“It is a glass-blown heart that provides identification amongst vampires of goodwill. When I see a person wearing the heart, I know he or she is a non-predatory vampire or someone sympathetic to our cause. We have hidden in the shadows for so long we have learned how to survive by finding one another.” He touched the pin with his fingertip. “The glass symbolizes transparency and pure intent, and the heart shape is for the heart inside us that ceased beating at the moment of Turning. Most people are unaware that the majority of the vampire population are Turned against their will. But truthfully, we want to remain in the earthly realm with friends and loved ones.” He paused and then smiled. “I suppose the notion of a symbolic heart is at odds with your prior assumptions about vampires.”
Emme nodded, her throat aching with the symbolism. “It is,” she answered honestly, “but given what I know of the shifter community and the hatred they face, I am not surprised.” She returned his smile. “The glass heart is beautiful—a lovely symbol.”
“Thank you, dear lady. I confess, the Summit has given many of us a sense of hope. Heaven willing, we shall see clear skies between now and the week’s end.”
The Grand Hotel gathering hall that evening was a lavish affair, beautifully appointed and sparkling with light. The mood was festive, champagne flowed, and people laughed as they tried to overcome language barriers and mostly succeeded. Summit attendees and visitors from all around had descended upon Edinburgh, and the air was charged with excitement and possibility. The predinner social event was by invitation only, and as the face of the ISRO, Emme was well on display. Josephine, the maid, had outdone herself in selecting a ball gown for Emme to wear as well as choosing a hairstyle for her. Much to Emme’s surprise and delight, Gus was also an adept hand at managing curling tongs and accessories.
Emme and Oliver had both managed a long nap, Oliver in his hotel room and she in hers, but with the adjoining door left ajar should something happen. As much as her ankle throbbed and her bruised body protested each movement, she felt rested enough to enjoy the gala and all it signified.
Their friends had arrived in time to check into their rooms and attend the dinner social, and her colleagues showered her with careful embraces and well-wishes. Signore Giancarlo helped her make the rounds of the room, speaking with ambassadors she’d previously met and a few whose faces were new to her. Her ankle throbbed, but her giddy relief at knowing they’d actually made it in relatively one piece to the Summit after all the months of preparation outweighed the pain.
As she moved through the room, one hand on Carlo’s arm and the other maneuvering a crutch, Oliver was never far behind. She felt his presence constantly, and it gave her a sense of peace she wouldn’t have imagined possible. He had met Carlo in London the day of the carriage “accident,” and the two had developed a quiet communication as they navigated the crowd. Now and again, she would hear Oliver’s low murmur and catch Carlo’s subtle nod as she spoke with dignitaries, sharing the ISRO’s mission and the benefits it brought to countries, cities, and towns.
She noted the military men and constabulary mingling subtly among the crowd; Carlo told her the entire city was guarded carefully after law enforcement had foiled two minor plots to disturb gatherings at the Princes Street Gardens pavilions.
The only dimming factor of the evening was her worry for Oliver. He did not verbalize concern for anything other than his mission to keep her safe, but since the discussion with Gus about Lawrence Reed’s narcissistic and ruthless control over the vampire world, there was a heaviness to Oliver she’d not felt before. She wanted to take it from him, or at least help him shoulder it, but she was learning that sharing intimacies and personal concerns was not usually part of his repertoire. Perhaps in the future . . .
That she was considering a future involving Detective-Inspector Reed and his personal burdens was an irony not lost on her. It played in the back of her mind as she mingled and smiled, chatted and made lighthearted comments about her injured foot and her clumsy use of the crutch. She wanted to see Oliver smile, and knowing he felt responsible for all in his purview—whether the men under his command in India or the entirety of England itself—suddenly seemed grossly unfair. Little wonder he had been so fierce in disrupting her efforts at disruption; his determination to keep the peace and ensuring order was part of who he was.
Had it been only twenty-four hours since they boarded the airship in London? She thought of her mad leap from the airship, the soul-crushing fear as the ground had grown closer, and the relief mingled with guilt when she saw him touch down behind her.
