“To your precinct, sergeant?” she said brightly.
“If you don’t mind. And then, also if you don’t mind, there’s something else I’d like you to see.”
A few blocks walk, we moved in silence, as the sergeant’s awkwardness around women was rather painful, and there wasn’t any small talk to fix that. I assumed this was heightened by the fact he didn’t seem to like apologizing to women, either. I had to keep myself from grinning. Mrs. Northe had gone to the police, was not believed, and now, the truth would out, unbelievable as it was.
We first went up the stoop to the precinct front door, but he gestured next door, where there were a few men in police uniforms blocking the entrance of a simple Federal-style building and speaking in frightened, hushed tones.
“That’s next,” Patt said. But first he led us into a modest office with a deal of file cabinets, chairs, and a few ceramic mugs that had been left on worn desks. The mug nearest me had dark fluid of indiscernible contents. Likely crude coffee. Perhaps dashed with alcohol.
Patt withdrew sets of deeds from a wooden file cabinet. He handed them to Mrs. Northe.
“These are the addresses you suggested,” he stated. “All along Park Avenue, down to Grand Central depot. Every one of them belonging to a company. I assume you recognize the seal.”
I saw the red and gold crest of dragons, the seal of the Master’s Society. But only now did I truly see the great irony of the crest.
I had thought upon first glance that the dragon’s tails were entwined in a show of strength. But upon a closer look, I noticed the sharp point of each dragon’s tail was piercing the other in the heart. It was, simply, a crest of powerful beings killing one another. It was a hopeless crest. Somehow in hopelessness Moriel saw power. And in that moment, all I could do was pity him, even after all he’d put us through. For I simply couldn’t understand the lack of conscience, of empathy, of humanity. The vacant and cruel look in his eyes was indeed the most horrible thing, even despite all the bloodshed and victims. I couldn’t bear the idea of such an unconscionable look spreading. I would rest better at night once that pit of despair had been executed so that such an example could never more be set.
Patt then reached into a drawer and pulled out something thick that was covered by a yellow file folder. He plucked a leather-bound journal out of the folder, a few pieces of paper bordering the book. A book I knew quite well indeed. I bit my lip.
“I believe this belongs to you, Miss Stewart.”
He handed me my diary; the pages that had chronicled the whole of meeting Jonathon, falling in love with him, and saving his life. Pages that spoke of befriending Maggie and her first descent into the madness she so bravely sacrificed herself to make up for.
Tears came to my eyes as I took it and held it close. “Thank you.”
“I’d like to show you one of the addresses, right out the door,” Patt said, gesturing us out again. “My men found relatively the same thing in each of the apartments or offices along the avenue.” The tone of his voice indicated he was still shaken by what he’d seen. “How…large is this ‘Society’ network, do you believe?” he asked quietly.
“We have no idea,” Mrs. Northe replied. “Lord Denbury and his associates tried to trap as many of the leaders in England as possible, but that was only three. They are in custody and will be awaiting trial. Those I spoke with there hope to flush out as many conspirators as possible. They do have operatives here, clearly, to do something of this scale, though I think all the financing began in England.”
“There are international ties,” I added. “At least, I know one of the “Majesties” was foreign, possibly Italian. Another French. Old, forgotten aristocratic lines.”
“The financing has its fingers here, too, to have pulled off these kinds of buried leads and various payoffs,” Patt stated. “And those frequenting Wall Street have increasingly big pockets, our recent depression notwithstanding. The rich still seem to stay rich even in decline. We will be keeping an eye on any connections.”
“Good,” Mrs. Northe replied. “Very good.”
“Are there any other operative names you can give us from your experiences?” he asked, taking out a notebook to write down anything she mentioned.
“Doctor Preston was killed by his own reanimate creation,” Mrs. Northe began, speaking nonchalantly. “Mister Crenfall, the original broker of the Denbury portrait, lost his mind. Though an eye should be kept on him as it was his numerics that gave us these addresses. The mentally ill still have plenty to offer the world in information and perspective. And then, of course, there are the demon-possessed lackeys and servants. They’ve a certain look about them. Glassy and animal-like around the eyes. Their movement is often a bit stilted.”
