by K Childs
“Did she claw your chest?” Darrien was not done inspecting my person.
A bit of the white blouse from my shirt was showing under the holes in my coat. I pressed my palm over the three scratches, feeling for wounds. “No, her claws were not big enough.”
I’d counted her fingers with those claws. Only three.
“How do you propose we proceed, Inspector?”
The Lideric would pop back into the Ether the second she could, and I doubted she would be foolish enough to return to the old man. No, the Lideric was lost to a foot-chase. The Agency would have to flush her out with a team. I cursed. “There’s naught for your boys to do today. Back to the station; the Agency will have to flush her out. Can you get someone to find out when that family arrived in the city?”
That would take days. Days on a dead-end. I knew it in my gut.
She had three claws. We needed a beast with five.
The constables holstered their pistols, Bairnsworth said, “Understood, Inspector. Let’s see if we can’t find a brush for the mud.”
I followed them back to their haunt. The drizzle decided to make a bigger impression and rain began to splatter from the sky.
Retrieving the shock-stick, the device fizzled and died. Another one sacrificed to the damp of London.
I deactivated it and stowed it in my holster. The Armoury would not be pleased.
“How did you know where the Lideric was? How did she just appear from thin air like that? I didn’t see any anima waver until you woke up from the faint.”
“I didn’t faint, Your Grace. I entered the Dreamscape and tossed her out of it. She was manipulating the fabrics of the Ether over the house. It creates a particular sign that I followed. I doubt she will make it so easy next time.”
He raised an eyebrow as if to indicate he wasn’t certain it had turned out easy this time.
I still hadn’t shaken Darrien Montagu by the time we got back to the Yard. Night had fallen and exhaustion ate at every inch of me. The press was absent, presumably now staking out Lord Howard’s den. I wanted to take a long bath, eat a small dinner, and crawl into bed. I didn’t want to deal with an eager puppy following me around or the Superintendent chewing on my skull for failing to secure the only lead I had in Charlie’s death.
“Rose, give me your hand,” Darrien instructed as we waited for the traffic to clear and the cab slowly tutted down the street.
“Why?”
“Don’t be so suspicious. I’m an Animancer.”
“Oh.” I blushed and held out my battered arm.
He smiled. “I promise I don’t bite… hard.”
I snorted despite myself. He took that as encouragement, and warm light flowed from his fingertips over my battered limb. The cuts healed over, and the burn subsided from where the oil had splashed me.
He touched my face and other arm, spreading the tingle of his magic across my skin. It was a strangely intimate gesture and I shifted; I’d never had a man so close. I sort of liked the attention, a novelty. Men were often intimidated by my job.
The job that wasn’t getting done because I didn’t have any leads.
I didn’t have time to flirt with Darrien Montagu. I needed to focus on work. But his warm, familiar smile was still there. It made that raw part of my hurt and terrified insides feel a little less raw. I hadn’t felt so comfortable around anyone since I was a child. Was it an Animancy trick?
“All done,” he breathed. His hand was on my cheek. Soft, caressing.
The cabbie cleared his throat and I stiffened.
We were stopped at the Yard.
I fled inside and the Duke followed as a silent, pleasant shadow.
Forester was writing a report when I placed the broken shock-stick on his desk. “Rain and mud. Not sure it will be salvageable.”
“Understood, Inspector. I’ll write a report.”
I grunted and walked into my office. Darrien followed, quiet, observant. He was a little too familiar with me for my taste, but he was a good shadow. And the superintendent had vouched for him. Sort of.
I took off my coat and laid it on my desk. The measurements were twice that of the talons that had torn Charlie and Lord Howard. The Lideric had serrated claws, not as bird-like as I expected; the slicing was very different. The marks from the claws were smaller than those used to murder Charlie and the Eye. I considered the possibility of a male Lideric, but the size and shape were all wrong.
I doubted she was innocent of other deaths—creatures from the Ether preyed on humans; most of them, anyway—but these deaths were not her responsibility.
