It took everything in me to keep from asking a dozen questions as we made our way through the empty corridors and climbed the stairs. When we’d reached the second floor, I stopped. We were secreted away in a stairwell; hopefully no one would overhear us.
“Well?” I asked. “Do you believe him?”
“Yes. Whether or not I believe every word out of his mouth is another matter entirely.” Thomas inhaled deeply. “I know you don’t want to see the truth behind Mephistopheles’s illusion, Wadsworth, but as of this moment, he’s dangerous. He’s secretive, and his playing cards were left with almost every victim.”
“Which seems awfully convenient as far as evidence piling up,” I argued. “You must admit, it sounds as if someone’s going out of their way to make him the obvious suspect. And what of Anishaa? She’s someone who we’ve not fully looked into, but clearly is a valid option.”
“Undoubtedly,” Thomas said, lowering his voice. He looked down, fiddling with a button on his sleeve, and my stomach clenched. “We need to talk.”
I couldn’t deny that I figured a serious conversation was coming, though part of me longed to run off and hide. There were some things I’d rather not face. “All right.”
Thomas folded his arms against his chest and watched me very closely. “You’ve been meeting with Mephistopheles at night?” It wasn’t really a question, though he had the courtesy to frame it as such. I swallowed hard and nodded. I was a coward. “You drank absinthe and danced… with him?”
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Yes.”
When Thomas didn’t answer straightaway, I finally managed to sneak a peek at him. I expected to see anger and betrayal written across his expression. What I actually found was much worse. Before his face shuttered, I saw a glimpse of the boy who never truly believed he could be loved. The one I had promised to never hurt; a promise I’d just broken along with his tender heart. His eyes were void of emotion when he met my stare.
“I meant what I said about you being free,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “If there’s a chance you might be… if you think your heart—” He blinked quickly enough that any hint of wetness was gone before I could be certain. He cleared his throat. “I won’t ever tell you who to choose or which path to take. But I would ask that you tell me one thing; do you have feelings for him?”
“I…” My heart thudded against my ribs. I wanted to cry out that that was an absurd question, but for some reason the words failed to rally past my lips. Thomas could spot a lie as easily as one could spot the sun on the horizon. And I had no intention of lying to him. The truth was complicated and messy, but he deserved to know every doubt lurking inside me. I held my hands out, palms up. “I-I’m not certain what I feel.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. I reached out, hating myself for the conflict bashing about within me. I clasped his hands and drew them away, searching for some way to comfort him, to quell his fears, but anything I said now would ring false.
The truth I hadn’t been wanting to face was simple. Somehow—I wouldn’t remotely call it love, it had been far too soon for that—but somehow I’d realized that my heart might be capable of finding interest in another. I could deny it, try pretending it away, but I was starting to care for Mephistopheles. It was like a small, fragile bud. Given enough care and attention it might bloom into something beautiful. I didn’t know what that meant for Thomas and myself. He deserved to have someone love him wholly and without doubt.
Neither of us had ever formally courted anyone, what did we know of ourselves or relationships, let alone marriage? I could not in good conscience relieve him of his doubts when mine could not be reasoned away. This might simply be a momentary lapse in judgment—a reaction based on fear, or it might be an indication I wasn’t quite ready for that sort of commitment. At least not until I could slay my doubts.
“Thomas… I—”
“Please. Don’t.” He held a hand up. “I never really—” He shook his head. “For all of my bravado and ability to read a situation, I never could calculate what you saw in me.”
“Thomas, you mustn’t—I do love you, I just—”
“If you wish to go, I’ll never make you stay. I might not do and say the proper thing all the time, but I do know that I love you enough to set you free.”
I was about to argue that I didn’t want to be free, but that wasn’t true. All my life I’d longed for freedom—freedom to pick and choose every detail of my life. To make good decisions and horrible ones. Decisions that would break my heart and remake it ten times over. I just never knew having choices could be so hard, or hurt so much. A tear slipped down my face.
