In Absinthia

by Alexandra Christian

  Sigerson looked up at Cage with an awe-stricken smile. Cage gave a short nod, indicating that Sigerson should follow and that he wasn’t going to wait.

  “That was amazing,” Sigerson gushed as he stumbled behind Cage. “I think you rather scared the boy.”

  Cage didn’t answer. He wasn’t paying any attention. He recognized that petticoat. “Oh no,” he said as they reached the body. Something about his expression must have told the group of Bobbies milling around that they should leave him alone. He knelt down and pulled back the sheet that they had so unceremoniously draped over the body. “God, no. No, no, no.” He turned away, hiding his eyes. “Jesus.”

  Eleanor Pankenthorpe lay on the ground at his feet. No one had even bothered to pull her head out from under the stream of water that sprayed over her face. She had not been torn open as the others had, but her eyes had been removed. Her mouth gaped open, as if she’d been screaming. As Cage gently lifted her body over the lip of the fountain, he could see that her throat had been cut nearly to the bone. He cradled her head against his chest.

  “The professor’s wife, isn’t it?” Sigerson asked.

  Cage nodded.

  “Why her?” Sigerson said, steepling his fingertips under his chin and starting to pace. “She wasn’t an unfortunate. She didn’t wander the streets alone.”

  Sigerson continued to ask questions and make deductions, but Cage wasn’t listening. His voice was another drone in the background noise. Right now, Cage didn’t care about any of the whys and wherefores. Whether Eleanor was another Ripper victim or had succumbed to a runaway carriage didn’t make any difference whatsoever. All that mattered was that this woman had been a friend to Phoe. To both of them, in fact. Eleanor had been nothing but warm and gracious since the day they met her. The thought that her life had been cut short so heinously, and that her death was going to devastate Phoe, filled him with a boiling rage that was dangerous in its ferocity.

  “St. John, look at this.”

  “Shut up,” Cage growled, whipping around. “Just stop talking, would you? All of your precious clues and deductions…”

  “But I think I found something.”

  “No,” Cage said, laying Eleanor’s body down and getting to his feet. “I don’t want to hear any more.” He started toward Sigerson, and evidently looked ready for a fight because the hybrid backed up, nearly falling into the fountain. “This woman was an innocent. Don’t you understand? I told her she had nothing to worry about. I told her that everything would be okay, and instead of going out there and luring this bastard into the streets and taking him down, I’ve been wasting all my time with you.”

  “You need to calm down,” Sigerson advised. He put his hands up as if to touch Cage’s shoulders.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” Cage growled.

  “How in the hell did the two of you get in here?” Cage turned to see Tuggingham approaching, waving his fists angrily. His chest was puffed out like a bullfrog, and his face like a beet. “You have no business being here.” Tuggingham waved a couple of policemen over. “Arrest these men,” he barked.

  An officer came toward them with a set of cuffs. Cage put up his hand in warning. “Mate, if you touch me you’ll regret it.”

  The younger cop that Cage had spoken to before stepped forward. “Sir, he said he was with the IU.”

  “I am with the IU,” Cage snarled. “And in about three seconds I’m going to have this entire place crawling with agents that are going to throw you right off this case.”

  “You think I don’t know about you, St. John?” Tuggingham said. “I know how you got thrown out of the IU. I had a long conversation with Derek Machine about you.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me that you’re licking Machine’s balls,” Cage bit out. “Like a good little lapdog.”

  Tuggingham went for Cage, but his officers were quick, holding him back. “You’re a fucking freak of nature, St. John.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you think about me, Tuggingham, but this woman is dead because of your ineptitude.”

  Tuggingham jerked away from the younger officer. He pushed his finger in Cage’s chest. “Don’t you tell me how to do my fucking job, freak.”

  Cage could feel the rage under his skin. It crawled and flickered like a blue-hot flame in a way he hadn’t felt since before meeting Phoe. He grabbed Tuggingham’s wrist and twisted it around until he heard a pop, then punched him hard in the face. The cops behind sprung to action, starting toward Cage as Tuggingham stumbled backward, holding his nose.

