by Amanda Quick
“Promise me you will be careful,” Adelaide whispered urgently.
She did not understand about promises, he thought. One never made them unless one was absolutely certain that one could fulfill them.
“I fully intend to return in short order,” he said instead. “If I don’t come back in a few minutes, Jed knows what to do.”
“Don’t say that,” she snapped. “I want your word that you will return safely.”
He leaned forward, brushed his mouth across hers and cracked open the carriage door.
The familiar rush of energy that always came with the prospect of danger swept through him, heightening all of his senses. He moved off into the moonlit maze of narrow, crooked streets. At the corner, before turning into an alley, he stopped and looked back.
The carriage was only a shadow in the fog. He could just make out Jed’s wiry frame lounging on the box. Adelaide was invisible in the darkened interior of the cab. But he knew she was watching him.
Watching him as if she truly cared for his safety. The safety of a crime lord.
Social reformers, he thought. They had no common sense at all.
38
THE CHILL OF DEADLY ENERGY WAS SO FAINT AS TO BE ALMOST undetectable. Adelaide’s first thought was that the temperature had dropped a few degrees. Automatically she pulled up the high collar of her gentleman’s overcoat.
The trapdoor in the roof of the carriage was propped open so that she could speak to Jed.
“Are you getting cold up there, Jed?” she asked softly. “There’s a blanket on the seat. Would you like it?”
There was no answer. Until a few minutes ago, she and Jed had been conversing, sparingly to be sure, but in a comfortable fashion. They shared something in common, after all, a deep concern for Jed’s employer.
Another thrill of ominously cold energy ruffled her senses. Like an odor one had smelled long ago, it aroused memories.
“Jed?”
He did not respond.
She rose, knelt on the seat and reached up through the open trapdoor to tap Jed’s arm. When she touched his sleeve, an electrifying shock seared her partially heightened senses. Jed was rigid on the box, as stiff as though he had been frozen in place.
She gasped, and yanked her fingers back, as one would from a hot stove.
But in the next heartbeat, her intuition was shrieking at her. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jed was near death, that he would die if she did not counter some of the awful currents icing his senses.
She removed one glove, set her teeth together, heightened all of her talent, and reached up through the opening again. She caught hold of Jed’s stiff arm. The heavy fabric of his coat muffled some of the force of the killing energy but not much.
She tugged on his arm and managed to drag his hand behind his back so that she could reach it. She stripped off his thick glove and interlaced her fingers with his own. His rough palm was as cold as a grave.
The waves of energy shooting through Jed flooded her own senses, chilling her blood.
The pattern of the currents had grown more warped and distorted over the years but she would have known them anywhere. Mr. Smith was stronger now, she thought, much stronger than he had been that night in the brothel.
But she was more powerful, too. At fifteen her talent had still been developing. She had been in the early stages of learning how to control and manipulate dreamlight. Tonight she fought for Jed’s life with the full strength of her mature, refined power.
The cold was beyond anything she had ever known. It swirled straight through her, freezing her from the inside. No fire could warm her. The waves of icy energy were unrelenting. The only way to escape was to release her grip on Jed’s hand but that was the one thing she would not do. If she let go of Jed he would be swept away into the killing currents.
She pulsed hot dreamlight energy directly into the icy waves in a desperate effort to disrupt the pattern. Her view was limited by the narrow opening of the trapdoor but she knew that the killer was standing somewhere nearby. Psychical energy could not be projected beyond a radius of fifteen or twenty feet at most. Nor could it be employed at such a violent level for long. A few minutes, Adelaide thought. She only had to hold on to Jed for a few minutes.
Jed was living through a soul-shattering nightmare. She had no choice but to live through it with him.
39
THE BODY LAY IN A POOL OF YELLOW LANTERN LIGHT. SO much for the information that he had come here to purchase, Griffin thought. But at least the murder explained the rising tide of unease he had been experiencing since leaving Adelaide in the carriage. At first he had told himself that his senses were naturally on edge because as long as she was in danger he did not like to let her out of his sight. Now, he realized, his intuition had likely been warning him that something had gone wrong with tonight’s project.
He stood in the densest shadows of the alley, drawing the darkness around himself, and studied the sprawled figure. It was clear that someone else had gotten to the would-be informant first. But sometimes the dead could still talk.
He waited another moment, his senses heightened. The restless unease was still twisting through him. If anything it was growing stronger.
He had come here tonight to collect the information he needed to keep Adelaide safe. He must not lose focus.
There were no traces of energy in the atmosphere to indicate that the killer was still in the vicinity. It was impossible to perpetrate such an extreme act of violence and then immediately disguise the psychical reaction. Even when a murderer enjoyed his work, his energy field remained hot for a considerable length of time afterward. In Griffin’s experience the truly soulless killers were the ones most excited by the act. He supposed that in some freakish way, it made them feel more alive.
