by A. W. Exley
“There should have been. Cara emptied a few rounds in them. She got one square in the chest and another in the shoulder.” Brick cast an arm back down the wharf. “We looked but there’s no sign of them, got clean away in the confusion.”
What sort of man took a hit to the chest and walked away? A tingle at the back of his brain told him he knew the answer. “Body armour?”
Brick shook his head. “No. The shot penetrated but their blood wasn’t right. They should have bled over the dock, but it ran like water.”
Nate stilled. “Water?”
Brick nodded. “Yeah. I was pretty close, so had a good look. What came out was clear and never stained their clothes.”
The Curator. Whatever runs through his veins also runs through his men’s. Nate jumped to his feet, his mind whirred with plans. He didn’t want to leave the last spot he saw her, but his gut said to follow the lead. “He took her. I don’t know how, but the bastard has her.”
He strode off down the dock. He had a target, and he wouldn’t let go until he had his wife back.
“Who? Where are going?” Brick matched his stride to Nate’s.
“Southwark,” he called over his shoulder, but first he needed to gather a few supplies from the hangar.
An hour later, Nate and a handful of men stood on the side of the road. The ugly stone building sat in darkness, even the moonbeams pulled back before touching the walls. No light escaped from the narrow windows, not a whisper of movement reached their ears.
“Looks sealed tight. Do you think she’s in there, Gov?” Jackson said as they walked up to the entrance. Brick had volunteered to stay at the jetty as look out.
“If she’s not in there, he will know where she is.” Nate stared at the thick metal door, similar to the one on his Mayfair mansion. Which meant he knew its main weakness. “Blow it.”
Being prepared paid off and he stood back while the men plugged explosives against the enormous hinges on one side and ran a wire down the path. When they were all clear, he struck a match and dropped it to the end. The tiny spark raced along the cobbles, up the steps, and disappeared into the tight bundle.
For one second, he thought the fuse failed, and then the explosion slammed through the night, followed by the scream of twisted metal. The blast rocked him, but he held firm. Birds squawked and shot from where they roosted in surrounding trees. Wings beat the air and spread the cloud of smoke.
He bounced on the balls of his feet, eager to charge in and spared only moments for the haze to clear before heading back up the path. The double height door now hung open on ruptured hinges. He stepped over the threshold into the grey interior. No one ran to see what made such a noise, proof the house lay empty.
The massive candelabra overhead was unlit and he wound the battery-powered lamp in his hand. The small yellow light cast an even smaller shadow. “Spread out, search the house. Look for either someone we can question or for any sign of Cara.”
They fanned out, weapons drawn and calling her name. Room by room, floor by floor, they searched. Under beds, inside closets, and they even pulled bookcases and chests from against the walls and rapped on the plaster, looking for concealed entrances. Four hours later, they regrouped by the busted door.
Nate ground his jaw in frustration. So close. Where has he scarpered to? “He’ll be back. Set someone to watch the house,” he said, while inside he prayed Cara lasted that long.
Day Two
he first drops of dawn bled over the horizon as Nate stood in the entranceway, wearing the clothes from the previous day. The knees of his trousers were stained where he knelt in despair at the end of the jetty. Stubble clung to his square jaw and he scratched as men assembled for the oncoming search. They would be on the ice as soon as there was enough light.
The main door pushed open and Lady Morton strode in, her clothing rumpled and her eyes red. With no airship at her disposal, she had to rely on much slower horses to carry her to London.
She fixed Nate with her gaze. “Is Cara alive?”
The most important question in his life. His men turned to stare, waiting for an answer to a question none of them wanted to voice. For how could anyone survive a day and night trapped under the ice? If she hadn’t drowned within minutes, she would have frozen by now.
He swallowed. “Yes, I believe so, though others do not.”
She nodded curtly. “Then, let’s find her. How many men do you have?”
