The Spiritglass Charade (Stoker & Holmes 2)

“Are you all right, Miss Babbage?” I asked as Mina produced a small journal from the depths of her bag. “Were you injured?”

“Much obliged.” Ignoring my question, she took the notebook. Using the wall as a desk, she began to scrawl quickly on a page of the book. Thanks to Mina’s small light, I was able to make out numbers, arrows, and other shapes. “I’ve been trying to figure this out for weeks,” she muttered.

She filled the paper, writing down into the corner until her notations were very small and squashed at the edge of the page. Then she tore the paper out, flipped it over, and continued to write.

At last, she made a satisfied sound and handed the notebook back to Mina. She folded the paper and tucked it inside her sleeve, then jabbed the pencil into the back of her hair. Her bonnet was still askew. “Now then. Who are you? And what happened to that awful man? His eyes turned red. Most curious.”

“I’m Mina Holmes. This is Evaline Stoker. We . . . er . . .” She glanced at me as if to ask what exactly she could say—a miracle in its own right.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, aware I was still bleeding. I needed to attend to my bite as soon as possible, but I wouldn’t shirk my duty again. At the same time, I couldn’t stop smiling.

I’d killed a vampire. Now I’d proven myself. I was still dancing inside, still in shock at how quickly and easily it had happened.

And neither of my companions had any idea the importance of what I’d accomplished!

“Injured? Me? Not that I’ve noticed.” Miss Babbage checked her hands and arms, then over her shoulder as if to confirm her posterior was still in place. “No. I seem to be intact. Did something happen?”

She was a very odd young woman.

“You weren’t attacked by the man with the red eyes? We were under the impression you were being taken off somewhere where he might . . . erm . . . ravish or otherwise injure you.”

“He did get a bit rough,” Miss Babbage replied. “He pushed me against the wall. And his teeth—wait a moment.” Her face became lax and her gaze blank, as if she were trying to remember something. “May I have that book again?”

She pulled the pencil from her hair. When Mina didn’t immediately give her the journal, she withdrew the paper from her sleeve and began to write on it once more.

Mina glanced at me then back at the red-headed young woman. “Miss Babbage. Were you not afraid? Did that man attack you?”

“Yes, I believe he did.” She was still writing. When she finished, she shoved the pencil back into her hair. “But then he must have heard someone coming, because he wrapped me tightly in a heavy cloak and threw me to the floor. I bumped my head.”

A bump on the head would explain a lot. “Well, you’re safe now. He’s gone and will never bother anyone again,” I announced, brushing the last bit of vampire ash off my arm.

“Who?” Her eyes were owlish.

At that, I gave up.

“Why would a vampire be at the Oligary Building? I was under the impression they didn’t come out in the daylight—although it was raining today. That must be enough of a barrier from the harmful rays of the sun. Unless the vampire was in the Oligary Building all along. . . .”

“I don’t know,” I said for the hundredth time.

Mina had begun her interrogation the moment we climbed into my carriage. Apparently, she had already forgotten her disbelief in the UnDead. Now she wanted to study them as closely as she’d studied women’s face powders.

I thought about calling her out on it, but why bother? She’d just argue me into exhaustion—just like she was doing now, with her incessant lecturing. Or she’d sniff and change the subject.

“And what was that vampire trying to do, taking Miss Babbage off into that tower? Did he choose her on purpose or was it just convenience? Aren’t you curious? Didn’t you want to know? Why didn’t you at least engage the creature in conversation before doing away with him? Once I got the Ankh talking, I learned a great many things from her before she tried to kill us.”

“It was obvious what he was doing: trying to feed on Miss Babbage. Or, at the very least, abduct her. I didn’t have the time to ask him. Blooming daggers, Mina, I’m a vampire hunter, not a vampire inquisitor!”

“But why Miss Babbage? And why at the Oligary Building? And why in the middle of the—”

“Alvermina.” My teeth gritted so hard my jaw hurt. “If my great-great-aunt Victoria Gardella stopped to interrogate every vampire she came across as a Venator, she wouldn’t have killed half the ones she did. She probably would have been killed herself. He was doing what vampires do: feeding on young, helpless women. Or whoever they can find in a pinch. It was probably convenience. He was hungry and she was there.”

Mina gave me an unpleasant look, probably because I called her by her despised name. Possibly because I made a very good point. She adjusted her seat in the carriage and thumped her reticule. “It was quite fortuitous for you I was in possession of my equipment. Or you would have been caught without a weapon with which to hunt your vampire. And, incidentally, you ruined my new Allister-MacLeader Depth Perceptor. I hadn’t even had a chance to use it.”

“I’ll get you a new one.” I realized a good portion of my sudden weariness had to do with the still-oozing vampire bite on my shoulder.

Mina must have noticed at the same time. “Gad, I’d forgotten about your injury. Did he cut you?”

“No, he bit me. Siri told me the best thing to do is put salted holy water on it, so we’d best find a church. Unless you have some in that blooming elephant bag of yours.”

“I’m not a vampire hunter, therefore I don’t carry those sorts of accoutrements. Although perhaps now I should consider. . . . Nevertheless, on the next block. Saint Ursula-on-the Sea. We can stop there and get water from the font. I even have a cup.” She thumped the reticule again.

“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.”