Quicksilver as-11

by Àìàíäà Êâèê

  "Aye, sir," Matt said.

  Virginia drew Owen aside while Becky got into the vehicle.

  "We will take Becky to the charity house in Elm Street," she said quietly. "She will be well taken care of there tonight. The woman who operates the house will give Becky a clean bed, a good meal, and offer her a way off the streets."

  "I know the place," Owen said. He smiled. "Are you aware that it has recently come under the auspices of the Arcane Society?"

  "Arcane is operating a refuge for young prostitutes?" Disbelief rang in Virginia's voice. "I don't believe it. When did the Society develop an interest in charity?"

  "I'm told it is the modern era, Miss Dean. The world is changing, and so is the Arcane Society."

  "Hah.I sincerely doubt that lot of arrogant, hidebound old alchemists is capable of change."

  She turned and went up the steps and into the cab. He climbed in behind the women, put the clockwork weapon on the floor of the vehicle, sat down and closed the door. The carriage rattled forward down the lane.

  Becky frowned at the clockwork device. "Is that a toy?"

  "No," Owen said. "It is an automaton, a clockwork curiosity. Someone evidently left it behind. Thought I'd salvage it."

  "Oh," Becky said. "It is very pretty."

  "Yes," he said.

  She lost interest immediately and sank back into the corner of the seat with a small sigh. "Do you think the handsome man in the carriage will try to find me? He will no doubt be very angry when he discovers that I am gone. He knows the corner where I conduct my business."

  "I promise you that you will never see him again," Virginia said. She touched the girl's hand. "You are safe."

  Chapter 3

  They delivered Becky into the warmth and welcome of the Elm Street charity house's matron, Mrs. Mallory. Becky seemed bewildered, but the prospect of a hot meal and a safe bed persuaded her to tolerate the situation, at least for the night.

  "Whether or not she accepts the offer of going off to the charityhouse school for girls, where she can learn a respectable trade, like typewriting or telegraphy, will be up to her," Virginia said when she got back into the carriage. "But Mrs. Mallory is very skilled at encouraging the girls to enter the school."

  Owen sat down on the opposite seat.

  "You are a strong believer in education for the girls of the streets?" he said.

  The carriage rolled forward.

  "It is the only hope for a woman alone in the world," Virginia said.

  "You speak from experience?"

  "I was orphaned at the age of thirteen. If my father had not left me a small inheritance that ensured that my boarding school fees were paid until I was seventeen, I would very likely have wound up on the streets like young Becky."

  "No," Owen said. "Not you. With your talent and intelligence you would have found another way to survive."

  She looked out into the darkness. "Who knows? It does seem rather ironic that I am pursuing a career that requires me to work at night."

  "Will there be anyone who will have been concerned about you tonight?" he asked. "Aside from your housekeeper, I mean."

  "No. Actually, I'm surprised Mrs. Crofton was worried. She is new and still learning my unusual routine. I am often out late in the evenings, although rarely this late."

  From the way Virginia spoke he knew that she was not accustomed to the notion of anyone worrying about her or fretting because she was late returning home.

  "Why do you work at night?" he asked.

  "The energy in the mirrors is usually stronger and more easily read at night. I can work in a heavily draped room if necessary, but I prefer to do my analysis in the evenings. I see things more clearly then."

  "I hadn't realized that." Intrigued, he considered the matter briefly. "My talent is sharper and more focused at night as well. I wonder if it has something to do with the absence of the energy produced by sunlight. Perhaps those sorts of currents interfere with certain paranormal wavelengths."

  She looked at him. "I am aware that you and your associates within Arcane hold a low opinion of those of us who make our livings with our talents. I know that you consider the vast majority of us to be charlatans. I also realize that the fact that I have frequent evening appointments does nothing to improve my reputation in your eyes or those of the Society's. I would like to make it clear that I do not give a fig what you or the arrogant members of Arcane think of me and my colleagues at the Leybrook Institute."

  "You have already made your opinion of me and the Society quite clear, Miss Dean. Perhaps I should mention that I am not a member of Arcane."

  "Why were you in that group of so-called researchers who wanted to test my talent at the Pomeroy reading?"

  "It's a long story. You are exhausted. You need rest and time to recover from your ordeal tonight. I promise to tell you everything in the morning."

  She ignored that. "You risked your own neck to come looking for me tonight. Why?"

  "I told you, I have been keeping an eye on you. I think you may be in danger, although I admit I had not anticipated the situation in which I found you tonight. I have been searching in another direction."

  "You said you were not a member of Arcane."

  "Arcane is a client."

  "Aclient?" She appeared stunned. "You work for the Society?"

  "I am currently conducting an investigation for Arcane's new psychical investigation agency, Jones Jones. Perhaps you have heard of it?"

  Her jaw tightened. "I have heard rumors of the new agency, yes."

  "You do not approve?"

  "In my world, there is a strong suspicion that J J is in the business of putting those of us who use our talents to make a living out of business. Arcane believes that psychical practitioners, in particular those at the Leybrook Institute, give legitimate study and research of the paranormal a bad reputation."