  The corners of Cage’s mouth burned as the fangs broke through thin skin. Every cell was tense, waiting for the shift to take hold. In another second, he would change and tear this entire squad of cops completely apart in front of all these bystanders. He had a feeling that even Maurice couldn’t get him out of that.

  “Come on, mate,” Sigerson urged, bravely stepping between him and the officers. “This asshole isn’t worth it. We need to get back to the pension.” He turned back to the cops and motioned for them to stay back. “You don’t want your girl to find out about this before we get there. Right?”

  Cage took a few deep breaths. He focused on Phoe’s face and Sigerson’s words. He was right. That ring in his pocket wouldn’t be of any use if he were rotting in a prison colony. Finally, he nodded and backed off, feeling the monster within retreating once more.

  “You’ll regret this, St. John,” Tuggingham shouted at his back. “I’ll have you on Kobi Six.”

  “Too late, asshole,” Cage growled, allowing Sigerson to lead him away.

  Nineteen

  For once in the time since they’d met, Shercroft Sigerson didn’t say a word. In fact, the only sound in the hansom cab was the hiss of steam coming from the clockwork horse that plodded toward the Alice & Ludwig. Even the noise on the street seemed to fade away. Cage was thankful. He needed the silence to think about what he was going to say to Phoe.

  Phoe was not a woman who made friends easily. She was always kind, but painfully shy, even now. When she was herself, Phoe still preferred to sit alone with her nose in a book. Until she met Eleanor Pankenthorpe. The two of them had hit it off almost immediately, and in their two weeks at the pension, people would hardly see one without the other. Though Eleanor had been at least ten years Phoe’s senior, they had shared a love of words and whimsy that Cage could never understand. In short, Phoe was going to be devastated.

  “I am sorry about your friend,” Sigerson offered, finally breaking the silence.

  “Thank you,” Cage replied. “I’m sorry I snapped at you back there.”

  “It’s understandable. This case has gone on far too long, with too many lives lost because of Tuggingham’s incompetence.”

  Cage nodded. “But that isn’t really my concern anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, that I’m going to take Phoe away from here. Tonight. I can’t stand one more day in this place. And I won’t put her through Eleanor’s inquest and funeral.”

  Sigerson looked shocked, almost insulted by Cage’s seeming indifference. Cage didn’t care. Absinthia had gone from being a romantic getaway theme park for adults to a gothic horror novel come to life. It wasn’t good for Phoe. And he couldn’t get the idea out of his mind that it could have as easily been Phoe lying there in a pool of her own blood.

  “You can’t mean that you’re leaving. Not when we’re so close.”

  “Close to what?” Cage asked, feeling exhausted. “Close to getting ourselves killed? Close to driving our loved ones mad? It isn’t worth it.”

  “Of course, it is,” Sigerson stated. “The truth is always worth it.” He wiggled around, trying to find his pocket. After several comical contortions and fights against the lumbering sway of the carriage, Sigerson pulled what appeared to be a key out of his coat pocket. “A-ha.”

  “What ‘a-ha’?”

  “I found this at the crime scene.”

  Cage grabbed his hand and pu
shed it down, looking around as if there might be someone watching them. “You stole a piece of evidence from the crime scene?”

  “Of course, I did. You didn’t want Tuggingham to find it, did you?”

  Cage pinched the bridge of his nose, not sure of his answer. “Where did you find it?”

  “Clutched in the hand of Eleanor Pankenthorpe. While you were arguing with that hoard of idiots.”

  Cage examined the key, using his superior vision to take in every detail. The key was small, easily concealed in the hand. It was made of brass, like an old-fashioned key, but the blade was short and ended in a dangerous-looking diamond shape. It did not look like any door key that Cage had ever seen. “Are you sure this is a key?”

  Sigerson nodded. “I’ve seen one like that before, but I can’t quite remember where.”

  “Perhaps a luggage key?”

  Sigerson threw a sideways glance that indicated his opinion of Cage’s theory. “It isn’t that small.”