The kiss—oh, the kiss. It had been one of the most majestic moments imaginable. She would remember it as long as she lived. She allowed herself the luxury of glancing at his mouth, his face, and the way his shoulders and frame perfectly filled the formal tuxedo.
He touched her shoulder and asked quietly if she felt well, and she nodded at him with a smile, missing Carlo’s introduction to an ambassador from Port Lucy. Oliver inclined his head toward the guest, his lips twitching in a quick smile at her, and she whipped her attention back to the moment at hand. She flushed but figured she would be allowed an occasional moment of distraction—everybody knew she’d been in an accident of some sort. They needn’t be privy to the fact that her distraction was wrapped around the memory of a desperate, frantic kiss in the dark on a lonely beach.
The dinner bell rang, and Carlo relinquished her to Oliver, telling her, “I took the liberty of seating you with friends. We will mingle more with others afterward.”
Emme leaned toward him as he kissed both of her cheeks.
“Detective,” Carlo murmured over her head, “when dinner finishes, we move into the ballroom. I’ll join you there, and we shall decide how best to help our wounded spokeswoman circulate, as dancing seems out of reach for now.” He winked at Emme, and his expression turned serious—a rarity. “I am happy you are here.”
“Thank you, Carlo. This work means the world to me, and the thought I might miss it had me in knots.”
He held up a finger. “You remain close to your bodyguard. No acts of bravery, at least until your foot heals.”
“Noted.” She smiled and took Oliver’s arm, balancing on one crutch. He led her to wide double doors and into a dining room where round tables were set with glittering crystal stemware and silver polished to a bright shine.
Oliver walked Emme to the table where their names were scripted on place cards. To her delight, Sam and Hazel were already there, as were Daniel and Isla. Lucy and Miles had been snagged in conversation but were making their way to the table. Isla settled next to Emme, and when the ladies were seated, Oliver sat on Emme’s other side.
Hazel, seated next to Oliver, leaned past him to regard Emme with huge eyes. “What were you thinking?”
“We had a devil of a time keeping the details from your mother,” Isla said as she spread her napkin onto her lap. “Dearest, your escapade leaves me in horrified awe.” She looked at Emme much as she had when they were younger and Isla was the eldest in charge.
Emme fought not to squirm. “I had no choice,” she whispered back, glaring first at Isla and then Hazel.
“The captain was taking the ship to Portugal,” Oliver murmured low, his eyes sweeping the room.
“Exactly.” Emme motioned with her hand. “He was taking us to Portugal, where we would have likely been drugged and imprisoned. Possibly killed.” She sighed. “Clearly our hasty departure from the ship was not one I would have chosen had there been any other option.”
Miles and Lucy arrived at the table, and the gentlemen rose as Lucy was seated. She looked at Emme, eyes sparkling. “We have much to discuss! The Journal of Paranormal Medicine published only today their latest findings on Soul Consistency within the vampire community!”
Emme’s smile spread across her face. “How wonderful! Fortuitous timing. The more credibility we can show, the better f
or everyone.”
Lucy nodded and then paled as the introductory course was placed before her. Miles deftly moved it away and handed her a glass of water.
Emme frowned. “Are you ill, Lucy?”
Lucy shook her head and glanced at Miles, who winked at her.
“Oh, I do not believe traditional illness is at work,” Hazel said.
Isla gasped quietly and turned to her husband. “Daniel, I believe congratulations are in order. You’re about to become an uncle.”
Daniel Pickett, Lucy’s brother, turned to her, mouth slack. “Is it true?”
Lucy sipped her water and then placed the glass carefully on the table. “It is.” She smiled, although her face remained a shade lighter than her normal, healthy hue.
Miles frowned. “She’s not kept a decent meal down for weeks.”
“Martha Watts insists I am perfectly fine.”
Daniel raised eyebrows high with implied doubt. “Martha Watts, the stable mistress?”
