Sanguine (Improbable Truths #1)

by J. R. Burnett

  I rubbed the stone's smooth surface with my fingers, still not grasping what seemed so obvious to my companion. "How does this help solve the case?"

  "Because with this stone in our possession, the killer will come to us."

  Chapter 4

  221B was a welcome sight after our adventures. Having become too far removed from death during my convalescence, I retired immediately to the sitting room with a small glass of brandy to help steady my nerves. Holmes, on the other hand, was invigorated. He banged and clamored away in the dining room at some task that made sense only to him. I tried to ignore the commotion and pulled out the morning's woefully neglected newspaper instead. An article on the continued construction of the statuesque monstrosity rising up from the bay dominated the front page. I couldn't help but imagine the darker story that would be laid down in the ink of the next edition.

  Eventually curiosity got the better of me and I ventured into Holmes's workspace. The copper coils, gears, and vacuum tubes that most reliably held his attention had been swept to one side of the dining room table. In the resulting space, Holmes had placed the rune in a place of honor. My companion furiously scribbled on a slate tablet in a series of angled lines that resembled the ones etched into the stone.

  "Ignatius!" Holmes cried, his head bent so far over the slate that his nose nearly touched the surface. "How long does it take to find a rock?" Jerking up from his work, Holmes spun around to face me. His eyes clouded with confusion as he spotted me in the doorway instead of our four legged roommate. "W-Watson," he stuttered after a moment's hesitation. "I apologize if I've disturbed you. I'm more accustomed to working in solitude."

  "On the contrary, I'm curious." I stepped into the room so that I could better see the characters Holmes labored over. "More runes?"

  Holmes's nod was so slight that I would have missed it had I not been standing only a few feet away.

  "How is this going to deliver us our killer?" I asked.

  "It is...complicated." Holmes's words were heavy with reluctance, a stark contrast from his frenzy only seconds before.

  "Explain it to me."

  Holmes picked up the rune, turning it over and over in his fingers. Storm clouds gathered in his eyes as he wrestled with some sort of internal dilemma. He stood this way for so long that I concluded he had forgotten my presence and I turned to leave.

  "Magic," Holmes said finally. "Real magic. Not some parlor trick akin to the spiritualist's slate or a trained rabbit popping from a hat. Real magic is energy." He motioned towards the jumble of wire on the far side of the table. "As quantifiable as electricity."

  The laugh that escaped my lips was immediate and involuntary. The tumultuous clouds in Holmes eyes faded to the melancholy grey of a dreary drizzle.

  Your foolish little brain is not capable of comprehending such intricacies of the universe. The thought formed in my mind as if it was my own, yet I was certain I had not called these words to life.

  "Don't be rude, Ignatius," Holmes said.

  I was merely stating a fact. The cat sauntered through the door with a rock in his mouth.

  "You were being rude. Dr. Watson here is quite observant in his own way. He is merely uneducated in the more...arcane sciences. Apologize to our friend."

  I am sorry you were offended.

  In retrospect, I suppose I should have been more taken aback at the concept of a clairvoyant feline. However, even that early in our relationship, I fear Holmes had begun to rub off on me and the once impossible had started to seem simply improbable. Denying something's existence becomes much more difficult when it is standing in front of you, staring you down with its own eyes. Over time I have learned to believe in much that I would have dismissed without a second thought in my earlier years. The systematic destruction of my preconceived perceptions is the price I paid for my friendship with Holmes and I feel I am the better man for it.

  "From what I saw at the scene, I believe our killer was conducting a ritual. Despite the killer's attempts to remove them and the officers' careless trampling of the scene, there were chalk lines and wax drippings consistent with a binding. And then there was the mark in blood on the wall...." The electric spark had returned to Holmes's eyes and his words tumbled out as frenzy gripped him once again.

  "In the killer's blood," I said, remembering the lack of wounds on the victim.