  "Because there are so many charlatans in your midst, and those frauds deceive and mislead the public. I understand. But I think it is safe to say that J J currently has more work than it can handle dealing with truly dangerous psychical criminals. Trust me when I tell you that Caleb and Lucinda Jones, the directors of J J, are not concerning themselves over much with mediums, seance-givers and other fraudulent practitioners these days."

  "That remains to be seen."

  "I comprehend that you do not trust Arcane, but I need your help. I am hunting a killer, Virginia, one who is operating in your world."

  "What are you talking about?" she asked.

  "Two glass-readers have died recently. J J has asked me to investigate."

  "Why would J J care about the deaths of two practitioners? The police certainly weren't interested. They don't even believe that Mrs. Ratford and Mrs. Hackett were murdered. Neither does anyone else. The authorities concluded both women died of natural causes."

  "But you suspect that is not the case, don't you?"

  She hesitated. "Yes."

  "So does J J. So do I. As I said, it is a long story, and the hour grows late. I give you my word that I will explain everything in the morning."

  "You will not fob me off without some further explanation, sir. You said you are investigating the glass-reader deaths on behalf of Arcane. What talent do you possess that enables you to conduct such an investigation?"

  "Let's just say that you were close to the truth when you told Becky that I am a sort of private inquiry agent. I am, in fact, a hunter."

  "Who or what do you hunt, Mr. Sweetwater?"

  "Monsters of the human variety, Miss Dean. Like you, I do my best work at night."

  His own house was dark and silent when he got home, but that was the way it always was at night. He lived alone. His housekeeper arrived early in the morning and left in the late afternoon. The arrangement provided him with the solitude that he found himself seeking more and more after dark. There was no one about to notice when he went out to walk the night, no one who might casually mention the new habit to another member of his closely knit fa
mily.

  At least the glass-reader case was temporarily distracting him from the late-night strolls and the abyss that beckoned ever more strongly.

  Owen carried the clockwork carriage into the cluttered library and set it down on a table. The dark windows of the miniature vehicle glittered malevolently in the light of the gas lamp. Before he went to bed tonight, he would lock the device securely in the safe in the basement. He was certain that he had disabled the weapon, but he did not intend to take any chances. The thing was something entirely new in his experience. He would proceed with great caution.

  He crossed the room to the brandy table and poured himself a healthy dose of the spirits. Glass in hand, he sat down in front of the cold hearth and contemplated the beautifully crafted curiosity. The inquiry he was conducting had taken an ominous twist. Hollister's death was the least of it. There were still far more questions than answers, but one thing was clear. Virginia Dean was the key to the entire affair.

  Chapter 4

  The following morning Owen took the carriage out of the safe, hauled it upstairs to the library and put it on a table. He collected a variety of small tools and set to work dismantling the curiosity. He was in the process of carefully removing one of the windows in the cab when a knock sounded on the door.

  "Not now, Mrs. Brent." He did not look up from the delicate task of disassembling the carriage. "I told you, I do not want to be disturbed this morning."

  "Yes, sir, I know, sir." The housekeeper's voice was muffled by the door. "It's Mrs. Sweetwater, sir."

  "Which Mrs. Sweetwater? There are half a dozen of them in London at any given moment."

  The door opened. Mrs. Brent fixed him with a stern look. "Mrs. Aurelia Sweetwater, sir. She just arrived, and she insists on speaking with you."

  Of course it would be Aurelia,he thought. She was the oldest of his great-aunts and enjoyed the status of being the family matriarch. He had known this visitation was coming, he reminded himself. But he had been dreading it.

  "Damn it to hell," he said. But he said it very softly. "Very well, Mrs. Brent, show her in here, if you would."

  "Yes, sir." Mrs. Brent started to retreat into the hall.

  "But I warn you that it will be worth your position in this household if you bring in a tea tray," Owen vowed. "I do not want to give my aunt any excuse to hang about here."

  Mrs. Brent's mouth twitched in amusement, but she kept her professional composure. "Yes, sir."

  "I heard that," Aurelia Sweetwater announced. She swept into the library, elegantly regal in a dark purple gown. Her gray hair was caught up in a towering chignon and crowned with a feather-trimmed hat that matched the dress. Her street-sweeper petticoats rustled ominously on the carpet. "As it happens, I do not have time for tea today, but that is beside the point."

  "Good morning, Aunt Aurelia," Owen said. He left the table and crossed the carpet to give her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "You are looking in excellent spirits today. A bit early, is it not? What brings you here at this hour?"

  "You know perfectly well why I was forced to call on you at this ungodly hour of the morning. It is the only time I can hope to find you at home. You have been avoiding me, Owen."

  "Not at all. I have been busy of late. New client, you know."

  "I am aware that the family has taken on Arcane as a client. I'm not certain that is a wise move, but we shall see."

  "Arcane is changing," Owen said. "Under the new Master, it has assumed new responsibilities. It seems the Joneses feel an obligation to protect the public from the monsters."

  Aurelia raised her brows. A thoughtful expression crossed her face. "If that is true, then we will likely be seeing a great deal of business from J J in the years ahead."