Back to square one.
“Coffee?” Darrien asked.
It took me a moment to realize he meant he wanted one.
“I’m afraid there’s none. Perhaps the restaurant on
Duncannon Lane?”
“Then we ought to go to dinner.”
“I’ve work to do, Darrien. No supper for me.”
“Come now, surely you don’t work round the clock?”
The door opened and the Chief Inspector took up the frame. He was a large, muscled behemoth in a pinstripe suit, with a dark complexion and darker eyes. His gaze flickered to the Duke and he nodded respectfully. “Beaumont, a word.”
“Chief, certainly. Please excuse me a moment, Your Grace.” Andrew Caudroy was a born Oneironaut like myself. His position meant that he spent more time on the bureaucracy of the office than in the Dreamscape, but I’d seen him wrench things form the Ether with his bare hands.
Ben was already in Caudroy’s office, a neat report on the man’s desk. He stood as I entered, and I waved him back down. Caudroy closed the door behind us.
“I’ve received Wallace’s report. The Eye’s death is going to draw a lot of attention from on high, Beaumont. I know the Duchess Montagu wants us to write it off as a thief, but I also know we’re not in the business of finding a pickpocket and hanging him for the nobility’s amusement while a killer goes free. How is the Duke handling this?”
Maybe some of the other police would have done just that, but not the Agency. We’d enjoyed the protection of the Eye in most cases where the nobility felt put-out by our nosing about too close to their affairs. And we delivered discretion. You could find out a lot from someone’s unconscious mind that they did not want shared.
“His Grace seems to have accepted that it was not a random act. He was in the Dreamscape when the Eye and Charlotte were attacked. He has elected to follow my progress personally all day. He hasn’t been much trouble.”
“Anything useful from the Duke as a witness?” Caudroy asked.
I pursed my lips, recalling Darrien’s words specifically. “No, nothing significant…”
He hadn’t started in the Dreamscape. Something had come into his dream and he’d fled. I slapped my hand on the desk. How had I not realized it sooner? “What a fool!”
Caudroy leaned back, entertaining a small smile. “Something has occurred to you?”
I stood. “Chief Inspector, a moment, I must ask the Duke a question.”
He waved me onward and I fled, flinging my office door open. Darrien was sitting in my chair, looking at the impressionist map of the city on the wall.
“Darrien, your eyes are red. Have you struggled going to sleep for the last few days?”
“I hardly—”
“Yes or no, Your Grace.”
“Y-yes, but—” he spluttered.
I returned to the Chief’s office. “I am a damn fool, Chief Inspector.”
“What is it, Rose?” Ben sat up, alert.
“The Duke was the intended target; I am sure of it. Whatever killed Charlotte and Lord Howard was after him. It wore down his natural shields until it could get to him through the Ether, but he fled, and Charlotte and the Eye got between them.”
Chief Caudroy clicked his tongue and pulled a cigarette from the box on his desk. “That is an alarming prospect, Beaumont.”
“There are plenty of causes for insomnia,” Caudroy said.
“And there are plenty of creatures that feed on sleeping victims. You know as well as I, half of magic is instinct.”
He lit the cigarette and nodded. “Then proceed with the assumption that the Duke was the intended victim and not Lord Howard, Beaumont.”
I nodded. “Ben, perhaps you might interview him?”
“Why don’t we talk about it over supper, Rose?” The Duke was standing in the doorway.
I stiffened.
Ben adjusted his jacket and stood. “An excellent idea, Your Grace. There is a lovely French place not far from your home, isn’t there, Rose?”
I glared, “Yes, there is, Ben.”
“Well I propose we change and meet there for supper. I’ll have Constable Greyson remain escort to His Grace while you go home and change.” He had the air of a bossy big brother again.
This was why Ben was still a Sergeant and not Inspector. I let him get away with too much. Truthfully, the idea of supper and a change of clothing were high on my list of needs. Caudroy shook his head. He hated pomp and formality, preferring merit over prestige. Caudroy was the reason I had been promoted and Ben had not been fired.
