“I haven’t had any reports of such things.”
Stephen paused. Hensley had said they’d reported the incidents. Had the desk officers not filed the reports? Or was there something darker going on? “Maybe because the people being preyed upon are the low class. The homeless.”
Captain Algar harrumphed and shifted his reports around on his desk. “You know how dangerous the streets of World City are. You walk them every night. I would wager that is the cause of the disappearances. Old-fashioned criminal activity.”
“But Captain—”
“Enough!” The captain slammed his fist on the desk, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “We have real work to do, not chasing after ghost stories. There will be no investigations into this matter. Do I make myself clear, Inspector?”
Stephen pressed his lips into a grim line. “Yes.”
“Then you are dismissed.” With a flick of his hand, Captain Algar went back to his reports.
Stephen twisted around and headed for the doors. Why was the captain so adamant about the falseness of the article, or the stories? Something didn’t add up, and he suspected it was going to keep him up most of the day. At least when he met with Vanessa that evening, he could count on her to carry the conversation.
The interior of Charles’s was nothing like Stephen had experienced before. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting soft light across the expansive room. Small mahogany tables filled the hall, topped with white linen cloth and delicate china. Most of them were filled tonight with other couples. The air smelled of roasted beef, poultry, herbs, and fresh bread, all tinted with the aroma of the extravagant flower arrangements strategically placed to supply privacy to certain tables.
Vanessa took a sip of her wine and placed the goblet down while looking around the room. She barely touched her quail, which sat centered on her plate with a light sauce around it.
Stephen studied her. The dim light of the restaurant made her dark eyes appear even darker, matching her hair. She wore her curls piled up in the latest fashion and her blue gown cut low. A single golden chain hung around her neck with a sapphire at the end. Exquisite is the word he would use for her. And maybe cool. At least, that was how she seemed tonight.
“Are you not hungry?” Stephen asked, cutting into his own quail.
Vanessa glanced her meal. She picked up her fork and knife and cut into the bird, taking a small bite of the flesh. Then she went back to her wine.
His hands began to sweat as he chewed on the meat. This was not how he had envisioned their evening together. He swallowed and looked up. “How is your family?”
She glanced at him. “They are well, thank you. Father has been asked to join the World City council.”
His eyebrows climbed. “That is quite an honor.”
She went back to looking around the room. “Yes, it is.”
Of its own volition, his right knee bounced beneath the table as he sliced another bite from the quail. The bird was good, but the strained silence between him and Vanessa ruined the flavor.
He placed his silverware down and frowned. “Vanessa, is something wrong?”
She held the goblet between her fingers and stared into the dark liquid. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well this evening.”
Disappointment swelled in his chest, but he pressed it down. No matter. There would be other dinners. He wiped his lips with the linen napkin and placed it beside his plate. “Then let me take you home.”
She gave him a small smile. “Yes, please.”
Stephen stood and came around the table. He pulled out her chair and waited as she stood. She was tall, her eyes level with his. But tonight, she seemed more interested in looking at everything but him.
Maybe she was mad at all the shifts he had been pulling this week. Or maybe she was growing nervous about the upcoming wedding.
He held out his arm and she took it without a word. The other couples in the room looked their way. Vanessa turned heads wherever she went. Usually he enjoyed the attention, but tonight he just wanted to disappear inside his flat.
After paying the tab, he led her outside the restaurant and hailed a carriage.
“Stephen?”
Stephen turned back to Vanessa, his heart lifting. Maybe he would finally find out what was bothering her. “Yes?”
“You don’t need to accompany me home. I know you’ve been busy the last few nights.”
His mouth flew open and he blinked at her. “You know that I could never let you ride alone at night. It’s not fitting for a woman of your standing. And what would your father say?
“But—”
“No!” What the blazes was Vanessa thinking? Stephen turned toward the carriage that just arrived and yanked the door open. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself. Neither would her father.
Vanessa stepped into the carriage without waiting for him. He shut the door and gave the driver her address, then climbed in on the other side.
If the atmosphere in the restaurant had been cool, the tension inside the carriage was downright icy. Vanessa sat facing away from him, her arms crossed, a scowl across her face.
Stephen faced the other way. What happened to them?
The carriage lurched forward and started down the dark street. He rubbed his face. He didn’t want to end the evening this way.
He stared out the window and watched the buildings and gas lamps pass by. He didn’t remember much of his parents. Both of them worked long days in the textile factory. But one thing he did remember is they always said sorry to each other after a fight, usually long after he had gone to bed. He would hear them on the other side of the wall, their voices low.
That’s what he wanted for his marriage as well.
He took a deep breath and turned around. “Vanessa, I’m sorry. I should not have been curt with you.”
She didn’t answer.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but if I can help, let me know.”
Silence.
He waited. Seconds later his fingers began to shake. He pulled them into a fist and turned back toward his own window. She just needed time. He nodded to himself. He would give it to her.
