Light Fantastique (25 page)

“You're not funny,” Marie told him. “And you have secrets too. I don't believe you care so much for the welfare of this theatre.”

“Ah, but you have met me in the past. Do you not remember?”

“You know I don't.”

“I know you don't.” A wheezing giggle. “Of course you don't. Most people do not, for I am the invisible hand of death.”

“Now who's being dramatic?” She teased him but swallowed around the flame of anxiety that he was becoming unhinged. Plus, the memory of a knife at the back of her neck flashed through her brain.

Could it be the man in the carriage? But I never saw his face clearly.

“Ah, but you need my cooperation. Whose raven do you think it was that kept you and the maestro from sharing a kiss in the alley with some well-timed snowfall? And who captured a photo of him trying that could doom him in the eyes of the police?”

The memory-feel of the icy snow spread from Marie's face to her extremities, and her heart thudded through it. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh, but I would, for I need you to be tough and disciplined, Mademoiselle
Premiere Femme
. It is what
Maman
wants, after all, regardless of who
Pere
happens to be.”

Disgusted, Marie fled from his demented laughter.

I have made a deal with the devil.

She encountered Iris in the hall.

“Oh good, there you are. Is that where you've been hiding? Who were you talking to?”

“The spirit of the theatre.”

“The one who trapped you and who smokes Parnaby Cobb's tobacco brand?”

“Yes.” Marie admired Iris's ability to put everything in a succinct and logical way.

Perhaps he used to work for Cobb. That's how he has the tobacco blend. That will help narrow down who he is and therefore what he wants.

Iris gestured for Marie to follow her. “The battle is over, so we're back to siege as usual. Everyone's gone back to the townhouse.” She put a hand on Marie's arm. “Join us if you're up for it. I know you've had some shocks.”

“Lead the way. We all have pieces of the puzzle and need to put them together somehow.”

On the way, she racked her memory for when she had met the ghost previously. So many Americans worked for Cobb.

This is impossible. But he did let slip one thing—the ravens are his.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Théâtre
Bohème, 4 December 1870

Iris and Marie exited the theatre through the back. Iris kept the lamp shielded to the point that they could only see a few feet in front of them and pondered how the threat of the Prussians and the uncertainty around the airship crash made them all feel like they needed to scurry and hide like rodents trying to avoid a large cat.

“Ooof,” Marie said and stumbled. She caught herself, but her legs got tangled in her skirt, and she landed on her derriere. “Twice in one night. That's gonna be sore tomorrow.”

“Are you all right? What did you trip over?”

Iris helped Marie to her feet, and in the lamplight, the large bundle of cloth resolved into the body of a man. A man with chestnut hair and aristocratic cheekbones who gazed at the sky with a surprised and horrified expression.

“Edward?” Iris whispered. Her soul collapsed somewhere around her middle, and she backed into the wall, her hand over her mouth. “No, it can't be.”

Marie reached toward her. “It's not him. I thought so too, at first, but Edward would never go out so unshaven.”

Iris directed the light toward the man's face and saw the lips were too thick and the nose too long to be Edward, but he did have a strong resemblance. Now she was thankful she had the wall to support her so she wouldn't collapse in relief.

Marie felt at the man's neck for a pulse. “Whoever he is, he's really dead.”

“Poor chap.” Iris's almost grief made her sensitive to the fact that someone would be waiting at home for this young man and would wonder what had happened to him.

“We're going to have to summon Davidson, aren't we?” Marie asked with a sigh.

“'Fraid so.” They left the body in the alley. Although they didn't say that the murderer could be lying in wait, both of them rushed to the back of the townhouse, Marie stiffly, and the keys jingled with her trembling as she opened the servants' entrance door.

The first thing Iris saw once they left the cloakroom was Edward standing at the stove heating up milk to put in his tea. He and Radcliffe spoke in low tones.

“Enjoy it while you can,” Radcliffe said. “Cream has been reserved for the children, and I suspect milk will be next to be held apart for the sick and young.”

This damn siege. Why can't it be over? But then wishing so means I want fighting to happen, and there will be more death, more widows.

