You did before.
They had broken me, then.
Her spirit danced around him, appalled and agitated, seeking a means to free him.
Go, he told her, even though every separate particle of his being wanted her to stay. Save yourself.
Who has done this to you?
Don’t know their names. They say I’m an agent of the Crown, the British monarch—
Listen to me. Are you being held against your will? Tell me.
You know I am.
You must say it.
I’m being held against my will.
I can notify the police. Patrick Kelly will act on this.
Can’t. No proof.
Damn it. Her frustration, just like her warmth, flooded him. I can’t bear to leave you here.
He couldn’t bear it if she left him in the darkness, but better—better than her becoming trapped here with him.
“Go,” he groaned aloud into the darkness of his cell.
Perhaps I can drag you with me.
Try.
She did. He felt her spirit seize hold of his and tug mightily. Before she finished—and failed—she wept for him.
I refuse to leave you.
You have to, he bade while still he could.
I will free you. I swear it. I swear!
Abruptly she left, the departure of all hope, and he fought back despair deeper and darker than any that had come before.
****
“I regret to say, sister, you look like hell. You’re rarely ill, so I can only assume you spent a rough night.”
Rough did not adequately describe the hours just past. Topaz eyed her brother, who leaned against her doorway, and smiled bitterly. “You have no idea. Come in.”
Sapphire strolled in and shut the door behind him. Early as it was, he had dressed in a fine suit and wore his overcoat.
“Where are you bound?” Topaz asked.
He eyed her bed, a mess of rumpled blankets and crumpled pillows, before he replied. “I, sister dear, am bound to look for a new residence.”
She stared. “Are you in earnest?”
“Do you see any humor in these eyes? Your wise words when last we spoke have penetrated. I’m getting out, and I intend to take Carlotta with me.”
“What!” Topaz sank onto the edge of her bed. “To live in sin?”
“What’s sinful about it?” He shrugged. “And who knows, I may marry her.”
“My God! The philanderer redeemed! But how will you make a living? You know Father will cut you off without a cent when he finds out.”
Sapphire drew himself up. “You insult me. I have myriad talents with which I can make my way.”
“Such as?”
“You just let me worry about that.”
“Father will be furious.”
“Yes, and I’m sorry to leave you here with the ramifications and the current craziness. But I took what you said about Carly to heart. She has no one to rely upon but me. I need to consider that.”
“I see.”
He smiled his slightly acerbic smile. “I thought you might like this before I go.”
Reaching into the pocket of his overcoat, he produced a key. Topaz’s amazement deepened.
“You found it! Where was it hidden?”
“Inside a book entitled Shades of the Dead. You have to think the way Father thinks. The fact that I can terrifies me and makes up one of the reasons I want out.”
“What happens when he discovers it’s gone?”
“He already has. Can’t you feel the dark energy building?” Sapphire blinked. “Come with me, Topaz. Make the break.”
“I want to. I can’t, now that I have this.” She plucked the key from his hand. She knew Romney had escaped the cellar—she also knew that whatever he had encountered down there had affected him terribly. “Father’s new partner gives me the willies, and I can just sense he’s engaged in something unsavory. Don’t you want to know what it is?”
“As I said before, Topaz, I don’t. I can barely stand to think about what Father gets up to. Now I just want a life of my own. Be careful.” To Topaz’s surprise, Sapphire leaned forward and embraced her. He rarely showed affection, at least not with family.
“But surely I’ll see you again.”
“Of course. Look after Carlotta for me, if you can, till I’m able to collect her. And hide that somewhere Father or his minions won’t find it.”
“Minions?”
“Those steamies of his. You know they’ll search your room; he’s bound to suspect you.”
“He won’t find this unless he has them strip me.”
“Keep your stiletto close at hand at all times.” Sapphire turned to go, and in sudden panic she seized his arm.
“You promise you’ll remain in the city?”
“For now. Stay on your toes, sister.”
Soundlessly he slipped through the door and left Topaz struggling not to feel bereft.
****
“Topaz, I don’t like being forced to cross-examine my own children. I hoped we would share a degree of mutual trust.”
“We do, Father.” Topaz lifted what she hoped were guileless eyes to meet her father’s gaze. They’d encountered one another in the solarium, where Frederick waited to receive the first of his afternoon appointments, whom he wished Topaz to greet and escort into his presence. His exalted presence, she thought ironically. Her job used to be performed by a particularly efficient steamie, but Frederick believed his clients would benefit from a more human touch.
“It will give you an opportunity to read them,” he had told her when they discussed it earlier. “Exercise the ability that lies within you. Flex your spiritual muscles.”
Had he any idea how she had flexed them only last night? Like a tiger, she’d torn through the distance between her and Romney.
Did her father know? Did he bait her? Staring into the bottomless darkness of his eyes, she couldn’t tell.
His cross-examination of her now was made more uncomfortable by Danson Clifford’s presence. Why was the man in the room? He had nothing to do with Father’s readings.
A bit more aggressively she asked, “What makes you think I know anything about the missing key? You quite likely dropped it somewhere.”