“Right,” he said, writing down words haltingly in the pad, as if trying to make that seem like a normal detail of a normal case.
“If I see any, I’ll be sure to alert you,” Mrs. Northe assured. “Though I do think we’ve struck to the heart of the matter. If you have further concerns, as I am hoping our personal involvement in these matters is at a blessed end”—she included me in her gaze, and I nodded agreement—”please contact Senator Bishop. The senator has a…particular investment in investigating any sorts of occurrence that is…out of the ordinary.”
“Indeed, I’ve already spoken with him. His clerk, oh, pardon me, his…Chief Inspector”—he said that with a grimace, as if the word didn’t quite fit, almost as if it were blasphemous—”Miss Templeton is already down the block, seeing for herself.”
Ah, yes, of course. A chief most certainly couldn’t be female. Were the police actually employing women? I’d heard of a matron in one of the precincts; that was a sensation in and of itself. Women had always served in one way or another, but to be at the head of anything was unprecedented indeed. Exciting. It must be a very special branch.
“Oh, good.” Mrs. Northe beamed. “I’ve not seen nearly enough of Clara these days.”
“You two know each—of course you’d know each other...” Patt grumbled.
Sergeant Patt led us up the nearby stairs of what appeared to be—or have been—a law office. He waved the uniformed patrolmen at the door to the side of the landing.
“More ladies?” one officer murmured to another at the door. “What does the sarge think he’s doing? Ladies shouldn’t be exposed to this sort of devilry.”
Mrs. Northe turned and smiled, making the officer blush under his cap for having been overheard. “But when we are exposed to such horrors, as the devil plagues men and women alike and equally, it’s then up to us to help prevent it from spreading. Don’t shelter us, officers. Listen to us. Respect our knowledge and expertise, which is why we are here. If you did so without judgment, your force would be far better informed.”
They simply bowed their head, and I held back a smile of triumph as we entered the building. My smile soon was wiped from my face as I beheld the devil’s laboratory.
One of the large rugs was pulled back to reveal a sprawling mess of symbols and quotes painted upon the floor in a dark, brownish-red, thick substance. Blood. Some in thick tar. There were the familiar runes as used to carve into the flesh of possessed bodies and of the reanimate dead. There were the numbers in their reversed golden ratio. There were quotes from arcane black lore that did not sound like books anyone, lady or gentleman, should read. Symbols of all faiths were inverted and turned on their side, shifted, askew, repurposed for the inverse of love and guidance, instead fostering misery and misleading woe.
It was all very similar to the floorboards of the Rosecrest dining room. This was the ground work for a portal to one of the ‘”devils’ walks’” the Society opened in Rosecrest.
What I didn’t see at first, due to the pocket doors having been closed in the entryway, was perhaps the most actively alarming thing of all. The evidence of an all-out strategic attack…
The sergeant returned us to the front of the building, to a main office with a lovely bay wi
ndow which was closed, facing the busy Park Avenue. By the window was a device that looked like a propeller, attached to a bellows that was then fitted to a steam pipe that went to another area of the building. Before the propeller was set a metal trough filled with dark red powder. The chemical horror. What the Society so sickly called “The Cure.”
Next to the device stood an elegant woman, older than me but younger than Mrs. Northe, in a matching linen jacket and dress trimmed in elaborate black detailing, a white lace blouse with a large cameo at her throat and full skirt; the full ensemble of dark green accented bright, nearly yellow eyes framed with dark blonde curls kept neatly beneath a green felt hat with a bit of a black veil. She was scribbling with a golden fountain pen into a notebook cupped in her palm.
“Miss Templeton,” Patt said quietly. She looked up, and her pretty face lit. She greeted Mrs. Northe with a dazzling smile and kisses on both cheeks.