“I love you, Wadsworth. No matter what or who you choose, I always will.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to my cheek. “If you’ll excuse me, I must try and sort out the playing cards.”
With that, he turned and hurried down the corridor. The blast of cold wind that blew in when he pushed the door open finally snapped me from my daze. Whatever strength I’d had vanished and my knees gave out. I put my head in my hands and sobbed, not bothering to hide the sounds of my despair. My life was a tattered mess. Liza was in mortal danger. Thomas was heartbroken. A murderer made our ship his deadly playground. And I was filled with more turbulence than the ocean we traveled through.
I permitted myself another moment to cry, allowing the tears to freely slip down my face, dripping onto the floor. It felt as if something in my chest had permanently cracked. I gripped my fists until the pain was all I could focus on. Then I pushed myself up, brushed down my bodice, and took a deep, shuddering breath. Liza was missing. A murderer was taunting me. No matter how much it pained me to think it, I could not focus on Thomas and our relationship now.
Not wanting to waste another moment stunted by my emotions, I exited onto the first-class deck and almost ran down the darkened promenade on the starboard side of the grand ship.
Wind howled, the sound reminding me of a man who’d lost the world in a game of cards. I clutched at my hat, keeping my face turned down against the breeze. Winter was reminding us that there were more fearsome things to worry over than simply men with agendas, or girls with broken hearts on this boat.
I gave up on walking swiftly and ran as fast as I could, my mind focused on the pattering drum of my feet, the beat of my pulse, the fear clawing its way down my spine. I needed to hurry—to scour the ship until I found my cousin…
Movement toward the bow caught my attention and I paused outside my cabin door, listening for any signs of struggle. Visions of bodies being tossed into the hungry ocean crawled their way into my sensibilities. I stared into the shadows, waiting for the darkness to lazily blink back at me, bringing all of my fears to life. Sounds of sails snapping in the wind drew my attention upward and I staggered back. Someone was standing up on the icy railing, his tailcoat a whip snapping behind him. All it would take was one slip and he’d be plunged into the deadly waters.
Moonlight broke through the cloud cover, offering a glimpse at the young man. He stared over the edge into the ocean, and before I knew what I was doing, I ran for him.
Whether it was to save him or make him pay for his crime of confusing my heart, I couldn’t tell. I simply raced until my arms were around him and we both crashed to the deck, the air whooshing out as I wrestled him to the ground.
THIRTY-SEVEN
UNMASKED
FIRST-CLASS PROMENADE
RMS ETRURIA
8 JANUARY 1889
Mephistopheles rolled away from me, clutching his stomach and moaning. “I think you’ve broken one of my ribs. Was that really necessary? Next time you tackle me, be sure it’s in one of our bedchambers.”
I jumped to my feet, dragging the ringmaster with me. I clutched the collar of his shirt until he sputtered, hands fumbling to remove my fingers. I didn’t care if I strangled him. “Are you quite mad? You almost fell overboard!”
“No.” He dropped to his knees, wheezing, but kept his foc
us on the deck, refusing to meet my glare. “I’m quite sane. And I was only checking on something.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
“No. Not particularly.” He squinted as he stood. “Have you been crying?”
I stepped back. “Liza has been…” My voice cracked and I nearly lost my hold over myself once again.
“Liza has been… drinking? Knitting children’s socks? Strangling Houdini with his chains, or better yet, his cuffs?” He rubbed my arms, voice softening. “Tell me. Liza’s been…”
I swiped at the tears that had managed to slip out. “Taken.”
“What do you mean, ‘taken’? Has Houdini done something to her?” He glared down the promenade and squared his shoulders as if he’d go marching into battle this second.
I shuddered, though I was no longer sure if it was due to the frosty air. Houdini was talented with cards himself. He might very well have taken my cousin and tortured her because of their fight. Perhaps he was acting back in his cabin; I trusted no one on this cursed vessel. “Someone sent her finger to my chambers.”