“I most certainly did not. And you, Topaz, showed great interest in the cellar just the other night.”
She shrugged. “Well I’m certainly not interested enough to defy you, Father. Shall I show in your first client?”
Frederick raked her with his gaze as if searching her mentally. She strove to give no reaction, even though the key in question nestled beneath her left breast.
Danson spoke, making her start. He had come up close behind her, though she hadn’t heard him. “Fortunately, Miss Hathor, I possess a duplicate key, so I shall be able to continue our work today. I believe your father is merely concerned that the key should fall into the wrong hands.”
“Well,” she held up her hands, palms upward, “it’s not in mine.”
Clifford went out, and Topaz gave an involuntary shiver. She caught her father’s gaze once more upon her.
“You do not like my new associate,” he observed. “I wonder why.”
Topaz hurried from the room without answering.
Chapter Eighteen
“So, Mr. Clifford, tell me about your work.”
Danson Clifford turned in surprise when Topaz spoke. Finished for the day at last, she’d come upon him in the solarium where Frederick usually met with his clients, all of whom had now gone. At least, so much could be said for those living—the spirits of the dead, as she could feel quite clearly, still congregated in the room, some floating near the ceiling, some milling about looking for Frederick, the way they often did.
Clifford too waited for a meeting, or so Frederick had mentioned before hurrying off to handle one of Dahlia’s crises in the kitchen.
Topaz looked on it as an opportunity, albeit one that made her skin crawl. She didn’t like being
near this man, but needs must.
“My work,” he repeated in that soft voice of his, and narrowed his curiously lifeless eyes at her. She wondered suddenly just what those eyes had seen to make them look so like a reflection of death.
Some of the spirits in the room shied from him when he spoke. They fluttered to the windows as if seeking escape. Disconcerting.
Topaz worked to keep what she felt from her face. “It must be fascinating if you’ve won my father’s interest. I must tell you he’s notoriously difficult to impress.”
Clifford smiled, revealing those slightly pointed teeth. The smile did not reach his eyes.
“Actually, Miss Hathor, you and I have a lot in common.”
“Have we?” Topaz didn’t like that assertion at all.
“Oh, yes. Like me, you harbor a very ancient ability. We carry the wisdom of the ages into what will be a brave new world.”
“Will it?”
“Yes.” He leaned toward her, and she caught that scent which always lingered around him, the faintest whiff of corruption. “If, Miss Hathor, you are sincere about taking up your father’s work, you will be part of something that will revolutionize life—and death—as we know it.”
“Of course I’m sincere.” What did he suspect?
Clifford gazed at her for a moment. “From the time I met him, your father has stated his desire to bring one of his children into this endeavor. To be frank, I imagined it would be your brother.”
“Sapphire?”
“But he shows no interest. And your father assures me your latent power is impressive.”
“Power.” Topaz began to feel like a damned parrot. Her father, yes, was all about power.
“Raw and undeveloped as it might be. However”—Clifford sucked in a breath—“it’s not your ability that concerns me so much as your state of mind, your devotion to our exalted cause, and your level of ruthlessness.”
Exalted cause? The man truly was mad.
“I assure you, Mr. Clifford, I can be utterly ruthless.”
“Can you? As ruthless as death itself? Through the ages, Miss Hathor, my people have become intimate with death.” He smiled again. “We understand its demands, its requirements. Its secrets.”
“My father knows something about that, too.”
“He does, which makes him the perfect partner for me, though he—like you, ultimately—deals with death and the release of the spirit.” He lowered his voice still further from its half-whisper. “I speak of the secrets of the flesh.”
“I see.” Topaz fought her creeping horror.
“Miss Topaz, what do you think of marriage?”
An interesting question, if one she found inappropriate at this moment. She had mingled feelings about the state, having watched what her parents shared, as well as her older siblings.
“It can be an important bond, in the best of circumstances.”
“The best circumstances, yes. And what are those?”
“Commitment on both sides. And willingness, along with devotion.”
“Ah, but you and I both know there are many marriages wherein willingness does not exist. Yet the bond endures.”
Topaz frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t see—”
“This work in which we are engaged, Miss Hathor, is like the arrangement of marriages.”
“Is it?”
“Marriages between the spirit and the flesh.”
That Topaz could understand. Spirit and flesh shared the most intimate of bonds, so close that for most of life they considered themselves one.
But as she’d learned from Romney, and from existing all her life in her father’s shadow, they were not in fact one.
Clifford gazed at her intently. “I see you comprehend my meaning. To pursue the marriage analogy, some such unions are sundered due to the death of one spouse or”—he leaned still closer—“to the scandal of divorce. Often the widowed or divorced parties remarry, do they not? That, my dear Miss Hathor, is what we are about.”
Topaz’s instincts leaped to it ahead of her conscious mind. “You’re arranging new unions between spirit and flesh? But yes, I knew my father had been experimenting a long time with that, anchoring departed consciousness in steamies.”
“Not steamies, Miss Hathor.”
“And—and animals.”
“Not animals. Before my arrival in this country, your father had made great leaps, yes, with resettling consciousness. But he lacked the other vital half of the equation: the perfect host.”
