“Ah. The little private detective and his pretty sidekick. I almost didn’t recognize you. Pity for you that I make it a point to know everyone who enters this club.”
“I presume I have the pleasure of speaking to the Shadow?” Byron dropped the act, straightened and resumed his normal voice.
“Indeed, you do. We have met before, you know. In a small house on the other side of town. Of course, I looked a bit different then. But you wouldn’t remember, would you?”
Byron bristled at her comment but stayed quiet.
“Of course, you do, don’t you little Mira Blayse?” She smiled at her. Mira felt cold all over.
“I certainly didn’t recognize you in that attire. Your posture is the only thing giving you away. Everything else is simply perfect, down to the soot in your hair. I’m very impressed,” the Shadow crooned.
“You and I both know you didn’t come over here to congratulate us on our disguises.” Byron gritted his teeth. Mira could tell that he didn’t like not remembering his previous interactions with Molly.
“No? Well perhaps you are right. I came to extend an invitation.”
“What kind of invitation?” Mira managed to keep her voice steady. Her insides tied themselves into knots. The Shadow, formerly known as Molly, slipped a piece of paper across the table. Byron picked it up and glanced at it.
“The Order of Circe requests your presence at a meeting of its members later this evening. I’d suggest that you come.”
“And if we don’t?” Byron clenched his fist around the message, crumpling it beyond recognition.
“Well, at least one of you knows about the consequences.” The Shadow stared Mira down and smiled. Mira swallowed and looked at Byron. His face continued to be stoic and unmoving.
“And if you need a hint, you need only to look at today’s paper.” She made a show of examining her nails before turning back to Byron. “Besides, I’m sure you’d like to get your journal back.”
“You took it?” Mira’s anger boiled to the surface.
“After getting into an apartment once, it’s easy to infiltrate again. I had hoped to get it the first time, but the address I found also proved useful.”
“What is it that you want from us at this meeting?” Byron slipped the paper into his pocket.
“We need to come to an understanding. An agreement. This is us offering you a chance. Hopefully, you’ll take it.” She stood up and took a few steps towards the door, then stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“Oh, and by the way, Samira, my sister wanted me to tell you that you impressed her with your French. She truly thought you were a native.” With that, she slinked back to the door, Joe opened it, and she disappeared. The din of the Pit crashed over Mira’s ears.
“Byron?”
“Hmm?”
“Are we going to follow her?”
“No. There isn’t a reason to at this point.”
“She’s a murderer, Byron. We can contact Inspector Thatcher and arrest her.”
“What good will that do us when we are dead?” He looked at her, a serious shade crossing his face. Then he stood with a start and stepped away from the booth so that she could get out. He offered her an arm and escorted her towards the door. Joe smiled when he saw them.
“Au revoir, Miss Blayse.”
Mira felt the color draining from her cheeks. He opened the door and Byron pulled her out of the club and onto the putrid street. He continued to pull her, leading her out of the wastes of the human experience. Past the dead, the rotting corpses. Past the crying children, half-starved and coughing up blood. Past the rats, and the lice, and the refuse. Out of the soot-covered darkness and into the light. She didn’t allow herself to breathe fully until they were past the butchery. She looked up at Byron, face still a stone. His other hand clenched.
They paused long enough in Scotland Yard for them to procure their clothing, but not long enough for conversations with Thatcher or Juliet. He eventually convinced a carriage to take them the rest of the way to Palace Court. He continued in silence up the steps and unlocked the door. He waited for her to enter before coming in himself and closing the door.
“Go change.”
His voice sounded hoarse as he went into his own room and slammed the door. She forced herself up the stairs and into the guest room. She stripped down to her undergarments and poured water into the washbowl. It felt cool on her hands, cooler on her face. The water turned grey, and then black. Her face became distinguishable again. She dressed in her own clothing and looked in the mirror. Everything was back to normal.
Oh, how she wished that was the case. It wasn’t normal. She wasn’t normal. Byron was anything but normal. The little stability he had was lost, and the only way to get it back would be to go right into the middle of the Order of Circe. Her emotions welled up within her. She sat on the floor and felt all of it burst out of her. Hot tears rolled down her face, her hair clinging, itching, biting at her skin. She pulled her legs into her chest and sobbed into her arms. The tears kept coming, and she felt herself shaking. It felt like if she moved, she would be torn to pieces. Some ravenous harpy was eating her from the inside out. She couldn’t believe that anyone could live like the people in the Pit. That anyone could kill like The Order. She thought of the children in the Pit, of the squalor, and the refuse, and she burst into a new set of sobs.
She heard a knock on the door and immediately quieted. She swallowed and wiped the tears away.
“Yes?”
“Are you…” Byron’s voice was heard through the door. He hesitated and cleared his throat. “I was…going to go out and get something. A croissant or some pastry to go with tea. Would you like me to get you anything?” His voice, though muffled, was warm, and real, and incredibly grounding.