  Holmes nodded sharply in agreement. "Magic is not without a price. Many rituals require the caster to pay with something dear to them. Blood in this case."

  "For what purpose?"

  "I don't know yet," Holmes admitted. "But the rune played an important role. Why else would the killer have risked returning to the scene of the crime in order to retrieve it?"

  Bending over, Holmes snatched the rock from Ignatius's jaws and clasp it in the hand opposite the rune in question. The skin along his knuckles blanched as he squeezed the rock with such ferocity that I expected it to be crushed into dust. I could hear the air rush into his lungs with each strained breath and a few beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. The fire in Holmes's eyes burned brighter than ever before and I averted my gaze as sun spots started to dance across my own field of vision. After what seemed like an eternity, Holmes opened his hands and offered me the two stones.

  At first glance, I couldn't tell the two apart. Identical in color, shape, and size, the new stone had miraculously been etched as the first. My eyes darted from one to the other. "It's missing a line," I said, realizing that the mark on the second stone differed slightly from the original. A small angled line had been omitted.

  "Precisely. I only hope our killer will be in such a hurry to retrieve it that they will not scrutinize it too closely." Holmes looked down at Ignatius. "I presume your Irregulars will be able to spread the word among the underworld?"

  Of course. What kind of lousy familiar do you think I am?

  Chapter 5

  If it has not already become evident by this point in the narrative, I am not good at waiting. The muscles in my legs ached, restless to be in motion, as I crouched down behind the sitting room door. If I could, I would have weaved back and forth, like a horse confined to its box for far too long. But motion was not part of Holmes's plan, at least not yet.

  From my vantage point, I could see my companion's lanky form highlighted by the silver moonlight that shone through the dining room window. He sat curled in the corner, motionless. A spider at the center of its web waiting for dinner to deliver itself. Despite his frequent frenzies, Holmes can be a master of stillness when he so desires.

  My revolver was cold and heavy in my hand. It was the first time I had handled the weapon since leaving the army and its memory was somewhat unwelcome to me. Holmes had insisted, however, that I might wish protection against the murdering monster we invited into our home that night. Holmes, himself, went without any weapon that was obvious to my sight. When I had inquired about the arrangement, he had tapped his finger against the side of his head as if his mind was the only weapon he required. Perhaps it was. The image of him gripping the stone earlier in the day was still at the forefront of my thoughts. If the magic he spoke of was real, perchance he could call down Heaven's wrath upon our suspect with a single word.

  The creak of a floor board broke me from my introspection and my heart galloped in anticipation. I held my breath, waiting for another sound that would betray an intruder's presence, but none came. A dark, cat shaped shadow slipped in and out of the moonlight as it made its way across the room. I could hear Ignatius's laughter echo in my mind.

  I had nearly slipped into slumber when the door hinges groaned and I heard muffled footsteps against the foyer floor. I tensed, ready to spring forth, but I held my ground. Holmes had been very clear about the plan and somewhere deep inside the soldier in me still obeyed. Through the narrow gap between the hinges, I could see a figure make its way down the hall with a quick boldness that surprised me. An oversized coat enveloped the intruder's form such that I could not guess at their identity. I
squinted, wishing for more light. I wanted…I needed to know….

  In a moment, the suspect would notice Holmes. I had tried to convince my companion of the err of his choice in hiding places. He would be seen too easily. Seconds ticked by and no alarm was raised. Nothing but shadows had taken over Holmes's chosen corner.

  Ignatius cried out and bolted down the hall, twisting and tangling himself between the suspect's legs. The intruder stumbled the rest of the way to the dining room. A bright light flickered to life as Holmes lit the gas lamp. I let out a deep breath, just now realizing that I had been holding it in. Everything had happened exactly as Holmes had predicted. The case was solved and the rightful person in custody....