“A thousand will assemble this morning, and another thousand by this afternoon.” Liam answered his call, and his standing army in the Rookery would be put to use pounding the Thames and the surrounding area.
She blinked as the number registered. “Two thousand men? Good.” She swept past him into his office and then turned to level a finger at his head when he followed. “You look terrible. Go upstairs and change clothes and shave while I get things moving here.” She unbuttoned her thick coat and handed it off without looking who took it.
He held his ground, but mention of shaving made his face itch again under the day’s growth. “I will not. My mission is to find Cara, not dress for breakfast.” His hands furled into clenched fists at his sides as he sought to restrain his frustration. “You do not understand the chasm inside me, without her,” he bit out with a clenched jaw.
The crack echoed within the walls of his study and was audible to those in the entranceway. He turned his head but held fast. Damn woman has quite the arm on her. Heat rushed to his cheek from the slap.
Nan glared. “I have buried my daughter and my husband and now my granddaughter is missing. Do not think to compare the weight of sorrow with me.”
In her eyes blazed the same grit that ran through Cara. These wilful women were tangled throughout his life.
He swallowed. “I was not thinking.” That was the closest he could edge to an apology. They both suffered, but no one would understand how deep Cara was embedded in his psyche through their shared bond. A bond that now lay as frozen as the Thames.
Her gaze softened. “Find something outside of your grief to give your mind a sliver of hope, or it will consume you.”
He heard her words and dismissed them with a nod. How could he ever focus on anything other than the gaping void in his soul? “Returning to the task at hand, I fail to see how the state of my clothing is relevant to the search.”
“I don’t remember phrasing it as a question, Nathaniel. You have assembled an army; let me dispatch it in the most efficient manner rather than having men stumble over each other. Now go, and I’ll also organise a decent breakfast, we have a long day ahead of us.” She levelled another finger at Jackson who stood at Nate’s back. “You, we need maps of London and the outer areas showing the Thames. Once we grid up the area, we can allocate men to search.” Through long years of marriage to a colonel, his military organisation rubbed off and she cracked her knuckles at the challenge.
It made sense to divide the tasks and Nan had things in hand. Her steel determination to find her granddaughter would equal his. His stomach rumbled and reminded him he hadn’t eaten since noon the previous day. Could his body still sustain Cara’s, even if their bond was dead? There was some logic to Nan’s words, he would eat and sleep if, even in some tiny measure, it helped Cara.
“I won’t be long. Food for the searchers is a good idea. The kitchen should have a number of thermoses, the men will need something hot to keep them warm out there. Have them ready to go by the time I change.”
He took the stairs two at a time, then waved away the valet and shaving supplies. He doubted he could hold himself still long enough for the stroke of the cutthroat razor. His dirty clothes were discarded in a haphazard manner as he redressed in plain and study garb.
Downstairs, the butler held a tray with a portable breakfast he could eat while tasks were assigned. He had set men to watch the Southwark house, and Nan had allocated each of his men a location and a slice of the Rookery workforce. They were the captains of his personal army, under his comma
nd. Nan would liaise from the house, and with duties in place, they sallied forth.
Outside, he halted at the sight of a curious doorstop. Rachel sat on the top step, her arms wrapped around her thin legs.
The child raised red eyes to Nate. “I want to help.”
She must have walked through the snow from St Giles, but what could a one handed eight-year-old do? The scoff of dismissal rose in his throat, but faltered at the sight of fresh tears and a chilled big toe poking through the hole in her boot. He should order the girl home, chase her away like a stray, there was nothing here for her now. But Nan’s words came back to him: find something outside of your grief.
Rachel held a piece of Cara’s heart. If he gathered enough small shards, perhaps he could reconstruct a shadow of his love. One day, he might be able to fan the small ember the girl carried into something bigger. Cara wanted to give her opportunities, to lay the world before her and they paid the price her father asked to release her to their custody. Should it come to it, Rachel would give him a focus outside of his loss.
