by Lora Edwards
“I may not remember much about my childhood but I can, and will, be able to defend myself. I do not need a man to protect me. I am perfectly capable on my own!” Teagan stood, setting the cup down with a clink of china on wood.
“Teagan, listen to reason. You could be hurt.” Bran started toward her.
Teagan put her arms out to stop him, erecting an invisible wall between them. “Stop. I refuse to be bossed around by someone who thinks, because I am not a man, I cannot take care of myself. I refuse to have feelings for someone who does not respect me.” Teagan heard her voice break and hated herself for letting herself be vulnerable to this man. “I can complete my part of the mission. Now, we need to plan our next steps of attack,” she said as she stared at Bran, daring him to refuse her, daring him to try to take this from her.
Lowering his head, a defeated look on his face, he wearily sat back down.
“Okay, now that we have the drama portion of the evening out of the way, how do you guys feel about a little B&E,” Ovidia asked, a smile spreading across her face.
“B&E,” Teagan asked.
“Breaking and entering. We wait until we know he is out and we break into his home to look for evidence. I know we are pretty convinced he is our guy; but we need some solid evidence to present to the powers that be back home. Hunches and some creepy paintings are not going to convince them we have the right guy.”
Bran sighed, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Vid is right, we are going to need some solid proof and searching his home would be the easiest way to do that. The problem is, he is something of a recluse. He does attend a few society functions, but it would be noticed if we were absent at those big enough to draw him out. We do not want to be conspicuous in our absence—it might tip him off if he is the man we are looking for.”
“So how do we get him out of the house,” Teagan asked, not looking at Bran.
“I will put a man on him. We have institute people in this time and we can set up a watch. When he leaves, they will follow to him to get a sense of his routine, and then when the time is right, we can conduct the search.”
Both women agreed to his plan.
“Well this evening has been more exciting than I planned, and it is time for me to hit the sack. See you two lovebirds in the morning.” Ovidia stood with a wink at Teagan and left the room.
Chilly silence enveloped the space as Bran and Teagan stared at each other.
“I’m sorry Teagan,” Bran said softly.
“What are you sorry for, Bran? Sorry that you pissed me off; or that our fling is at an end? Sorry that you don’t respect me enough to let me do what I came here for? Sorry that you don’t trust me to do my part for the team?” Teagan fired the questions rapidly at him, arms across her chest.
“No, none of that. If you do not want to continue to have a relationship with me on a personal level, I will accept that. You have it wrong—I do trust you and I do think you are capable, but even the thought of you being hurt is not something I can bear.”
Teagan stood still, her eyes shooting fire at him.
Bran came toward her and, risking life and limb, gathered her into his arms, smiling over her head as she remained stiff. “Teagan, I care for you. My dragon nature comes with a possessiveness and a deep need to keep you safe. I know it is not rational and I am trying to keep it in check, but it is hard. I just need you to be safe.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, let out a deep sigh, looked up at him, and then showed him that she forgave him.
The next few days passed slowly. Bran sent the man from the institute out to follow Duke Somerton and learn his routine, and there was nothing for them to do but sit tight and wait. Despite Bran’s protests, Teagan insisted they keep to their regular routines and not act any differently.
Ovidia agreed with her, pointing out that their absence would cause a great deal of gossip. There was nothing in the journal to indicate that the Ripper had any intention of taking his obsession to the next level. He instead used the East End prostitutes to vent his feelings of frustration. Teagan felt bad about that, but there was still time to stop him before the next set of murders.
Bran reluctantly agreed, but kept Teagan close to him at all times. It did become frustrating at times, but it allowed her to get to know him much better. Teagan found herself falling deeply in love with him despite trying to tell herself to keep it light, that he was not one for commitment. She was afraid she was going to end up with a broken heart. She soon realized no amount of rationalizing was going to change the way her feelings were growing for him. Teagan told herself she would just enjoy it while it lasted; she would have the memories always.
