A Clockwork Heart

by Liesel Schwarz

  “Do you really have to do this? Can’t she just make another pet?”

  He shook his head. “Apparently this one was very special. One of a kind. But don’t worry about it, little sister. It’s only for a little while longer. Her army grows stronger each day and soon she will move on.” He smiled at her. “And when that happens, we will be rich beyond your wildest dreams. I will buy you a house that is painted with real gold. And fine dresses made of silk. And then you can languish in your drawing room while servants bring you cakes. You will never have to carry heavy buckets of water again.”

  Florica shook her head and laughed, for this was a game the two of them played often. “I don’t want a house painted of gold. It would need too much polishing.”

  “Well then I will buy you a wagon of solid silver with four fine white horses.”

  “I don’t want a wagon of pure silver and fine horses—they eat too much.”

  “Well, what do you want then, little sister?”

  “All I want is to be happy and free with the whole world to roam.”

  Emilian’s expression softened. “You have the true blood of the traveling folk in your veins, little sister. And because of that and no matter what happens, we will always be free.”

  “But we are not free as long as that woman has a hold over us. I cannot take much more of this, Emilian. I tell you I cannot.” Her lip trembled.

  He put a hand on her shoulder to console her. “And that is why we must let her evilness succeed. It is the quickest way to be rid of her. I promise you that it won’t be very much longer. You’ll see.”

  And as I listened to them speak, I took note of their wishes. For even bound and held in this place, I still might have a few tricks up my sleeves. And sometimes, for those who are true of heart, wishes can come true.

  CHAPTER 24

  “Does it ever stop raining in this place?” Loisa scoffed as she stepped out of the cab. She lifted her shawl of the finest Spanish mantilla lace over her top hat like a veil to protect her curls from the damp.

  Elle strode out into the street to look for a cab but, as was invariably the case when seeking a cab in London, there was never one to be found when needed.

  They turned into Charing Cross Road and started walking toward Trafalgar Square.

  “I’ll try on this side of the road,” Loisa said. “You take the other.

  “Jellied eels, madam? Mine’s the best in the West End,” a coster with a barrow perched on the street corner said as she passed.

  “No, thank you,” Elle said quickly. She had never been partial to eels boiled in vinegar and suspended in a jelly made from their own cartilage.

  “I have oysters too. Freshly caught,” he said.

  “Thank you, but no,” she said. Then she paused and looked at the coster. He was a surly-looking man with a salt and pepper beard did not do much to cover up the scars from whatever painful diseases had marred his life. His eyes were sharp though. This was a man who missed very little.

  “Perhaps you might help me with some information,” she said after thinking for a moment.

  “Well, I can’t say as I know much. I tend to stick to minding me own business, I do.”

  “That a fact now?” Elle arched her eyebrows. “And you work this corner every day?”

  “Every day that God gives,” the coster said.

  “Hmm. Perhaps I will try some of your eels after all,” Elle said. She opened her holdall and pulled out two pence.

  The coster took a moment to examine the money in the light of his lantern before he started spooning eels into a newspaper funnel.

  “Down the road, opposite that corner, lives a gentleman. He has sandy hair and wears glasses,” Elle said.

  The coster nodded slowly. “There’s many gentlemen with sandy hair round here, madam,” the he said.

  “He’s a fellow who likes books. Involved in all sorts of funny magic business. Comes and goes at all hours. Have you seen him today?”

  The coster pursed his lips. “I may have.”

  “Did you see anything unusual happen in Denmark Street today?”

  “Perhaps,” the coster said scratching his ear.

  Elle pulled another coin out of her holdall. “I will give you this shiny new shilling if you tell me what you saw.

  The coster palmed the coin and smiled at her. It seemed that they were now speaking the same language.

  “It were them gypsies. The one had a peacock feather in his hat. That’s the evil eye, that is. They came here in the afternoon while I was manning my pitch across the road. Carried him out and loaded him into a carriage as if he were a side of beef. I thought it must have been a gambling debt or something. Didn’t think more of it.”