He stretched out a hand. “You can help Brick and gather reports from the men searching and run them back to Nan in the house.”
She placed her tiny hand in his and he pulled her to her feet. Rachel wiped a snotty nose on her sleeve.
He flicked his gaze to the bodyguard. “Find her a warmer coat and some sturdy boots and then bring her out to the ice.”
They started at the same point Cara disappeared, petite pier. He jumped down to survey how much ice grew overnight in the rip. With a pick, he cracked the top layer and drew out a broken piece.
“Two inches,” he said, holding it up to the light. She could break that if she surfaced. Assuming the current didn’t sweep her further to the side or downriver, to Gravesend, perhaps? He made a mental note to have men travel east to where the ice stopped.
“Gov,” Jackson called from behind.
Nate turned and the man pointed back to the wharf. Looking down upon them stood Inspector Fraser and his sergeant. The dark blue uniform hovered at his inspector’s back, arms crossed as he locked gazes with Jackson. He climbed back up the steel ladder and approached the other man like a lion circling a stray hyena. You never knew when the lesser creature might snap and strike out, emboldened by fear.
Fraser lowered his bowler hat but never his guard. “May I offer my condolences on your terrible loss, Viscount Lyons.”
Nate ignored the platitude and narrowed his gaze. He stopped a foot from his nemesis. “What do you want, Fraser? You waste valuable search time.”
The inspector coughed into his hand as though something unpleasant were stuck in his throat. “We have put the word out all over the county; people are to be on the lookout for Lady Lyons’ body so she may be returned to you for proper burial.”
His lips pulled back in a grimace at the word body but he let it slide, just this once. Any help was better than no help. Two networks looking for her would cover more ground than his army alone, even if his force far out-numbered the Enforcers. He nodded and turned his back, the brief interview over as far as he was concerned.
“There will need to be a brief enquiry before her death is declared official—” Fraser’s words cut off to a squawk.
Nate acted on instinct and lunged, his hand wound deep in the inspector’s cravat.
“She’s not dead,” he hissed.
Men yelled but it was a whisper compared to the roar of blood in his ears. The monster surfaced demanding revenge, and it focused on the man turning purple in his grip. Sergeant Connor grabbed Nate’s arms to pull him from Fraser. Jackson tackled the uniform who dared touch his boss and sent him to the ground. Fraser’s face turned from pink to red to puce as his fingers sought to unhook his service revolver from its holster.
Yes, let him die. A life for a life. The beast within Nate hungered for release. Only when the snow was stained red would Cara be avenged.
The rational part of him still held control by a minute margin. With great effort, he pushed the inspector away and shook himself, just as the man raised his gun. “I have better things to do than to waste time with you.”
Fraser sucked in a ragged breath and holstered his weapon. Then he straightened his hat and cravat. “You have assaulted one of Her Majesty’s Enforcers. You will pay for this.”
The sneer returned to his face. “Do you think you could take me?” He gave a cold laugh. “Either do it now or get the hell away from me.” He waited for one long breath, then dropped back over the side of the dock to the ice below.
Day Three
Nate couldn’t sleep in their room with her scent all over the bedding. He caught his breath expecting her to walk through the bathroom as he gathered a change of clothes. The sofa in his office became his camp stretcher, used to snatch only enough downtime for his brain to continue to function.
Lady Morton dispatched men up and down the Thames and forwarded the regular reports from the team watching Southwark. Rachel, with a maturity far beyond her short years, became aide de camp to Nan, and the two forged a bond in their shared grief.
Doubts gnawed at him with each glance from his men. They knew better than to show pity but as each day passed, the whispers grew louder. They said the river would hold her until the thaw came.
A cold settled in his bones that was more than weather related. Warmth faded from his soul and the monster roused from its cage and broke free. Soon it would consume him; each day it claimed a larger portion of the tattered remnants of his soul.