Mephistopheles stared at me a moment, then unleashed a horde of curse words that weren’t all in English. If I didn’t feel so ill, I would have been impressed. He pressed his hands over his eyes and then dropped them to his sides. “All right. Start from the beginning. How do you know it’s Liza’s finger?”
“How is this helping?” I tossed my hands up. “Whether or not it’s actually her finger is not the issue. The issue is someone who has murdered several people aboard this ship has taken her.”
The ringmaster reached over and wrapped me in his arms. I was so surprised, I didn’t protest. “There’s more, isn’t there? Why else were you crying?”
I laid my head against his chest, listening to the quick thrum of his heart before pushing back. “I don’t even know who you truly are, and yet you’d like to have my innermost thoughts laid bare.”
“Very well. You want the truth of me?” He sighed, reached up, and—quick enough for him to not change his mind—took his mask off. I stood there, mouth practically agape and held in my gasp. After all this time and his insistence that he remain anonymous, he’d just thrown it all away. His dark eyes were lined in darker lashes, his brows generous and bold, like him. A flop of black hair curled over his forehead and around his ears.
I searched his face, seeking any flash of recognition. I would have sworn we’d known each other from some other life. But he was just a young man, ordinary and charming with a dimple in his cheek. Was this truly who he was, or was it another mask to use to his advantage? His earlier words of not having the luxury of trusting anyone came back, haunting me like specters.
“You’ve been murdering these girls, haven’t you?”
“Not quite the reaction I was hoping for, Miss Wadsworth.” Mephistopheles jerked back and shook his head. “I suppose that’s what keeps things interesting.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, tousling the already unruly locks. “But no. If it’s a confession you’re after, I’m afraid you won’t find it here. I’ve not killed anyone or anything. Except a few mosquitoes. And I don’t feel too apologetic about that, especially after they took off with a hefty amount of blood and left wicked itching.”
“Honestly…” I paused, noting how close we’d gotten again, my attention straying to his upturned lips, the longing in his eyes catching me completely off guard. “I—”
He leaned in and gently pressed his mouth to mine, his touch shocking but not unpleasant. For a moment I didn’t think about every cursed thing that had happened in the last hour, focusing instead on his lips as they slowly parted. He clutched me close, hands gripping the material of my dress as if convincing himself I was no illusion. I thought about running my hand through his curls, they were so lovely, yet… a flash of Thomas’s face snapped me into my senses, I broke away. “You swore you’d not kiss me!”
“You’re partially correct,” he said, breathing hard and holding his palms out in surrender. “I said if you appeared as if you never wanted me to. But sometimes the way you gaze at me—I shouldn’t have done it, Miss Wadsworth. I’ve told you from the start I’m not honorable or good.”
“Liar. Fiend. Second son. Thief.” I stared down at my slippers. “Who are you really, Mephistopheles?” He opened his mouth and I silenced him with a raised hand. “No games. Tell me who you are and why I ought to believe anything more you say.”
He inched forward, hands still up where I could see them and sighed. “My name is Ayden Samir Baxter Thorne. My father is an earl, and my mother is an angel from Constantinople. As is evident by my exquisitely good looks.”
When I didn’t return his smile, he lowered his hands.
“As you just kindly noted, I am the second son—the spare heir. I could either stay in England and spend money frivolously, or I could give it all up and pursue my dreams. Debaucherous and lowly though they may be. I needn’t get into which I chose. I put my engineering skills to use and my flare for theatrics—and thus the Moonlight Carnival was born. A safe haven or sanctuary for other unwanteds. Ones who’ve had it much worse than I have.”
Something about his name kept dragging my attention back to it… then I recalled the cards in Houdini’s room. “Vincere Vel Mori.”
“‘Conquer or die.’ Our family motto for generations. My great-great-great—I’m not sure how many times over, but one-of-many-greats grandfather was granted knighthood by King Richard the Lionhearted. That’s where the crest and motto come from, though I don’t think we conquer much other than hearts and card games these days.” Mephistopheles’s eyes grew reminiscent before he collected himself. “It seems you’ve been much better at your sleuthing than I’ve given you credit for.”