“She has been a midwife for years,” Lucy said, exasperation clear. “I have also consulted two obstetric physicians in London at this one’s insistence.” She motioned to her husband. “They validate Martha completely.”
Hazel’s attention was on Miles, and she chuckled softly. “I am certain Lucy really is fine.” She elbowed Sam, who grinned at his friend’s distress.
“I’ve reassured him repeatedly.” Sam winked at Lucy. “Be strong, my lady. He may stop fussing before you deliver.”
Isla and Hazel both looked at Sam. “How long have you known?” Isla demanded.
He lifted a shoulder. “Few weeks. This food is delightful. Will you be eating yours, Lucy?”
Emme laughed and glanced at Oliver, who smiled and seemed more relaxed than he’d been in days. He inclined his head at Lucy. “Congratulations to the both of you.” He raised a glass and said, “To your continued good health.”
They each raised a glass, and Emme had taken a sip when a hotel employee appeared at her elbow.
“For you, miss,” the young man said, extending an envelope to her.
“Thank you.” She took it from him, and Oliver tensed in his chair.
“A moment,” he called to the messenger, who returned. “Who is the sender?”
He shook his head. “I received it from the front desk and was told to deliver it immediately.”
“What is your name?”
“Edward, sir. Edward Smoot.” The young man swallowed.
Oliver nodded and dismissed the boy.
“Is there a problem?” Miles asked quietly.
Emme swallowed. “I’ve received several cards and letters since arriving, but they’ve been delivered in bulk to the room.”
Oliver held out his hand, and Emme gratefully gave him the envelope. The script appeared a match for the Bad Letter, and she hoped she was imagining it.
Oliver slit open the envelope with his knife while taking a quick look at the large dining room. He removed the card inside, touching only one edge.
“‘Return to London, Miss O’Shea, or you shall bring wrath upon the world,’” Oliver read in a low voice.
Emme’s lips pinched together, and she tried not to react.
“Do you believe the sender is in the room?” Daniel asked Oliver.
“Possibly.” Oliver motioned to the nearest constable. He murmured something to the man, but Emme’s ears were buzzing. The food on her plate suddenly seemed inedible as her stomach turned.
Isla gripped her hand. “Emme. Look at me.”
“If I do not leave, everybody is in danger.” Emme bit her lip and fought the burning sensation behind her eyes that signaled tears. She looked around the room at the sea of people who were having a lovely time.
Oliver’s voice sounded low in her ear. “Your family is here. Far corner, left side.”
Emme’s eyes followed his directions, and she spied Lysette, Sir Ronald, and Madeline. Seated next to Madeline was Nigel Crowe, and with him were Mr. Jenkins and another young man she didn’t recognize. She swallowed. “How did they receive invitations?”
The event was an exclusive one for foreign dignitaries, members of Parliament or other influence, and presenters of note. Miles was an earl, and Lucy a well-respected botanist who was scheduled to present her work with Anti-Vampiric Assimilation Aid. Daniel Pickett owned the world’s largest fleet of airships, and Dr. Isla Cooper-Pickett was well known in the shifter community as a therapist. Sam was a respected surgeon whose star was on the rise, and Hazel was presenting an address on the spiritual components of healing and potential applications in shifter medicine. To Emme’s knowledge, in addition to her own circle, everyone in the room had a reason for being included on the guest list.
“Sir Ronald is a baron,” Hazel said, mirroring Emme’s thinking. “Perhaps that, along with your mother’s status with Castles and your role here, provided incentive for their invitations?”
Emme lifted her shoulder. She couldn’t allow her family’s presence to tarnish her enjoyment of the evening; the fact that she’d just received a threatening note did seem suspicious, however. “Who is the younger man next to Jenkins?”
The others strained to see around the people in their various lines of sight. “Stuart Rawley,” Miles said grimly. “Youngest member of the PSRC. I’m surprised they dare show their faces here this week, given the damage they’ve caused through the years.”