They pulled up to the Wutherington house, a three-story mansion on the far side of Parkway. Stephen climbed out and went around and opened the door for Vanessa.
He held out his hand and she took it with cold fingers. “Good night, Stephen,” she said in a dead voice.
Stephen took a deep breath. “Good night, Vanessa.”
She dropped his hand and proceeded to the front door. He had half a mind to follow her, but the family butler met her at the door and ushered her in. She never looked back.
Stephen paid the driver and took off south. He would walk home. He needed the time and physical activity to cool his head. And he had his revolver. He never went anywhere without it. If trouble showed up, he was more than capable of taking care of himself.
He stuffed his hands into his pocket and started off. There were no stars tonight. The dense fog from the Meandre River and the smoke from the factories and smokestacks merged to create what many called “pea soup.”
At least it wasn’t cold, not like his time with Vanessa.
He passed by the opulent homes of the elite of World City, with their ivy-covered wrought-iron fences, carefully manicured lawns, and brightly lit windows.
Why had Vanessa accepted his proposal? It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered. She was from one of the wealthiest families. Beautiful, too. The only reason he had even met her was because he had been invited by his superintendent to the World City Gala over a year ago.
It had been love at first sight followed by a whirlwind courtship. The Herald had been full of their activities. He didn’t care. He had Vanessa, and that was all he needed.
But now, after tonight . . .
He shook his head. No, there could be no doubts. Every marriage had its ups and downs. As long as they had a marriage built on love and trust, they could weather anything.
He passed the district of Parkway and kept south through the heart of World City. To the far left stood the Tower, the tallest building in World City and the pride of the scientific community. Past the Tower was the marketplace. Then Southbrook, and then Greensborough.
A couple of hours later Stephen began to wonder about his judgment on walking home. His feet ached from the dress shoes and his fingers were numb from the chill that had settled across the city. Unfortunately, there were no more carriages this evening. He was on his own.
He crossed the river at one of the bridges and spotted a fire along the bank. More beggars. Maybe they would let him warm himself before he continued. As he approached, he recognized the two men. Ben and Little Moe.
The two men looked over and flattened themselves against the dirt bank.
Stephen held up his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to make you leave. I just want to warm myself by your fire.”
Little Moe pointed at him and whispered to Ben. They both nodded and waved him over.
Stephen glanced around. Mr. Hensley was not with them. Good. That meant his old friend had gone to the doctor.
He stopped a foot away from the fire and spread out his hands. A sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes.
“The reapers, they took him.”
Stephen’s eyes shot open.
Little Moe looked at him with bulging eyes.
He dropped his hands. “What did you say?”
“The boy said the reapers took your friend.”
Stephen jerked his head. “You saw them?”
Ben and Little Moe glanced at each other. “Yes,” Ben said. “Last night, after you left.”
He stared at the two men, dazed. “And you didn’t do anything about it?”
Ben pulled his overcoat and dirty shirt away from his body. A large bruise covered the right side of his neck. “We tried.” He let his coat fall back into place. “And we failed.”
Little Moe nodded.
“We’re done with World City. Tonight’s our last night. Tomorrow we head south and never come back.”
“I can understand that.” Stephen took a step back and placed two fingers along his forehead. First Vanessa, now this.
Captain Algar’s words rushed through his mind.
You know how dangerous the streets of World City are. You walk them every night.
Stephen grit his teeth. Who better than the World City police to counter these reapers? Ghost stories, his eye! Captain Algar was wrong. The reapers were real and needed to be dealt with!
“Leave at dawn.” Stephen pulled two bills out of his pocket. “Use this and get out of here. In the meantime, I plan on talking to my captain again. This needs to stop.”
Ben took the bills. “Thank you, mister. Mr. Hensley had a lot of nice things to say about you. We will miss him.”
“He was a good man,” Stephen said softly. “I need to get going. Do as I said. Get out of World City.”
“Yes, mister.”
Stephen turned around and started south, his blood hot. If the captain told him no again, he would find another way to investigate these disappearances.
He owed it to Mr. Hensley and the people of World City.
6
It took every ounce of strength Stephen had left not to slam the door behind him as he left Captain Algar’s office. Instead, he closed the door deliberately and stood to the side, clenching and unclenching his hands. Every time he thought of their conversation, his vision went red. What the blazes was the captain thinking? Even if he didn’t think the reapers were real, they should still look into it, or at least into the disappearances.
Something was going on in World City.
Stephen clenched his hand.
He could feel it.
He unclenched his hand.
But there was nothing he could do about it. And the captain forbade him to get involved.
He slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. God, I don’t know what to do. I know I should obey earthly authorities, but this . . . This isn’t right!
It felt like the weight of World City sat on his shoulders. He pinched his nose and straightened up. He was tired. Dead tired. There was nothing more he could do here. Maybe a bit of sleep would help him think properly and figure out what to do next.
