A Study in Darkness (65 page)

Efforts to shake the morose mood only took her to darker places. Inevitably, her thoughts strayed to her attack. Images of the woman in the cape muddled with another memory, that of the murdered servant girl, Grace Child, and of the grooms who had been killed when Magnus took Lord Bancroft’s automatons. She could still see Grace Child, fallen to the floor with her throat cut, her hat rolled a few steps away … Evelina sat bolt upright, the hair on her neck rising with icy prickles. She jerked to her feet as images came flooding back—and with them, Serafina’s confession.

“Bloody hell,” Evelina breathed, her face going numb with a surge of panic.

It all made sense. They hadn’t found the Whitechapel Murderer because they were looking for a man. A woman could walk through the crowd of police without notice.

Back in April, hours before Grace Child was killed, Evelina had heard a man and a woman talking. The words had been faint, drowned out by other noises, but the investigators—including Uncle Sherlock—had never been able to figure out who they were. The deva in the hedge had described them as a man and his shadow.
His shadow
. A doll with a scrap of Magnus’s soul might look like a shadow to a deva—a being made entirely of energy.

A sudden chill assaulted Evelina. She grabbed a shawl, wrapping it tight around her. She’d begun to feel safe in Nick’s arms, but now that she knew what had held the knife, a feeling of skittishness was destroying her hard-won calm. Serafina was still at large, and her master was the Blue King’s maker, impossible to touch. He might have fled the theater, but that just meant he’d become invisible. With Magnus, not even death meant that he was truly gone.
Bloody hell
.

Last April, Magnus had shown Serafina to Tobias and his friends. Tobias had tried to destroy what he’d seen—if only he had! If Serafina had accompanied Magnus that night on his first foray to get Lord Bancroft’s automatons—which fit with the doll’s fragmented memories—they may well have encountered Grace waiting for Lord B to meet her, and then killed the poor girl to keep her quiet about intruders in the house. What had Serafina said?
But the woman simply got in the way
.

And if Magnus had used Serafina to get the automatons from the grooms, she could have taken them by surprise. On a dark road, she’d look just like a woman out alone. Maybe one needing help. How would they know that she was monstrously strong, adept at killing, and obedient to a sorcerer bent on lifting their cargo?

Sickness flooded through Evelina, leaving her hot and sweating. She sat down quickly, suddenly alive to every ache in her body. She had felt the black oblivion of death steal upon her and now knew what those servants had felt—helpless, terrified, and betrayed.

And yet, despite everything, Evelina felt an intense pity for Serafina. Magnus had created a being stuck forever in a
half-formed state, always hungry to be complete, never fully understanding what she was or where she fit. As someone who had struggled to understand her own talents, to know where she belonged in a world divided between magic and science, rich and poor, Evelina could empathize.

And dark magic could make her just as dangerous, for surely she’d struck out at Gareth in her desperation. The only mercy was that Magnus hadn’t taught her how to steal life from another living being. Another week of his tutelage, and
she
might have been the monster.

A heartsick nausea swelled in Evelina’s throat, making her shudder. Magnus wasn’t the serpent in the garden. He was every blight, worm, scale, and fungus rolled into one, and she was sorely tempted to count herself lucky that he was gone, and simply pray that he stayed away. But in truth Magnus’s disappearance meant little, and he still wanted Nick and Athena. He had to be stopped, and Serafina with him.

Her gaze fell on her carpetbag at the foot of the bed. With a sudden flurry of energy, she grabbed it, lifting it onto the bed so she could look inside. Her train case of tools for fixing clockwork was still there, as well as her few articles of clothes. It looked as if Magnus had neatly packed everything she’d arrived with back into her bag. Like so many things he did, it was hard to interpret. Why had he bothered?

Still, she was glad that he had done it. She put the train case on her lap and lifted the lid. The familiar sight and feel of her workbox comforted her, the gleam of her tools and the jingle of the metal gears and springs in their neat compartments. Something, at least, was the same as it had always been.

Then she lifted out the tray that sat on top. In the space beneath were her larger tools and half-finished projects—as well as the magical tools Gran Cooper had given her. Magnus had put them all back, including the wand.

Evelina picked it up, setting the rest of the box onto the bed beside her.
Do I dare to do this?
Her burst of confidence faltered, making the wand feel treacherous in her hand.
Magic had not been her friend of late. And yet it was the only weapon she had.

Slowly and with an unsteady step she moved to the small square of carpet in the middle of the room. Apprehension clawed up her spine, drying her mouth and robbing her of breath.
Calm, be calm
. If the snake was out there, she was going to find him with his own tricks—and where Magnus went, he’d be sure to take his mechanical helpmate.

Evelina held out her arms the way Magnus had shown her, and cast her mind down to the end of the wand and out into the aether. Now that she knew the risks, she remembered to put safeguards in place the way her Gran had taught her. She couldn’t name what energies ruled this kind of spell, but she addressed them nonetheless.
Hear me, powers of the aether. There is only one question I ask. I don’t want to see any fires, or disasters, or anything else. Where did Magnus and Serafina go?

The powers must have been listening, because this time she didn’t see any sweeping city panorama or a panoply of stars. All the wand showed her was a steel gray morning mottled with darker clouds, and high in that sky was a sleek black airship with a dragon-shaped prow and a balloon as black as night. And if there was any doubt as to who captained it, she could feel the sorcerer’s presence shrouding it like a shimmering veil.

Magnus hadn’t just left the theater. He’d left the earth behind.

