by Amanda Quick
She clutched his shoulders. “I’m not fragile.”
“I know.” He put his fevered face against her breasts. “I know. You are strong. So strong.”
He slid his hand between her legs, cupping her, making sure that she was damp, and then he entered her in a searing rush of energy that seemed to set their very auras ablaze.
He thrust once, twice, a third time and then he went rigid above her, pulsing his essence into her.
When it was over he collapsed, suddenly, deeply asleep.
THIRTY-SIX
SHE WAITED SEVERAL MINUTES BEFORE SHE WRIGGLED out from beneath his heavy weight. He stirred a little but he did not open his eyes. She touched the pulse at his throat. The strong, steady beat reassured her. He was cooler now, too.
She got to her feet and began to dress. The gray light of dawn lit the windows. She knew she should go home but she dared not leave Caleb until he awoke. She settled down into the chair in front of the fire and waited.
Eventually he opened his eyes. She was relieved to see no sign of the psychical heat.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Nearly five. I’m glad I sent Shute home after he brought us here. I would hate to think of him having spent the night in the carriage waiting for me.”
Caleb sat up and swung his legs to the floor. “No need to be concerned. In the polite world it is nothing to return home at dawn after a ball. Your neighbors will hardly notice.”
“You are obviously unacquainted with my neighbors.”
He got to his feet and looked down, evidently surprised to discover that he was still wearing most of his clothes. He grimaced and fastened his trousers.
“Do you really give a damn about your neighbors?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Didn’t think so.” He finished adjusting his clothes and looked at her. “I apologize for my lack of finesse, Lucinda. Did I . . . ?”
“You did not hurt me,” she said gently. “You would never hurt me.”
He exhaled heavily. “It was like a sudden fever. I cannot explain it.”
“I have been thinking about it. I believe the explanation lies in whatever you did to that madman last night.”
He went very still. “I told you, I don’t know what I did to him.”
“But you are absolutely certain that you somehow caused his death with your talent.”
“There is no doubt about it.” His jaw hardened. “I . . . felt it when it happened.”
“Did you think about killing him before you did it? Did you somehow will his death?”
“Such a thing is impossible. One cannot will another’s death.”
“It appears he was doing something very much like that to you.”
“No, he did not will my death.” Caleb rubbed the back of his neck. “He used his enhanced talent in some fashion to disrupt my aura. Everything that happened last night can be explained by psychical physics, not sorcery.”
“Tell me exactly how it occurred.”
Caleb lowered his hand. “I knew I was being murdered. I also knew that if I died he would go after you. I could not allow that to happen. I could barely move, not even to pick up the gun that I had dropped. Some instinct told me that my only hope was to call on the full force of my talent. I think I had some notion of trying to use it as a sort of shield against the currents of his energy.”
“In other words, you tried to fight fire with fire?”
“I suppose that was the general idea. But when my senses flared to their fullest extent, I suddenly knew what to do. It was like reaching into the heart of a storm, Lucinda. It felt as if I had seized a fistful of chaos. In some way I cannot explain, I managed to hurl the energy at that man, disrupting his aura. He died instantly. What’s more, I knew, even as I did it, that he would die.”
She thought about that for a while.
Caleb waited.
“Hmm,” she said finally.
Caleb scowled. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, it sounds to me as though you managed to channel your talent in such a way that it could be used as a weapon.”
“Believe it or not, I figured that much out all by myself,” he said grimly. “The questions are, how did I do it and why didn’t I know I could do it until the moment was upon me?”
“I don’t have all the answers but I could hazard a guess.”
“What is that?”
“I suspect that the reason you didn’t know you could manipulate the energy of your talent in such a way until that moment was that you’ve never been engaged in a life-or-death struggle where there were no other weapons available.” She spread her hands. “You were at death’s door. Your instincts took over.”
He contemplated the dying fire. “It is a strange thing to know that one is capable of killing in such a fashion.”
“I think what really worries you is that, in that moment, you did not feel in control of yourself or your talent. You relied entirely on instinct and intuition rather than logic and reason.”
There was a long silence. When he looked up from the fire, his expression was one of solemn wonder.
“As I have noted before, you are a very insightful woman, Lucinda.”
She gestured at the maze of bookshelves that surrounded them. “You told me that there have been other instances of powerful talents who could kill with their psychical energy.”
“Yes, but the records of such individuals in the Society are so rare as to be the stuff of myth and legend.”
She smiled. “You are a Jones, sir. A direct descendant of Sylvester the Alchemist. That makes you the stuff of myth and legend.”
“But I do not possess any of those unusual talents. My gift is merely a very keen sense of intuition combined with a knack for spotting patterns. How can such an ability be made to act as a weapon?”
“I do not know,” she said. “But power is power, regardless of how it is channeled, and you possess a great deal of it.”
He thought about that for a long while.
“You are right,” he said eventually. “It is an incomplete explanation but it will have to do. We will keep this information to ourselves, Lucinda. Do you understand? I do not want even the members of my family to find out what really happened last night.”
