The Spiritglass Charade (Stoker & Holmes 2)

“By that time, I’d seen the fine young man, and he’d seen us. We couldn’t allow him to return home and tell tales. Besides. I’d always wanted a son.” Gadreau smiled affectionately at Robby, who returned the favor. “We UnDead cannot breed, you know.”

“And so you kept him captive here.”

“At first he protested, but after a time, he became comfortable with his new life—as they all do. And then we introduced him to the joys of La société. The only problem was that he missed his sister Willa. He wanted to say goodbye to her.”

“And so you amused her and brought her to see her brother.” I turned back to Miss Kluger. “But it didn’t work out as you’d planned, and she remembered the visit. And then you were in a pickle.”

Gadreau, at least, appreciated my attempt at humor. His lips curved and his eyes glinted with humor. “Indeed.”

“Perhaps you could enlighten me. What does an UnDead want with a gang of pickpockets? And food and wine and artwork. You subsist on blood, not bread.”

“Ah. But just because one is immortal doesn’t mean one doesn’t appreciate comfort and beauty, or has lost one’s taste.” He swept his arm around the chamber. “My slick snakesmen and their quick fingers allow me—and my beloved Geraldine—to live quite comfortably. And though I may not need bread and cheese to survive, I am still a Frenchman and I still can appreciate the taste of a good Bordeaux. Aside from that, my boys must eat as well.”

“I see.” I couldn’t suppress a little shiver, for at that moment I understood yet another purpose for the gang of boys: a ready supply of fresh, young blood for their master. “But how do you keep them from running away after you abduct them?”

“It helps that Geraldine and I have our own particular way of—heh—amusing them in order to gain their compliance.”

“You mean enthralling them?”

Gadreau inclined his head in acknowledgment. “These youngsters come to enjoy their game of chance, of picking pockets and learning their way through the streets.”

“Was that one of your snakesmen at New Vauxhall Gardens, on the opening night? Ah, yes, I recognize the boy—there you are.”

“Indeed. Poor Ferdy came back empty-handed that night, didn’t you, boy?” Gadreau returned his attention to me. “And so now here we are—you with your silver cross and lethal weapon, and your demands. It’s quite a list, now, isn’t it? Are you quite certain you don’t wish to search the back rooms to see if there is anyone else you might wish to negotiate for?”

I didn’t care for the way his irises had turned more pink than red, and the sudden malevolent tone that crept into his voice. “I’m here to rescue Willa and Robby and Miss Babbage—and whoever else I can. I’m sorry about your gang of thieves, but I’m afraid I must take them with me. They will want to return to their parents once they are out from under your thrall.”

“All of them. Indeed. But I’m afraid that’s not practical, Miss Holmes. Taking them all with you.”

“I can easily find a carriage large enough, or we shall walk to the Underground—”

Gadreau chuckled gently. “Ah, no, mademoiselle. You misunderstand me. You see, it’s not practical at all—for many of them . . . they do not do well in the sunlight.”

As if on cue, several of the boys looked up at me with glowing red eyes and long, lethal fangs.

I was so taken off guard I failed to notice Miss Kluger was edging away until she lunged to the side. Before I could recover, something heavy and flowing dropped on me, hot and suffocating. I struggled to drag myself out of the cloying material while fumbling in my deep pocket for the vial of holy water. . . .

But the next thing I knew, I was pummeled to the ground, tightly enveloped in the heavy fabric . . . and smothered into darkness.

Miss Stoker

Wherein Our Heroine Has a Rude Awakening

Moonlight streamed into my bedchamber through the window . . . where a dark figure was climbing in.

I bolted upright and was out of bed by the time Pix’s feet were on the floor. Tonight he was hatless and garbed in close, black clothing. But he wore the false sideburns once again and his collar was turned up high to obscure his face. For some reason, that really aggravated me. He was always hiding, stealing about, and covering himself.

“What in the blooming fish are you doing here?”

I thought I knew the answer. But the square, palm-sized device I’d slipped from his overcoat last night was well hidden. And not in my bedchamber. I had unwrapped it from its papers, but I still had no idea what the flat, metal object with metal grommets and curling wires was. A cognog like Mina might have an idea, but I was at a loss. So I sure as Pete wasn’t going to let him steal it back.

For a moment Pix just stood there. The light glowed from behind him so all I could see was his shape. But I realized I was half-illuminated by the moon and stars—and that my figure was outlined beneath the loose cotton night rail I wore. Blast it. I moved into the shadows, but my insides were fluttering and my palms grew damp.

All I could think was that he’d kissed me last night. And now he was here in my bedchamber.

“Did ye ’ave a fine time a’ th’ Lyceum tonight? Chattin’ and dancin’ wi’ the charmin’ Mr. Dancy, were ye?”

“How did you—never mind. Yes, it was fine. And I’m exhausted. I need to sleep because Mina insists I take over for her at Willa Ashton’s house first thing in the morning.”

I glanced at the package that had arrived from her, via Mr. Treadwell of all people, earlier today. I’d been too busy getting my hair done to unwrap it or read the separate note Mina sent. Florence was Attila the Hun when we were preparing for a social engagement like the soiree.

“What do you want?” I demanded again.

“I thought ye’d be wantin’ a gander at this.” He tossed something onto the edge of my bed.

It was a scrap of butcher paper, like the one from the Pickled Nurse. It even smelled like pickles. “And so?”

“Look at it.”

I had to come into a beam of moonlight to see the fragment. My hair prickled when I recognized the simple sketch on it. A long-legged spider. “Where did you get it?”

His expression was hidden in the shadows, but his stance was stiff and removed. “It was tossed in m’violin case at New Vauxhall. By your paramour . . . or someone ’oo was wi’ ye an’ ’im.”