by A. W. Exley
She looked up and he tilted his head to return the inspection. The face before her swam old to young. She sucked in a breath as the young man dominated for a moment. So handsome, his black gaze compelling and as piercing as Nate’s steel blue one. What would he be like, if she could spend time with the younger version, would she forget Nate over time? The man she glimpsed saw through her, her soul laid bare for him to read like one of his books.
“Indeed you are, you just don’t realise your true value.” Like breaking the surface of water, his features shimmered, broke apart, and reformed into the ancient visage.
She sighed, his temporary spell over her broken, and wrapped both hands around her mug. “You ask the impossible of me. I have read my father’s notebook, and there is no mention of the phoenix feather.” Frustration bubbled inside; she wanted to scream that he had it all wrong and held her for nothing. “I can’t see how I can be of any help or value.”
His features hardened. “Lucas had the feather. He needed access to the dragon’s breath to restore Bella, and therefore you have it. I suspect your father kept many secrets from you, this is just one, you just need to think and discover his hiding place. Once I have them both, I will be reborn as I once was.”
“Well, Csenger, it seems we both have a problem, don’t we?” she whispered.
A puff of disdain. “Ah, Malachi the old gossip told you my true name.”
“He said the closer translation of your name is to want.” She watched him over the brim of the mug.
“Perhaps my path was dictated from birth by my parents’ choice of name?” A low chuckle broke from his chest as though they shared a secret.
“And now you want a phoenix feather and a dragon.”
He waved at the pile of books. “I have discovered that the nature of my dragon is incompatible with the feather. His power is based in water.”
“Rahab,” she breathed as cogs fell into place and spun. She was on the right track. “That was how you took me.”
He nodded, and for an instant, a spectre of pride illuminated his features. “You have been doing your research. I should have known you would figure out all the disparate pieces.” He clasped his hands together and sounded like a pleased teacher.
She kicked herself for not paying more attention at Malachi’s side. She should have doodled less and translated more. “The Egyptian water dragon, or the Jewish demon of the sea.”
He tapped the pile of books. “Now you understand my problem. I need a fire dragon, the perfect partner to the phoenix. The two are meant to be together.”
A hand tightened around her heart. What was her freedom worth? Would she surrender the location of the small fire dragon? A smile played over her lips. “There are no dragons, so even if I find the feather, you still have a rather large problem.”
The smile vanished and a sneer pulled one corner of his lip back to reveal yellowed teeth. “Don’t underestimate your husband. I am sure with sufficient motivation he will deliver what I need.”
The chill dropped through her body and she shivered. Lord, I hope he doesn’t plan to chop off my fingers and send them to Nate one by one. Although if he can keep me alive, that would be one way to slowly escape.
“Why freeze London though? Did you plan to blackmail Victoria for the items?” It didn’t make sense, why settle an unnatural winter over them?
Laughter cut through her thoughts. “That is a consequence, not an intention.”
“A consequence? People are dying and livelihoods ruined.” What had he done that he brushed aside the layers of ice and snow as of no importance?
“Power has many effects. The more it is utilised, the more far-reaching the consequences. Perhaps you have noticed ripples in your life from the use of Nefertiti’s Heart?” The calculating look returned to his eyes.
Mention of the Heart sent her mind scurrying down rabbit holes. There were effects, but they kept them quiet, neither she nor Nate yet understood the full consequences of their blood being bound. Or it was, until Mary Tudor cried all over her.
Another drone entered and removed the bucket in the corner. Yet another (or was it the same one?) brought a clean bucket and replaced the water in the pitcher.
“I will allow you to send instructions to Nathaniel. Think carefully about where you ask him to begin his search for the feather.” He extracted a roll of paper and a quill from within his voluminous sleeves and then set them on top of the priceless books. “I will read your message before it is dispatched, so do not bother to hint at your location.”
She laughed the crazy Mary Tudor laugh. “As if I knew. It’s not like I can look out a window and jot down key points of reference for him or perhaps doodle a quick sketch.”
Her gaze locked on the sheets of thick paper. A note. A message that she lived despite the emptiness that now lay between them. How did she pour the depth of her love into a few words? How did she explain the expanse of cold void within her, with only one page to fill?
Even with the despair chewing at her insides, the curiosity fought its way to the top. “If you’re letting me contact him, why bother blocking Nefertiti’s Heart?”
The shark stared at her. “It is one thing to let him know you live, but I do not want him finding you, not now I have you. Eat your breakfast. I will have a man return for your letter.”
He left her and the chain rattled back into place, sealing her into the tomb.
“I really hate basements. When I get out of here, I think I’ll move into the conservatory.” She blew out a deep breath and eyed her meal with suspicion even though it smelt divine. She survived last night’s ragout, surely he wouldn’t poison her on top of encasing her in stone and using Mary Tudor against her? She picked up a fork and took a large mouthful of omelette. Her stomach rumbled in appreciation and demanded more.
At least the prison food is tolerable.
While she ate, she chewed over her options. She composed and discarded thousands of words in her mind. Where on Earth could she send Nate to start a search for an item she didn’t believe her father possessed? The idea came to her as she finished the meal.
