Eterna and Omega (25 page)

A deeply uncomfortable Franklin coughed from across the room, his face reddening at his desk. “Excuse me, Senator, Miss Templeton…”

They both whirled to him and he sat back, as if the force of their energies had physically pushed him. It was only then that Clara realized how many of her mannerisms and reactions mirrored her guardian's, and this only irritated her further, glaring at Franklin as a convenient target.

“The work of late is … firing up the both of you.… You're not usually volatile,” Franklin stated. “And we cautioned, due to the toxins, the Wards, all the forces swirling about.… Do take care in how you're treating one another.”

Bishop's tensed shoulders suddenly relaxed. “Yes, yes, my good man, you are entirely correct. We must be the control in this experiment. We must be sure none of us have been tainted, let none of the darkness creep in on us like a virus. It is good of you to bring up the concern.”

Clara just scowled, her face flushed, at her desk. She didn't need any extra stimulus to make her fiery. She had plenty of kindling on her own.

“Should I go, then,” Franklin said, the tension in the room clearly making him feel unwelcome, “and meet with Mrs. Northe-Stewart, the reverend, and of course Stevens, to see what other areas might be infiltrated or tainted and to demand an antidote for his altering chemical?”

“Yes, do, and copy down the recipe and concept of the Wards to have in hand, look into making more. Make that Andre Dupris help you. I doubt his brother's work is the only recipe that would prove effective; other areas of the city might do well using different items critical to neighborhood identity. Evelyn will understand best. While I'd like to trust Stevens, I simply cannot.”

Franklin nodded and exited. His growing discomfort around Clara and Bishop made Clara wonder what kind of energy or undercurrent they two were projecting.

“What's the news?” Rupert urged, gesturing toward the papers Franklin had brought in.

Clara stared with wide-eyed dread at the headlines.

New York:

CITY PLAGUED BY REANIMATE DEAD. ELECTRICAL HORROR AND RISEN BODIES IN CITY HALL PARK

Boston:

COUNTLESS DEAD BODIES DISAPPEAR IN ONGOING RESURRECTIONIST RING HORRORS

New Orleans:

SATAN'S LABORATORY MANUFACTURES DRUG OF INSANITY AND UNLEASHES HELL IN THE UNFORTUNATE WARDS;

SPECTRAL DISTURBANCES ROCK EVERY CEMETERY

“An unraveling has begun,” Clara murmured.

She recalled a prophetic vision she'd had concurrent to Louis's death: the British armada sweeping into New York harbor to reclaim New England and beyond.

“We can't let it come to war,” Clara murmured. “I trust Rose Everhart, Rupert. We must make the Society, not England, our true enemy. We need direct confirmation of the Master's Society's relations with the British government, as a British invention from the start. We must be sure who is on our side.”

“Effie will come through for us,” Bishop replied. “Clever as ever, she hit the ground running from the start.”

Clara smiled, glad to see a brilliant woman being acknowledged as such. How rare his simple, unbiased acceptance of quality work regardless of gender was in this city, in this age, and among his peers.

“Rupert, if the Society has their way,” Clara stated, her eyes falling again on all the headlines, “the world will invert. Nightmare will be empire. We have to counter this very broadly. We must mobilize a widespread response, even from those who do not believe in the magic. Warding, as
demanded
from the highest channels, must be the rule.”

Bishop stared at her. After a long moment, he sighed. “I'll talk to Capitol Hill.”

“Not just politician by politician like you've been doing these past few days,” she countered. “Not just to your friends in the Congress. You need the
whole stage.
”

“Yes, Clara.” He sighed again, mopping his noble brow with a white pocket handkerchief. “I'll speak to the
whole
assembled House and Senate.”

“Not just speak, Rupert,” she urged gently. “I know you don't like to use your powers, but you're dallying at this point. If I could do it for you, I would have already—”

“I
understand,
Clara,” Bishop stated firmly, keeping her gaze. “I'll hold absolute thrall and delay no further. And you'll come with me to be sure it's done properly.”

Clara breathed a sigh of relief. “I will. Thank you. I'll soon meet with Rose Everhart and explain that she must insist that England Ward itself.”