  “Do you know where they went?”

  The coster rubbed his jaw “They headed off toward Tottenham Court Road. Could be anywhere by now.”

  “Thank you kindly.”

  “Much obliged, madam,” the coster said. “Bless you and have a good evening.”

  “I will,” she said. “And where would I go if I were out to meet the traveling folk?” she said, trying for just that little bit of extra information.

  The coster scratched his head. “Well, you might want to have a look at the Black Stag pub. It’s in the East End, mind. But there are loads of traveling folk in the area and the landlord lets them drink there sometimes. One of the few houses round there who do.”

  “The Black Stag,” Elle said. “Thank you for the tip.”

  “Do take care if you go there though. The Black Stag is no place for a fine lady on her own,” the coster said.

  “I found one!” Loisa called out from the inside of a steam cab that drew up beside her.

  Elle smiled at the coster. “Well then, it’s a good thing I am not a fine lady then. Good evening to you, sir.”

  She stepped into the cab and sat down next to Loisa.

  “Are those eels?” Loisa wrinkled her nose at the fishy vinegary smell that emanated from the newspaper parcel Elle held.

  “They are indeed. Horrible smelling things, aren’t they?”

  “So what did the man say? I presume you did not purchase those for the purpose of eating them?” Loisa said.

  “I know my father is quite fond of these, and I’m sure Mrs. Hinges will make them presentable with a few slices of brown bread and butter, but yes I do believe, my dear baroness, that we have ourselves a clue.”

  Loisa looked at her with expectation.

  “After the monastery, we’re going to the pub,” she said.

  “Well, this isn’t going very well,” Elle said. The cab had dropped them off just outside Battersea Park and at that moment they were standing, ankle-deep in cold mud. Water dripped down in big, insulting drops from the branches of the trees above them. One hit her right on that warm spot where ear and neck connect and she shivered.

  “This is the mist that draws forth the Tickers,” Loisa remarked, unaffected by the cold. “But they must go somewhere during the day. Do you think that this place might be it?”

  The spark monastery loomed up ahead of them. Its four chimneys were silent and ominous against the gunmetal sky.

  “If Jasper’s newspaper clippings are anything to go by. I must admit that it does make for a really good place to hide. Spacious and with as much spark as is needed to create these monsters,” Elle said.

  Loisa lifted her head and sniffed the air. “I smell death,” she murmured.

  “Oi, what are you two lovelies doing standing out here, eh?” someone said behind them.

  Elle and Loisa both turned to face the man who spoke, but they were blinded by the bright beam of a spark lantern that splashed light across the grass and trees.

  “The park is closed to the public. But seeing as you are here, why don’t you two pretty darlings come over here so we can have a little cuddle? There’s a penny in it for each of you if you do,” one of them said.

  “That one is mine,” Loisa said softly.

  Elle nodd
ed and stepped aside.

  Quicker than the eye could see, Loisa leapt into action and grabbed the man. She tilted his head and she sank her fangs into his throat.

  Elle shuddered. She had never seen a Nightwalker feed on a person before and it was utterly terrifying. Loisa was every bit the predator the books and legends spoke of.

  Suddenly Loisa let out a choking sound. She let go of the man and she fell to the ground gasping and clutching her throat.

  “Loisa!” Elle ran over to where she lay curled up in the ground.

  “Silver!” Loisa gasped. She doubled over and started vomiting bile as black as peat onto the ground.

  Elle held her friend by the shoulders as she retched. “What do I do?”

  “Run. Get away from here,” Loisa choked out between bouts of retching.