Send him back to where it all began, the Soho house.
Except he was going to need the help of someone as mad as the Curator to help them out of this mess.
ate paced while he related events in Southwark to Lady Morton and Amy. Liam had collected Rachel earlier and taken her to school for the day with the lure of new slides for her to examine. With her gone, he could relate the gruesome story without the worry of frightening his young charge.
Nan watched him with a formidable stare and a frown settled between her brows. “Cara has been kidnapped?”
The concept made everyone uncomfortable. How does a two-hundred-year old man make a waterspout rise up from the Thames and command it to kidnap someone? He didn’t have an answer, and to his mind the how was irrelevant. He only needed a where to find her.
“Yes, by a man known as the Curator who once employed Lucas Devon.”
Nan let out a sharp breath. “There are things at play here I do not like.” Her face paled and she took to the chaise. “Lucas trod a dark path after Bella died.”
“We will find Cara.” His hands curled into fists. Inactivity chaffed. The beast prowled within him and demanded action. Every day without her, the rage built, would he soon reach a point where he could not recall it to his control?
“We may as well call off the search of the Thames and embankment.” Always practical, Lady Morton. A kidnapping meant Cara was held somewhere and not drifting on a random current or possibly floating off to France. “We could go to the Enforcers and seek their help to capture this man and demand he release her.”
Nate sneered. “The only assistance they have extended is in the completion of her death certificate in a timely manner.”
The war council stuttered to a halt. Nobody wanted to be reminded of the ugly scene at the Enforcer’s Headquarters. Nate would remember who believed him and who rushed to tra
mple Cara’s memory. He kept score, and one day, it would be settled.
The knock sounded three times on the front door. The public face of the Mayfair mansion wore an imposing metal one with ornate cross straps and brass rivets. The previous oak one demolished by Captain Hankin when he arrested Nate for treason. The new model could withstand a rhino charge, or a very large and drunk henchman as they sometimes challenged each other after one too many nips of rum.
The rap echoed off the metal and bounced around the entranceway. He froze, his heart stopped, and he waited. Jackson pushed the study door open.
“One of those grey men dropped this off.” He carried a missive as though he bore the crown jewels. “Said he’ll be back tomorrow night if you want to respond.”
His gaze scanned his name on the front, and his heart stuttered back into motion. Cara’s handwriting. The Curator moved his piece in their bizarre game of chess.
The back bore the European noble’s seal in dark grey wax; an open book and quill. He slit the seal and unfolded the single sheet. It contained few words but far greater meaning. Confirmation that she lived.
Take Helene to Soho
I am adrift without you
Eternally yours,
Cara
With a fingertip, he traced each word. He kissed the paper and breathed in her scent. Adrift without you. He anchored her, he was her safe place when the demons roamed. He rubbed his chest, a void dwelt in him. His soul made room for two within his body and now, without her, he contained an abyss as endless as space. A spot on the page blurred in a concentric circle. He narrowed his gaze. A single tear.
Lady Morton pulled him into a hug. “You will find her,” she murmured against his skin. “And you will deal with the individual concerned as only you can.” She kissed his cheek and wiped away another tear before she released him.
In that embrace, Nan gave him carte blanche and her blessing to torture the Curator. The Eddington line bred extraordinary women. He drew a deep breath. They now had an open dialogue and he could cheat or do whatever he had to, to end this game as quickly as possible.
Lady Morton patted his shoulder. “She is alive, poor girl. I hope she gives her captor an eye twitch. She was never good cooped up for too long.”
A smile spread across Nate’s face. “He may yet decide letting her go is the better course of action.”
Laughter broke the tension as for the first time in a week, the others had proof that Cara lived. He held the evidence in his hands.
Amy took the page, her gaze flicked from Nate to Jackson. “Why does this Helene have to go to Soho?”
“Cara thinks the object might be hidden in her former home, which makes sense, we recovered many of the artifacts there,” Nate said.
“But why Helene, what is special about her?” Amy asked, never having met the mad countess.
Nate swore under his breath. “Of course, it’s a deeper clue from Cara. Helene has Gypsy blood.”
Amy frowned. “The clue is that she’s a gypsy?”
Jackson nodded. “That one talks to dead people as easy as she talks to you and me.”
A shudder ran through Amy’s frame. “I don’t think I would like that.”
An idea flared inside Nate. “She could probably just ask Lord Devon what he did with the feather if she finds him at home.” Hope set fire to his heels. At long last, he had a course of action. He folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket, close to his heart and then left.
As usual, he burst through the front door of the Belgravia house and bellowed Helene’s name. The butler suffered his equally usual apoplexy fit at the intrusion and froze, except for his eye twitch. Brick snapped his fingers in front of the man’s face, which just started a jaw tick.
Helene wafted down the stairs in a swirl of torn grey chiffon, her gaze darting in two different directions at once. One eye focused on Nate, widened, and the other eye joined the party. “I don’t like you. You betrayed me.”
“I didn’t betray you, my uncle Jasper did, remember?” He pitched his voice low and tried to rein in his anger. He needed Helene’s help, but more importantly he needed her semi-lucid.