“Teag! Teag,” Ovidia called, bringing her out of her reverie.
“In here,” Teagan called. Ovidia slid to a stop in front of the open library door where Teagan sat, trying to concentrate on her book and not dwell on her feelings for Bran.
“Bran’s man from the institute is here. I think he’s found a pattern in Duke Somerton’s schedule, one large enough and regular enough for us to be able to attempt the search.”
Abandoning her novel, Teagan jumped up and followed Ovidia to Bran’s study.
“Teagan, Ovidia, this is Mr. Pinkerton, the man who has been investigating Duke Somerton for us.” Bran gestured to a tall dark-haired man who appeared to be in his late thirties.
“Ladies, it is nice to meet you. I won’t waste time with pleasantries and instead will get right to business. It appears our friend the Duke is indeed a man of habit. I have learned from the servants I bribed that he spends most of his time painting and listening to the Victrola, but he does go out with a friend for lunch at Whites every Thursday. He leaves promptly at 11 AM and returns promptly at 12 PM. He has not deviated from this schedule in the past three weeks I have been observing him. I believe if you would like to search his home, this would be the ideal time to do so.”
“How are we going to keep from getting caught in broad daylight,” Teagan asked.
“I have a special talent we can use that will hide us from the humans. It will not work on other supernaturals, which is why the Duke has to be out of the home at the time of the search.”
“Do we know for sure that he is a supernatural,” Teagan asked.
“Yes ma’am, that is one of my abilities. I believe it is a big part of what helps him to create his lifelike paintings. I do not know if he is your man. I do not feel malice coming from him, but some supernaturals are able to hide their true emotions.”
“How will you make sure the humans do not see us,” Ovidia asked.
“I will make you invisible,” he said with a smile.
“You are an obscurer then,” Ovidia asked.
The man nodded. “I also inherited limited empath abilities from my mother.”
“You can really make us invisible,” Teagan asked.
“Not invisible as you think of it, but the human’s eyes will pass over you as if you are not there. They will look past you,” he explained.
Teagan nodded to communicate her understanding. She marveled at the fact that there were all sorts of talents out there, that she hadn’t even started to scratch the surface of it yet.
“You will come down the roadway, and there is a building across the street from his home, a hat shop. Stand at the corner and when he has left, I will motion you forward. Then each of you will have to be smeared with a bit of my blood. I am clean, I promise, and it is the only way for the spell to work. As soon as the blood rubs off, the spell will be broken, or you can wash it off at the completion of the mission, whatever you wish. It takes just a small amount, a swipe across the inside of your wrist.”
He smiled apologetically at Teagan’s look of revulsion. “I would feel the same if I was in your position, but it is the only way it works.”
Teagan smiled, embarrassed to have made the man feel uncomfortable—he was helping them, after all.
“Do not feel embarrassed, it is fine. I have fielded m
uch worse reactions than yours.”
How did he know? A beat later, she remembered he had said something about being an empath—able to read others’ emotions. Teagan smiled apologetically as the meeting ended.
Thursday was the next day, so they did not have long to wait. With some luck, Teagan would be drinking tea and regaling her grandpa with tales of her adventures in the Victorian era, in just a few days. The remaining women would be safe and Teagan could concentrate on figuring out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
Teagan, Bran, and Ovidia stood across the street from a stately townhouse made of warm red brick that blended in with those around it. Mr. Pinkerton stood at the end of the road, just to the right of the house, shaded and hidden by a copse of trees.
He suddenly gestured toward them and the three of them hurried across the street.
“He has left for his lunch. You will have to hurry as you have only an hour to get the deed done. He will be able to see you so do not get caught.” Mr. Pinkerton pulled something that looked like a pen out of his pocket and removed the top. Inside it contained a needle, and he pricked his finger, causing a drop of blood to well up on his skin. Starting with Bran, he swiped his finger along each of their wrists. “Now go in there and find something to catch this awful criminal.” He smiled at them. “I will keep watch. If he comes back early, you will feel a tingle, like a mild electric shock across the mark. Heed this and get out. Remember, you will not be able to hide from him.”
