Heaven's Bones (19 page)

Cursing himself for a fool, he darted toward the sound.

It was getting dark, and an insidious yellowish vapor was rising from the cobbles, pouring over his ankles like ditchwater. At first Artemis barely noticed, intent upon his prey and the tenuous, invisible thread that connected them. Higher and higher the fog lapped, until he faltered, confused.

He thought he knew the streets of London blind, fog or no, but at this moment he didn't have the first idea where he was.

More—he wasn't sure where up and down were, either. Instinctively he raised his hands and moved forward slowly until his hands touched a damp, mossy surface: the wall of a building that bordered this lane. He exhaled in relief and breathed slowly until he was able to get his bearings. That was up; this was down.

On the other side of the street, the sharp tap of booted feet passed and faded the direction he had come. He wondered how anyone was able to trot so fast in this heavy fog.

Cautiously he moved forward, keeping his shoulder to the wall. Light flared in the fog ahead of him, leaving an elevated glow more than head-high. After a pause, another disk of light appeared closer to him, trembled, then burned steadily.

The lamplighter, he thought as another light was born, almost across the street from him this time. His realization was borne out by the small amber lights that accompanied the man, one hip-height, one suspended above him as he carried the tool of his trade high.

How could the man go about his work in this murk? He almost hallooed out to him, but something, some unreasonable fear, some desire not to be noticed kept him quiet.

A fourth light some feet down from the third, and then farther
away, a fifth. The lamplighter was moving away from him, leaving him alone in the fog.

Another set of feet tapped by, staccato and quick—a child, nearly running. The sound of breathing, a quick panting, magnified in Artemis' ear, then was gone. Everything was distorted here.

He knew the Gentleman was somewhere in front of him. Cursing softly to himself, he launched himself into the solid mist, away from the shelter of the wall, like a man swimming for land he can't see but knows must be there.

Artemis stopped, blind and displaced in the murk. His quarry was still ahead of him.

But there was something else. Something that knew he was here, something that
saw
him, despite the fact that he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face. Something that wanted him. Something that hated him.

It sought him in the fog, as he sought the Gentleman. Artemis froze, trying not to make a sound, trying to stifle even his breathing.

Jaelle's Breed
.

It sounded in his ear, a low growl like a starving dog over a bone—a voice at once hungry and hateful. There was nothing human about it.

It was questing for him, seeking him out, seeking to destroy him. Artemis broke into a clammy sweat.

Something reached out for him, grasped the air and missed. Instinct told Artemis to stand very, very still, and he obeyed.

Again that inarticulate growl, a low rich sound that made his hackles rise, and the sensation of something pawing though the air toward him.

And then, somewhere ahead of him, a choked cry, and the trill of something metallic hitting the cobbles, and the malevolent presence was gone.

Janet shrank away from Robarts' outstretched hand and screamed again, weakly. Annoyance sparked in him.

Get rid of her
, the voice commanded.

He had no chloroform. No matter. He could choke her into silence easily enough.

He reached out for her and she tried to scurry aside, but her ankle gave way and she staggered, clinging to the wall in desperation.

The fog whirled around him, thick and insistent as water, reaching out to him, embracing him. Deep inside he felt the same kind of possessing coldness he'd felt when the voice helped him cast the women in their trance, the same sense of being
elsewhere
and
here
at the same time.

But now the pull of elsewhere was getting stronger, and he couldn't fight it. He was drowning in the vapor, the miasma filling him, his own body betraying him as he breathed it inside.

“Stop!”

Startled, he turned. A small figure emerged from the fog, running awkwardly: a child with a set, white face. It stopped at the sight of him, staring up in horror.

The Gentleman looked at Davy, his face pale and haggard, and later the boy remembered the look of sadness in his eyes. But now he only saw that the vapor was twisting around him, coiling around him like a snake, and tendrils of it, horribly alive-looking, were reaching into him, penetrating his flesh. He was growing insubstantial, like fog himself.

Davy watched as the coils of fog tore the man apart. For an instant, the boy could see an eye beseeching him with a mute appeal. It evaporated, and there was nothing left.

Dimly he heard the long shrill tinkle of some sort of coin as it bounced against the cobbles. Behind the spot where the man had
stood he saw a woman crouched against the bricks, hands fisted and shaking like a leaf. She looked at Davy and started to cry.

“There, missus,” he said, automatically. “There's no need for bawling now, the Gentleman's gone.”

She bit her lip and tried to walk, hissing at the pain.

“Lean on me,” he said, moving to her side. Maybe there'd be a hot meal for him if he got her home safe.

Neither of them noticed the medallion that had come to rest, shining dully in the muted lamplight, not half a span from Janet's boot.

The fog was dissipating, dissolving into transparent strands. Artemis breathed the filthy air of the city deeply; it had never been so sweet.

Now the air was clear, and Artemis found he was in a small lane. After a few seconds he recognized it—that way to a main thoroughfare bordered by greengrocers and bakeshops, this way to a neat row of the newer middle-class terrace houses that, cheek-by-jowl and identical, were springing up across the city. Besides him, the lane was empty.

Jaelle's Breed?
What could it mean? He'd never heard such a name before.

Behind him a trail of lit gas lamps offered to lead him home. Feeling foolish, he looked around the abandoned lane one more time before turning about.

It must have been his imagination, brought on by a rogue localized fog. Artemis usually wasn't affected by such phantasms, despite the rumors in the Department that he had more than a touch of the Fae.

Two women lay in Robart's examining room, frozen save for the slow breathing that raised their breasts almost imperceptibly. The room was lit only by the yellow flicker of the gas lamp that burned in the corner. As before, a thin thread of mist coiled over their faces, moving in time with their breathing.

Now the mist thickened over their faces; each time they exhaled more came forth. It started to seep from their nostrils, from the corners of their eyes; their bodies were steaming like smoldering logs.

Still the mist grew thicker and thicker, until it filled the room. The gas flame guttered low in its socket, ruddy in its last extremity. The room was opaque and impenetrable.

Then, little by little, the mist thinned, and the flame, heartened, sprang up again. Like a tide the vapor receded, through no visible egress, fading away to nothing.

The strong yellow flame illuminated the room. The women were gone, and the tables they lay on. The counters where Robarts' tools and instruments had sat were empty as well.

Ignorant of this, the gas flame proudly presided over nothing.

Since the dismissal of the servants, the gardens of Bryani House had overgrown and the shrubs tangled in upon themselves until they made a wild, labyrinthine barrier around the dwelling. In the dusk, the windows were dark and the glass reflected back the red light of the setting sun, seeming to stare longingly in the direction of the sea.

Fogs were common this season, but the mist that boiled from the damp ground was unnatural in its thickness, its gray coils tangible in the gloom. It engulfed the house and grounds, rising like a relentless tide, foot by foot up the bricks until it flooded the chimneys. Hungrily it descended down the stacks and quested throughout the house, filling its crannies and secret places.