She hurried through the station, ignoring the people staring at her, and made her way to where the carriages stood waiting for passengers. She paused to check the time on the train station clock. Seven-fifteen. She set her brother’s pocket watch to match, then approached a carriage.
“The Vale, South Kensington please.” She kept her voice low. The driver nodded, and she got inside. The carriage rumbled down the cobblestone street, and Mira relaxed and watched the city pass. Getting there was the easy part. Deciding what to do from there was much more difficult. How could Byron go in on his own? What would Circe do? Most likely they would talk for a good period. The Shadow mentioned that they wanted to offer them a chance. What kind of chance would that be? Was this a blackmailing situation?
She realized she still had two bulges within her pockets and pulled out the envelope.
“Driver! Pull over for a moment, if you would.” The carriage slowed to a stop. She got out, moved to a post box and slipped the precious parcel inside. Her own blackmail. Or rather, brightmail to shine a light on the case should anything happen to her or Byron. She smiled to herself as she climbed back into the carriage. She checked the pocket watch again. Almost quarter to eight. An hour and fifteen minutes to figure out what to do. How was she even supposed to get in? The carriage came to a stop in front of Vale street, she paid the driver, and then walked down to number 6.
In the middle of this dull residential area stood an unimposing building. Red brick, white trimmings, obviously a wealthy person lived here, but it looked exactly like every other house on the street. She walked past it and looked through the window. A young girl sat on a couch drawing. Mira smiled. She reminded her of herself. A younger boy ran into the room, followed by what seemed to be the mother. This couldn’t possibly be the meeting place for Circe.
The daughter closed her sketchbook and put on a hat. They were leaving. Mira smiled. That was it. Circe wouldn’t use a house that was theirs. They would use one that belonged to someone else as Molly Bridges had done. This family would leave and then the Order of Circe would come. And if she was there before Circe, that meant that she had a chance to get in. She ducked into the alleyway near the house and waited until she heard the door click and the family move down the sidewalk. Then she looked around for a way in. Going through the front door would probably get her arrested for breaking and entering. She walked around to the back. A staircase led to a small veranda at the back of the house. Perfect. A large iron gate separated her from the stairs. She took off her brother’s top hat and pulled two hair pins out. Her hair fell around her shoulders once again as she picked the lock. Soon, the gate creaked open, and she snuck up the stairs to the veranda.
The setting sun created a lovely view over London, but she didn’t have time to look at it now. She needed to get in. She went to the door that led onto the veranda and tested it. It opened without a sound. She smiled and stepped inside the house.
Quiet. The last filtered rays of sunlight came trickling through the windows, giving the darkness a hazy glow. She tiptoed through the house, listening occasionally, to make sure that she truly was alone. She came into the front room. They would likely meet here. The fewer rooms they touched, the more likely it would be that no one would know they were even there. She looked around the room for somewhere to hide. If Byron came alone, he would tell Circe as much. They wouldn’t be expecting her.
Large couches and chairs cluttered the living room. Shelves of books stood on either side of the fireplace, every book matching one another in its cover. A small door sat in the eastern wall. It had been papered over, but the seams of the door were cut in. The room must have been sealed off at some point. She opened the door and found shelves filled with linens. She smiled. It would be perfect. She took the linens and shelves out and brought them to a guest bedroom up the stairs. She hoped the occupants of the house would forgive her.
As it originally led to another room, there was a handle on both sides of the door. Mira determined that would be nice in case anyone tried to open the door. She could hold it closed and pretend it was locked. Everything seemed to be falling into place. She needed to take that place before the Order of Circe decided to show up. She just needed to be able to see. She went into the kitchen and looked around for something she could use.
After opening a few drawers, she found a corkscrew and brought it back to the living room. She felt the wood of the door. It seemed soft, but sturdy enough. She took a deep breath and began to work. The point ripped through the paper without a problem, and although she had to work harder on the wood, it wasn’t long until she had a hole to look through. Better still, it was small enough and positioned in the pattern of the wallpaper so well that it didn’t attract attention. She cleaned up the shavings and put the corkscrew away. The sun set. They would be coming to get ready any minute now. She checked the clock on the mantle. Eight-sixteen. It really wouldn’t be long. She stepped into her cupboard and waited.
It couldn’t have been ten minutes before she heard noise at the back of the house. The Order of Circe had arrived. They lit the lights, causing Mira’s accustomed darkness to vanish. She blinked a few times, then looked through the hole.
The Shadow entered the living room. She wore a pitch-black dress and carried a brown satchel. Behind her came Joe and Sam, the smugglers. At the back came the woman from the smuggling den. Presumably the Shadow’s sister. She spoke first.
“Are you certain they won’t be coming back tonight?”
“Positive.” The Shadow’s words flowed like honey. “I have several families I keep tabs on just in case I need a house. The family that lives in this house is going on holiday this week. They are meeting the husband at the bank and then–”
“Alright, alright I get it. You’re brilliant. You don’t need to show off.” The sister sat in an armchair and folded her arms, entirely annoyed.