“I'll … make arrangements now…” he said, looking at Clara, and for one moment, he appeared more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him. The unflappable senator showed just a moment of fear, and this small crack in his stalwart facade moved Clara deeply.

“Rupert,” she said gently, rising to her feet, moving toward him a step. “I know you don't like employing your talents on so wide a scale, you don't like what it does to you—the effects it creates, the perspective it distorts. You told me long ago you had to be careful not to become the villain such powers could easily sway you to be. I'm here to tell you, you couldn't be that villain if you tried. It simply isn't in you … You're too noble and too wise. Don't fear your gifts. They were made, if nothing else, for this purpose, for these dark days.”

Bishop stared at her, a tear at the corner of one eye. “Why, you grand woman. With such a rousing vote of confidence as that, what indeed do I have to fear?”

He kept staring at her for another long moment before he swept his greatcoat and top hat on and bounded down the stairs, seemingly with a bit of a spring in his step, off to make preparations for Washington. Too old to be seen as merely his ward, she thought, but now, a grand woman? Her cheeks couldn't help but bloom into a bit of a blush, thankfully after he was well clear of the office.

For all that Bishop had done to provide guardianship to Clara, she wanted to do the same for the sake of balance, for his mortal soul and sanity. In addition, she wanted to be sure England did the right thing for its own people, too, as soon as possible.

*   *   *

Rose walked east along Pearl Street, heading for the offices of the Eterna Commission, already composing in her mind the long wire she would have to send to Spire in London, updating him on their progress so far. It was a good thing she had sufficient funds to cover the expense, provided by Lord Black. She wondered what Black and Spire were doing—while it was their job to keep Spire informed, as director of Omega division, he owed her no similar courtesy. With a bit of surprise, she realized she missed her conversations with Spire, her walks with him. She missed
him.

There had been an odd sort of bond between Rose and Spire from the moment he had tracked her down in her secret secretarial office inside the very walls of Parliament. She couldn't put a label on the connection, but it had grown in the time she and Spire had worked together.

Approaching 61 Pearl Street, Rose set her musings aside, focusing instead on the excitement of her coming meeting with Clara Templeton. Rose had spent much of her life feeling like she was living for two people. The death of her twin had haunted her dearly; she worried at the loss of that kinship as if it were a phantom familial limb. Somehow Clara Templeton had, in the instant of their meeting, eased that endless ache.

The brownstone that housed the Eterna Commission looked fairly ordinary. Rose knocked. A redhead all in black let her in, past two uniformed guards sitting silent sentry inside the door. The woman in mourning examined her warily for a very long time before going to a row of rope pulls and pulling on a center rope. Upstairs, a bell clanged pleasantly.

“All the way up,” the woman stated. A dramatic air about her made her seem like more than a mere keeper of the door, and Rose felt she'd been scrutinized in a way that surpassed mere judgment of appearance or character. It seemed the American team as a whole was gifted, not just isolated persons.

As she climbed the thickly carpeted stair, Rose kept one gloved hand on the carved cherrywood banister. On the top floor, an open door enabled a room lit by stained glass to beckon like the sanctuary of a small chapel.

Entering, Rose saw Clara Templeton standing at a desk, poised in what looked like an act of prayer over an open doctor's bag. She was dressed in a simple utilitarian blue skirt with stripes of ribbon at the hem, a high-collared cream-colored shirtwaist, and a blue silk scarf weighted down by a large black-and-white cameo at her throat.

Before the doctor's bag sat a row of glass vials filled with silt, stone, and paper. To Rose's right, a wide bay window looked out at a skyline that purportedly grew ever taller by the day. She wondered how long it would be before Clara lost her view of the harbor, before this little building itself made way for something newer.

The countless pendants and tokens, talismans and sacred symbols that hung against the glass captivated Rose, whose burgeoning knowledge of and access to a world beyond the mundane made her stare at them with awe and reverence.

“Hello, Sister,” Clara said with a beaming smile. The word and expression warmed and disarmed Rose. “Come and sit. Let me explain something England must adopt. Whether your government has it out for mine or not, you simply must understand protections.”