With a sob, Iris flung herself into Edward's arms. He still smelled of smoke and fear, but she didn't care. He was warm and alive and—

“What? What is it?”

She relished the tender tone in his voice, and they clung together, both having looked in the face of death.

“I thought I'd lost you,” Iris said. She looked up into his bright blue eyes. “Please don't leave the townhouse by yourself. It's not safe.”

“Explain?” he asked Marie.

“She had a scare,” Marie said. “There's a man in the alley who looks like you. He's dead.”

“I'll take a look.” Radcliffe rushed out.

Edward frowned, but in a puzzled way, not a fearful one. His next words confused Iris more than his expression. “How? We haven't been running the aether lighting system. This doesn't make sense.”

Iris drew back. “What do you mean? What does that have to do with anything?”
Is he going mad?

“It's one of the things we need to talk about, preferably before Davidson arrives. You see, my dear, Patrick and I might be accidental murderers.”

* * * * *

They gathe
red in the receiving parlor since they expected Davidson to arrive momentarily. Lucille had sent a message for him to the nearest pneumatic tube delivery station in the old Gare du Nord. She now waited in her office for a reply. Marie noted how tired everyone looked with an extra layer of exhaustion on top of the wear of the siege.

No one likes to be trapped.

“He's not going to like being interrupted at the crash site,” Johann said.

“True,” Lucille replied. “He may not come.”

“We can only hope,” Marie muttered. “Is it possible that the man fell from the airship?”

Radcliffe shook his head. “Not unless they stabbed him from behind first. His injuries are similar to those of Monsieur Cinsault.”

“What did you mean that you're an accidental murderer?” Marie asked Edward.

Edward and Patrick exchanged glances. “It doesn't make sense to me,” Edward admitted.

Marie kept her expression neutral so a hysterical giggle wouldn't escape.

He doesn't like saying those words. For him everything should be orderly, but it's not, is it? Nothing is.

“He thinks that when we run the aether lighting system, it affects how people feel and behave,” Patrick explained. “The way I've been feeling since we've been working with it, I can see it.”

“The first murder, Cinsault,” Iris said. “That was when you were demonstrating it in the atelier.”

“And Frederic when we were testing it in the footlights,” Marie added. She didn't look at Johann. She couldn't, not now that she knew the spirit would leave evidence of their almost-kiss where the inspector could find it and seal the case for his guilt.

“But what about this one?” Edward asked. “We haven't been running the lighting system, not since earlier. Could he have been out there that long?”

“No,” Radcliffe said. “The body was too warm to have been lying in an icy alley all day.”

“So what does this mean for the theatre?” Lucille asked. She held up a message. “The inspector will be here as soon as he can. He requested we stay put so he can question us. Bah, as if any of us are going anywhere with the Prussians at our gates and a murderer—or three—afoot.”

“We shouldn't use the system, obviously,” Edward said. “Not until we know we can do so safely.”

“But if it has that large of an effect, shouldn't more people have been killed?” Iris asked. “What's the vulnerability?”

“Madame Cinsault said that she had lovers,” Johann pointed out. “Perhaps romantic jealousy plays a part?”

“But that then points back to you as a guilty party even though we know you weren't here,” Marie said.

“Maybe you weren't Frederic's only project,” he said. “Maybe it was another jealous lover.”

“The guardsman did try to invite me to, well, something.” Marie swallowed the lump of disgust that rose when she thought of how he'd propositioned her.

Radcliffe poked at the small fire in the grate, more to do something than to adjust the position of the coals, Marie thought. “But then how do the neo-Pythagoreans fit into this? Is it possible that it's the same murderer, someone trained to kill?” he asked.

“That's a different motive entirely,” Edward agreed. “But could the Eros Element have caused him to act before he planned on it?”

“This is all speculation,” Lucille said. “Do I or do I not have a lighting system for the theatre?”

“What does it matter?” Marie asked. “With the situation as it is, there's no point in putting on a production.”

“It matters a great deal,
Cherie
.” Lucille held up a gilt-edged envelope. “The empress herself has asked that we go on with our opening night this week to lift the spirits of the Parisians after the failure of the sortie battle and the airship tragedy.”