  But instead of surrendering, as any civilized man—or woman, for that matter—would have done, I could see the intruder lunge across the room at my companion. I shouted a warning, but it was too late. The killer grabbed and clawed at Holmes in desperation. A thousand scenarios played out in my head and my inability to focus on one course of action left me frozen where I knelt. I needed to know…. I heard the dull thud of fists of flesh but, against the bright light, I couldn't tell who was giving and who was receiving the blows. Ignatius, no more than a black blur, leapt into the fray. Someone screamed as I suspected the cat's claws, and perhaps teeth, found their mark.

  The sharp snap of wood, or perhaps bone, jolted me from my paralysis. I sprang from my hiding spot and charged into the room. The light was even brighter here and my eyes stung with tears. I took my aim at the intruder, but could not bring myself to fire. My hand trembled. Shooting a man in self-defense was one thing, shooting a woman was quite another. I needed to know…. Instead, I swept the barrel of my revolver to the side and fired off several rounds. Surely that would provide a distraction and give Holmes a chance to take control of the situation. The gun jammed and I tossed it aside. I raised one hand to shield my eyes from the light and waded into the battle, holding my cane in front of me like a club.

  "Enough, Watson," Holmes shouted as he grabbed my shoulder with one hand and deftly wrenched my cane from me with the other. "I'm afraid our visitor has escaped in the melee." Holmes returned my cane, then turned to sifting through the flotsam that now filled the room. One of the chairs had been reduced to splinters and shards of glass twinkled in the flickering light as if someone had scattered a handful of stars across the floor. "Here," Holmes said as he handed me my discarded weapon. "A bit more care cleaning your revolver next time, if you will."

  I consider myself lucky that you are not a better shot. Ignatius flicked his tail back and forth in an agitated fashion. Two erratic bullet holes punctured the plaster mere inches above the cat's head. I considered apologizing, but Ignatius had already moved on, bored with the situation. He yawned and jumped up on the table where the counterfeit rune had been sitting. The stone was gone. At least she took the bait.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, I expected to find Holmes suffering from one of his fits of melancholy. We had, after all, failed to apprehend the suspected killer last night. I had little doubt it was my own failure to act effective, or even efficiently, that allowed the suspect to grab the rune and bolt to freedom.

  Instead, however, Holmes was up before the sun. By the time I made it down to the dining area, he was humming cheerfully to himself—one of Mozart's violin concertos if I wasn't mistaken—and tinkering away at a spool of copper wire. He chatted while I fixed my tea as if we'd done nothing more than enjoy some fine brandy and discuss literature the previous night.

  While Lestrade's mannerisms have become so familiar that I can now identify his approach by the sound of his footfalls on the steps, I was not yet so accustomed to him at the time. The sharp knock at the door startled me enough that tea sloshed over the rim of my cup as I flinched at the noise. Holmes continued to bend and twist the copper wire in his hands, seemingly unaware of the interruption. I wiped the scalding liquid off my hand, then forced myself up from my chair and across to the door. Lestrade stood on the other side and I couldn't help but feel a bit of deja vu from the day before.

  "We've got him," Lestrade said as he pushed past me into the apartment.

  Holmes didn't look up from his project. "Who?" In a single word, he conveyed all the boredom of a three hour lecture on the developmental physiology of earthworms.

  Lestrade's face flushed a peculiar shade of red. "The killer, Holmes. We've caught Edward Dahmen's killer. No thanks to you."

  Holmes merely shrugged. "You are certain?"

  "Are you insinuating that I would arrest an innocent man?"

  A heavy silence filled the apartment, heavier than any word uttered so far. Holmes didn't seem to notice, but Lestrade's face darkened by several hues. Even from halfway across the room, I could see his pulse throbbing along his neck and I worried Lestrade might succumb to a burst aneurysm right in the middle of my tea.

  "Edward Dahmen ate dinner at a nearby establishment shortly prior to his untimely demise. This is corroborated by several eye witnesses that described his likeness with uncanny precision. Under the influence of an overabundance of drink, our victim seems to have taken a liking to one of the barmaids and was seen to be making advances that the woman did not return. Unfortunately for Mr. Dahmen, the woman's brother was nearby and took offense at his overtures. They were seen exchanging words in front of the establishment by many of the fellow patrons only a short time before his death. Certainly the man followed and took revenge in the name of his sister's honor."

