by C. J. Archer
"I don't know," Sylvia said, chewing her lip.
"I'll also tell you how I know you, Miss Smith." He smiled at me in a way that could only be described as sweet. I was no longer sure how to take Tate. My instincts were confused. One moment he was all kindness, the next he was being odd and evasive. So I set instinct aside and used my head. I wanted answers, and if I needed to follow him to get them, I would. If there was a chance that Jack was there, we had to find out for sure.
"We'll come," I said, standing. Sylvia seemed relieved to have the decision made for her.
Tate rose and indicated we should walk ahead. "I'd better begin at the beginning. No doubt August told you that he and I fell out over money, and that I stole his papers so that I could reproduce his latest remedy and sell it. He always did pretend I was the greedy one, when in truth it was he all along."
"What do you mean?" I asked. We walked slowly out of the parlor and back into the entrance hall. An Oriental rug deadened the sound of our shoes on the tiles. It was a new rug, the pile still thick, and it ran the length of the narrow hall. Another rug covered the stairs, and it too looked new, as did the hat stand, table and framed mirror. The faint smell of paint hung in the air, but I could see no artworks. The walls must have been freshly painted.
"He has always wanted that which his betters had," Tate went on. "A grand house, horses, carriages, land. To him, those things meant status and respect, two things he desired more than any...well, more than the use of his legs." He paused at the front door. "You know this to be true, don't you, Miss Langley?"
Sylvia looked down at her feet. Her nod was slight, but noticeable.
"Your uncle was the one who wanted to sell the remedy for the most money we could get. I didn't want to sell it at all."
"I don't like you besmirching my uncle's name," Sylvia said.
"Then block your ears."
"What was the remedy for?" I asked.
"To combat an insidious disease," he said. "You wouldn't have heard of it."
I was beginning to get the feeling there was more to their remedy than they were telling us.
Tate held the door open, and we walked outside once again. The small front garden had little to recommend it. It was sparse and winter-bare, with only a few low-growing herbs planted in square beds, and several dormant roses spaced precisely apart along the fence. A stone path led to the side of the house and we followed it. "Your uncle may have wanted the money, but I wanted the glory of the discovery. See, we each have our weaknesses, Miss Langley, but I'm not afraid to reveal mine. I wanted to sell the rights to manufacture the drug to another company better equipped to do it, but keep control over its dissemination and packaging. August didn't care about that since few companies with deep pockets weren't interested in a deal that didn't give them total control. He won, of course. He usually did when we disagreed. I think you both know how...immovable he can be."
"So why did you steal his research?" I asked as we slowly made our way down the side of the house. It was damp and dark beneath the shadows of the house on one side and the wall of the neighboring factory on the other. "Do you want to pass off his new drug as your own?"
"No. This time it's different. I'll admit that I have debts. I like to spend money and...unforeseen circumstances have meant a large outlay recently. But that's not why I took his papers which, I might add, didn't have everything I needed to replicate the remedy."
"Good," said Sylvia.
"Long before August and I developed the remedy that made us rich, we were working on another experiment."
"What has this to do with anything?" she asked.
Tate paused and looked at me, but I already knew. It had to do with me. "August and I belonged to a group called the Society For Supernatural Activity. It's not exactly a secret organization, but they're not very open about what they do. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say the members like to dabble in the supernatural."
Sylvia snorted. "What rot. There's no such thing as ghosts and what not." She flapped her hand, but neither Tate nor I paid her much attention. Weren't Jack and I proof that supernatural phenomena did exist?
"Why do the members like to dabble, Mr. Tate?" I asked.
"To see if it exists or not."
"I'm surprised that it interests you. Doesn't believing in such things go against everything scientists stand for?"
"For many, yes. Not for August and me. We wanted to study these phenomena, to see how they work and try to replicate them in a laboratory environment. We thought if we could identify what caused paranormal traits in humans, we might be able to harness it."
"And sell it."
"Yes."
I stopped and put a hand to the wall of the house. The moss-covered bricks cooled my palm, but I had difficulty catching my breath. It felt like a weight was pressing down on my chest, pushing the air out of me. "What am I, Mr. Tate?"