“You look like him.” She pointed an accusing finger.
“But I have never acted like him.” He sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. How did Cara wrangle the woman’s fragile mind in the right direction? Herding cats would be easier. “We had this conversation before, now you are helping me find Cara.”
“Is she hiding?” Her eyes sparked with interest. “I do so like games, I am very good at hiding when it is my turn.”
“Yes, she is hiding.” And he knew exactly what he would do once he found her and it involved shutting her in their room for at least a week, while they became reacquainted. “She will send us clues to follow. I have the first one here, and we need to take a trip. My carriage is waiting for us outside.”
“But I don’t like to go outside.” She pouted and Minnow barked.
“I have a letter from Cara with the first clue.” He tapped his pocket. “She wants you to play and to come along and visit her house. There is something hidden there and she hopes you will find it.” He needed something extra to encourage Helene to comply. “Cara thinks the house is lonely standing all empty.”
Her gaze widened and she let out a gentle breath. “Oh, yes. It has wanted me to visit for some time.”
It didn’t surprise him she was talking to terrace houses through the veil now, the only surprise was she never understood the little dog at her side. “You will need something warm, Helene, it is quite cold out.”
Her gaze wandered again and her head tilted to one side. Her delicate mind already drifted off to its hiding place.
Brick pulled open the hall closet and rummaged inside. He managed to find a thick wool coat that would keep the worst of the bitter cold from attacking her light frame. Minnow, sensing the first outing in years, plastered himself to Brick’s leg.
He cast a dubious look at the little pug as he picked him up and held him at arm’s length, in case he shed or urinated all over his expensive suit. “You need to see my tailor, if you’re going to wear a jacket, you could at least be fashionable about it. This thing went out of style three seasons ago.”
Brick sat up front with an excited dog. Minnow’s tongue lolled, and his head whipped around at the variety of scents drifting past his nose. Nate ushered Helene into the carriage for the short ride. In Soho, he helped her up the wide stairs. Before he could unlock the door, she laid her palms flat on the surface.
“So much pain,” she whispered. One hand caressed the timber. “You are not alone anymore.”
He exchanged a look with Brick. I hope Cara knows what she is doing, wherever she is.
Helene crossed the threshold like some Amazonian explorer, taking one careful step at a time, her outstretched hands brushing aside non-existent foliage. Her gaze flitted around every surface. Her hands stroked the panelling and she murmured to the house, lost in the conversation audible to only her ears. With arms spread wide, she hugged a wall as though she embraced a lover.
Brick gazed from Helene to Nate and raised a hand to draw circles in the air by his ear.
Nate shrugged. They were trapped in an insane situation, so it made a demented sense to use an equally mad medium to find answers. “We are looking for a feather, Helene. A very rare feather, taken from a phoenix. We need to know if Lucas hid it within the house.” Nate tried to direct her mind to the task at hand, the experience rather like trying to herd cats into a pond. Futile. “Can you ask him?”
“Oh I can’t ask him, he is too far away for even me to reach. But the house might help.” Then she held a finger to her lips to hush his further questions and tapped her other hand against her leg, encouraging Minnow to follow. The dog cast a look at the men before trotting after his mistress.
She roamed the place, at times gleeful like a child, pouncing on unseen marks in the floorboards, other times morose, as she passed over a particul
ar spot. Minnow gnawed on the woodwork, looking for a new chew toy, and yipped in delight when he stuck his head under a shelf and withdrew an old bone. He settled in the watery sunlight filtering through an upstairs window and refused to budge.
Nate left the dog to follow Helene, who headed downward muttering about the poor, poor girls. When they came to the basement stairs, she pushed Nate away. “So much suffering down here. I will talk to the girls alone, they do not want to see a man.”
Three girls died in the basement at the hands of Weaver Clayton, they probably had quite a bit they wanted to say. Nate and Brick returned to the parlour, where a lone sofa remained. Brick sat while Nate leaned on the mantle. Minnow’s backside appeared as he dragged in the bone and joined the men.
“Has she always been like this?” the bodyguard asked.
A smile touched his face as he remembered his childhood with the beautiful Gypsy. “Helene always saw more than any other mortal. People who lost loved ones often made the trek to the cottage to seek her counsel. However, she has deteriorated in the last year or two.”
Brick leaned back in his seat. “What did she mean about Lucas being too far away?”
“Sometimes it pays not to ask.” He harboured his suspicions and perhaps Lord Devon paid in the afterlife for the events of Cara’s childhood.
They sat for over an hour while inactivity gnawed at Nate’s innards. Then a bark heralded the return of the countess. Minnow raised his head from the bone to wag his tail at his mistress, then turned his attention back to the empty grate as he waited for a flame to burst forth and warm his tummy.
Helene seemed calmer and more lucid. “It will take time for them to move on. There is so much pain here to be healed, far more than I can achieve in one day.”
Damn it. “Time is in short supply, Helene.” He tightened his grip on the mantle. “We must produce the phoenix feather and dragon’s breath before the Curator will free Cara.” A curious way he phrased it; he would free her, not return her, and the difference made Nate’s inner monster snarl.