling has made any progress on our investigation. I’m surprised I haven’t had any communication from him regarding the crime. Particularly since I am the one who pointed out that it was, in fact, a murder.”

  “An excellent point, to be sure, Mina.”

  Although she was perfectly groomed in a fresh lemon-colored daydress and a particularly fetching bonnet with yellow roses that matched her ever-present gloves, Miss Adler appeared even more weary than she had on the day we visited Princess Alexandra. I wondered if she’d been ill, or if something had been keeping her up at night.

  Whether by accident or design, there was very little one could deduce about Irene Adler from her appearance, other than her excellent taste in fashion. This was part of the reason she’d been such a formidable opponent for my uncle during the Bohemian affair.

  I smoothed my skirt. “I have confirmed one new and important fact, however. Evaline, do you recall the terra-cotta pots by Miss Ashton’s front door? A lime and salt residue had seeped through the bottoms of the pots, mixing with dirt and fragments of dried geranium petals and cricket legs. I had some on my own shoes from our first visit, and I am certain you do as well. I took a fresh sample of it yesterday, and it matches the same residue on Mrs. Yingling’s window sill. Therefore, as I suspected, the murderer—and whoever is trying to upset Miss Ashton’s life—has been
through her front door recently. Specifically, since those pots were put there.”

  “Which eliminates the servants or any delivery people, as they always enter through the rear,” Miss Adler said. “Whom do you suspect, Mina?”

  I straightened, preparing for a detailed monologue. Miss Stoker appeared ready to bolt. I ignored her and launched into my discourse. “In order for a murder to occur, there must be motive, means, and opportunity. As far as opportunity and means—we already know the villain has used the front door at Miss Ashton’s. Thus our list of suspects who have come into the house via the front entrance include the obvious: her Aunt Geraldine, her Cousin Herrell, Willa herself, Miss Norton, Mr. Treadwell, and anyone else who has visited since Thursday last. Which is when the geranium pots were placed on the porch. I asked,” I added pointedly, looking at Miss Stoker. She closed her mouth. “That would include Evaline and myself, of course, but I feel confident we can both be eliminated.”

  My partner gave an unladylike snort and rolled her eyes. “I should hope.”

  I continued. “First, one must consider motive. Why would anyone want to upset Miss Ashton’s life—to make her appear mad, or cause distraction by making her believe her brother is alive? I’m going to focus on the former first: Someone is trying to get her out of the way. It’s the most likely motive. There is, of course, money involved—and even more if Robby is ever pronounced dead, for Willa or her heir will inherit his portion.”

  “True.”

  “Thus, Willa’s spinster aunt inherits upon the death of either child. Therefore, I am looking very closely at Aunt Geraldine. Although the woman has wealth of her own, for some, there is never enough money. She lives in the house and would have easy access to all of the chambers in order to arrange any of these shenanigans. However, there are at least two other prime suspects as well. Would you care to give it a go, Miss Stoker?”

  Evaline gave me an unpleasant look, but nevertheless sat up from her slouched position in the chair. “Right then. Well . . . hmmm . . . if we’re talking of women, Miss Norton strikes me as intelligent enough to do something of this sort. You saw how easily she manipulated Mr. Treadwell into driving with her. And she obviously is attracted to him, while he can’t seem to decide between Miss Norton and Willa. As for motive . . . well, if she wants Mr. Treadwell badly enough, she might do anything she can to get her rival out of the way. We saw how much the young women in the Society of Sekhmet were willing to risk for a man they desired.”