“In other words, this newly discovered ability of yours is going to become a deep, dark Jones agency secret?”
“You may as well become accustomed to keeping secrets,” he said. “Something tells me that the agency will accumulate a great many in the years ahead.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
“YOU ARE GOING TO BECOME MR. JONES’S BUSINESS PARTNER?” Patricia hurried along the conservatory path, trying to keep up with Lucinda. “But you are a botanist and a healer, not a private inquiry agent.”
“I said I am considering becoming his partner in the firm.” Lucinda stopped to tilt her watering can over some bromeliads. “You know that I have a talent for detecting poison. That ability is very useful in the investigation business.”
“Yes, but to become a real partner in the Jones agency? How absolutely thrilling.” Patricia brimmed with admiration. “You have always been such an inspiration to me, Lucy.”
“Thank you.” A little rush of satisfaction swept through Lucinda. “Mr. Jones feels that my talent will be of particular importance to the agency in the years ahead due to the problem of this new Cabal.”
“I can certainly understand that. Edmund mentioned to me that he expects to be doing a great deal of consulting for the agency, as well.”
Lucinda raised the spout of the watering can. “Edmund?”
Patricia blushed. “Mr. Fletcher.”
“I see. I could not help but notice at breakfast that you and Mr. Fletcher seem to be on much better terms today.”
“He is a very interesting gentleman,” Patricia said. “I find his conversation quite stimulating.”
“Do you, indeed?”
“I realize that he does not
meet all of my requirements, of course,” Patricia said quickly.
“Hmm.”
“He possesses a rather unusual talent.”
“So Mr. Jones told us.”
“And a somewhat extraordinary past.”
Lucinda looked at her. “How extraordinary?”
“Well, before he became a stage magician, he was obliged to make his living by helping himself to the odd valuable here and there.”
“Good grief, he was a thief ?”
“He confided everything to me, Lucy. He only stole from other criminals and fences. He was careful to take only very small items that would never be missed.”
“In other words, his victims were people he knew would not call in the police.”
Patricia brightened. “Precisely. He has a talent for getting through locked doors and for sensing where valuables are concealed. Those are the very abilities that will make him so useful to Mr. Jones.”
“You appear to be quite concerned with Mr. Fletcher’s future with the Jones agency.”
Patricia straightened her shoulders. “I intend to marry him, Lucy.”
“Oh, Patricia.” Lucinda put aside the watering can and opened her arms. “What will your parents say when they find out that you are marrying a man who was once a thief and a magician?”
Patricia’s eyes watered. She flung herself into Lucinda’s arms.
“I don’t know,” she sobbed. “But I love him, Lucy.”
“I know.” Lucinda hugged her. “Lady Milden is equally aware of your affections.”
Patricia raised her tearstained face, startled. “She knows?”
“She told me last night at the ball that you and Mr. Fletcher are an ideal match.”
“Oh, my.” Patricia pulled out a dainty handkerchief and blotted her eyes. “What am I to do? How will I convince Mama and Papa that I should be allowed to marry Mr. Fletcher?”
“We hired Lady Milden to guide us through this business of finding you a husband. As Mr. Jones says, one must put one’s faith in experts. We will leave the problem of dealing with your parents to your matchmaker.”
Patricia stuffed the damp handkerchief into the pocket of her gown and raised her chin. “If Mama and Papa do not give their consent, I vow I will elope with Mr. Fletcher.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you really think Lady Milden can convince my parents to accept him?”
“I think she is capable of achieving whatever she sets out to do.”
Patricia smiled and blinked away the last of her tears. “Oh, Lucy. I do love him so.”
“I understand,” Lucinda said gently. “More than you can possibly know.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
EDMUND MATERIALIZED OUT OF THE SHADOWS BEHIND the jeweler’s shop. Caleb could feel the energy sizzling in the atmosphere. Fletcher might have honest intentions but the man did enjoy employing his talent. Don’t we all?
“You’d think a jeweler would have better locks,” Edmund said. Triumph and cool satisfaction hummed in the words.
“Did you get it?” Caleb asked.
“Of course.” Edmund held up a leather-bound volume. “Ralston’s record of jewelry commissions. This covers the last year.”
“Good work.” Caleb took the book. “We can study it in the carriage. Then you will replace it precisely where you found it. With luck, in the morning the jeweler will never notice that it was ever touched.”
“Depend upon it, Mr. Jones.” Edmund was clearly offended by the implication that he might not be able to handle such a task. “Tomorrow morning no one will notice anything amiss.”
“I believe you. Let’s go.”
They made their way back along the alley to where Shute waited with the carriage. Earlier that evening Caleb had called upon one of his many relations, a young hunter, to take over the duties of bodyguard in Landreth Square. He could have handled the task of breaking into the jeweler’s shop but there was no question but that Fletcher’s skill in this sort of thing was superior to his own.