Satisfied that he was not about to walk into a trap, he pulled a little more energy around himself and went forward. He moved cautiously into the lantern light and stood looking down at the body for a moment, searching for signs of a wound. There were none.
He crouched and went swiftly through the dead man’s pockets. There was a folded sheet of paper. In the weak light it appeared to be a list of ingredients. There was another paper in a different pocket, a receipt this time. He could just barely make out the firm. S. J. Dalling, Apothecary.
The sense of impending disaster was growing stronger by the second. He could no longer attribute it to the dead man.
Adelaide.
He turned and broke into a run.
When he emerged from the alley he saw the carriage. It was little more than a shadow in the fog but nothing appeared amiss. The horse was restless, however. The beast was shifting in his harness and tossing his head. Jed was on the box but he made no move to calm the uneasy horse.
Griffin drew his revolver and plunged forward, heart pounding with the overwhelming rush of urgency. He was vaguely aware that the night seemed colder than it had a moment ago.
“Jed.”
There was no response. That was wrong; Jed could surely hear him from this distance.
It was Adelaide who responded.
“Smith is nearby,” she shouted from inside the carriage. “Somewhere out there on the street. He’s trying to kill Jed.”
He heard the desperation in her voice and suddenly he understood everything, Jed’s unnatural stillness as well as the chill across his own senses. He searched for the source of the cold sensation and found it almost at once.
The icy energy shivered from the dark mouth of a nearby alley, not more than fifteen paces from where Jed had parked the carriage. A fist-size ball of crimson light blazed in the darkness. Griffin used the blood-red glow as a beacon to acquire a focus on his target. He sent out a torrent of nightmare energy.
A violent storm of psychical fire flashed in the shadows when the two fields of energy collided. But it was no contest. Griffin could tell that Smith had already begun to exhaust his own senses. The red crystal abruptly dimmed and winked out.
He raced back to the carriage and yanked open the door. In the shadows he could see Adelaide crouched on the seat. Her arm was extended through the trapdoor, gripping Jed’s hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was flat, as if she was utterly exhausted. “And so is Jed. At least I think he is. Oh, Griffin, he was so cold.”
She released Jed’s hand and started to crumple.
Griffin vaulted up into the cab and caught her just before she collapsed onto the floor of the carriage. She was fever- hot in his arms, burning with dreamlight energy.
40
SMITH WAS TREMBLING SO VIOLENTLY WITH REACTION AND exhaustion that he could barely haul himself up onto the hansom cab. He managed to give the driver his address. Then he leaned forward and rested his feverish brow on his folded arms. The driver would assume he was just one more drunken gentleman on his way home after an evening spent with a mistress.
How could everything have gone so wrong? The plan had been brilliantly simple. According to Luttrell, Winters had put the word out on the streets that he was willing to pay well for information concerning a scientist named Basil Hulsey. One of Luttrell’s enforcers had accepted the offer. Luttrell had informed him that he planned to take care of the man who had betrayed him tonight. He had explained that Winters would be drawn out of hiding and that there was an excellent chance that he would have the Pyne woman with him.
Luttrell had left the task of seizing her to Smith. The bastard had no interest in Adelaide Pyne and he was not yet ready to take the risk of making an obvious move against the Director. Luttrell did not care about the Burning Lamp. He was concerned only with the crystals.
Smith moaned in frustration. Grabbing the Pyne woman should have been simple. But first he’d had to dispatch the carriage driver who was very likely serving as a guard.
Such a simple strategy. Such a bloody disaster.
He might have succeeded if he’d had the assistance of the three young hunter-talents he was training. But when they had discovered that he expected them to go up against the Director, they had balked. Something to do with the man’s reputation. People who annoy him have a way of disappearing, one of the hunters had explained. Not even the threat of depriving the three hunters of the red crystals had convinced them to assist in the kidnapping tonight.
Reliable help was always hard to find.
It was maddening to know that Adelaide Pyne had beaten him again tonight. She was just a woman, a dreamlight reader. According to his research her sort of talent was good only for perceiving the traces of dreamprints. Most females endowed with such a talent eked out pathetic livings as fortune-tellers. Pyne should not have been able to defeat him.
He forced himself to analyze all that had gone wrong. The answer became clear almost at once. He’d lost Pyne this time, just as he had on the first occasion, because he’d been forced to waste too much energy getting rid of someone who stood in the way. He’d made some improvements to the crystal devices over the years but they still burned out far too quickly.
He raised his head. He could not make the same mistake again. The next time he got an opportunity to acquire Adelaide Pyne he would make certain that he was not obliged to exhaust his talent first.
The hansom clattered to a stop in the street outside his town house. He dug into his pocket for a few coins for the driver and then climbed down from the cab. His hand was shaking so badly that it took three tries before he was able to get the key into the lock of the front door.
Once inside the town house he knew he would not be able to manage the stairs. He stumbled into the library, poured himself a stiff shot of brandy and collapsed into one of the reading chairs.
