The Spiritglass Charade (Stoker & Holmes 2)

An agonized shriek tore through the stillness. “Nooooo!”

Suddenly, Willa was on me, tearing at me, pulling at my hair, pounding on me. “You killed my brother! You killed him! You killed Robby!”

Somehow Mina pulled her off me and I staggered to my feet, shocked and confused. “Willa, I—”

“You killed my brother!” she screamed again. Her shrieks were turning into sobs, echoing through the cavernous entryway as she continued to pummel and scratch at me. “How could you kill my brother?”

I heard voices in the distance, pounding feet and shouts. I readied myself with my stake, stepping away, but I was shaky and unsettled.

What was wrong with her? Didn’t she understand? Robby wasn’t her brother anymore. He was an UnDead!

A door at the opposite side of the parlor burst open. Pix stood there, and behind him, I could see the entrance where he’d unlocked the door, and, beyond, the outside courtyard. The bare light of dawn spilled over the cobblestones.

“Willa, please.” Mina struggled to hold her back from me.

Pix helped Mina drag a hostile, sobbing Willa out into the safety of sunlight.

I turned to face the rest of the UnDead members of the pickpocket gang, who were just recovering from their bout with holy water. The four mortal ones edged toward the wall, watching with wide eyes.

They surged toward me like rats attacking a piece of meat. Three, four, five, maybe six of them. It was eerie and terrifying to be fighting boys, so desperate and evil. I swung my stake, stabbing one in his slender torso, then turning to meet another. It was horrible, killing these young boys—boys who should have been playing and going to school instead of drinking blood and being turned to ash.

They came, one after the other, pulling at my legs, tumbling me to the ground. Three pounced on me and I jammed the stake up into the nearest one as another kicked me in the head. Ash blasted into my nose and mouth. Coughing, I twisted, trying to rise, but now there were three more of them on me, their weight and furious nails and teeth holding me prisoner as I bucked and kicked.

A shadow rose over us, and then one boy froze. He burst into ash as another one screamed and reared away. I freed my arm, shoving the stake up into him.

Then it was silent. I looked up at Pix, who stood over me. His expression was inscrutable. The air was heavy with the stink of evil and death, along with foul ash. Fragments of it still filtered through the air.

My eyes stung. I shook the loose hair from my face and hauled myself to my feet, turning away from Pix.

I stood silent, breathing heavily, looking around at what remained of a dozen young boys.

Confused. Shocked. Disturbed.

My hands shook. My belly lurched. What had I done?

A hand touched my shoulder.

“Don’t say a blasted word,” I snapped at Mina. The sting in my eyes was tears.

“Evaline,” Mina began.

“Stop,” I hissed. “For once, just stop.” I blinked rapidly and turned before anyone could see.

She didn’t understand. She couldn’t.

None of them could. Ever.

Miss Holmes

Aftermath

It was a terrible, horrifying task to drag Willa Ashton from what had been La société’s lair.

She was inconsolable, and no matter how much I tried to reason with her, she couldn’t accept the death of her brother. I had to forcibly keep her from attacking Evaline more than once after that. That disreputable Pix made himself useful by herding out the four boys who hadn’t been turned UnDead, keeping close watch on them. None of them appeared to want to escape. I could only assume whatever thrall or mesmerization had been inflicted on them had now worn off.

I also took one last sweep through the hideout to see if I could find Dylan—or any other member of La société who needed to be retrieved. I hadn’t really expected to find him there, but nor had I expected to see Miss Adler either. Still, I was beyond relieved when there was no sign of my friend.

By the time we managed to get Willa and the rest of the pickpocket gang out into the daylight, it was well past dawn and the courtyard was filling with curious bystanders and the authorities. But for once, London was greeted with a bright yellow sun that cast a warm glow over the dark, drab buildings of Smithfield.

Pix—who, I must admit, had been instrumental in the entire process of our escape—disappeared at the whine of police caddies approaching. I would have done so myself, for now that Willa was safe I was desperate to find out Miss Adler’s condition—except that one of the Met officers who arrived on the scene was none other than my ginger-haired nemesis.

“Good morning, Inspector Grayling.”

“Ah. Miss Holmes. I should have expected it. Wherever there are dead bodies, fires, pickpockets, or explosions, you always seem to appear. I received a cryptic and nearly illegible message from your friend Miss Stoker which I interpreted as a request for assistance. What is it you’ve gotten yourself involved in this time?” He looked down at me from that excessive height. “Was it you who caused the explosion?”

“Of course not. But I’m happy to report, I’ve solved the Yingling case—as well as put a stop to that particularly adept pickpocket ring. The culprit is Miss Geraldine Kluger, who has been attempting to discredit her niece, Willa Ashton, so she could be committed to a lunatic asylum. She was also instrumental in abducting a number of boys and forcing them to act as a pickpocket gang.”

Although I explained in great detail about our escapades, I declined to tell Grayling about the UnDead element of the case. He struck me as the sort of man who would scoff at the very thought of vampires running about his London.

“And so,” I finished, “as I saw no sign of Miss Kluger during my final search of the hideaway, I suggest you put out an arrest warrant for her. She is driving a Two-Seat Charley.”

“Right then. Admirable work, Miss Holmes. Between your experiences and the evidence we collected at the crime scene, once the Yard apprehends Geraldine Kluger, one can expect her to be incarcerated for a long time.” He handed me a handkerchief.

I took it and raised a brow. “Inspector?”

“You appear to have met with some . . . mishap of your own.” He gestured to my neck.

Oh. I immediately dabbed at the blood encrusted on my neck, thankful I’d already applied salted holy water to stop the bleeding and encourage healing.

“Let us be thankful there weren’t any two-story windows for you to try and tumble from” were Grayling’s last words as he turned to his official business. “Or rivers to fall into.”