“Hello, Evelyn, it’s so good to see you! Though I wish under better circumstances. Rupert told me you were instrumental in bringing this “Society” to the attention of the authorities. Thank you. I know the city will never appreciate you as it should, but I always do.” She turned to me. “And you are, young lady?”
“Miss Natalie Stewart,” I replied. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Templeton. I’ve met Senator Bishop at dinner. He seems very wise and kind.”
Her golden eyes sparkled. “Oh, yes. He is. And oh, yes, I’ve heard of you.”
I furrowed my brow. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or worried.”
Miss Templeton winked at me.
“Scenes just like this, ladies,” Patt interrupted, irritated by ladies’ niceties, “were found at all the addresses I shared with you. Similar disturbing things scrawled on the floors and walls with only God knows what as paint. Generally a body starting to stink somewhere under the floorboards. Don’t know if the bodies were sacrifices or just someone in the way at the time, we’re trying to determine the links. Maybe they were storing them for that…reanimation you were talking about. Hell if I know.” He grimaced and gestured to the contraption before us. “And all of the properties were fitted with a device poised to blow that powder out unto the New York City streets.”
“You’d have had endless riots on your hands,” Mrs. Northe said in a horrified murmur. “Any further holdings must be brought to light, though I do fear what’s already fled underground. I am glad to hear you put Stevens in custody. If you hadn’t? I have a feeling these fans would have started to blow and you’d have a volatile mess. All the way downtown.”
“The city in chaos,” Patt agreed, his round face ashen. “So I suppose that’s what the Society wanted?”
Mrs. Northe nodded. “And in that chaos, gain assets, seize properties, make new disciples, and begin to influence leaders. That’s my belief, though someone would have to ask the devils directly for confirmation.”
“That seems to follow,” I murmured. Miss Templeton said nothing but scribbled with impressive speed, all without taking her eyes off us.
“I’m not sure who was poised to give the order to strike,” Patt said. “But thank goodness no one did.”
“Possibly Stevens, possibly the “Majesty” in England. I wonder if we’ll ever know the time frame they targeted. Do be careful disposing of that, sergeant,” Mrs. Northe said, gesturing to the powder.
“Oh, we will.” Patt assured. “Already had to subdue and sedate several officers who first came in contact with it. Then I remembered the articles.” His round face flushed red again. “And I remembered what you said to me. And I’m sorry for not having taken it more seriously, sooner,” Patt said quietly, looking at me in the apology and then back toward the interior of the office, bewildered. “I just don’t understand how people could be so elaborately diabolical.”
“Some people, a few. Not sane ones,” Mrs. Northe reassured the sergeant. “Unhinged creatures urged on by the negative spirits of all that is horrific about humankind. Demons aren’t corporeal unless imbued with the power to affect human will and conscience. The Master’s Society tried to harness raw evil, congealed it, and sent it unto the world. Those working for them were simply under the influence. And not powerful enough to shirk off the yoke.” Mrs. Northe spoke so eloquently and sensibly she made everything, even the most trying theories, make sense.
Patt furrowed his brow, having difficulty accepting something so vague, so gray in the areas of good and evil, so diffuse. However, to his credit he did not argue.
“Cleaning crews are painstakingly taking care of every site. Is there anything you think we might be missing?” Patt asked, genuinely asking for advice. Miss Templeton seemed just as interested in the recommendation.
“An exorcist. And a medium,” Mrs. Northe replied brightly. “The most important part of the cleaning is all the things you can’t see with average sight.” At this, Patt looked very worried. Mrs. Northe smiled. “Never fear, sergeant, I’ll send our friends to you. Reverend Blessing and Miss Horowitz. Now the reverend is a black man, and the medium is a Jewish woman. Both of them are the finest at their trade that I have ever met. So if you or any of your men give them any trouble or various intolerant slurs, I assure you you’ll find trouble again on your doorstep—”
“Understood, Mrs. Northe. I will see to it he is denied nothing and escorted by my finest and most trustworthy.”
“That better be a sound promise. We live in uncomfortably intolerant times, Sergeant Patt.”