His last thought before he fell into a troubled sleep was that the night had not been a complete loss. He had learned one very important thing about Adelaide Pyne, a small, but intriguing fact that he could use the next time.
Everyone was vulnerable in some fashion. Tonight he had discovered Adelaide Pyne’s great weakness.
41
SHE OPENED HER EYES TO THE LIGHT OF A GRAY DAWN. IT took her a moment to realize that she was back in her bedroom at the Abbey. Griffin was sprawled in a chair beside the bed, his left hand wrapped securely around the fingers of her own left hand, as though he feared she would slip away from him.
She lay quietly for a moment, watching him through half- closed eyes. He had a pen in his right hand and was making notes in a leather-bound notebook balanced on his knee. She could tell that he had slept very little, if at all. The dark stubble of a morning beard added another layer to the aura of shadows that always seemed to surround him, even when he was not deliberately cloaking himself.
“Good morning,” she said.
His fingers tightened instantly around hers. He looked up from the notebook, eyes heating with relief.
“Good morning,” he said. He leaned close and kissed her gently, as though he thought she was quite fragile.
“How is Jed?” she asked.
“He’s fine.” Griffin closed the notebook. “Sleeping like a baby. What about you?”
She took stock of her senses and sat up against the pillows. “Back to normal. I just needed time to recover. How long was I asleep?”
“I brought you and Jed here shortly after three this morning.” He glanced at the clock on the dresser. “It’s nearly ten.”
She frowned. “Why did you bring us here? I thought you wanted to remain in hiding.”
“Last night was a trap. I had to assume that whoever set it might have the capability of following the carriage back to the room in the lane where you and I stayed earlier. Those lodgings were designed to serve as a secret hideout, not a fortress.”
“I understand.”
“I have altered my strategy. Instead of trying to remain invisible, I have surrounded us with a small army. There are ten men patrolling the grounds at this moment. More will be summoned if needed. I doubt that Luttrell will try the same tactic twice, but just in case he elects to use the gas canisters again, Mrs. Trevelyan has fashioned masks from kitchen towels. Each man is carrying one.”
She shook her head in admiration. “You accomplished all that in the few hours that I was asleep? Amazing. What did you learn from the informant?”
“Very little. He was dead by the time I got to him.”
“Dear heaven,” she whispered. “I didn’t realize that.”
“There was no sign of a wound. I believe that he was killed by psychical means. His name was Thacker.”
“How did you discover that?”
“I found a list of herbs and a receipt for several items from an apothecary shop on his body. It was obvious that he had purchased supplies for a chemist. I sent someone around to the shop early this morning to make inquiries. The proprietor was quite helpful.”
She got a vision of Delbert or Leggett intimidating a terrified shopkeeper.
“I see,” she said, careful to keep her tone nonjudgmental.
Amusement gleamed briefly in Griffin’s eyes. “There was no need for threats. An offer of money worked very well. The apothecary was only too happy to tell Delbert everything he knew about one of his best customers. It is only a matter of time now before we find someone who knew Thacker on a personal basis, perhaps a drinking companion. That individual will provide us with more information.
“How very efficient of you.”
“I have been running the Consortium for some time now, Adelaide. In spite of appearances recently, I do know what I’m doing.”
“Yes, of course.” She frowned, thinking about what he had just told her. “Well, it all seems to indicate that Caleb Jones is right. Hulsey has found himself a new patron.”
“Luttrell.”
“But it was Smith I encountered last night. I am positive of it.” Griffin glanced a
t his notes. “I am convinced now that Smith and Luttrell have formed a partnership. Such a connection explains a great deal.”
“Who do you think killed the informant? Smith?”
“I doubt it. Killing a man with para-energy would be an enormous drain on the senses, even with the aid of one of those red crystals. Thacker was a fresh kill. I do not think that Smith would have been able to murder him and then, a short time later, try to kill Jed and kidnap you.”
“The killer was Luttrell, then?”
“Most likely. But this is the first time I have known him to kill in this fashion. I’m certain that he has not had the ability to commit murder psychically until quite recently. Believe me when I tell you that if he had possessed such a talent all this time, I would have heard rumors of it long ago. I suspect that he is now using the crystals to enhance his natural talent, whatever it is.”
“So Luttrell is in league with the Hulseys and Smith.”
“One can understand why he is interested in all three of them,” Griffin said. “Any man in Luttrell’s position would be very keen on a business arrangement with associates who can create weapons like those sleeping-gas canisters and crystals.”
She raised her brows. “You mean any crime lord would be keen on such associates.”
His smile was cold. “Let me rephrase that. Any man or woman in a position of power, or any man or woman who wished to acquire power, would be very pleased to go into partnership with those who can provide such weapons.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You’re right, of course. It isn’t just crime lords who would be interested in the Hulseys and Smith.”