“Which is?”
“Surely, Miss Hathor, a woman of your perception and intelligence can guess.”
“Another living body.” But what had that to do with corpses in the cellar?
“I—through my ancestors—possess the knowledge, the piece of the puzzle your father lacked. Together we shall create that new world of which I speak. Are you strong enough to join us?”
Topaz’s eyes narrowed. She made no reply.
“I would be certain, Miss Hathor, before I share my deepest secrets with you. I trust your father. You, if you will forgive me saying, have not been tested.”
“If you trust my father, you must rely on the trust he in turn places in me.”
“Your father’s motivation is strong. He is with me completely in this endeavor.”
“Is he?”
“Any important act of creation requires a considerable amount of destruction. I need to know, Miss Hathor, you will undertake that aspect of our enterprise as ruthlessly as we do.”
“Destruction?”
Those dead eyes of his met hers. “The price of success is first failure. The price of daring is first fear. The price of life is first death.”
Topaz went suddenly breathless. Gazing into his eyes felt like staring into an abyss while poised on a precipice. What would happen if she fell in? What to her body and her spirit? Her every instinct bade her back away.
Yet how could she give up now? How think of herself when horror might well lie beneath her very feet?
“Do you fear destruction, Miss Hathor? Will you pay the cost of greatness? Of earning the gratitude of the multitudes?”
He’s quite mad, she thought clearly before she hauled up all her courage, tossed her head, and said, “As you may well imagine, having been raised in my father’s company I fear very little. And I assure you, Mr. Clifford, I am willing to pay nearly any cost on behalf of those I love.”
His gaze released hers at last, moved over her face as he examined her minutely, hovered too long on her bosom. He suddenly gave a high-pitched giggle so at variance with his usual half-whisper it startled her.
“I shall have to thank your father. Working with you will be a pleasure. An unexpected treat. I will enjoy sharing my secrets with you, thrilling you, and perhaps impressing you. What impresses you, Topaz Hathor?”
Another good question. She’d seen far too much and built too thick a wall around herself to be impressed easily. Like Sapphire, she often affected a mien of indifference meant to deflect her own fear and uncertainty.
Now, though, horror penetrated that armor. She thought about the things she valued. Kindness. Courage in the face of want. Warmth and connection, humor and the spark of humanity in an automaton’s eyes.
Nothing this man had to offer.
But she needed to play along, to play him in order to gather whatever information she could. So even though it turned her stomach and overthrew every instinct she possessed, she leaned into him and said, “I’m sure it will impress me when I learn all your wise ancestors’ secrets. I can’t wait.” She allowed a gleam of seduction to show in her eyes. “You, Mr. Clifford, are like no one I’ve ever known.”
In that, at least, she spoke the truth.
Chapter Nineteen
“Patrick, I need your help.”
Topaz had come to Nellie’s after another interminable afternoon spent greeting her father’s clients, which she found unexpectedly taxing. Not only did Frederick wish her to conduct them into his pr
esence but also to offer tea and conversation to those awaiting their sessions. Hardly the woman to provide tea and sympathy, she found the assignment awkward and uncomfortable.
Besides, her psychic senses, apparently freed when she unleashed them to search for Romney, refused to go back into the mental box she had long ago constructed for them. She could all too clearly feel the emotions of those who waited to see the great man, from anxiety to wracking grief. The grueling experience drained her emotionally.
A terrible price to pay for her attachment to Romney, she thought as she moved through the dark streets to Nellie’s Bar, her dark cape rendering her very nearly invisible. But this seemed a time of reckoning.
Kelly, sitting at his favorite table with the inevitable whiskey in his hand, looked up at her, expressionless. Or was he? Curiously, her newly-sharpened acuity seemed to extend even to him. She could sense something—surely not emotions as such, but consciousness.
She sank into the chair opposite him. How did Father deal with the awareness, all the feelings coming at him—and the spirits battering at him, demanding to be heard? How could he open himself to just the ones he sought to assist for filthy lucre or any other reason?
“What is it, Miss Topaz?”
Topaz leaned across the scarred table. To her horror, tears filled her eyes. “Pat, I’m in a most desperate situation.”
His hand came out and cradled her elbow gently. “You are upset. We cannot speak here.”
“No? Where, then?”
“If you will do me the honor of accompanying me to my room, it is not far.”
And wouldn’t that just turn some heads—the big automaton leaving with the scandalous gypsy, melting into the night. Imaginations would run wild.
Did she care? Her life had been ripped from its moorings. True, Topaz had let herself experience the dark side in the past, but only when she deemed fit, as if playing the part Sapphire described. Now, aspects of herself she barely recognized—and dreaded—had roused to life.
She nodded. Kelly got up and, keeping hold of her elbow, escorted her back out into the inky night.
“This way.”
And how curious it felt moving with him through the streets. Leaning into him as might any woman into her escort, she could feel his warmth, finding it difficult to remember it came from the coal-fired boiler situated in his chest and that he exhaled only steam. For an instant reality threatened to slip away from her, and she stumbled on the pavement.
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