The Spiritglass Charade (17 page)

“Splendid.”

I had no idea how much it stung to have salted holy water poured on a vampire bite . . . but unfortunately, I found out.

I gritted my teeth to keep from shouting at Mina when she dumped a whole cup of it on my bite all at once. The sizzling pain was worse than the actual injury.

“My gad! Look at how it bubbles up.” She peered at my wound as I struggled to keep from groaning. “It's amazingly frothy and pink. It's absolutely fascinating how it dissolves like that. And the bleeding's stopped.”

“Brilliant.” The front of my bodice was now soaked with salted holy water, as well as stained with blood. I hoped I was going to be able to get into the house without Florence seeing me . . . let alone noticing the wound on my neck. Blast.

“Mr. Starcasset didn't describe that sort of detail in his book.” Mina was still examining my injury. “Would you be adverse to allowing me to collect some of this residue? I'd
relish the opportunity to study it in my laboratory. And perhaps a sample of your blood as well, so I can discover the difference between—”

“No,” I said flatly. “Not necessary. I have no intention of getting bit again by a vampire anyway. For all I know, that was the only vampire in London. So no blood, no sample, no residue.”

Mina sniffed, crossing her arms over her middle. “Very well. But it could be helpful in the future.”

Not at all, I thought. I wasn't going to get bit again.

It was
easy
for a trained vampire hunter to slam a stake into the heart of an UnDead. All I had to remember was not to look him in the eye.

If I remembered that, I'd be invincible.

T
wo days after Evaline killed the vampire at the Oligary Building (the implications of which I was still mulling), Miss Stoker and I arrived at Miss Adler's office just before noon.

The four puncture wounds on my companion's shoulder had almost completely disappeared. It was quite miraculous, and I would insist she allow me to do a more thorough examination if it should occur again.

I was still quite stunned and even a little disbelieving about the appearance of the UnDead. After all, I hadn't actually
seen
the creature. But I certainly had
smelled
something, and there were the marks on Evaline's neck.

“Do you have any further information on the death of Mrs. Yingling, or the Ashton case?” Miss Adler asked as we gathered in her office.

To my disappointment, Dylan wasn't present, but I resisted the urge to question his whereabouts. “I was considering
a visit to Scotland Yard today to determine whether Inspector Grayling has made any progress on our investigation. I'm surprised I haven't had any communication from him regarding the crime. Particularly since I am the one who pointed out that it was, in fact, a murder.”

“An excellent point, to be sure, Mina.”

Although she was perfectly groomed in a fresh lemon-colored daydress and a particularly fetching bonnet with yellow roses that matched her ever-present gloves, Miss Adler appeared even more weary than she had on the day we visited Princess Alexandra. I wondered if she'd been ill, or if something had been keeping her up at night.

Whether by accident or design, there was very little one could deduce about Irene Adler from her appearance, other than her excellent taste in fashion. This was part of the reason she'd been such a formidable opponent for my uncle during the Bohemian affair.

I smoothed my skirt. “I have confirmed one new and important fact, however. Evaline, do you recall the terra-cotta pots by Miss Ashton's front door? A lime and salt residue had seeped through the bottoms of the pots, mixing with dirt and fragments of dried geranium petals and cricket legs. I had some on my own shoes from our first visit, and I am certain you do as well. I took a fresh sample of it yesterday, and it matches the same residue on Mrs. Yingling's window sill. Therefore, as I suspected, the murderer—and whoever is
trying to upset Miss Ashton's life—has been through her front door recently. Specifically, since those pots were put there.”

“Which eliminates the servants or any delivery people, as they always enter through the rear,” Miss Adler said. “Whom do you suspect, Mina?”

