The woman leaning hard on Phoe’s side nodded. “We were walking through the labyrinth and when we came around the corner, we saw this man bending over the girl.”
“You saw him?” Cage snapped. “What did he look like?”
“We didn’t see his face,” the other woman said. “His back was to us. He was wearing a black coat, and trousers, and his hair was a bit shaggy.”
“Madeline screamed, and he ran off. He didn’t even look back.” The woman was overcome with tears and buried her face in Phoe’s handkerchief. “If he had, he might have killed us too.”
Cage pressed his fingertip to the dead girl’s throat. She made a small noise and her eyes fluttered. “Phoe,” he called, his voice calm. “We need to get help. This girl is alive.” As he said it, he heard a rustling in the hedges. He detected movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up in time to see the edge of a black coat disappear into the maze. “Stay with the girl.”
Cage took off through the hedges, pursuing the man. He was impossibly fast. He would have to be to outrun Cage. His black coat became part of the shadows as he ran, leading Cage down one corridor after another. Daylight was fading fast, and chasing him wasn’t made any easier by the looming walls of the labyrinth. Soon, Cage would lose track of his prey.
The man ducked down another corridor, then with a single bound, leapt over the hedge wall. “He’s a fucking vampire.” Cage stopped short and for a second could only stand there dumbfounded. “Well, I guess that means I can do this.”
Cage leaped into the shift, his body contorting to that of an unusually large panther in the blink of an eye. Evidently the vampire saw him shift and screamed as he ran clumsily through the labyrinth. Cage roared as the vampire leaped onto the gate that surrounded the park. He was good, but not quite good enough to clear the ironwork. Cage jumped, his jaws snapping at the man’s overcoat as he tried to scramble over the gate. He finally made it, jumping down to the other side and into the street. He whipped around to see what had been chasing him, and Cage recognized him immediately as the vicar, Mr. Sockersby.
“What the hell are you?” Sockersby said, panting.
Cage answered with another roar.
“Seems I’m not the only monster in the house,” Sockersby said. “I know what you think, Mr. St. John. But I assure you, I’m not the Ripper.” He gasped as Cage tried shoving his shoulders between the bars. “I’m not the Ripper,” he screamed. He turned to run and the butt of a gun caught him square in the nose. Sockersby was dazed at first, and then dropped like a stone.
“Have a seat, Padre,” Sigerson said. He looked up at Cage and added, “Nice kitty.”
Sixteen
Phoe helped the girl sit up as she came around. “Steady, now. Take it slowly.”
The two women held on to one another, both terrified and relieved that the bleeding girl was alive. They sniffled into handkerchiefs and thanked the good lord several times. “Is she going to be all right?”
Phoe nodded. “Do either of you have a handkerchief or scarf? Something to stop the blood.”
The one called Madeline handed Phoe the damp handkerchief in her hand. It wasn’t ideal, but beggars and choosers and all that. As she mopped the blood from the girl’s throat, Phoe recognized the telltale marks of a vampire bite. The venom had thinned the girl’s blood, making it look worse than it actually was. Phoe breathed a sigh of relief.
“Should we go get a policeman?” Madeline asked.
Phoe nodded. “Go out to the main road and flag down one of the Bobbies on patrol. They’ll help me get her home.”
“Oh please, miss,” the girl warbled, her voice weak. Phoe was relieved to hear it. “Please don’t bring the police.”
“You’ve been attacked,” the other woman said.
“No, I’m all right. Really.” To prove that fact, the girl started to stand, but fell against Phoe. “If I sit here a moment, I’ll get my strength back.”
Madeline and her companion looked to Phoe and shrugged. “But Miss, the person responsible should be apprehended before he can do more damage.”
The girl grabbed Phoe’s arms, crying profusely. It was clear that all the talk of police was only serving to rattle the poor thing further. “I wasn’t attacked. Please don’t set the police on Adolphus. He wasn’t doing anything.”
“Adolphus?” Madeline questioned. “Who?”