“And I’d rather not promote intolerance further, Mrs. Northe, truly,” Patt said with weary earnestness. I remembered some of Father’s scholarly friends discussing the fight for being considered human that most Irish immigrants had faced when arriving upon New York shores. Maybe the cruelty of human bigotry was something he could understand. The ruddy-faced sergeant shook his head. “An exorcist. And a medium. Heaven help us.”
“Heaven most certainly did,” I replied, beaming at the mention of Blessing and my dear friend Rachel who I would be so thrilled to see again, after she’d lent her aid in Chicago. Though I’d not be coming along on any of this reported cleanup. My time with all this was at its blessed end.
“Do keep me apprised, sergeant,” Mrs. Northe said. “And I appreciate your showing us this. The Society has put us all through quite the trial. None so much as our brave Miss Stewart here. If you’re going to finally deign to thank me, she deserves far more thanks than I.”
The sergeant bowed to me. “I can’t say I believe everything I read, Miss Stewart, not at all, but I do believe you must be a very brave young woman, and that’s to be commended.”
I blushed, clutching my diary tighter under my arm, wondering just how many persons had read all my kissing bits. I’d written rather rhapsodically about Jonathon and our first explorations of passions. I hadn’t had time to redact them before the diary had found its way into Father’s hands...
“I’d love to interview you, Miss Stewart, about all you’ve been through,” Miss Templeton said quietly. “I truly value your insight. It would be such a gift.”
I nodded. Something about the woman made me want to trust and confide in her. She was like a younger Mrs. Northe, and I liked the idea of having elegant, elder friends.
“After she becomes Lady Denbury, Clara,” Mrs. Northe said with a chuckle. “Let the poor girl and her poor lord alone for a bit.”
Miss Templeton beamed. “But of course.”
“Dinner, soon, Clara. I don’t know where you’ve been keeping yourself of late, but you’d better not forget about us. Rupert’s just not the same when you’re not around. You know I hate it when grown men pout.”
Another engaging sparkle flashed like a flare of flame across her catlike eyes, and she nodded with a prim smile. “Dinner soon, Evelyn. I promise.”
The sergeant walked us out and scowled at his men. No one made any further comments to us. He thanked us again and returned to his precinct offices, darting up the stoop at a clip amusing for his large comportment. I
’m quite sure he was glad to be rid of us, even though he was grateful for the information provided. I didn’t blame him. This was bitter medicine to swallow. I knew that better than anyone.
Mrs. Northe and I decided to walk a route through Central Park upon our return. The day was gorgeous; the people strolling under parasols and in top hats were marvelous, the light through the dappled trees that grew taller and fuller every year was resplendent, the park ever a work in progress, represented promise and life. It was the perfect contrast to the sobering threat of the Society we’d bested.
There was a look on Mrs. Northe’s face that didn’t really match with the situation we’d left behind. It was engaged, almost playful. “What?” I asked.
“Miss Templeton. She’s hiding something. She’s good at hiding from minds like mine,” Mrs. Northe said, tapping her temple. “Maybe a lover. Hmm. That would be interesting. I wonder how Rupert will take that.”
“The senator?”
“Yes. I’ve always wondered about them. She’s old enough for emancipation, no longer his ward, exactly, though he’s pledged his life to her it would seem. Yet she hasn’t gone out and gotten a husband…” She stopped short, blushing. “Forgive me, Natalie. I must not gossip. It is unchristian to do so. However, gossiping about people I care for is infinitely more amenable to my mind than all the troubles and grief…”
I knew Maggie would’ve loved the gossip. We were likely thinking the same thing but didn’t dare mention her name. Instead, I turned the tables on Mrs. Northe and dared use a name I’d not yet felt comfortable using. But it was well past time.
“So. Evelyn. Tell me. Are you and Father...”
“We are. We will. Provided you are comfortable. We want to see you through your wedding first.”
“I’m comfortable,” I agreed.
“You called me Evelyn.” She beamed. “That’s a start.”
The Double Life of Incorporate Things (Magic Most Foul) Page 26