I straightened, preparing for a detailed monologue. Miss Stoker appeared ready to bolt. I ignored her and launched into my discourse. “In order for a murder to occur, there must be motive, means, and opportunity. As far as opportunity and means—we already know the villain has used the front door at Miss Ashton's. Thus our list of suspects who have come into the house via the front entrance include the obvious: her Aunt Geraldine, her Cousin Herrell, Willa herself, Miss Norton, Mr. Treadwell,
and
anyone else who has visited since Thursday last. Which is when the geranium pots were placed on the porch. I
asked
,” I added pointedly, looking at Miss Stoker. She closed her mouth. “That would include Evaline and myself, of course, but I feel confident we can both be eliminated.”

My partner gave an unladylike snort and rolled her eyes. “I should hope.”

I continued. “First, one must consider motive. Why would anyone want to upset Miss Ashton's life—to make her appear mad, or cause distraction by making her believe her brother is alive? I'm going to focus on the former first: Someone is trying to get her out of the way. It's the most likely motive. There is, of course, money involved—and even more
if Robby is ever pronounced dead, for Willa or her heir will inherit his portion.”

“True.”

“Thus, Willa's spinster aunt inherits upon the death of either child. Therefore, I am looking very closely at Aunt Geraldine. Although the woman has wealth of her own, for some, there is never enough money. She lives in the house and would have easy access to all of the chambers in order to arrange any of these shenanigans. However, there are at least two other prime suspects as well. Would you care to give it a go, Miss Stoker?”

Evaline gave me an unpleasant look, but nevertheless sat up from her slouched position in the chair. “Right then. Well . . . hmmm . . . if we're talking of women, Miss Norton strikes me as intelligent enough to do something of this sort. You saw how easily she manipulated Mr. Treadwell into driving with her. And she obviously is attracted to him, while he can't seem to decide between Miss Norton and Willa. As for motive . . . well, if she wants Mr. Treadwell badly enough, she might do anything she can to get her rival out of the way. We saw how much the young women in the Society of Sekhmet were willing to risk for a man they desired.”

“Precisely along my train of thought. Love can be the strongest of all motives. But there is one other factor that you didn't mention, which makes Miss Norton an excellent suspect: She is the one who introduced Willa to Mrs. Yingling. An excellent deduction, Evaline.”

“You needn't look so shocked,” she grumbled. But I noticed she smothered a pleased smile.

“There is one more major suspect. Mr. Herrell Ashton would retain control of his cousin's not insignificant income if she were placed in a lunatic home or was otherwise out of the picture. And if she married, he'd lose control of her income at that time.”

“So would Aunt Geraldine,” Evaline pointed out.

I nodded in agreement. “Of course. You are getting quite good at this, Miss Stoker.”

“I'm more than just a vampire hunter. And now I'm a
successful
vampire hunter.” She glanced meaningfully at Miss Adler.

Our mentor's eyes widened and she appeared utterly shocked. “Do you mean to say you've encountered and killed a vampire?”

Although I hadn't finished my monologue, I allowed the distraction so we could bring Miss Adler up to date on Evaline's recent accomplishment.

When we were finished, Miss Adler said, “And this all occurred at the Oligary Building? In broad daylight?”

“It wasn't exactly broad daylight,” my partner said. “It was pouring down rain all day and very dark. As long as the sun doesn't hit their skin, it doesn't bother them. He probably shielded himself with a cloak or umbrella from the carriage to the door. But it doesn't surprise me, for I've heard rumors that there has been a revival of
La soci
é
t
é
—here in London.”

“
La soci
é
t
é
?”

There was an odd note in Miss Adler's voice. She seemed surprised, and yet not surprised. Nevertheless, I launched into an explanation. “
La soci
é
t
é
de la perdition
is a sort of club that, for lack of a better term, socializes with vampires. The types of people who frequent the purlieu are of the sort who enjoy—”

“I'm familiar with
La soci
é
t
é
,” Miss Adler said, interrupting me more sharply than necessary. Then she smiled briefly at me, as if in apology. “Of course I am aware of the history. But the group has been defunct for decades, and to my knowledge, was never here in London.”

