The Clockwork Scarab (Stoker & Holmes 1)

"No, dear ladies . . . you have all taken the first step on a path of independence and excitement by coming here tonight. By enrolling in the Society of Sekhmet."

I frowned, both fascinated and stymied by the Ankh's speech. Was this a suffragette group, gathering together for women's rights?

And was someone hunting down the members and killing them, making it appear that they had taken their own lives?

Why? Who?

Although strange, the group seemed harmless enough. In fact, the element of adventure and clandestine activity was attractive even to myself. I could only imagine how a young woman such as Lady Hodgeworth, whose most exciting moment of the day was likely determining which frock to wear to afternoon tea, would be roused by this titillating speech. I peeked at Miss Stoker. Surely, being a vampire hunter, she felt much as I did.

The Ankh's voice dropped. "I know what it is you truly want, ladies. You yearn for adventure and excitement. But most of all, you want . . . him. Whoever he might be, you want him. Is that not the case? Whether you be beautiful or homely, slender or plump . . . whether you have straight white teeth and a demure laugh or protruding ones and a spotted face. Whether you are a rich heiress or one whose family has nothing but a powerful name, you want him. You want him to notice you, to want you, to love you. And, my dears, I will help you. I, along with the Power of Sekhmet, will help you gain control of your lives in a manner such that women have never done."

She was more animated and passionate than she had been so far. "Despite the fact that we are ruled by a queen, the laws and governance of this country-and this world-are controlled by men. That must change. It will change. I will have the power to do so, and those faithful of you shall join me in this change. The day is nigh."

Again, a single clap launched a roar of applause, and it was several moments before it died down again.

The Ankh looked as if she meant to speak further, but all at once, Miss Stoker threw back the hood of her cloak and rose.

I hissed as everyone in the chamber hushed and turned to look back at her. Sit down! I shouted in my head. You brash fool! This wasn't part of the plan!

"You," said the Ankh, her eyes steady from beneath the brim of her hat. They shifted from Miss Stoker to me and back again. The weight and heat of her stare was shocking, but it seemed to have no effect on my companion.

Then Miss Stoker's voice rang out. "What did you do to Mayellen Hodgeworth?"

Miss Stoker

Miss Stoker's Grudging Regret

The moment I interrupted the speaker, I realized I could have been a little more subtle. Perhaps I should have had some sort of plan. Yet, as pandemonium broke loose, once again I felt energized and in control. Miss Holmes was screeching at me, the other attendees were babbling in shock, and the Ankh was shouting orders.

"Seize them! Hathor! Osiris!" The Ankh cried, then swiveled to point to the twin female hostesses. "Bastet! Amunet!"

Two large men appeared from behind the silken wall-hangings, and the identical women sprang into action. Grinning with exhilaration, I leapt over a row of chairs with ease, putting a cluster of young women and tumbling chairs between me the Ankh's minions.

I wanted to get closer to the Ankh, to see if I could pull off the stovepipe hat that obscured his or her face. But the guards were quick, and even amid the chaos, I was aware of Miss Holmes. I could fight my own way out, but she couldn't.

Time to make our exit. I looked up, judged the distance to the chandelier that hung there, and vaulted up off a chair.

I clocked either Amunet or Bastet on the chin as I swung halfway across the chamber, thanks to the length of the chandelier's chain. I landed exactly where I planned-next to Miss Holmes-and grabbed her by the arm.

Hathor and Osiris, the two large guards, converged on us as the Ankh and her guests watched the chaos unfold. But thanks to my excellent reflexes, speed, and exceptional strength, I created a riotous barrier of chairs and the refreshments table at the door. My partner and I escaped the chamber with nothing more than a ripped hem (Miss Holmes's), a sagging hairdo (Miss Holmes's), and a broken copper-heeled shoe (also Miss Holmes's).

Because I could run and she couldn't, I fairly carried my companion down the long, dark tunnel to escape. By that time, she no longer seemed to appreciate my fighting skills.

Once we were back outside in the fresh night air, I saw that the clouds had rolled in. The moon and stars were obscured. Despite the fact that I had done all the work, Miss Holmes was panting in between demanding to know what I was thinking, what had I done, did I realize what danger I might have put us in, and other variations on that theme.

I ignored her and led the way to the nearest busy thoroughfare and flagged down a hansom cab. A few streets away, behind the new Oligary Building and its belching steam, Big Ben's gears ground rhythmically. A glimpse of his illuminated face through an air-canal told me it was approaching midnight.

Almost three hours since we'd left the party.

"Are you aside of mad? I can't show myself in this condition," Miss Holmes snapped when I directed the driver to take us back to Cosgrove Terrace. She was trying to rearrange her hair on the top of her head and having a hard time of it. Her voice was tight. Fury and accusation rolled off her like angry waves.

I felt a little pang of . . . well, it certainly wasn't guilt. It was . . . regret. Maybe.

"Let me help you," I said grudgingly, and slid over to her side of the carriage. I stuck a few pins in place, rearranged the cunning little clockwork hair clips, and adjusted some tendrils of hair over one shoulder.

When I was done, she settled back in the corner. Her nose remained in the air during the entire ride back to the party. My hair was in even worse condition, but did she offer to assist me? She did not. Thus, using a hint of reflection from the carriage windows, I put myself to rights before the cab arrived at the Cosgrove-Pitt home.

"I don't expect to stay very long," Miss Holmes said from between stiff lips as she climbed down from the carriage without waiting for assistance. "Just long enough to go inside and say good evening to our host and hostess. You needn't bother to make your carriage available to take me home, Miss Stoker."

Her spine ramrod straight, she stalked off toward the ascending glider that would take her back into the ball. Her heavy skirts dragged because one of her delicate heels had snapped off during our escape and she had taken off her shoes.

I stifled a smile. Good riddance. And if she was leaving, this would give me the opportunity to find Lady Isabella's study and locate the invitation list after all. It would be a welcome challenge to avoid the scores of young bachelors looking for a rich and pretty heiress to marry. I happen to fall under both categories.