  Cage handed it back. “Well good luck with it. I look forward to following the court case.”

  Sigerson’s jaw hung agape and he sputtered. Cage thought for a minute that Sigerson was going to slap him like a hysterical child. “You can’t be serious?” he asked.

  “Quite,” Cage replied. “Phoe was right all along. This was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, and so far, it’s been anything but. I need to take her away from here as soon as possible.”

  Sigerson’s face went as red as a hybrid cyborg’s face could. “You’re beating yourself up because you think you could have saved Mrs. Pankenthorpe. What about the ones that come after her? Do you honestly think that this creature is going to stop?”

  “No. I’ve known enough serial killers to know that they will never stop, but I can’t be responsible for the whole world.”

  The carriage stopped in front of the pension. Cage gazed up at the brownstone building that loomed over them. The atmosphere, artificial though it may be, perfectly reflected the dread he felt at having to climb those steps to the pension and face Phoe.

  He started out of the cab, and Sigerson stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Are you not the Cage St. John I’ve heard so much about? Daring spy for the IU?”

  “Yes I am, but I have to consider Phoebe in my decisions right now. Eleanor was a dear friend.”

  “Then surely she’ll want to find the killer.”

  “I’m not going to put her in danger as well. We don’t know how he’s targeting these people. How do I know that Phoe isn’t on his kill list already? He could be stalking her right now.”

  “St. John, please. I need your help with this. One more day is all I need.” There was a desperation to Sigerson’s voice that St. John would not have expected. For the first time, he understood that solving these murders wasn’t a matter of pride or ego for the man. Sigerson needed to find out who it was that had so changed his life and to get some kind of explanation. Cage wasn’t sure he could refuse him.

  “I can’t promise, Sigerson.”

  “Please think about it. In the meantime, I’m going to see if I can find out where this key goes.” He tipped his hat and Cage watched the hansom bounce down the street.

  He turned back to the pension. No use in putting this off any longer.

  It was strangely quiet when he was greeted by Miss Abecrombie in the foyer. Evidently, everyone was upstairs getting dressed. He took it as a good sign that Miss Abecrombie hadn’t said anything about any police coming by. He’d hoped that he would beat them here. Soon, Tuggingham and his goons would be crawling all over the place enquiring about Eleanor and questioning all the guests as to their whereabouts.

  “Miss Abecrombie, is Professor Pankenthorpe here?”

  “No, sir,” she answered, fluttering about the parlor with her feather duster. “Ain’ seen the professor since this mornin’. He looked a bit upset, he did, but I didn’t ask no questions.”

  “What do you mean he looked upset?”

  “Well, you know ‘ow Professor Pankenthorpe is. Always looks nervous. He rushed down ‘ere in a flurry of his coat and took off out the door without a word.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Between us, I heard a bit of shoutin’ up there this mornin’. Don’t get the wrong idea, Mr. St. John, but I was up there gatherin’ linens for the washing after everyone had gone downstairs to breakfast. I started to go into the Pankenthorpes’ rooms, but I heard some commotion and arguin’, so I went on me way.”

  Something about the Professor and Eleanor arguing seemed strange to Cage. He didn’t think in the two weeks they’d been in Absinthia that he’d ever heard them exchange a harsh word. Though he remembered Phoe commenting at breakfast that it seemed odd that they weren’t downstairs yet.

  “Macijah, I thought you weren’t ever going to get back.” He turned to see Phoe coming down the stairs in his robe with her hair in a towel. Even in an old threadbare dressing gown, she was a vision. “You do realize that the carriages will be here to pick us up promptly at five for dinner.”

  Cage caught her before her feet could hit the floor and swept her into his arms. He embraced her tightly, holding her body as close as he could manage. “Phoe,” he purred against her cheek. “Oh, Phoe. I’m so glad to see you.”

  Phoe giggled and brushed her lips against his mouth. “I’m glad to see you too, darling.” She tried to pull back, but he held on. He needed to feel the warmth of her body after such a long and unforgiving afternoon. “Did you happen to see Eleanor? She rushed out of here this morning, and I haven’t seen her since.”