“Yes, of course. It proliferated on the Continent, in Paris in particular, but also Vienna and Amsterdam. The group identifies itself with an image of a seven-legged, spindly spider for obvious reasons. Spiders draw blood from their prey just as the UnDead do,” I added for Miss Stoker's benefit.

“
Really
?”

“So it's possible
La soci
é
t
é
has come to London, along with at least one vampire. One would assume there are more than the single UnDead, however.” Miss Adler's fingers, which had been lax on the desk, had curled up tightly during this conversation. “That would be most unfortunate.”

The office door opened, and Dylan strode in. His coat fluttered and his honey-blond hair shifted silkily in the light. He smelled of the outdoors, of the Underground, and of something medicinal and antiseptic.

I'm ashamed to admit that the mere sight of him caused my heart to do a little arrhythmic bump, and suddenly my
corset felt more restrictive than it had only a moment earlier. He was so handsome, and his presence seemed to shrink the size of the chamber.

“Oh good—you're all here,” he said without preamble. He gave me a warm smile that lingered a bit longer than it did on the others. “Hi, Mina.”

“What have you been up to?” Miss Adler asked as he took a seat. “I've hardly seen you in the last few days. Have you been spending your time on that project you mentioned to me?”

I couldn't help a small flare of disquiet. Why did Miss Adler know about Dylan's “project” and I didn't? I believed I was becoming his confidante and friend, that he was sharing things with me he wasn't sharing with anyone else. Perhaps he was like that with everyone—whoever he was with, he spoke to as he did with me. Some of my pleasure at his presence dimmed.

“What project?” Evaline asked—thankfully, just as ignorant as I.

“Mina sort of knows about it,” he said. My heart bumped again and I felt better—even though I wasn't precisely sure what he was talking about. “But let me start from the beginning.”

“So there's a kind of joke about time travel, like, from my time. It's kind of a rule—the first thing someone should do if they ever find themselves having traveled back in time.”

“Try to find a way back?” Evaline asked.

He gave a short laugh, which made his blue eyes light up. “Well, that too. But there's something that could be done to prevent terrible happenings in my time. And if you travel back in time, you're supposed to try.”

“What are you supposed to do?” I asked, looking at him closely. My body had gone cold. “Kill someone?”

“Well . . . no. Not necessarily.”

But I was upset. Surely Dylan wasn't talking about hurting someone? “It's rather obvious, isn't it? To prevent something ‘awful from happening' in the future, the easiest and most expedient way is to remove the individual who caused it. What awful thing are you talking about? A war?”

“Yes. But the point is, if someone travels back in time, the desire is there to
do
something to change horrible things that happened. If possible. But not by hurting anyone. Of course I wouldn't do that!”

“But if you did something that altered history . . . wouldn't that affect a lot of other things? Science, government, inventions—possibly your own life? It could affect whether you were even born.”

“Yes, you're right. I mean, it's all spelled out in a movie—er, a story—called
Back to the Future
. If you mess with the past, it can totally screw up the future and
erase
you. So, of course, I can't follow the Number One Rule of Finding Yourself Back in Time.” Dylan grinned as his fingers gestured, like he was putting those words in quotation marks. “But that did get me to thinking, and that's the point of what I'm trying to say—I
can't change the future, as much as I might want to try. But I'm here, stuck here, for who knows how long. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it for now—I know you're trying to figure it out, Mina, and I am, too . . . but like I said, if the scientists from my time can't figure out how to travel through time, how can we?”

“We can. We
will
,” I vowed. Even though I ached at the thought of him leaving, I knew it was the right thing.

He gave me a look that made my lungs stop working and my heart bump off-rhythm again. “I know. And if anyone could figure it out, I'm sure it would be you.”

“So . . . your project?” Evaline's tones were ironic and impatient.

“Yeah, right. So, anyway, I got to thinking . . . I am here. And if I'm here, I should be doing something—something worthwhile. I mean, I've been put here for a reason, right? I can make a difference.”