“How can you … be so comfortable saying ‘sister'?” Rose asked quietly.

“Awareness of my past lives lets me see that our paths have always been connected,” Clara replied matter-of-factly. “The most natural thing in the world is to welcome someone home. There's a profound power in doing so.” She did not linger in sentimentality but instead gestured to the materials before her.

“I have come to think, working on these Wards, that the localized magic is made even more powerful by the energies of identity, pride, and personal fortitude through the ages. Here, let me show you what Louis Dupris…” At this, her voice caught, and Rose recalled the details Brinkman had given Omega of the forced séance where it was revealed that Clara and Louis had been lovers. “What Louis created, along with his colleagues.”

Clara showed Rose the ingredient list and properties of localized magic for the few cities they had from the files, explaining how the search for immortality had led Louis and other researchers to consider the spirit and strength of local tradition and custom. How the purpose of the Eterna Compound had shifted to a way to protect a person's life from demonic interruption rather than extend it.

“Why are you showing me this?” Rose asked bluntly.

The blond woman smiled again. “This is knowledge I'd give to anyone, truly, friend or foe. The knowledge of the personal divine I hold as a sacred right for all. What you do with it is your own business.”

Rose nodded her agreement. “Do I have your permission to explain this to Lord Black and my director, Harold Spire? Spire will not believe any
magic,
but Black will, and Spire will obey Black's orders regardless of his own beliefs. If we state it as a way of drawing out Master's Society operatives, Spire will be utterly amenable, as he hates the Society as a sworn enemy.”

“Yes, do. Senator Bishop will soon be in Washington to convince our federal lawmakers to root out Master's Society interference in industrial sectors and to directly instruct the adoption of Warding as a systematic protection. I will be with him to assist in the matter.” Clara then came close, to stare at Rose with an unsettling scrutiny. “Do
you
trust this magic?” she asked. “It will very much help if you do.”

Rose thought about this for a long moment, considered the expansion of her senses that had occurred since the attack in London. “If you'd asked me that a year ago, I would have flatly said no. But as you well know, the more one sees, the more one must expand the mind and adapt … or perish.”

She continued, “The current terrorism seems to aim to curtail such expansions and adaptations, seeking a reversion of human progress. Still, the members of the Master's Society seem to always underestimate hope, peace, love and, most of all, human momentum and will.”

Clara's fair, angular face lit up with compelling magnetism. “Then let it be fitting that we, the underestimated women of the world, carry on this fight.”

The ladies smiled at each other, feeling hope rise. If Rose wasn't imagining things, the assembled Wards on Clara's desk glowed brighter.

A brown-haired man in his thirties entered the office, walking with a slight limp. Since Clara seemed unsurprised by his appearance, Rose assumed he must be one of her colleagues. He took off his black top hat and bobbed his head toward the women.

As Clara introduced him, Rose took note of the man's neatly trimmed beard, basic brown wool waistcoat and trousers, and dark brown frock coat. “Franklin Fordham, meet Rose Everhart of London's Omega department.”

Fordham bowed, though he couldn't help but look at Rose a bit warily. She couldn't blame him.

“Miss Templeton has been very helpful, showing me how we must be trusted allies,” Rose assured.

“What's the news from uptown?” Clara asked. “Is Stevens behaving himself with Blessing's dogs?”

“Entirely so. He is spending every waking hour making Wards at astonishing speeds. He does appear, dare I say, ‘reformed.' And I can assure you of this because he regularly lets me touch his hand for veracity.”

When Rose looked confused, Clara explained, “Franklin is a psychometric. Do you have one on your team?”

Rose thought of the files in the cellars of Kensington, which detailed all manner of paranormal gifts. “Someone who can touch an object or person and see the past? No. Not that I know of, although our team doctor does seem the type. I'll have to ask him.”

“It's terribly useful,” Clara said. Franklin beamed, and it was clear he idolized Clara. Rose understood the sentiment. There was a charming, otherworldly surety about Clara that Rose envied. Rose felt that between her own oft-praised qualities of diligence, moderation, and loyalty and Clara's effervescent, pragmatic mysticism, they were a whole, complementary, unit. How could Clara possibly be a danger to her?