“I’d like that, yes.” Her voice was hoarser than she anticipated.
“What would you like?”
“Surprise me.”
She heard his footsteps head back down the stairs, hesitate in the hall, probably to grab a coat or something, and then leave the building. She took a few deep breaths and looked around. She was in Byron’s house. In one of his spare rooms. She came back to the present, calming herself down. He had been right. The Pit was exactly as Byron had described it. It changed her worldview. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t do anything about it.
She poured the sooty water out and refilled the basin, rinsing her face of the remaining tears. If she was going to beat the Order of Circe, survive, and solve the cases once and for all, she needed to know more about them.
She crept down the stairs and left her bundle of sooty torn fabric on the floor near the entryway. She moved straight to his files and tested it. Locked. Her eyes darted to where his jacket from the day before draped over a chair. She reached into the pocket and smiled when she felt a key. She came back to the filing system and unlocked it. Click. The drawer opened easily, and she pulled out the file. Circe, Order of. Mira closed the drawer and sat in her favorite chair.
The Order of Circe connects every case I have solved thus far. It is an underground criminal agency. Little is known at this time. Definite evidence includes the necklaces, bracelets, and tattoos that several in the criminal circle wear.
The necklace that the Shadow wore was drawn in the margins of the paper. She studied it for a moment before continuing to read.
There is also the mention of Circe from several criminals caught and brought into custody. All criminals mentioning Circe have been found dead in their cells shortly afterwards. All pronounced as suicides. Few and far between, hence the lack of obvious connection between the cases.
Further research and investigations have proven that there are three distinct sects of the Order. The Smugglers, The Thieves, and The Mercenaries. Often, they work together to pull off larger crimes, committing smaller crimes leading up to a major one in order to keep the police distracted from the main objective.
Smuggler group intensified its efforts shortly after t
he airship accident of 1870.
First known event caused by the Order is the Great Fire of 1666. Arson offered cover for stealing part of the crown jewels.
Unknown at this time how widespread the order is. Unknown how many members. Unknown who is in charge. Unknown how the organization works. Probable meeting place: The Pit.
The smugglers, thieves, and mercenaries all worked together. That explained why the Shadow came in to take care of a smuggler’s problem, and why Selene was involved at all. Circe connected them through an underground network. Her eyes drifted back to the lines about the airship accident. The year her parents died. The crash they died in. She knew the smugglers were involved, but now they were directly connected with Circe. Find the smugglers, find the truth. Mira closed the file and put it back in the filing system before replacing the filing key in his jacket pocket. The door opened in the front hall. Byron came into the living room and set his coat down on top of his jacket. He carried a small package wrapped in brown paper.
“Let me get some tea going.” He trudged into the kitchen. She followed him and leaned against the counter as he filled a kettle with water and set it on the hob.
“Do you need any help?”
“Not with this I don’t think.” He turned towards her and studied her. He opened his mouth to say something, shook his head, and went to a cupboard to get out some teacups. He set them out on a tray along with the other tea things. She watched as he meticulously prepared everything. He opened the brown paper package and pulled out a few different pastries and placed them on the tray. The kettle whistled, and he transferred the hot water into a waiting teapot before picking up the tray and walking into the living room.
“We need to talk,” he said.
He set the tray down on the side table and sat down in his armchair. She sat in her chair across from him. He hesitated as he poured her a cup of tea and looked her over again. He opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure of what to say, and then silently gave her the teacup.
“We’re in danger, aren’t we Byron?”
“The short answer is, yes.”
“And the long answer?” She took a sip of tea. He sighed and looked down.
“One or both of us may die tonight.”
“I’m aware of that, Byron.”
“I’m afraid it might be you.”
“I know.”
“Once I go to sleep tonight, I forget all of this ever happened, Mira. They have my latest journal. But you are,” He stopped mid-sentence and stared at her. “Wait. You know?”
“These people are dangerous. I’ve interacted with them before, and they have certainly threatened me on more than one occasion.”
“Then you shouldn’t come.”
“I think that is exactly why I should come.”
“Mira, no.”
“You and I are both in this together, Byron.”
“Maybe not this time.”
“And why not? If I don’t come, they’ll just find another way to keep me quiet. This way, at least, we can have some sort of expectation.”
“Mira, I may have just met you today, but I am not going to let you die.”
“Then don’t let me die. But let me come with you.”
He went silent. She simply sipped at her tea and kept her eyes level with his. He eventually looked away, setting his teacup down, leaning forward and rubbing his temples. She finished her tea and nibbled at a croissant. Silence filled the room until the bag of pastries was empty, and the teapot stood cold.
“For now, let’s get you home.” He stood and offered her a hand. She took it and he pulled her to standing. He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, paused as if to say something and then went quiet again, dropping her hand and heading for the door.
He led her outside and down the steps, calling for a carriage. They got in and he hesitated.