On the third day without his heart, he climbed into the carriage and directed the driver to Belgravia. Behind his closed eyes, the same two minutes played over and over. The spout rose up, the shadow fell over Cara as she turned and searched for him. He pushed through a panicked crowd trying to reach her.
Each time he tried to make it end differently.
Each time she disappeared with the receding water.
He ran up the stairs and barged into the house. “Helene!” Nate’s yell rivalled the roar of the water monster. He didn’t have Cara’s patience to search the house for the woman, she could damn well come to him. Fortunately, she was close to hand today and appeared in the parlour doorway, draped in black crepe. Minnow sat at her feet wearing black satin. Both of them in full mourning.
He searched for the words to sum up his loss. “Cara is gone.”
“Yes.” She frowned and cocked her head. For a moment, it looked as though she thought he was the mad one. “Most of London witnessed the Thames snatch her away. Every day, the newspapers has run a story about the tragedy and your futile search.”
“No.” He shook his head. How to make her understand? “She is gone, here.” He laid his hand over his chest. “I can find no trace of her.”
Helene’s eyes softened. “That is what happens when a loved one dies, they slip from your heart.”
The anger rose up in his throat. Why did everyone insist she was dead? The monster rushed to the fore as his hands curled into fists, his short nails dug into his palms.
She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “I did think she would visit me though.”
“If she—” his voice faltered. He drew in a breath and pushed down the seething mass of pain before continuing in a level tone. “If she were truly dead, I would know it.”
She stepped around him. Inspecting. “Because of Nefertiti’s Heart?”
“Before—” He swallowed and tried again. “Before, her heartbeat echoed within me. My body could take her wounds so she healed faster, but not anymore. Why has Nefertiti’s Heart failed us? Do you see her on the other side?” So many questions rushed out of him and Helene was the only one he could ask, the only one with any ability to comprehend their connection.
She paused, and he turned to face her. Helene’s eyes were unfocused, she stared at nothing, or rather stared at something beyond his understanding. After a moment, she shook her head and pulled her attention back to him. “If she resides on the other side, she does not answer
me.”
He blew out a long breath. Did that mean she was still alive, or that she had no unfinished business and so went to join her mother? He ran a hand through his hair as his mind darted from one idea to the next, looking for something to grasp like the drowning man seeking a floating timber.
“I stop her nightmares. Do you know why?”
Helene raised a hand to stroke his cheek. He closed his eyes and remembered being the young boy, infatuated with his uncle’s exotic Gypsy lover.
“There is a darkness inside you,” she whispered. “You are the creature hiding in the shadows. It is natural that the others scurry from you, just as that part drew Cara to you. Only you can protect her.”
He opened his eyes and met her clear gaze. “Without Cara, I will become the nightmare. There will be nothing to hold me to the light. Even now it invades my soul and threatens to consume me.”
Helene smiled, a beautiful gift to her face that erased all the ravages of time and disease. “Then we had better find her. There is one thing you must do first.”
ate needed answers and so did Cara’s grandmother. He needed something tangible to cling to while those around him said she was dead. Like an abandoned child, he sought direction in the dark before he lost himself in the forest. Any day now, the Enforcers would push through their paperwork to make her death official. Then society would expect a funeral with an empty casket so they could throw their daughters at the eligible widower.
Helene reminded him of the one thing that would give him the answer. If he were brave enough to ask the question. Was he ready to say goodbye? Could he let her go, if she really were at peace?
No. Revenge would consume him. He would tear the world apart to find the man responsible, then spend the rest of his days constructing imaginative ways to deliver agony to every fibre in the Curator’s desiccated body.
He took the small dirigible to Lowestoft and on the trip, exhaustion claimed him for an hour as his body was lulled by the rock of the pod like a babe in a bassinette. The bump when they landed jarred him from an endless night trying to reach her, his hands grasping air. He jumped to the ground and struck out for the family mausoleum. The actual one, not the main house Cara nicknamed ‘The Crypt.’