Phoe smiled. “I’m sure she’s talking out of her head. She doesn’t seem to be hurt terribly. I’ll see her home. Thank you ladies. You can leave us to it.”
“But.”
“No buts. I insist. You’ve both been a great help. I’ll be sure she goes to the police if needs be.”
The two women stared at Phoe as if they weren’t really sure of her intentions, but neither was willing to argue further. She watched as the two women waddled back through the labyrinth, tittering to one another. Phoe waited for them to disappear from view before turning back to the girl.
“Thank you, Miss.” The girl tried a weak smile while almost bowing to Phoe with gratitude.
“You’re welcome,” Phoe replied. “But are you sure you weren’t attacked?”
“She wasn’t attacked,” someone said. Phoe looked up and saw Shercroft Sigerson strolling up the corridor. He led an enormous black panther, who had to be Cage, toward them with Adolphus Sockersby thrown over his back.
“Sigerson? What are you doing here?”
“I was on my way to see Mr. St. John, actually. I heard some commotion and stopped to see what was going on. That’s when I saw Mr. St. John chasing this man into the street. I felt compelled to stop him.”
Sockersby raised his head. “I’m not the Ripper,” he mumbled before passing out again.
“Adolphus,” the girl at Phoe’s side shrieked and went to him. “I’m so sorry. Those women startled me.”
“You know this man?” Sigerson asked.
“Of course, I know him. He’s my, I mean, he’s, well…” It was obvious that the girl didn’t want to tell them what was going on, but Phoe was pretty sure she knew.
“He’s a vampire. She’s his babydoll,” Phoe explained, turning her gaze on the girl. “Am I right?”
The girl didn’t answer right away, but nodded guiltily.
“Dear lady,” Sigerson said. “Don’t look so guilty. Your questionable activities are what the colonies are all about. Of course, were I you, I wouldn’t go around broadcasting. Vampires are fugitives in Absinthia.”
“No, sir,” the girl whimpered.
Phoe wrapped her shawl around the girl’s shoulders. “Come on, then. We need to get you home.”
“The hotel where I’m staying is over there on the main road.”
Phoe nodded and picked up her hat. “I’ll walk her home, Sigerson. If you could make sure that Mr. Sockersby and Cage get back to the pension without incident.”
“I couldn’t possibly let you walk back through the park on your own with a killer on the loose, Mrs. St. John.”
Phoe scoffed and hiked up her skirt to show off the thigh holster that held her autopistol. “I can take care of myself, thanks.”
“I’m sure you can. Please make sure you get back quickly,” Sigerson insisted. “We have much to talk about.”
*****
The four of them had barely made it into the pension without attracting the attention of the other guests. It was only by the grace of God and Sigerson’s smooth talking that they managed to get a naked Cage and a battered and torn Mr. Sockersby past Miss Abecrombie’s suspicious glare and up the stairs to the library.
“You have to believe me, Mr. St. John. I’m not a killer. I didn’t mean to lie to anyone, but surely you must understand my position.” Sockersby took the tumbler of whiskey Cage offered and downed it with one gulp before immediately asking for another. He regarded Cage with a mixture of fear and fascination. “Of course, you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cage asked.
“You have secrets of your own, M
r. St. John.”
“True, but my secrets aren’t illegal in the colonies. Yet, anyway.”
“Yet being the key word,” Mr. Sockersby said. “People never fail to disappoint with their paranoia and violence. Take that idiot Brown. You’ve heard how he talks about the cyborgs. How do you think he’d feel about sharing his holiday with a vampire?”
“Speaking of that,” Sigerson interrupted. “Knowing that vampires are not permitted in Absinthia, and your aforementioned distaste for murder, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Trying to get away from the vampire covens,” Mr. Sockersby replied. “I was attacked in New York City. My maker left me for dead, but I was found by a street gang. The longer I was part of that world, the more I wanted to get away. So when I got the opportunity to come to the colonies, I took it.”
“Who could blame you,” Cage mumbled.
Phoe paced the room, her fingertips poised under her chin, deep in thought. “So when you were gone every night, you were combing the teahouses looking for babydolls?”