"You are a rare fire starter," he said softly. In the dim light of the shadowy path, it was difficult to see him clearly, but his eyes sparkled with tears. "But you already knew that."
"Yes. Jack and I are the only ones."
He shook his head. "No, you're not. There's another."
"Who?"
We'd reached the factory door, and he held it open for us. The door sported thick bolts, but none were locked. The heavy wood seemed new, the paint fresh. The bricks of the small factory were blackened above the doorway and the single boarded-up window to the right. Same as the house. There were no other windows on the one-story building that I could see. No sign of Jack, either, or indeed anyone else. I spared a thought for Tommy and hoped he had not yet arrived.
"I'll tell you inside," Tate said. "Jack's in there, and he's very curious about the same things as you, Miss Smith. I'll tell you together."
"Everything?" I asked.
"Yes. The entire story, dating back almost twenty-two years."
"Wait!" Sylvia gripped my arm and pulled me back along the path, out of earshot. Tate didn't come after us, but kept on smiling. "It might be a trick," she hissed into my ear.
"There's a very good chance that it is," I said gravely.
"Then we have to leave!"
"No. Jack might be in there and in difficulty."
"I doubt it. Jack doesn't get himself into difficulties, only out of them. He at least can set things on fire at will. You can't."
"I can if I'm angry, and I can assure you I'll be furious if Tate is lying. Sylvia, I have to find out what he knows. Do you understand how important this is to me? He has the answers to questions I've longed to know, not only about my fire starting, but about my parents. Finding those answers means...everything." My throat squeezed shut with the effort not to cry. I hadn't meant to sound so vehement, nor had I expected to want answers so badly that I would walk into a suspected trap. But I did. God, how I wanted to learn what Tate knew. I suddenly felt like half a person, with a major part of my life missing. Tate could fill in the hollow spaces.
I had to know and I would do anything to get those answers. Anything.
I walked away from her and back to Tate. As I stepped through the doorway, the faint odor of damp ashes filled my nostrils. I could only see what lay within the beam of natural light, yet even that disappeared when Tate shut the door on Sylvia, himself and me.
But not before I saw the twisted and blackened metal of broken machines, the burnt beams and tools, and the utter devastation wrought by fire.
"Is there a lamp, Mr. Tate?" Sylvia tried her best to sound commanding, but the wobble in her voice was unmistakable. "Light it this instant!"
I headed toward her voice and found her outstretched hands, searching for me. She latched onto me and we clasped each other. Her heartbeat hammered against my shoulder, her limbs trembled. She was terrified, and that would make her useless. It was up to me. I had to keep the fear at bay otherwise the anger wouldn't come.
"Where's Jack?" I demanded.
"I thought you wanted answers. Don't you want to kno
w who the third fire starter is?"
"We want Jack. He's not here, is he?" I felt the now familiar heat rise inside me, like a tidal swell that began in my belly and rose outward, upward. I embraced it, fueled it with deliberate thoughts of hatred toward Tate. I did indeed hate him, far more than I feared him.
"I'll tell you anyway." Tate's voice came from further away, in the depths of the factory. "It's me. I'm the third fire starter."
CHAPTER 14
"You!" Sylvia gasped. "How...?" She let the sentence dangle unfinished, but I knew what she was thinking. How could three diverse people have the same ability?
"Are we related?" I asked. "You, Jack and I? Is there some connection between us?"
"We're not blood relatives." His voice sounded disembodied, and it was difficult to tell from which direction it came. "However there is a connection."
Metal scraped and a chain rattled, a macabre sound in the darkness. Sylvia whimpered and clung tighter to me. There was some comfort in her closeness. It would have been worse to be alone.
"Mr. Tate, sir," came a slurring, heavy voice. It belonged to a man and he wasn't near us, but that's all I knew. I didn't recognize the speaker. Whispers followed as Tate and the other man exchanged words. I strained to hear, but caught nothing.
"Light something," Sylvia said, voice low.
"I can't."
"Just try it."