“I’m afraid I don’t know the address.” Byron looked at her.
“Swan Walk please.”
The driver nodded and urged the horses forward. The cab bounced back and forth down the cobblestones to her uncle’s house. Mira’s stomach lurched, her anxiety returning. What on Earth were they doing confronting a crime syndicate? How were they going to get out of this? Byron must have taken notice as he took her hand and held it in his, squeezing it reassuringly. But Mira saw fear in his eyes. Something she hadn’t seen since Circe kidnapped her. Part of her felt relief that he cared again.
He helped her out of the carriage once they got to her uncle’s and went up to the door with her. Landon opened it.
“Miss Mira! You look so pale. Is everything alright?”
“I think she just needs to lay down,” Byron said.
“No, I’m fine.”
She let go of Byron’s hand and pushed past Landon. She faintly heard Landon telling Byron to come in. She went into the parlor and took a seat near the fire. Byron closed the door and came to sit across from her.
“You aren’t fine. Halfway over here you turned white as a sheet and started shaking.”
“Landon doesn’t need to know. Neither does my uncle.”
“This is your uncle’s house?”
“Yes. Mine was destroyed a week or so ago by the Shadow.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“Not today. No. Usually you read your journal. And it just didn’t seem important for today.”
“Everything is important, Mira.”
“There were death threats. I was kidnapped before that. There have been warning signs all along. Even yesterday a man came up to me and warned me. You’ve tried to get me to stop time and time again.” She felt her voice rising.
“Then why do you keep coming back?”
“I just want to know what happened to my parents!” she yelled. She looked up at him with more conviction than she felt. And then the tears formed. He stood there searching her features again, and she turned away.
“I just want to know. I know they were murdered, but I don’t know how or why, or anything.” She paced. “That’s why I came in the first place, that’s why I’ve stayed.” A few tears escaped. She walked to the side table and picked up the picture of her mother.
“I’m so sorry,” Byron faltered, “but I don’t remember talking about this.”
“I know. I know you don’t. You don’t remember me, or my case, or this case, or anything. How can I let you go alone when I’m your memory, Byron?” She whirled towards him.
“Because I won’t let you this time.”
“What?”
“You say you’ve been kidnapped, had death threats, Circe knows who you are, and that you’ve been helping me. You’re in danger, Mira.”
“You think I don’t know that? For all I know, I’ll end up just like my parents, and I’ll never know why. I’m scared, Byron. But I must do this. You have to let me come.”
“Mira, I can’t.” His voice shook. He took a step towards her and then turned towards the fireplace, leaning on the mantle. He stared into the flames.
“You what?” She folded her arms.
“I can’t let you come.”
“Why not?”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s happened to me. At first, I thought it was chivalry or some innate part of me designed to protect. I’m not certain what it is.” He began to pace. “Logic dictates that even if I had a memory, things couldn’t have progressed this fast. And seeing as I don’t have a memory, that makes this even more ridiculous. I don’t even know what I have written in that blasted journal you keep talking about.”
“Makes what ridiculous?” She set her mother’s portrait down and moved back to the armchair, leaning on the back. He moved towards her and took her hand.
“I remember you.”
“You what?”
“I remember you.”
“But you didn’t. This morning you—”
He interrupted her. “Alright, perhaps not in the exact meaning of the word.” He dropped her hand and started pacin
g again. “If I could explain it, I would, but no amount of thought, no amount of deduction can bring a solid conclusion in this case.”
“Which case? Pennington’s?”
“No, my own.” He turned back towards her. “Something about you. It just drives me absolutely insane.”
“What?” A look of surprise crossed her face. A look of instant regret crossed his.
“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant. Insane in a good way. If that’s possible. What I mean to say is,” He took another deep breath. “It isn’t a tangible memory. I honestly had no idea who you were this morning. I don’t remember anything we’ve ever done together or when we first met. But something inside me remembers you.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
He hesitated. “Perhaps it is my heart that remembers you. A fondness. There’s an attraction. Or something.” He turned a light shade of pink as he got flustered. Mira gave him a soft smile, tears forming again.
“You have feelings for me?”
“That’s it. That’s it exactly,” he sighed in relief before continuing. “And I know it is foolish for me to say that, that this is entirely a professional relationship to you, but you need to understand where I’m coming from. I care about you, Mira. Deeply. I don’t know how. But I do know why. You are such a brave, kind, considerate person. You’re beautiful and intelligent and a joy to talk to. You’re a breath of fresh air and—”
“Byron?”
“Yes?”
“I appreciate the compliments, but now isn’t exactly the time to build my ego.”
“Ah. Right. Yes. Well. Knowing that, you’ll understand that I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt or, heaven forbid it, killed when I could do something to prevent it.”
“But I can help. We just need to get your journal back.”
“My journal is not as important as you are.”
“But without it you can’t remember.”
Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Page 25