Emme nudged Isla. “I thought you said your friend Nigel had turned over a new leaf. He’s back on the Committee.”
Isla squinted at the table across the room, and her mouth dropped open. “Why is he there?” she murmured.
Daniel’s brow creased in concern. “He must have an explanation.”
“Yes,” Emme said hotly. “His explanation is that he is rotten.”
Isla turned back to Emme. “Sweetheart, I am certain he has his reasons. He is not rotten.”
“Where is your mother?” Hazel asked.
“In London with Isla’s mother for a few more days. They were needed at the store.” Emme was glad. The thought of seeing her mother sitting with people who bore her such ill will would have been especially cutting tonight.
They returned to their meal as the next course was served. Emme noted with some surprise that Gus had been standing watch in the shadows.
Oliver motioned to him and quietly instructed him to make inquiries with the front office about the message Emme had received, which was now nestled in Oliver’s coat pocket.
She was unable to eat much but made a good show of regaining her spirits. Conversation continued, but a stressed undercurrent ran through it. One course followed another, Oliver discreetly telescribed Chief-Inspector Conley, and Gus returned to quietly report that the message had been left at the reception desk with written instructions to be delivered to Miss O’Shea during the meal.
As dessert drew to a close, Emme again looked across the room at the table where her family sat. Madeline turned then, and locked eyes with Emme. Her face was tense, her aqua-blue gaze haunted, even at a distance.
“Something is wrong with Madeline,” Emme whispered.
“What is it?” Isla asked.
“I don’t know. She’s been . . . Her behavior has been . . . I don’t know.” As Emme watched, Nigel Crowe leaned closer to Madeline and said something. Madeline, clearly startled, turned to him with a response. Emme’s lips thinned. “What does he want with her?”
Isla clasped Emme’s cold fingers again. “I will find out.”
An announcement was made for all to gather in the ballroom in fifteen minutes, and the guests rose and began to exit the room. People groaned and laughed about dancing on a full stomach, and Emme smiled at several guests she’d met earlier, laughing and exchanging noncommittal niceties even as her mind tumbled and worried.
She and her friends walked
back through the main hall, the density of packed people easing as some made for powder rooms and others to the patio for some air or a quick cigar. Emme was dizzy with pain and fatigue, and she noted the crowd’s movements as though they were all slow and underwater.
Carlo was making his way to where they stood near a bank of windows just outside the ballroom entrance. Gus quietly approached Oliver with a question, and her friends stood close by. A flash of light in her periphery was followed by shattering glass as an object with a lit fuse crashed through one of the windows and rolled to a stop near their feet.
Oliver’s heart tripped as an incendiary device smashed through the hotel’s massive windows and rolled to a stop on the thick rug. He wrapped both arms around Emme’s head and shoulders and pulled her down to the floor as Miles picked up the device and jumped through the shattered glass.
The chaos was deafening, screaming from outside spreading inward like a wave. Isla pulled a knife from a sheath on her leg and leaped through the broken window, quick on Miles’s heels. Oliver squinted and was just able to make out Miles, who drew his arm back and hurled the thing upward where an explosion rocked through the sky.
Daniel, cursing, yelled at Sam to remain behind as he jumped through the broken glass behind his wife.
Emme trembled but was shoving at Oliver’s chest and arms. “What happened?”
He rose, pulling her upright and supporting her weight. He squeezed her so tightly she grunted and coughed. Moving quickly and staying close to the wall, he headed around a corner. The main hotel staircase was down a long hallway, but to his relief, three passenger elevators were situated to the right, and one was empty and open. He hauled Emme into the elevator, and she was barely able to drag her crutch into the compartment before he slammed the door and punched the button for their floor.
“What was that?” Her breath came in gasps, matching his.
“An explosive device packed into a bottle with a fuse. We called them ‘cocktails.’” He leaned against the wall of the moving elevator, chest lifting and falling, and kept her close against his side. “Are you hurt?”
Brass Carriages and Glass Hearts Page 15