  "I highly doubt that," Holmes said finally.

  Lestrade's cheeks puffed out like some frustrated chipmunk. The detective sprang into action, pacing back and forth across the room. "Doubt if you will," Lestrade said after several circuits, "but I am certain of his guilt."

  "When did you apprehend your man?" Holmes asked.

  "Yesterday evening, shortly after sundown."

  "Then you are mistaken." Holmes sighed and set aside the copper cage he had been building. "For Watson and I entertained your killer in this very apartment early this morning."

  "You couldn't have." Lestrade's voice had grown so thin that it threatened to crack with each word.

  "I fear we did, Sir." I motioned towards the bullet holes still evident in the plaster.

  "Quite the lot of amateurs you are," Lestrade said.

  "On the contrary, we've laid quite the trap, Detective. But, by all means, please carry on with the suspect you have in custody. Time will tell which of us is right in the end."

  Lestrade stormed out of the room, his anger a barely contained typhoon, and I pitied the first junior officer he encountered.

  "Is there any chance Lestrade could have the right man?" I asked.

  "No."

  "The killer could have sent someone else to retrieve the rune...."

  "No."

  ***

  Dusk had fallen outside the windows before Holmes emerged from the dining room. I had entertained myself with a book of detailed surgical anatomy and tried to ignore the frequent outbursts from Holmes's temporary laboratory, which alternated between cries of joy and creative curses throughout the entire day.

  "Come, Watson. You won't want to miss this."

  Having been tremendously curious as to what held my friend's attention, but reluctant to interrupt his deductive process, I now hurried into the dining room.

  Holmes had transformed the space into an elaborate stage. He had drawn two concentric circles on the table top in chalk, filling the space between the two rings with angular symbols. Along the outer circle, black candles had been spaced out evenly...thirteen in all.

  "Based on the few remaining chalk marks and wax drippings at the scene of the crime along with the inclusion of runes, blood, and the eventual outcome for the victim, I think I have figured out the ritual our killer performed. Killing a human without a trace is no easy task. Even poison leaves some residue…and our victim showed no signs of a fatal toxicity. There are very few rituals that would suffice and those that
would are the darkest of dark magic. Not many would attempt them for, even when performed correctly, they risk the caster as much as the intended victim."

  The skin on the back of my neck prickled as Holmes's words failed to instill confidence in me. I started to protest that perhaps experimenting with such dangerous rituals might be better done somewhere other than our dining room table, but at that moment Ignatius jumped through the partially open window into the room and distracted me from my cause. Something twisted and fluttered in the cat's mouth.

  "Ah, Ignatius, perfect timing as always." Holmes leaned down and rescued the pitiful creature. A small sparrow collapsed in his hands, its chest heaving with each labored breath. "I would have preferred the hobgoblin that lives under the stairs."

  Beggars can't be choosers.

  "Next time, perhaps."

  Only shortly before joining up with Holmes, I had been honored to attend a lecture by some visiting Polish physicists at a local university. Having discovered the secret to transforming nitrogen gas into its liquid form, the scientists were keen to demonstrate the product's unique characteristics. During the lecture one of the scientists dipped a fresh flower into the foggy brew, which rendered it immediately frozen. It was this that I was reminded of as Holmes delicately set the still stunned bird within the interior circle Wings which had flapped feebly only moments before, froze in an instant.

  I leaned forward and extended my hand to touch the creature and verify it still lived, but Holmes caught me by the wrist before I breeched the outer chalk circle. He wrestled a large copper wire cage from the corner of the room and settled it over the proceedings on the table. "Safety first."

  "A Faraday cage?" I asked.

  A genuine look of shock flickered across my companion's face. "You are more astute than you let on."