“Not at all,” Sockersby answered. “Sure, they were a better food source than rats, but I didn’t make a habit of keeping groupies. Lottie and I are in love.”
Sigerson choked back laughter. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard of someone being in love with their dinner.”
Sockersby ignored him. “I went to see Lottie in the evenings. That’s why I haven’t been here.” He looked from Phoe to Cage, and back to Sigerson. “You have to believe me. I’m not the Ripper.”
“Of course you aren’t,” Sigerson said, clapping a hand on the man’s shoulder. “For one thing, I have distinct memory of the man who attacked me, who I believe is the Ripper. And you, sir, are not him.”
“Well that’s a relief,” Sockersby stated, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“If you remember your attacker, then share it with us and we can question him,” Phoe insisted.
“I have distinct memory of the attack,” Sigerson began, “And I remember bits and pieces about the man, but I did not see his face. Only that he was indeed a man of larger build than Mr. Sockersby. It isn’t something I can explain, but I’m certain that my attacker was not a vampire.”
Cage sighed, obviously tired of their conversation. Phoe couldn’t blame him. For someone who had come to them so urgently before, Sigerson didn’t seem to be anxious to offer much new information.
“You mentioned that there was a reason for your visit,” Cage said.
“Oh, yes. I almost forgot.” Sigerson pulled an eSlate from his lapel and switched it on to display a holo. “I went to The Yard today and found a bit of information on our victims.” He scrolled through the photographs.
“I thought Tuggingham wasn’t going to let you anywhere near this case,” Cage said.
“Oh, what he doesn’t know can’t possibly hurt him. I have a few friends.” He finally stopped on a photograph of a young woman. “I combed the files for all the homicides that have taken place in the last year, after my own attack last summer. Using some simple coding and data collecting, I came up with six victims that match up with Misses Merriwhether and Miss Postlethwaite.”
“What do you mean, ‘match up’?” Phoe asked.
“Victims who were similar in age, occupation, and injury.”
“I thought you said before that they were all over the spectrum. Misses Merriwhether had her eye and a hand stolen. Miss Postlethwaite’s intestines redecorated the stage, and you were beaten severely.”
“The victims are all over the place. There doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern. In fact, when I looked at the other victims, the pattern became even more random.” He pointed to the holo of the first young woman. “Minerva Queensbury, aged twenty. She was a hansom cab driver who was here last summer working over her school holiday. But this one,” he shifted the holo to the next victim who appeared to be an older man, “Benjamin Mortimer, aged sixty-three. Here in Absinthia for his granddaughter’s destination wedding.” He flipped through several more. “Then there were the twins. Paige and Millicent Oxbridge, aged forty-three. They were old maid schoolteachers here on a singles’ getaway.”
“What is the point?” Phoe asked, starting to get impatient. The more she thought of the Ripper’s victims, the more she felt for them. “I’m assuming there is one.”
“None of them have any connection,” Sockersby said from his seat across the room. “They were all random tourists, yes?”
“Indeed,” Sigerson replied. “As I suspected, all of them had alterations.”
“What do you mean alterations?”
“Some kind of biomechanical enhancement. Some of them obvious like Misses Merriwhether’s mechanical leg that she acquired after a terrible car accident, but others were fairly invisible, like Mr. Mortimer’s uh, hmm, well…”
Phoe couldn’t believe it but she thought the straightforward Mr. Shercroft Sigerson was blushing. “His what?”
“Let’s say that Mr. Mortimer had a particular implant.”
Phoe and Cage looked at one another, both of them trying not to laugh. “I see.”
“So our killer,” Mr. Sockersby said, getting up to join them. He was clearly enjoying their sleuthing now. “He’s someone who has medical knowledge and knew that the victims had artificial implants.”
Phoe and Cage cracked up again. Sigerson and the vicar glared.
“Sorry.”
Phoe cleared her throat. “So, we found the connection between the victims. But are we any closer to figuring out who the killer is?”
“Do you think it could be someone here in the pension?” Cage asked Sigerson.