The trio nodded and walked in the back door of the townhouse and the first moment of truth came as they silently crept down the hallway. The butler came down the hall with a polishing cloth in his hand, so they squeezed up against the wall and held their breath. He glanced their way and then continued down the hall as if he had seen nothing.
Three collective sighs went up and they continued on. The townhouse was laid out much like the one they had been staying in, so they quickly made their way to the study. It was traditional with dark wood, a fireplace, and a large carved desk.
They wasted no time. Teagan went through the desk drawers, Bran looked around the room searching for hidden compartments, and Ovidia searched in the furniture. Their efforts turned up nothing but the mundane items and papers one would expect in the study of a Victorian Duke.
Leaving the study, they climbed the stairs. They split up and searched the bedrooms, each more staid and normal than the last. Looking at the pocket watch she had clipped to her dress, Teagan noticed that time was almost up.
They needed to find his art studio; he would want to keep mementos of his crimes close to him, and he may even have the journal there.
Coming out of the bedroom she had searched, she met the other two and whispered the time then motioned toward the stairs. Creeping back down, the other two went immediately out the back door, but Teagan caught sight of a door slightly ajar. Through the small space, she could see the side of an easel.
Slipping into the room, she found his art studio. Sketches lined the walls, some of them even more gruesome than the paintings at the gallery. Women were depicted lying dead in the street, skirts pulled up to their waist, throats slit, gushing out bright red blood. There were some sketches of a lovely red haired woman sitting on a bench her eyes sparkling. Who was she? She somehow looked familiar. Teagan turned and there were sketches of her sitting, laughing, dancing, and it made her feel violated, but was it enough? Teagan pulled out the tiny camera she had stashed in her dress and began to take video the drawings and bloody paintings.
Looking quickly through everything in the room, there was no evidence of a diary or souvenirs, no evidence of his depravity, other than the paintings and drawings. Was it enough to convict someone?
Suddenly a slight buzz slid down her arm. Alarmed, she looked at her watch and noticed that she had gone ten minutes past the exit time.
As she started toward the door, footsteps could be heard coming down the hall, and she could see an arm reaching toward the door.
“Sir, if I may have just a moment of your time,” said a voice just outside
“Yes Gerald, but I must get back to painting!” The frustrated voice came through the door followed by the sound of footsteps going away.
Teagan waited for them to fade then looked frantically around for an exit. The window! She rushed over, grabbed the bottom of the window, and heaved and heaved, but nothing happened. She finally gave one last push and the stubborn window finally relented and rose. She was halfway through when the footsteps returned.
She scrambled to escape and felt a tug on her dress—her skirt had caught on a nail. She yanked hard, lost her balance, and landed on the ground in a heap. Some spy I make, she thought as she gathered herself up and ran across the street, rounding the corner and almost bowling over Ovidia, Bran, and Mr. Pinkerton.
The piece of cloth attached to the open window fluttered in the wind. The Duke entered the room and frowned at the colorful scrap. He wondered where it had come from and who had left the window open. Careless servants, he thought as he shut it.
“Teagan are you insane? He almost caught you! As soon as you rounded the corner we saw him at the window fingering some strip of cloth,” Ovidia hissed at her.
“It was a piece of my dress, it caught on a nail on the windowsill. I’m sorry! I did get something for my efforts, though. I will show it to you when we get back to the townhouse. I think I have proof that he is our man,” Teagan said, trying to catch her breath.
She noticed that Bran was silent throughout the exchange; he did not even look at her. His shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched.
They climbed into the carriage and leaned back on the leather seats, each lost in their own thoughts. When they arrived back at the townhouse, they went directly to the study.
“Okay spill,” Ovidia said the minute they were inside with the door closed.