I wasn’t getting out of this.
I stood. “Very well. Shall we meet at 8, then? Chief Inspector, I will have the report on your desk in the morning.”
Caudroy nodded. “Keep the Duke safe, if he is being targeted by something.”
I wasn’t sure I would be much more use to Darrien than Charlotte and His Majesty’s Eye. But if the Duke was the target, supper might allow me to figure out the why of it.
I returned home via cab and cleaned up.
I desperately wanted a hot bath, but I did not have the time to indulge. Instead I settled for washing my hair with cold water and pinning it up once more. Mrs. Davies had scrubbed the bloodstain from the floor and the coroner had removed Charlotte’s body. Her room was cold, empty. As though she might just be out on the town for the evening.
I dressed for supper. Normally I borrowed dresses from Charlotte, as she had better taste than me, but I did own one black dress. A mourning gown. It was entirely appropriate.
Someone else would have phoned Charlotte’s mother if Mrs. Davies had not already done so. It wasn’t her job, but she did care for all the young ladies in the hotel.
The task made me feel sick.
Her parents had not wanted her to join the police; it was unseemly for a lady of Charlotte’s upbringing to wear such a gross uniform or cavort about the Dreamscape like a common fortune teller in the East end.
But Charlotte had admired my own goals and the way I had cut myself off from the Beaumont family. She was all for
suffrage.
“You have a gentleman caller, Miss Beaumont,” Mrs. Davies spoke through my door, knocking politely.
I spread powder over my cheeks and pinched them to get a bit of colour. “Yes of course. I will be there shortly.”
I didn’t own much finery, but I slid a brass feather clip into my still slightly damp hair. A gift from Charlotte last year.
Mrs. Davies had let the Duke into the parlour—this did not surprise me; the man was apt enough with his smile to get him into a nun’s convent, I expected.
“Your Grace,” I said.
Darrien had thrown himself into a dinner jacket and black trousers. He looked rather fine in his evening wear, crisp starched lines and shoes that reflected the gas lights overhead. Gold cufflinks glittered on his wrists and his lapel was decorated with a few war-medals.
He looked up at me as I descended to the ground floor and I heard him suck in a breath of air. “Gracious.”
I took the offered elbow, sliding my gloved arm through his. “Les Bistronomes is just down the street, Your Grace.”
“Darrien, Rose… please.”
I glanced away, finally blushing. “D-Darrien.”
He led us out into the night, giving Mrs. Davies a salute as she closed the door behind us with a small titter.
The rain fell softly, and my umbrella forced us to walk close or risk the weather’s whim.
“You look like a different woman out of that awful uniform, Rose.”
“I’m afraid Charlotte was the winsome one, Darrien. I was born for the uniform.”
He chuckled. “You have a charming Anima about you, Rose.”
I stiffened. “I should hope not.”
“I’m afraid so.” He chuckled again. “No use trying to hide it with that glare.”
“I should implore you to remain professional, then, as a Minister should to a police officer.”
“I shall.” He patted my hand. “Forgive my teasing?”
“Do not flirt and there shall be nothing to forgive.”
“I shall endeavour to make myself meek and modest.”
I sputtered and thought about wrenching my arm free, but then Ben was upon us in his own dinner jacket and coat. “Rose, c’mon it’s too cold and wet to be outside.”
Ben offered me his arm and I gratefully swapped to the man I could trust.
We entered the restaurant.
He’d gotten us a table already, and while Ben took his coat off the Duke helped me into my chair, waving the waiter off.
I’d been out to the local cafes and chip shops with Ben more than I’d been to fancy sit-downs like this. Charlotte liked fancy dinners; I had no use for them.
“Your Grace, might I say that it is a pleasure.” Ben placed his menu down. “I don’t get out much with Valencia. We’re expecting our second child any week now, and this is a welcome break from the supper with screaming women in my house.”