I flicked my fingers out. Nothing happened. I snapped and shook them, but still no heat rose, no sparks flew. "Damn," I muttered.
Tate chuckled. "Are you trying to form a flame, Miss Smith? You ought to know by now that it's futile." He seemed to have finished his conversation with the other man, but I could see no one else in the darkness. Not even a shadow.
"Why?" Sylvia asked.
"I've tried to control it," he said. "Tried to create it when I wanted it and stop it when I didn't. I failed, time after time. As you would have too, Miss Smith."
"But—"
I pinched Sylvia's arm, and she fell silent. I didn't want her telling Tate anything that may be to our advantage. If he didn't know that Jack could start fires at will, then Jack could take him by surprise when he came. If he wasn't already there.
Oh Jack, where are you?
Someone grunted. It came from the far end of the factory. It could have come from the slurring stranger, but I didn't think so.
"Jack?" I called out at the same time Sylvia did. "Jack, is that you?"
"It's me," came Tommy's thick, sleepy voice.
"Tommy!" Sylvia let me go, but I held her back.
"Wait," I whispered.
She said nothing for a few pounding heartbeats, then called out, "Tommy? Are you all right?"
The chain rattled again, followed by more grunting. "Bloody 'ell! What's goin' on? Miss Langley? Is that you?"
"Yes," she said. "Where are you?"
"Don't know. I can't see a bloody thing. There's chains around my wrists and I can't move my legs."
Brightness flared in the depths of the factory as Tate lit a gas lamp. The small circle cast yellow light on the prone figure of Tommy lying on a bench, his wrists attached to chains and his ankles cuffed to the table. Dried blood smeared his bottom lip, and a shadowy bruise cupped one eye. Behind him stood a huge man with a jaw shaped like a brick and just as hard. His shoulders were wide and hunched as if he carried a heavy weight on them. His brow bulged over dull, vacant eyes.
"My God, what have you done to him?" Sylvia cried.
"He's a friend of yours?" Tate asked. "Ham said he was looking around the factory. I can't allow that. Who is he? Another one of Langley's so-called nephews?"
"He's our footman."
Tate tipped his head back and laughed. "Capital! So Langley's sending the servants to do his work for him?"
"Aren't you?" I said, pointing my chin at the brute behind Tommy.
"That's Ham, short for Hamley. August isn't the only one who can recruit oversized idiots to work for him."
"Who're you calling an idiot?" Tommy said, pulling on one of the chains.
"I was referring to Bollard."
Whatever Bollard was, he was not stupid. Not like Ham. Both may have perfected that vacant stare, but Bollard's couldn't always hide the shrewdness behind his eyes. I'd wager there were no thoughts of any kind in Ham's mind. If the label of idiot bothered him, he didn't show it.
"Let Tommy go," I said. "This is nothing to do with him."
"He shouldn't have been in here," Tate said.
"Why?" Sylvia asked. "It's not like there's anything worth seeing in this burnt wreck."
"Let him go!" I shouted.
Tate moved further into the fuzzy circle of light near Tommy. "Are you getting angry, Miss Smith?" He picked up the lamp and held it high in our direction. "Yes, I believe you are. Very good. I'd like to see what happens. It's been a long time since I've observed the phenomena on another."
I swallowed, and some of my anger disappeared. It wasn't the reaction I wanted. Despite his wish to study me, spitting fire from my fingertips would have come in quite handy at that moment. "Jack's not here, is he?" I said in the hope the answer would rile me again.
"No," said Tommy. "I had a good look around before this beast clobbered me." He pointed at Ham and the chain clanked against the bench.
"Jack's not here," Tate said. "I haven't seen him. What does that mean, do you suppose? Has he left? Is he lost?"
"I doubt it," Sylvia said.
I pinched her again and she flinched.
"Pity. I would have liked to see him after all this time. He was a baby when I last saw him."
He'd known Jack as a baby? Was that because Jack really was Langley's nephew and as his partner, Tate had seen him? Or was there another reason? Something to do with the fire?