  His first instinct was to lie. To say he hadn’t seen her and pray that they were gone to the ball by the time the police arrived. Perhaps then he could spare himself the anguish of hurting her. But that was the coward’s way out. No, when Phoe heard about the fate of her friend, it would be best to hear it from his own lips.

  “Phoe, I—we need to talk.” Cage’s voice kept catching. It wasn’t like him to be so unsure. A year ago, he would have delivered such grave news with all the compassion of a straight razor to the throat, but now, looking down into her eyes, he didn’t know what to say.

  “All right then, love. But come upstairs and talk. I need to get into my corset. And wait until you see this dress.”

  Cage followed Phoe up the stairs. His boots felt heavy. His mind raced trying to think of some way to break this news gently, but quickly before the police arrived. Then, there was also the possibility that the professor didn’t even know yet, so was it insensitive of him to tell Phoe first? He thought about how absurd it was that he was having a communication crisis. Cage was a man of action. Talking wasn’t exactly his forte. Nor was tact.

  “I had to order a corset that was cut a bit lower than the other one. I hope my breasts don’t pop out in the middle of dinner.” She held the corset around herself and turned to Cage. “But isn’t it the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen? It hardly seems fair to wear it under my clothes.”

  Cage sat down on the end of the bed, looking exhausted. “You’ll be beautiful, Phoe. You always are.”

  Phoe threw the corset aside and went to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his cheek, still cool from the outside, against her warm stomach. She carded her fingers through his hair. Her gentle fingers soothed him, and he could feel his pulse slowing. “Are you all right, darling?”

  “No, Phoe,” he answered with a sigh. “I’m not right at all.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I need to…” He paused, not sure if he was ready yet. “I need to talk to you about something.” He took Phoe’s hands in his and led her to sit down beside him on the bed.

  “All right.” Now she looked concerned. Frightened, even.

  “Phoe…”

  “Cage, love. Just spit it out. Watching you struggle with it is probably worse than whatever you have to say.”

  “Phoe, Sigerson and I were out this morning following a few leads.”

  She nodded. “I remember. You told me a
t breakfast.”

  “And while we were out something happened.”

  Phoe narrowed her eyes. “My God. You didn’t go to a brothel, did you?”

  Cage laughed nervously. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Then what in the world is all this stammering about? The Cage St. John I know has never stammered a day in his life.”

  “Phoe, Eleanor is dead.” The little voice in his head kicked him for being so crass.

  She didn’t seem to process it at first. “I’m sure that Maurice would love to…” She stopped and turned to face him. Her eyes searched his for any sign of a lie. “What did you say?”

  “I’m so sorry, love. Eleanor is dead.”

  “That’s a cruel joke, Macijah St. John,” Phoe argued, a slight tremble in her voice. “You take it back right now.”

  Cage shook his head. “I wish I could. But it’s true. They found her on the street this morning.”

  “On the street? What do you mean on the street?”

  Cage took a deep breath and clutched Phoe’s hand tightly in his own. “They think she’s another Ripper victim. A witness at the scene told the cops that someone in a carriage slowed down by the fountain and threw her body into the street before speeding away.”

  “A carriage? Did no one see the driver? Who was in the carriage?”

  “I don’t know. The police had barely arrived when Sigerson and I got there. I’m sure that they’re looking for the driver. There didn’t appear to be any witnesses to the actual murder.”

  Phoe stood up and started to pace about the room. She was wringing her hands, a tic that she hadn’t displayed since their first adventure together. “Did he…did he tear her up too badly?”

  Cage shook his head.

  “Good,” she muttered as if talking to herself. Her voice was quavering and cracking when she turned to him. “I don’t think I could stand it if she’d suffered. I mean, I know…I know she did, but…” She stopped and put her head in her hands. She began to cry, and Cage’s heart broke for her. He went to her and gathered her in his arms. For a long time they stood there, Phoe weeping into his shoulder as he held her close.