IMOGEN SAT ON THE EDGE OF THE COT, HER HEART PATPATTING
triple time beneath her stays. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking, as if she’d caught a fever. Fear wasn’t something she was good with—not this kind. She could face playing the pianoforte in public, or turning her life upside down to run away with a man her parents didn’t like. She’d even faced a dragon, but she’d had Evelina with her then. Being on her own and snatched from the street was far worse—especially the blindfolded part. Stumbling blind with her hands tied had underscored her loss of control in a way little else could.

She tried to think like Evelina. Her friend would have already found every weakness in the floorboards and conjured a spell to blow through them—or climbed out the window to crawl along the roof. Of course, Imogen was fairly sure they were on an airship, so there would be no blowing up or dangling from roofs. She scanned the room, trying to imagine how she could possibly make a weapon. To begin with, it wasn’t much more than a cubbyhole with a bunk. If she’d tried to wave her arms, she’d rap her knuckles on the bland gray walls. For another thing, there wasn’t much in there except bedding. The only battle she was likely to win was a pillow fight.

And she had no weapons with her. She’d even lost her
bonnet in the struggle. Mouse and Bird had been left—along with her suitcase—on Threadneedle Street. No one would know where she was.

A fresh wave of panic welled up inside her, bringing tears to her eyes. She shrank back on the cot, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her.
Why would anyone want to take me? I’m just another debutante. And how will Bucky ever know that I really meant to meet him?

The door opened, and she saw who it was. She braced one hand against the wall, her jaw falling open in pure, raw shock.

“Miss Roth, I hope my crew was gentle with you.” Dr. Magnus gave her a kindly smile. He was dressed, as always, in a black suit, his hair and beard neatly trimmed. He looked more like a lord than a doctor.

Imogen caught her breath. She didn’t believe that smile for an instant. “As abductions go, I would have to rate it as moderately distressing.”

“Such sharp thorns for a pretty flower.”

“Why am I here?”

“As a bargaining chip.”

“With my father?” Despite the fluttering in her stomach, she thought furiously. “What does he have that you could possibly want?”

“He is an experienced hand at games of power. There is much he could do for me, if he would just bend his will to mine.”

“When my father bends, it’s usually to pick up a weapon.”

“Thorns and wit. Be careful how you brandish them, Miss Roth.”

Imogen scowled. Her wits were the only weapon she had, and survival might depend on knowing what the blazes was going on. She grabbed at one of the thousand things that didn’t make sense. “Why are you using the Blue Boys as your henchmen?” She’d seen their blue sashes right before they’d put on the blindfold.

He chuckled, as if she’d been amusing. “Why buy when one can rent—or in my case, borrow. Despite my recent turn as a puppeteer, I am a doctor of the mesmeric arts.” He
pressed a hand to his chest, a glint of pleasure in his eye. “And my skill lies in enhancing the traditional hypnotic approach when required.”

“You mesmerized an entire crew?” She couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.

He shrugged. “They were there, roaming about the Blue King’s property like unguarded sheep. I was there, suffering Blue’s idiocy and paranoia in exchange for access to his resources. It was a natural fit.”

“So you spirited them away like the Pied Piper of Hamelin?”

He gave a slight bow. “Mesmerism doesn’t work on every rat, but there were enough susceptible airmen in King Coal’s employ to assemble a crew of willing souls.”

The way he said
souls
made Imogen’s flesh creep. “And I’m sure he won’t miss the ship,” she added, hoping for one more scrap of information.

“Oh, no, the
Wyvern
is mine. I’ve had it waiting for just such an occasion as this.” Magnus’s expression shifted back to a bland, pleasant mask as he changed topics. “But enough about that. You certainly made this encounter convenient, going off alone with a suitcase. No doubt you left a farewell note at home?”

Imogen had already thought of that, but his words sent her stomach to the floor anyhow.

“Never mind,” he said. “I have written a note to your father. As soon as he meets the terms of our little agreement, I will return you and his other possessions posthaste.”

“His automatons,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady.
With the soul of my twin sister
.

He blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to know about those. “Yes. In a way it’s an advantage that you are familiar with such machines.”

Imogen balled her hands into fists, hiding their trembling beneath her skirts. “I can think of no uplifting reason why.”

This time, his smile showed teeth. “It minimizes explanation. Allow me to introduce your companion on this journey. Serafina?”

Imogen looked toward the door, at first reassured by the
feminine name. But then what walked in made her jaw drop. The red-haired, beautiful automaton was nothing like the crude things her father had made years ago. But there was the same chill that crawled over her flesh when she looked at her. Something about her was just
wrong
. As wrong as her nightmares.

The doll tilted her head. “I am very pleased to meet you. I saw you on the street once before, Miss Imogen Roth.”

“Charmed,” said Imogen, inching back closer to the wall.

“I’m sure you’ll be great company for each other.” Magnus turned to go, but caught the doll’s arm, giving it a shake. “Behave yourself, sweetling. This one is mine.”

Imogen had no idea what that meant, but her muscles went rigid as steel. As soon as Magnus released her, Serafina sat in the chair that faced Imogen’s bed, her blue eyes fixed on her in a way that was both sightless and enormously invasive. Imogen had an overwhelming urge to pull the blanket over her head.

“You aren’t going to simply leave me with her, are you?” she gasped.

He already had one foot out the door. “Sadly, I don’t have crewmen to spare for the job. Make yourself comfortable, but don’t try to leave the room. She has orders to restrain you if necessary. Oh, and one thing,” Magnus said, pausing to give her a sly look. “Don’t let her near the cutlery.”

WITH FEVERISH URGENCY
, Evelina had spent the last hour writing a detailed letter to Uncle Sherlock. There was no question that he had to know everything she had learned. Besides being her uncle and a consulting detective with friends at Scotland Yard, he understood what had happened last April. He would understand the connections Evelina had made between Serafina, the murder of Grace Child, and the theft of Lord Bancroft’s automatons.