Tate returned the lamp to the hook hanging from the ceiling near Tommy and stepped back into the shadows. There was only enough light to outline his silhouette. "He was a good baby on the whole, but when he threw a tantrum, he was far more frightening than any child had a right to be."
I could only imagine. "Were we born with it?" I asked.
"Hannah, now is not the time to question him about yourself," Sylvia whispered. "We must release Tommy and find Jack. Have you got a plan?"
"Yes," I lied. "I'm instigating it as we speak."
I felt her relax a little against me, which I decided was indeed part of my plan. A relaxed Sylvia could think clearer and act faster if necessary.
"Release Tommy!" I ordered Tate.
He began to move toward us through the darkness, his silhouette dimly visible until his pale, glistening face emerged from the darkness like a ghost. Sylvia gave a little squeal, and Tate growled, baring his ugly teeth. He pushed her away. It wasn't a hard shove, but she fell to the floor.
"Sylvia!" I reached for her, but Tate grabbed my arm and pulled me into his side. His breath reeked worse than rancid meat, and heat swamped me. It was like opening an oven door and being blasted by hot air. There were no sparks or flames, but it was almost too hot to bear.
"Miss Langley! Miss Smith!" Tommy tried to free himself, yanking at his chains and twisting himself about on the bench. It achieved nothing except a great deal of frustration if his grunts and curses were any indication. "What's going on, you cur?" he snarled. "If you harm them, I'll kill you!"
Tate didn't seem to hear him, or care what he'd done to Sylvia. "Hannah," he said, voice feather-soft in my ear. "Oh, Hannah. I'm so glad you've come back to me. I've been searching for you for a long time. A very long time. Sweet, little baby Hannah." He touched my hair, my cheek. I turned my face away, but he let go of my arm and grasped my jaw instead, forcing me to look at him. His fingers dug into my skin, crushing the bone. Heat and pain shot from my jaw to my neck and cheeks. I couldn't move my head, couldn't speak. "I've waited years for you. Years. I will not let anyone take you away this time. I need you."
The man had only one arm. Surely I could free myself. I tried pulling away, but he held my j
aw too hard. My face hurt. My cheeks mashed into my teeth. I punched him in the chest and to my surprise and sheer relief, he grunted and let go.
"You little monster!" he snarled.
I raced to Sylvia's side and was about to bend down to her when a thick arm circled my waist and pulled me back. Ham. My feet rose off the ground, and the massive arm held me so tightly I felt like I was being sliced in half.
"Let go!" I screamed, clawing at Ham's arm and kicking out at Tate who stood in front of me. I missed and Ham made no sounds of pain as I shredded his shirtsleeve and drew blood.
"Hannah!" Sylvia got to her feet and ran to us. Ham deflected her with a fist to her shoulder and she fell onto the floor once more. She slid into a burnt set of drawers with a missing leg. Somehow it had managed to remain upright throughout the fire that had destroyed the factory, but a bump from Sylvia sent it crashing onto the rubble.
"Sylvia?" I called. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," came her shaking voice.
"Bloody 'ell!" Tommy growled. "Let me go! Fight like a man, you one-armed dog."
I didn't think name-calling was going to achieve much, but I didn't say. I was more worried about the brute squeezing me. I couldn't breathe.
"Easy," Tate said to Ham. "Don't kill her. I need her alive. The other two, however, are unnecessary."
Sylvia sobbed into her folded arms. Tommy's chains rattled violently and he grunted again as he tried to free himself. Ham eased his grip, but he was too big. I couldn't get away. Not by any conventional means anyway.
Get angry, get angry, get angry.
It was useless. I was much too afraid. Tears blurred my vision and dripped down my cheeks. Tommy and Sylvia were going to die because of me, and I would become a prisoner again, this time of Tate's. All because I couldn't call on my temper at will. My fear was much too powerful. I'd once thought myself brave—how wrong I'd been.
A high-pitched grunt had me opening my eyes again, just in time to see Sylvia raising a piece of ceramic pipe above her head.
But Tate had heard her too, and he turned in time to catch the pipe. He wrenched it from her grip as sparks flew from his fingers and shot in all directions. He had no difficulty growing angry.