  The man she had attacked started laughing as he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his neck. “That’s right, little Nightwalker. Thought you could have a bite of old Tom.” He laughed again. “You nearly got me once, but not twice my dear. I’ve been drinking my silver every day with my porridge, just in case we met again so there’s to be no sipping from my neck, all right?” He let out a shrill whistle. “Vargo. Hunch. It’s the two from the docks. I knew they’d be back for more trouble. Let’s load them up. The dark one will be dead soon, but I’m sure the mistress won’t say no to the other. At the very least, she’ll want to know where her ticker gone off to. She’s not very big, but who knows, the mistress might have a use for her.”

  Loisa was on her hands and knees, dry-heaving. Her body arched in spasms every time she retched.

  Elle reached inside her coat and pulled out her Colt. “No amount of silver will stop a bullet to the chest, so don’t even think about it,” she said to the two lumbering assailants who were bearing down on her. She cocked the revolver with a satisfying click. “I have one bullet to the head and one to the heart for each of you, with plenty to spare in case I miss, if you take even one step closer,” she said.

  They hesitated. One of the men raised his hands in a gesture of submission.

  “Loisa, can you stand?” Elle said.

  Loisa groaned and gagged, but she nodded.

  “Then on the count of three, I am going to lift you so we can run all right?

  Loisa nodded again.

  “One … two … three!” Elle slipped her arm around Loisa and dragged her up off the ground. The two of them stumbled past the men. They had spread out to catch them as if they were locked in some bizarre rugby game where Loisa was the ball. Elle felt her shoulder connect with the soft part of someone’s abdomen. The man gasped with surprise and stumbled backward.

  “Get them! Get them!” one of them shouted as Elle and Loisa broke through the line and ran for cover. Elle skidded and slid under the dark branches of yew hedge. They landed in the freezing mulch where they lay for long silent moments, hoping the men would miss them in the dark.

  Loisa groaned and retched again. She looked to be in a terrible way.

  “They went this way,” someone said. She heard the trudge of hob-nailed boots on wet mulch just outside their makeshift hiding place and she held Loisa tighter, lest she make another sound that might give them away.

  But her attempts were in vain. “Got ya!” one of the men crowed. Elle felt a huge hand grab her by the collar of her coat in order to drag them out of the hedge. Without thinking, Elle turned and fired at her assailant.

  Two shots, fired in quick succession rang out across the silent park.

  The man let go of Elle and she heard him drop to the ground. He gave a strange little gurgling grunt, and then he lay perfectly still.

  “Loisa, you have to run with me. Just for a little while, all right?” she whispered.

  The Nightwalker nodded and Elle dragged her up.

  The two remaining henchmen were crouched over their fallen comrade on the other side of the hedge, but they both sat up when Elle and Loisa stepped out of the hedge.

  “No one comes a step closer, do you understand? I don’t want any more trouble,” Elle said. “Just let us go and nobody else needs to get hurt this evening. Understood?”

  The one she thought was called Vargo lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender.

  Elle did not wait to see if he meant it. She turned Loisa round and together they stumbled along the pathway and into the street. For once the Fates were looking out for them and to her unending relief, an unsuspecting steam cab pulled up just as they stepped onto the pavement.

  “Grosvenor Square. And be as quick as you can about it. This is an emergency,” she told the cab driver.

  “Will fresh blood help?” Elle whispered to Loisa as they rattled through the streets. Loisa was so pale that her skin shone with a bluish hue in the half-light of the spark lamps that shone through the cab windows in bursts as they drove past. Black veins spread under her fine skin as the silver made its way though her system.

  The Nightwalker nodded. “It helps us heal,” she mumbled.

  Elle sat Loisa up against the seat and wrenched herself out of her damp leather coat.

  “Wha–what are you doing?” Loisa mumbled. Her head lolled to the side.

  Elle rolled up her sleeve to expose her wrist. “I am not going to let you die in the back of this cab, Loisa. Not while I can do something about it.” She held her wrist before the Nightwalker’s white lips. “Take some blood from me.”

  Loisa shook her head. “No.”

  “This is a matter of life and death. Do it, damn you. Before I lose my nerve and you die.”