  Owen angled himself on the corner of his desk. "Precisely. There is never a shortage of monsters to hunt."

  Aurelia smiled. So did Owen. It was a moment of silent, familial communication and mutual understanding that only another Sweetwater would comprehend. The men of the Sweetwater family were compelled to hunt the monsters. It was the nature of their talent. But they had long ago concluded that it made excellent financial sense to have a client pay for the work whenever possible.

  Aurelia stopped smiling. "As it happens, I came here today to discuss Arcane with you."

  "What about it?"

  "It seems the Society is now offering a matrimonial consulting service that specializes in introducing people of talent to each other."

  It took him a split second to realize where the conversation was going. When the full horror of it struck home, he came off the corner of the desk very suddenly.

  "Do not even think about registering me with the Society's matchmaking agency, Aunt Aurelia," he said.

  "Oh, I cannot do the registering for you." She waved that aside, unfazed by his dark mood. "You would have to take care of the details yourself."

  "I am not about to employ a matchmaker."

  "My understanding is that Lady Milden, who operates the agency, has a true gift for matching people endowed with strong psychical natures. She has a number of resources to draw on, including Arcane's extensive genealogical records."

  "Forget it." He went to the window and stood looking out at the rain-dampened garden. "I am not interested in that approach."

  "Why not?"

  "Sweetwaters find their own women."

  "Except when they don't," Aurelia said. She spoke quietly, but the words were heavy with meaning. "We both know what happens when a Sweetwater man goes too long without a true mate."

  He did not respond. There was no need.

  "You have begun the nightwalking, haven't you?" Aurelia said quietly.

  A cold chill iced the nape of his neck. The Sweetwaters were very good at keeping secrets from outsiders, but it was damned difficult to keep a secret within the family.

  "I have always hunted at night," he said, trying to claw his way out of the trap. "Everyone in the family knows that. It's the nature of my version of the family talent. I see the evidence of the monsters more clearly after dark."

  "What everyone in the familyknows, " Aurelia said, "is that you are spending more and more time on the streets late at night. It is one thing to troll for monsters occasionally. In this family, that passes for sport, rather like fishing. But it is quite another to go out alone night after night, searching for your prey. That way lies madness for a Sweetwater man."

  "I am not hunting at night for the sport of it. I have a particular client, J J, and I have a specific target, a psychical maniac who is murdering glasslight-talents."

  "I realize that you have recently acquired a client, but that is only a short-term diversion. It will not change what is happening to you. Owen, your parents and the rest of the family are starting to worry. If you do not find the right woman soon, you will become a nightwalker."

  "What makes you think Lady Milden can find me a match?"

  "I am told she is very skilled at what she does. What do you have to lose?"

  "Time," he said. "Time that I can spend searching for my own true mate."

  "You said yourself this is the modern era. You should take advantage of modern, more efficient ways of doing things."

  "I'll consider it," he said, lying through his teeth.

  "I will take that as a promise."

  He swung around. "Damn it, Aunt Aurelia."

  "I will ignore the bad language this one time, because I am aware that you are under considerable stress." She went toward the door. "You have wasted too much time already. You must not wait any longer, Owen. Your family does not want to lose you to the night."

  Chapter 5

  I do not usually report to clients until the job is finished," Owen Sweetwater said.

  Caleb angled his chin in acknowledgment of the great favor that Sweetwater appeared to think he was granting to Jones Jones. In the few months that he and Lucinda had been doing business at the agency, they had discovered that the only people more troublesome than the clients were t
he powerful and unpredictable talents the firm was obliged to hire in order to conduct the investigations.

  "We appreciate that you are making an exception for us," Caleb said.

  His cousin Gabe, the Master of the Society, studied Sweetwater with a considering expression.

  "You came highly recommended, Mr. Sweetwater, but please understand that this sort of business is new to us," Gabe said.

  The three of them were standing in an abandoned warehouse near the docks. Sweetwater had chosen the location for the meeting, just as he had selected the location the first time, when Caleb had contacted him about the possibility of employment. It had become clear immediately that when one engaged the services of the Sweetwater clan, one accepted the arrangements stipulated by the particular Sweetwater with whom one was dealing.

  At the first meeting Caleb had been convinced that Owen Sweetwater was a hunter-talent of some sort but not the traditional variety. The psychical abilities of the average hunter tended to be of a more physical nature. Such talents were usually endowed with preternatural reflexes, speed, hearing and night vision. They hunted by detecting the psychical spoor of their prey.

  Owen Sweetwater moved with a predatory ease and control that put one in mind of a hunter, but Caleb had grown up in a family that boasted a number of hunters sprinkled throughout the bloodline. He knew true hunters, and he was quite certain that whatever Sweetwater was, he was not a traditional hunter-talent.

  "What we want to know," Caleb said carefully, "is whether you have found any evidence that supports my belief that the two glass-readers were killed by paranormal means. If not, then this case is not J J's problem. I will give what information we have to an acquaintance at Scotland Yard. The police can take responsibility for finding the killer."

  "The way they took responsibility for the murders of an untold number of prostitutes in the past several years?"

  Gabe frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"