The Spiritglass Charade (Stoker & Holmes 2)

But something had. Even I could no longer deny that something inexplicable, something otherworldly and Para-Natural had occurred.

The most telling fact was that the cat had reacted strongly to the green gaseous cloud. Common belief indicated animals were extremely sensitive to supernatural events and occurrences. This feline certainly had done so.

And then there was the indisputable fact that the room had gone ice-cold in a matter of seconds, and then returned to warmth just as quickly. I knew even physics didn’t allow for such drastic swings in temperature. Even a machine couldn’t cause such radical changes. One would feel the breeze. But last night . . . there’d been no such movement.

It just happened.

I swallowed hard. The thought that some supernatural, otherworldly presence had been here last night made me physically ill. Some entity that couldn’t be explained by physics or logic or mathematics or science.

It was unbelievable.

It was disruptive . . . and a little frightening.

I collected my thoughts and exhaled long and slow. I’d mull over it later. Perhaps an explanation would occur to me then.

For now, I had to figure out how someone had mesmerized Willa Ashton, and who was trying to get rid of her. The first thing was to determine the origin of the curious instrument, and how it came to be in Willa’s possession.

I wandered over to the spiritglass. It had spontaneously illuminated last night. Surely it had had some assistance, some hidden mechanism. A timer.

I admired its decorative lotus-flowerlike sides, noticing how they folded open to reveal the glass itself. The small orb, nestled among cogs and gears, was smooth and cool to the touch. It was this sphere that had shone with the blue light.

I picked up the sphere and realized for the first time it had been set upon a trio of three short metal spikes which appeared to affix the orb to its case. Perhaps those tiny metal flanges were the source of power for its illumination. Upon turning the sphere over, I noticed a design stamped on the bottom. Like the signature of the artist. No surprise the individual who’d created this fantastic device would have wanted to mark his—or her—work.

Bringing the spiritglass into the bright morning sun for closer examination, I caught my breath when I recognized the ornate CB marking on the bottom.

I had seen that identifying mark, and recently.

At the Charles Babbage display at the Oligary Building.

Miss Stoker

To Kick Some Ash

By the time Florence and I got home from Willa’s house and I pretended to go to bed, it was nearly ten. Then I waited another hour before I felt sure my sister-in-law was asleep. Bram was at the Lyceum, of course, and wouldn’t be home until at least two o’clock.

Thus, there was no one to notice when I climbed out my window and down the oak tree that shaded it.

Thanks to Pepper, who actually did know I was leaving, I was well equipped. Dressed in very wide trousers that looked like a skirt, I also wore a black feminine bodice that buttoned down the front. The decorative loops of satin at the hemline of the corsetlike top were large enough to hold stakes, a knife, and a small, ladylike pistol. I pulled on fingerless gloves and had my unruly hair pinned up in a smooth figure-eight bun. No stakes in my coiffure tonight, either, for they were all easy to reach at my waist.

At Pepper’s insistence, I had another dagger slipped inside my tall boot, as well as a vial of salted holy water in the other. Over my bodice, I wore a large silver cross on a chain, and Pepper had also pinned two more in my hair.

Vampires beware, I thought as I alighted from a horseless taxi near Pristin Canal, two streets from the Pickled Nurse. You’re about to meet your end.

Conscious of my invincibility, I walked boldly down the street, weaving among clusters of people on their way to a pub, dinner-house, or music hall.

I was stronger than any man and gifted with speed and skill. I had slain my first UnDead and proven my worthiness as a vampire hunter. I had a legacy to fulfill.

Woe to he who got in my way.

A chill filtered over the nape of my neck and I smiled grimly. UnDead nearby.

I sharpened my attention on each man and woman as I approached and passed them, measuring the sensation on the back of my neck.

The cool warning grew stronger as I neared a trio of men standing in front of an establishment called Ivey & Boles. A massive cogwork key dangled from the sign over their heads, which caused me to wonder if the place was a locksmith or some other metal-working business. The three talked and gestured, blocking the walkway to other passersby.

I slid a stake from one of the loops at my waist. One of the men had to be an UnDead, for the evil chill was growing fiercer and sharper as I approached. But they stood so close together, I couldn’t tell which one.

As I drew nearer, I noticed a small, lithe shadow detach itself from the alley behind the trio. I thought nothing of it until one of the men clapped a hand to his long overcoat and spun. “Stop! Thief! Stop!”

He and his companions whirled, stumbling after the boy. But the small figure had already darted into the shadows and was immediately lost in the alley.

I could have chased the pickpocket and easily brought him to task, but I wasn’t going to be distracted from my true mission. My destiny was a bigger, more dangerous prize than a street urchin who needed a silk handkerchief to sell for food.

The three men gave up their half-hearted chase after one of them tripped in the dark throughway and fell on his knees in a pool of sludge. They gathered on the street again as they turned out their pockets in turn. It appeared more than one of them had had his pocket lightened by the quick-fingered thief.

But now that I was right next to them, I realized my warning chill had evaporated.

Blast it. The prickling at the back of my neck had gone, and so had the UnDead.

Growling to myself, I continued along the street. Turning down the alley to Nickel’s, I headed toward the Pickled Nurse. I felt an occasional chill during this patrol of sorts as I paced along the street in front of the pub, but I was still too inexperienced to know whether it was really an UnDead. So I looked for glowing red eyes, but even that strategy didn’t reveal any vampires.

By the time the clock struck two, I was frustrated. Either I was wrong about La société and vampires being in this area, or they simply weren’t out and about tonight.

Nevertheless, I wasn’t ready to return home. I was still spoiling for a fight. After all, that was what I was born to do. Not to sit back and contemplate clues, concoct theories, and make deductions. And knit.

No. I was meant to do. To seek out danger, to fight for life and safety, and to risk my own skin for others.