  Loisa’s eyes flew open at the sensation of Elle’s pulse against her lips.

  “Go on! What are you waiting for?”

  Elle gritted her teeth and closed her eyes as she felt the sharp jab of fang pierce her skin.

  Loisa started making strange little slurping sounds that chilled Elle to the bone, but she held herself resolute. They both knew that without blood her friend would die.

  Seconds ticked by as they sat, huddled together in the dark. Elle felt herself grow woozy and she gently took Loisa’s face into her hands. The Nightwalker stopped feeding and fell back against the seat. Without missing a beat, Elle quickly wrapped her handkerchief around her wrist, sealing off the puncture wound that marred her arm.

  “We are now blood sisters. Forevermore,” Loisa mumbled. She closed her eyes with a little sigh.

  Elle watched her for a few anxious moments. The black under Loisa’s skin looked like it was slowly receding. She would probably need more nourishment before she was well, but hopefully she would make it.

  And so, for the second time in three nights, Elle found herself dragging an injured loved one up the stairs of Greychester House while the doctor was summoned. But at least this time there was hope. They had found the lair of the necromancer.

  CHAPTER 25

  A large man in a bowler hat stepped off the train at Paddington Station. He had no luggage, save for a brown leather Gladstone bag that he carried with him always.

  Patrice Chevalier had come to London.

  Outside the station he paused and sniffed the air. It had stopped raining, but the air was thick with freezing fog. It was the kind of damp that soaked into the lungs, filling them with the miasmic pneumonia that spelled certain death.

  Unperturbed by the damp, he held up his arm and hailed a cab. “Soho if you please,” he said in heavily accented English.

  “Walk on!” said the cabbie as the Hackney lurched forward. Patrice studied the clockwork taximeter whirr and tick as the fare mounted up. London was such an insanely expensive city. He hated coming here.

  Outside Dean Street he bade the cabdriver to wait for him. His business here would be quick, he was sure.

  Upstairs, Police Commissioner Willoughby was at lunch. He was slicing into the hunk of rare roast beef that sat in a reddish pool in the middle of his plate.

  “Police Commissioner … no don’t get up,” Patrice said smoothly as the startled man recognized him. “Do yo
u mind if I sit?”

  “Of course,” Willoughby stuttered. He put down his knife and fork and wiped his face. “I am so sorry, Mr. Chevalier. I was not expecting you.”

  “I like to drop in on my contacts unannounced. It keeps them on their feet.” He pulled out one of his little black cigarillos and lit it, blowing a fine plume of scented smoke into the air. “It has been a while, though. How are things?”

  “Well, I am glad you stopped by,” the commissioner beamed, regaining his composure. “How are your clients? I trust they are well?”

  Patrice gave him a sly smile. “I have various clients, Commissioner. Some are better than others.” Of course, the commissioner was referring to the Council of Warlocks. Patrice had kept him on the payroll for some time—even while he was working with Marsh. Sometimes it paid to have a few secret resources.”

  The commissioner pushed his plate aside. “Well, I think I might have some excellent news for them. You know our little problem … the one with the red hair?”

  “Yes …” Patrice said slowly.

  “Well, I think I might have dispensed with the obstacle. Let’s just say that I had an important task for the good viscount and it has taken him away from home. The way is open for your clients to take what is theirs.”

  “Is that so?” Patrice said. He did his best to keep his face impassive, but Wolloughby was right, this was excellent news.

  “It is indeed.”

  “Do I want to know how you achieved this most interesting state of affairs?”

  “It’s up to you. If you don’t ask, I won’t tell. But let’s just say he’s not coming back.”

  “Well then, I shall have to pay the lady a visit. Payment will be forthcoming once I have confirmation that your plan has actually worked.”

  The commissioner grinned with glee. “I had the lady in my office just a few days ago. I had her in readiness to deliver her to you, all trussed up like the pretty little goose she is, but her dastardly uncle intervened and so I had no choice but to let her go.”