“Probably not. That was Tuggingham’s biggest blunder. He wanted it to be one of you to save him the legwork. But it’s highly unlikely that the killer is a tourist. It would have to be a tourist who had been here since last summer, and according to Miss Abecrombie, none of you fit that bill.”
Phoe breathed a sigh of relief. For the last several days, the thought that she was having breakfast with a psychopath had left her constantly looking over her shoulder. “Good.”
“But that doesn’t mean that one of you isn’t his next target.” Sigerson flipped the holo to show a map of Absinthia. “I’ve plotted each of my theoretical victims on this map of the colony.” With a flourish, blinking red dots appeared on the map. “As you can see, the killer, in trying to be random, really isn’t random at all.”
“What do you mean?” Cage asked.
“I mean that our killer seems to be closing in on the Alice & Ludwig.”
Seventeen
Phoe stared down at the strips of bacon on her plate. Her stomach rolled over and she pushed it aside. She hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before and the cheery chirruping of Eleanor was almost more than she could stand this morning. She, Cage, and Sigerson had been up to the wee hours of the morning looking through the holo file that Sigerson had managed to swipe from Tuggingham’s staff. All three of them were convinced that the identity of the Ripper killer was contained within those pages of clues, but there was something missing—something so obvious, yet it continued to elude them. Consequently, Phoe had spent most of the night tossing and turning in bed. Not even the beauty of their garden breakfast under the bougainvillea could lift her spirit this morning.
“So, did you like the part when Agnes karate-chopped the Duke?” Eleanor asked.
“That was fantastic. The whole book is. You should be proud.” Phoe poured herself another cup of coffee, emptying the pot.
Eleanor stared at her strangely. “Phoebe, dear. Are you all right? That’s your third cup of coffee since we’ve been sitting here. And I know you probably aren’t fully recovered from your fall.”
“Of course. I guess I’m a little tired.” She tried to smile but ended up yawning instead.
“Oooh. Were you and Mr. St. John up a bit late honeymooning?”
Phoe chuckled, shaking her head. “Not at all. We were up late though. Sigerson came over with new
s about the murders.”
“Do tell.” Eleanor tossed her napkin aside and leaned in. “Any suspects?”
“Not really. Shercroft managed to get into the case files, but it seems to have posed more questions than it answered.”
“That’s usually how it happens,” Eleanor said with a sigh. “Did he find out anything?”
“A possible connection between the victims. Seems they all had some kind of biomech.”
Eleanor scoffed. “Doesn’t everyone these days? I mean, how many guests in the colony right now have those mindjacks?”
“Mindjack?”
“You know. Those port things. You have one, don’t you?”
Phoe nodded. “Yes,” she answered, absently rubbing the small port on the back of her neck. “I didn’t know they were called mindjacks.”
“Anyway, almost everyone has some kind of alteration at this point. You can get a mindjack as easily as piercing your ears. You probably noticed that there was a kiosk in the spaceport that would do it for you. I thought about getting one, but the thought of having someone jack into your spinal cord is a bit unnerving, don’t you think?”
Phoe thought back to Sugoi. She’d been terrified at the prospect of having someone take control of your mind, and these tourists in Absinthia were paying for it. As far as Phoe could tell, the cards that her fellow guests were using were not nearly so invasive as Eve and her mind controlling neo-geisha programs. It was still enough to make Phoe’s skin crawl thinking about it. “To each his own, I suppose,” she answered.
“Anyway, I thought the police had a suspect in custody. That man from the opera, Wittrock.”
“Shercroft is pretty certain Jasper Wittrock isn’t the killer. He didn’t have time or a viable motive. When Tuggingham interviewed him, all he kept wailing was that he loved Arabella.”
Eleanor chuckled mirthlessly. “Agnes Shrewsbury has solved many a crime of passion. Love can be a powerful motivator.” She picked up her coffee cup and sipped slowly, staring past Phoe as if deliberately avoiding her eyes.
“Are you okay, El?” Phoe asked.
In Absinthia Page 14