“I was simply stating the facts, Angelica.” The Shadow closed the curtains then sat on one of the couches, leaning back into it.
“If it’s all the same, I’d like to have the boys search the place.” Angelica glanced around.
“It’s fine by me.” The Shadow smiled. Angelica snapped and Joe and Sam left. Mira heard their lumbering footsteps going up the stairs and into each of the rooms. She didn’t want to find out what would happen if they found someone.
“Now, are you going to give me the blueprints, or not?” Angelica crossed one leg over the other and folded her arms.
“Oh, I will.”
“Tonight would be nice. After all, I’ve only been waiting for them for weeks.”
“I’ve been holding onto them as collateral until I got my payment.”
“I gave you your payment days ago. What’s keeping you now?”
“Perhaps I’d like to achieve complete and total victory first.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know that detective? And his secretary?”
“Yes.” Angelica’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ve invited them here tonight.”
“Have you gone completely mad?!”
“Not completely, I’m certain. Because I’m going to do what the Trio hasn’t been able to do. I’m going to kill the detective.”
“You…what?”
“Yes. He’s been bothering the Order for long enough. They tried once, failed, and although his memory loss does make things a bit simpler, he is still quite the little thorn in everyone’s side. Especially with the help of Miss Samira Blayse.”
“If the Trio hasn’t killed him yet, there is a reason. You know that.”
“I think he is too dangerous to our cause.”
“And Circe has been taking care of that. You know the pains they’ve gone to in order to make the Whitechapel distractions.”
“The police can be led by the nose to the wrong clues, but he’s not so easily persuaded. Now that he has an assistant, we can’t throw him entirely off track.”
“Can’t we just steal his jou
rnal? We’ve done that before.”
The Shadow reached into her satchel and pulled out a very familiar book. Byron’s journal. She flipped through it, not actually reading, then closed it and set it on the table in the center of the room.
“I’ve stolen it. I stole it before he even came to the Pit this afternoon. And you know what? He still came to the Pit. Because of her.”
“Then why not just find a way to get her to stop?”
“I’m planning on that. But don’t you just think that victory would be much more complete if we got rid of him too?” The Shadow reached into the satchel again and pulled out a small glass syringe. She tapped it with her finger, and it made a resonating clicking noise against her fingernails.
“What does this have to do with the blueprints?”
“When he and Miss Blayse get here, I’ll invite them to sit down. Sam and Joe will guard the exits. You and I will sit and have a chat with them. My end goal is to have him administer the drug to himself and then watch as I hand the blueprints and the girl over to you.”
“How do you plan on doing that?”
“I’ve read his journal. Thoroughly. He may not always remember, but he certainly has feelings for her. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’ll want to be the hero. And so, I’ll give him the option. He can take my ‘serum’ and forget all of this and her, with the promise that we set her free afterwards. Or she can die, and he can report all of his findings to the police.”
“That is an incredible risk.”
“I know. This is what is called the illusion of choice. No matter what he chooses he will die, and she’ll be in your hands to do whatever you like. After all, you have more blood revenge with her than I do.”
“And what about the Trio? Won’t they disapprove of this?”
“They’ll congratulate us on neutralizing the threat. I know from my sources that, as usual, the detective has kept most of the facts out of Scotland Yard’s knowledge. Everything will be wrapped up.”
“You’ve killed someone before they gave us the go-ahead, and you had specific instructions from Number Three not to touch Miss Blayse. She has too many connections. You’ll be suspended from the Order.”
“Graham’s death was a decision made in haste and panic. This is different. This is revenge. I’m sure Number Three will understand.”
Mira felt her breath quickening. The closet stifled her. The men came back down the stairs.
“Did you check everywhere?”
“Yes ma’am. All is clear.”
Mira felt her head go heavy; her knees shook. She was about to faint. She crouched down quickly to try to lose the light-headedness. As she did her knee hit against the door making a knocking sound.
“What was that?” Angelica turned towards the closet. Mira’s heart rate quickened, and she held her breath. Footsteps approached the door. She grabbed hold of the door handle and pulled to hold it shut. A hand grasped the handle on the other side as the clock on the mantle chimed nine.
A knock came at the front door and the hand on the other side of the closet door released. Mira let out a short, quiet breath and stood to look through the hole again. Joe moved towards the entryway, almost out of sight. She heard the door open.
“Oh, hello there. Pardon me, but I believe I have an appointment here for something or other?” Byron’s voice sounded almost cheerful. How could that be? She squinted trying to see better. She could only see the members of Circe. Joe blocked any view of the door.
“Come in.” Joe stepped away from the door, allowing Byron to come in. He strode in, dressed in a sharp suit and tie, his top hat perfectly positioned on his head. He took off his hat and coat and hung them on the hooks in the hall. Then he came into the living room.
“Now, I’m afraid I don’t quite know what I am doing here.”
“You…what?” The Shadow’s smug look melted away.
“I’m afraid I woke up from, I believe a nap. I was a bit confused seeing as I had just gone to bed the night before. But seeing as I woke up around eight o’clock it must have been a nap. When I awoke, I found a note telling me to come here. So here I am.”