His eyes shot open.
Blazes! He still needed to get the schedule from Harrison.
“Blast it!” Stephen moaned and rubbed his face. Best get it done now. Then he could head home and finally sleep.
He stumbled away from the wall and past the other offices toward the front doors. His head pounded from the rush of emotions and lack of sleep.
Dark clouds rolled over World City as he walked to Harrison’s flat, enveloping the sun in its gloomy embrace. A raindrop hit his nose and he groaned. An airship rumbled overhead as it maneuvered toward the nearby sky tower. Another drop fell.
After ten minutes, he reached Greensborough, which may have been green hundreds of years ago, before World City swallowed up this section of town, but now hunched beneath the black veneer of decades of smog and dirt. Women tugged on laundry that hung along ropes strung between the multi-storied flats as the rain started in earnest. Children dashed through the gutter, squealing in the downpour.
Stephen ran across the street and took cover under an awning with two other men, one of whom held a damp copy of that morning’s Herald. Nothing about reapers or disappearances. Instead, the headline announced that World City had captured a key point along Austrium’s coast in the latest war campaign. He wondered how much of it was true and how much of it was propaganda spun by the city council. Maybe it was the Herald’s way of retracting yesterday’s story about the council’s failure.
Far off, a church intoned the hour. Nine o’clock. He looked down the street. Just one more block. If he hurried, he could take care of the schedule and be in bed by ten.
Stephen took a deep breath, then ran out into the rain. Harrison’s flat was just around the next corner, couched in one of the narrow two story buildings.
He glanced both ways and raced across the street. At the top of the stairs, he used the metal knocker. He rubbed his arms and counted to ten, then lifted the knocker again. Nothing.
Stephen looked up at the second-floor windows, the rain pounding down across his face. Harrison, where are you? He squinted at the door. There was no way he was going back without that schedule. Harrison had better have left it somewhere inside.
Stephen squatted and pulled back the woven mat, revealing a small key beneath the corner. Predictable.
He unlocked the door and poked his head in. “Harrison?” When no answer came, he stepped inside.
Harrison’s flat looked like any other flat: long narrow rooms and hallways, faded wallpaper, the hum of gas through the walls. And a musty smell overlaid with smoke.
So Harrison smoked. No matter. It wasn’t his business what his partner did during his off hours.
After mopping his face and hair, he made his way through the living room, past the spindly chairs and table topped with a garish lamp, and down the hallway. A staircase stood at the end of the hall, next to the doorway that led into the kitchen. He chose the kitchen first.
Nothing but a small black stove, a table, and a cupboard shoved up next to a dingy window. Looked like Harrison got his meals the same way he did: at a local tavern or inn. He checked the door in back. It led to the alley.
Stephen glanced back at the hallway. Perhaps the study was upstairs.
He’d just started up the stairs when laughter drifted down. He froze, his hand along the railing. The laughter came again, a man and a woman.
&nb
sp; Blast it! Harrison had a lady friend over. Just another thing he hadn’t known about his partner. Stephen turned to go, but the woman’s voice brought him up short.
He stared at the wall. It couldn’t be . . .
He looked back up the stairs. He should leave, now. Pretend he didn’t hear anything and go home.
Before the thought was complete he recognized its impossibility. No, I have to know.
The knot forming inside his gut grew thicker and heavier with each step. Low laughter trickled down the stairway. His heart sped up and a cold sweat broke out across his body. He reached the second floor. Two doors stood along the right side of the hallway, both closed. A third door stood ajar at the end of the hall, and the woman’s voice drifted out.
Stephen made his way down the hall, his boots silent on the threadbare runner. His hand stole to the gun at his side. God, what do I do if . . .
He licked his lips and reached for the door, then paused. If he looked inside, his life might change forever.
But he couldn’t go back now. He would forever wonder, and a marriage could not be built on distrust.
He pushed the door open another two inches.
Harrison sat in bed, bare-chested, his back against the dark wood frame. A woman lay beside him, her dark curly hair spread across the pillow. They laughed again, then Harrison leaned down and kissed her.
Black spots appeared before Stephen’s eyes, and his fingers tightened around his gun. This—this couldn’t be happening.
The woman sat up, the cover falling from her body as she brought her hand up to caress Harrison’s neck.
Stephen looked away, his teeth clenched, his heart beating again.
Vanessa.
He worked his mouth, his body ready to burst into action. Steady. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room. “So when were you going to tell me?”
There was a gasp and a curse.
“Stephen, what the blazes are you doing in my flat?”
He jerked his gaze back to the scene. At least Vanessa had pulled the blanket up across her chest. He looked from her back to Harrison. His nostrils flared. “Really? That’s all you can say?”
Tainted (The Soul Chronicles Book 1) Page 4