Chills erupted like the undead from their graves and raced along my spine. I pulled out the card I’d taken from Houdini, watching the ringmaster’s expression carefully. “Your calling cards, I believe. Very crass, but certainly a showy way of leaving a signature mark at the crime scenes.”
Mephistopheles looked more confused than guilty. “Those cards, my love, might have been left at the crime scenes. But it wasn’t done by me. They were stolen around the time my signet went missing.” He raised his brows. “Speaking of priceless family heirlooms, where is my signet now, still with Cresswell?”
“It’s in a safe place until I sort out all the truth from lies.” I flipped the card over, ignoring the twinge of guilt. “Is there anything special about these cards? Anything at all that might contain a hidden clue or meaning? No matter how obscure, anything might help.”
“Let’s see.” He took the card. “You see these?” I nodded. The little flourishes were lovely, but judging from the annoying slant of the ringmaster’s lips, they held meaning. “This is an infinity symbol.”
“What does a double infinity mean?”
“Oh, some romantic nonsense about two fates being forever tied together.” He shrugged, then took in my expression, the levity leaving his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“I think that… I believe that might mean something to the murderer. How do they all fit?” I took the card back from him, turning it over and over while fragmented thoughts slowly pieced themselves together. “Nobility. A doctor. A justice of the peace. What is the common link? Two fates, forever combined. Each playing card has an infinity symbol and each tarot a deeper meaning of the same.” I paced near the railing, ignoring the clapping of waves against the hull. “Ace of Spades. The Ace of Spades and the reversed Seven of Swords. What ties them together, two fates, two stories, coming together as one?”
“Perhaps you need to sit for a moment,” Mephistopheles said, no longer sounding like the tease he was. “All this talk of romance has taken its toll.” He held a hand to his forehead, expression serious. “I feel the same.”
“In cartomancy, what does the Ace of Spades mean?”
Mephistopheles searched my eyes, likely believing me to be as mad as the murderer. He rubbed his temple. “From what I can
recall off the top of my head, it means misfortune or a difficult ending. Are you sure you’re feeling quite well?”
Exactly what Houdini had said. I waved him off, knowing I was onto something, and yet it was still slightly out of reach.
“Lady Crenshaw was the catalyst. She set this whole thing into motion.” I tapped the card. “Six of Diamonds. Houdini said this card indicates arguments. Lord and Lady Crenshaw fought about something—an attractive girl. The cards that have been left are telling us exactly what sin the victim committed. The tarots are their fates, the ones they brought upon themselves.”
Mephistopheles scrubbed a hand across his face. “This is a bit far-fetched. And if I’m saying that, you can be certain it’s a stretch. If they had some lovers’ quarrel or fight, why would it have been left with their daughter?”
“It’s not about romance,” I said with sudden certainty. “It’s always been about revenge.” I flipped the card over and traced the double infinity symbol. “Two paths. Two different types of cards. Two fates. One infinite, everlasting loop for justice.”
“And who might the murderer be, then?”
I thought of Jian and his short temper—Andreas had mentioned his entire family had been slain. The details of that crime had been impossible to wrench from either of them. Then there was Cassie and Sebastián and the people they owed money to. Might those people be the Ardens, Crenshaws, and Prescotts? Did they find some means of extorting money from the performers, and they stood to lose everything? Anishaa and Andreas also couldn’t be taken from the list of suspects—each of them had reason for vengeance and knew the cards’ meanings. Though from everything I’d gathered, most every performer had a base knowledge in tarot. Even I had been instructed to learn and practice with both tarot and the playing cards. Harry Houdini didn’t strike me as a criminal, but then again the murderers I’d encountered hadn’t, either.
Then there was the ringmaster, the person who’d created an entire carnival that hid behind new masks each night. The young man who’d taught me everything about sleight of hand and sleight of word—and could not ever be fully trusted to reveal his true hand.
Escaping From Houdini (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 3) Page 33