“You don’t remember anything?”
“That’s what I said. I gathered from the evening paper that the date was a bit different from what I expected. Perhaps I have some sort of memory loss?”
The Shadow’s face contorted in such an expression of disgust and anger that Mira felt certain it would fall off. It took all her discipline not to chuckle. The Shadow picked up the journal and handed it to him.
“Read this,” she snarled. Byron shrugged, sat down and opened the journal, perusing the pages. All others in the room focused on him. He read to about a quarter of the way in, then looked up.
“Do I need to read all of this? It is a bit lengthy.” He flipped back and forth between a few of the pages. The Shadow groaned in frustration and took the journal back from him, skipped forward a dozen or so pages and shoved it back.
“Read from there.” Byron nodded and continued. As he read, his face softened, and he seemed to read certain passages a few times over. He reached the end and looked up at them.
“Where is this Mira Blayse? I’d rather like to meet her.” A twinge of a smirk shadowed his lips.
“She was supposed to come here with you.” The Shadow’s honey-smooth voice turned sour and raw as she glared at him.
“Well, obviously, she hasn’t. She seems like a smart girl based on what I’ve written about her. Now I’m guessing you are the smugglers and mercenary that I’ve been trying to track down? How nice of you to give me an invitation to your meeting.”
“We invited you here to tie up some loose ends.”
“Loose ends?”
“Yes. You know a bit too much about the Order of Circe. You and Miss Blayse. We were going to go with the theatrical for this, but seeing as things haven’t exactly gone according to plan, we’ll have to forego them.”
“Oh?” Byron sat in his chair, completely unimpressed. In fact, he yawned.
The Shadow’s face contorted again, and she gestured to the two smugglers. They hoisted him up to standing, each holding one of his arms. A flicker of recognition crossed Byron’s face, and he struggled. They pulled his arms back.
“Take off his suit coat.” The Shadow picked up the needle and flicked it a few times. Joe took a knife from his pocket and cut the back of Byron’s suit and shirt open. He pulled hard on the sleeves of both, and they came ripping off, the buttons of his shirt shooting off one by one. Sam did the same to the other side. Mira noticed a few scars on his chest. She fingered the gun in her pocket.
“Do you know how many lives have been lost because of curiosity, Detective?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. Would you care to tell me?”
“Countless. In this case, eight people have died thus far because Clement Pennington decided to find out what was behind a mysterious grate.”
“Eight people? You seem to have miscounted. I only count two murders. Mr. Pennington’s and Mr. Graham’s.”
“Ah, but that is where you and the police would be wrong. You see, the Order tried something new with this murder. Normally when an important killing is about to take place, Circe plans several robberies to take place around the same time. That way the police are distracted, and the killer has a bit more time to cover their tracks. This time they used the same principle and experimented with murder.”
Mira’s stomach churned. All the facts of the Whitechapel case came back to her. The first case popped up back in April, around the same time that Molly Bridges first met Clement Pennington. Several others in August and September. Her uncle mentioned two murders occurred just the day before. The Order of Circe connected them all.
“You say there have been eight deaths connected with this case?”
“Eight. Six of them were women of no importance or great wealth. Unconnected. All are perfect fodder for a gruesome killing spree spread across several months and taken out by several kill
ers with a bloodlust. Untraceable.”
Byron gritted his teeth and the Shadow just laughed. “Once the distraction of a mass murderer was set into motion, I murdered Clement Pennington. Then, of course, you had to get involved, and that led to the death of Mr. David Graham.”
“He didn’t have to die. Enough people have died,” Byron clenched his fists.
“Perhaps you are right. But death can be so useful. And in the case of these ‘Whitechapel murders,’ as the police have been calling them, there are so many killers, they will never be caught. And who knows? Perhaps there will even be copycat killers that will be even worse.”
“How dare you toy with human life and treat it as if it is nothing?” He seethed.
“And what are you going to do, little detective?”
“Fight ‘til my dying breath.”
“Oh, how cliché. Luckily for us, we don’t have to wait long.”
Byron pulled harder against the two smugglers, to no avail. They held him fast, and the Shadow moved closer to him, tracing a finger beneath the line of his jaw. Her voice lowered. Mira could barely make it out.
“I planned on killing Miss Blayse in front of you before you died. But seeing as she isn’t here, I’ll just take the consolation that you’ll know that she will die and leave this mortal world without ever knowing what happened to you. She won’t even know the full extent of why she is dying. Just like her parents.”
Mira opened the door and cocked the gun pointing it straight at the Shadow’s head.
“What about my parents?” The room stood in stunned silence, staring at her. Byron spoke first.
“M…Mira?”
“I told you I was coming with you, Byron. Now Shadow, or Molly as you are sometimes called, if you could please set the syringe down and step away from Mr. Constantine?” The Shadow slowly stepped away and placed the syringe on the table.
“And hands above your head if you would?” Mira gestured with the pistol. The Shadow’s hands rose.
Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Page 27