Edmund had been the one who recognized the jeweler’s hallmark on the bottom of the snuffbox. Caleb had refrained from inquiring how a magician had come to be so familiar with the signatures of very expensive jewelers. He had a fairly good idea of how Fletcher had survived before he went on the stage.
Inside the cramped vehicle, Caleb secured the curtains, turned up the lamps and opened the journal of accounts. It did not take long to find what he was looking for.
“One gold snuffbox to be decorated with the design of a triangle picked out in emeralds of good quality,” he read. “To be identical to previous two commissions.”
“There’s more than one of those snuffboxes?” Edmund asked.
“Three at least, evidently.”
“Who was the client?”
Caleb moved his finger across the page. Now it was his turn to feel the exhilarating rush of energy as more of the maze was suddenly illuminated. “Lord Thaxter. The address is Hollingford Square.”
“You know him?”
“Not well but we have met.” Caleb looked up. “He is a wealthy member of the Arcane Society. Some sort of botanical talent, I believe. I told Gabe this conspiracy reaches deep into the organization. One can only guess how many others within the Society are involved in the Order of the Emerald Tablet.”
“What is the next step?”
“We pay a visit to Hollingford Square.”
“It is after midnight.”
“We are not going there to take tea with Thaxter.”
HOLLINGFORD SQUARE was drenched in moonlight. Caleb and Edmund left Shute and the carriage in the deep shadows and went around to the gardens behind the big house. Edmund made quick work of the locked gate.
“No lights on in the place,” he observed quietly. “Everyone is abed. We are fortunate. There don’t appear to be any dogs so we won’t need the slice of roast that we picked up at the tavern.”
“In that case, you may consume it later. Consider it a benefit of working for the Jones agency.”
Edmund did not respond. He was utterly focused on the business ahead.
“The biggest risk will be the servants,” he continued. “You never know when one of them will suddenly decide to go to the kitchen for a late-night snack. In addition to that, one must be concerned with the possibility that the owner of the house is an overly anxious sort who keeps a pistol in a bedside table. But, generally speaking, no one ever wakes up.”
“Thank you for the tips,” Caleb said. “Always good to work with a professional.”
“Yes, well, I should probably tell you that I have done this sort of thing before a time or two, Mr. Jones.”
“I assumed as much.”
“I know you come from a long line of hunters and that you can move quietly but I still say it would be best if I went in alone.”
“No.” Caleb studied the darkened house, anticipation crackling through him. He could sense answers waiting. “I need to go inside.”
“Tell me what you hope to discover. I’ll find it for you.”
“That’s the thing,” Caleb said. “I won’t know what I am looking for until I see it.”
“Yes, sir.” Edmund looked around. “These gardens are astonishing.”
“I mentioned that Thaxter’s talent has something to do with botany. It strikes me that if one set out to re-create the formula, it would be very logical to recruit at least some individuals with that sort of psychical ability.”
“Doesn’t sound like Allister Norcross took a keen interest in botany.”
“No, I don’t think he did. I suspect his role in the Seventh Circle was of a somewhat different nature.”
“He killed the apothecary and one of the kidnappers, didn’t he?” Edmund asked quietly.
“Yes.”
They entered through the kitchen. Both of them halted immediately. Caleb knew that Edmund was picking up the same sensation of eerie not-quite emptiness.
“No servants below stairs,” Edmund said qui
etly. “I’m sure of it. But there is someone here. I can feel it.”
“So can I.”
“Reminds me of the sensation I got the night I let myself into Jasper Vine’s mansion and found him dead. His staff was gone that night. The house was empty and there was a very strange atmosphere.”
“You robbed the most powerful underworld lord in London?”
“A number of times. I don’t think he ever noticed. I made a habit of taking only small things, you see, the odd pocket watch or a ring.”
“The sort of items a very wealthy man might think he had simply misplaced.”
“Right,” Edmund said. “Not that Vine would have called in the police. Just didn’t want him to come looking for me.”
“Where did you find the body?”
“In the library. I don’t mind telling you, it was a very unsettling encounter. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost just before he died. His face was all twisted up in fright. I helped myself to a very nice clock and a string of pearls he’d bought for one of his women and then I left.”
“Son of a bitch,” Caleb said softly. Another section of the maze glowed. “That sounds like Allister Norcross’s work.”
“How could Vine have been involved in this affair?”
“I don’t know yet. But he was. I can feel it.”
They moved through the kitchen and out into a long hall. Caleb paused at the door to the library. The drawers of the desk stood open. Most were empty of whatever papers and files they had once contained.
“Someone got here before us,” he said.
“Sloppy work,” Edmund observed.
“Whoever he was, he was in a hurry.”
The morning room and drawing room were silent and still. Moonlight and the glow of the streetlamps shafted through uncovered windows. The servants had departed without bothering to close the curtains.
They started up the wide staircase. A faint voice became audible from somewhere in the heavy stillness above.
A man, Caleb thought, speaking to someone else. But there was no response.