“You are married, Sergeant Wallace?”
“Ben, please. Rosie calls me Sergeant when I’m in trouble. It’s Ben to everyone else.” Ben cut his dinner roll and spread a film of butter over the surface.
“I’m the only one who tolerates the first name basis,” I added.
“A gin and tonic, please.” I gave the waiter the menu back. “And bitters for you, Ben?”
Ben nodded.
“A scotch for me as well,” Darrien added. “You have been married long, then Ben?”
“Yes, Val and I met in school and were engaged until we were in our twenties. We got married at Rose’s age. Of course, Val is more apt at keeping house. She had two younger brothers already and knew how to handle a man in the house.” Ben chuckled. “Grace, our firstborn, is the spitting image of her aunt Tilly—I didn’t see them much during the War. What unit were you with?”
“Home Office, I’m afraid I didn’t see action. I was not much more than a boy.”
“Of course. I was in the thirty-fifth. I saw a lot of boys die.”
Our drinks arrived and I took mine gratefully. “The vegetable soup for starters, please. I’ll work up to the stuffed spatchcock.”
“Dumplings and gravy for me,” Ben added. “And the roast lamb is what I had last time, I’ll have that again.”
Darrien ordered his meal in French, and the waiter bowed twirling his moustache with pleasure.
I didn’t speak any French, so I drank my gin.
“No wonder you worked in the home office; smart as a pip,” Ben grinned.
“I speak a few languages. I’ve the ear for it.”
“I’ll wager!” Ben sipped his lager. “You have a lot of friends in the Ministry, then?”
“A few. I’m afraid I don’t navigate the landscape as well as some.”
“I heard a rumour about Earl Alston and yourself?”
This was why Ben conducted the conversations. He’d steered us into territory that might provide some useful insight. His falling out with the Earl would have to come under investigation.
>
“Oh, heavens no, nothing more than a friendly banter about a wager on cards. Tabloids blew that out of proportion.” Darrien chuckled, his eyes a little evasive.
“There are some that say you got him sacked?” Ben pressed.
He had been doing his homework on the Duke while I had been rolling in the mud with monsters. Ben would be the next Inspector at this rate.
“Now, now. Ian and I are old friends. We had a small scuffle last week but nothing major.”
The food arrived and we ate.
Ben steered the conversation back into more mundane, pleasant topics and I acted as a winsome chum; a companionable smile and demure interest where Ben pressed and lead.
By the time my dinner was in front of me, we knew the Duke had been struggling with sleep the last four days.
The food was filling, and my stomach had worked itself up to digesting a small bit of chicken. A round of fruit and chocolates came after the meal and I managed to choke down a few strawberries, feeling stuffed, but one never says no to chocolate.
I sipped a tea while the men lit cigarettes and nursed cognac from the top shelf.
“How are you not married to your fiancée yet? I married my dear Valencia the second her father was drunk enough to stop demanding she annul the engagement,” Ben asked as the conversation lulled.
I’d heard this story a few times, but it was one of Ben’s favourites. “I chased after her train as it was leaving the station—soot in my eyes, rain pouring over the tracks, her father running behind me with a club in one hand. She raced to the back, catching me as I leapt on to the speeding car and I asked her right then and there. Her father beat me black and blue, but eventually he had to let us get married.”
I smiled faintly. It was a lovely story. He delighted in telling it.
Darrien said, “My mother decided on Lady Winchester when I was a boy. We grew up together and while I am fond of her, I feel we’re not a match. I know she hopes that I’ll accept the marriage, but I see no advantage in our families wedding. So, until I find the right woman, it keeps Lisa and my mother happy to maintain the façade.”
I ground my teeth. I didn’t like that he was stringing his mother and fiancée along. He had two younger brothers. Was his mother the sort of woman who would have the first son killed if he didn’t obey? Was Lady Elizabeth Winchester willing to kill an unfaithful fiancé?