Teagan pulled out the camera from under her dress. Bran pulled out the laptop, disguised as a large leather ledger, and she plugged it into the computer, which was attached to a projector cleverly hidden within a cabinet in the study. Keying up the images, the Duke’s studio was projected on the cream wall. All was silent as they watched as the video swung around the room, taking in the paintings and sketches. Teagan again felt the familiar tug as she looked at the watercolor sketches of the woman with the red hair.
“This is great Teag, a really good start. Now, we know he is our man, for sure, but we cannot pack up based on this. We need physical proof.”
“Paintings of the crime scenes are not enough,” Teagan asked, defeated.
“He could just like gruesome paintings, or he could be painting things he read about in the paper. We cannot take him back and imprison him for paintings,” Vid said.
“It is a start and it is good to know you did not risk your life for nothing,” Bran stated through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry, I lost track of time, but it ended just fine. Even if it hadn’t, I could have defended myself.” Teagan crossed her arms and clenched her own jaw. She was so tired of his machismo, treating her like a fragile piece of china.
“You could have died; do you understand that?” Bran walked over and grabbed her arms, resisting the urge to shake her.
“This is a dangerous job; we could all die, at any time. Between fate trying to keep what is meant to be intact and tracking a serial killer, it is always a possibility. You are not my father—do not lecture me,” Teagan spat at him, her eyes shooting green fire.
Ovidia squeezed between them. “Okay people, we need a bit of a break. Let’s everyone calm down. It has been a tense day and in case you have forgotten, it also just so happens to be double murder day. After Pinkerton took weeks to follow Duke Somerton’s routine, I think we were all anxious to find some evidence. We all lost track of the time. However, this mission ends tonight.”
“Fine,” Teagan said before leaving the study, her back stiff as she walked up the stairs to her room. Really, the nerve of that man! She could ta
ke care of herself; she did not need a keeper. How could she be so in love with someone who was so overbearing, arrogant, and possessive? She sat down on the nearest chair, clenching her fists in anger.
Is it so bad that he cares enough to be scared when I am in danger, a part of her brain whispered. Was he, maybe not trying to be so overbearing, but rather acting out of fear?
Teagan blocked out the rational part of her brain, content to simmer and sit on the anger she felt. The anger was easier to feel than hurt and confusion. She was so in love with him, and she was not sure if he returned her feelings. She was afraid dragons were not the only beings to mate for life. Yes, anger was much better.
Chapter 18
Teagan stood in the foyer, her foot tapping as she waited for Ovidia.
Teagan looked over her shoulder at the closed study door; Bran was hiding. He would probably wait until he heard Ovidia’s voice to join them. She turned away and looked up at the stairs. Ovidia had finally finished her transformation into a gentleman and she leisurely strolled down to join Teagan.
“Are we ready to catch a murderer,” Ovidia asked with a large smile across her face.
The study door opened at the sound of Ovidia’s voice, as Teagan had predicted. “Good, we are all here. Let’s go catch a murderer.” Bran nodded, moving quickly to the front door and holding it open for the ladies.
They climbed into the waiting carriage to once again go to Whitechapel. “The murder of Elizabeth Stride happened at 12 AM, and he was almost caught in the act by a bystander. It is theorized that he went after the second victim, Catherine Eddowes, enraged from being interrupted during Elizabeth Stride’s murder. Let’s hope we catch him at the first victim, and possibly save some lives tonight,” Teagan said.
“I hope he puts up a fight. I haven’t used my sword except for practice in ages,” Ovidia said, a smile spreading across her face.
“Bloodthirsty much,” Teagan asked.
“It’s in my blood Teag, I cannot help myself.” Ovidia patted the thin air beside her. At the gesture, the vague glowing shape of her sword appeared. “Hopefully we get a chance at some action tonight,” Ovidia told the shining blade. This was a whole other side of Ovidia that Teagan was seeing—she had not realized her friend had such a violent side to her.