“We cannot use the aether lighting,” Edward said. “It's too dangerous. Even if it causes one person in the audience to do something rash, it's not worth someone getting hurt.”

“I agree with you,” Radcliffe said. “But it is your opinion that matters, Madame.”

“The light was so lovely on Marie's face. Could you not adjust it so it is safe?”

Edward and Patrick looked at each other.

Marie felt the role trying to overcome her, the idealized woman. The kind of woman a man would kill for without truly understanding her because of what she represented to him, not because of who she truly was. Part of her wanted to take the stage again, to prove she could do it, but she feared she couldn't control her gift without the spirit's help, and after their last conversation… Well, he seemed to be losing touch with his sanity, and she didn't trust him.

But could she trust herself to balance the role and her true self? Being onstage had always caused her gift to manifest most strongly, so she didn't trust her little moments of victory to this point.

No, it's too dangerous.
She tried to press in her mind,
Say no, say no, say no. Tell her the show cannot proceed because you can't undo your adjustments that quickly. I cannot go back in that theatre.

But if I don't, then the spirit will not get what he wants, which is information.

“I think we can do it,” Edward said. “We have copious notes and could bring it back to a frequency that won't light the stage as well but shouldn't be in that dangerous realm.”

“Aye,” Patrick said. “I can look in my journal, see when I was feeling like myself, and we can cross-reference.”

A knock on the door told them the inspector had arrived. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Iris.

“Thank you. It's been a very long day. I take it you've heard the battle is over and the siege is resumed as it was.”

“Yes,” Radcliffe said.

“Have someone listening out just in case. With the return of the stalemate, the Prussians might start shelling to cause Paris to capitulate. Our informants tell us that consumption is making its way through their lines. Now tell me about that unfortunate chap in the alley. My men are questioning the national guardsmen outside the church now to see if they heard or saw anything. Do you think your, er, friends down below could shed any light on what happened or one of your informants, Madame?”

“Everyone was staying in, including my staff.”

And my uncle.
Marie's thoughts took on that hysterical edge again. It all seemed so surreal, like what happened on the stage was more solid and predictable than real life.

There's definitely something to be said for scripte
d surprise.

“And now the letter, Maestro.” Davidson's fatigue showed around his eyes, but his manner was as incisive as ever. Johann handed over the now-crumpled missive. “I trust that you will not do anything hasty.”

“We're working toward the same end, Inspector.”

“We'll see.” He handed his now-empty teacup back to Iris and stood. He swayed on his feet before gaining his balance and rubbed his eyes. “With this new murder… Just tread carefully, and I expect you to share any information you may obtain.”

Marie kept her expression neutral and avoided making eye contact with any of the others. What would the inspector think about the Eros Element being the culprit? He likely wouldn't believe them, and then they'd all be arrested.

“Try to get some sleep, Inspector,” Lucille told him.

“Right. No rest for the weary.” With a tip of his hat to the ladies, he was off.

“What are we going to do?” Iris asked after he left.

“What I told him to do.” Lucille shooed them out of the room. “Get some sleep. No one can solve problems when their brain is exhausted.”

They complied, but when Marie turned to wave to the gentlemen, she caught Johann's small smile before he turned. Her stomach flipped, and she felt an answering grin on her own face. Perhaps they would dream of each other and not of airship crashes or murders.

One can only hope since we cannot interact otherwise.

* * * * *

They all slept late the next morning, but then it was off to rehearsals as usual.

“Hey,” Johann said as he and Marie put on their cloaks in the room off the kitchen, “are you all right? You've been avoiding me.” He brushed a curl away from her face. “I just wanted to see how you are after the revelations of yesterday.”

She ducked her head away from his almost-caress. “I'm fine.”

He dropped his hand to his side although his fingers wanted to gently turn her face up to his and claim a kiss. Why did she seem so soft and encouraging one moment and so cold a day later? “You don't seem fine. Are you and your mother not speaking?”

“I'm not talking to her until she's ready to tell me the entire truth. I feel that she's withholding some crucial piece of information from me so she can continue to dangle my mistakes over my head.”

“You keep blaming her for you not being able to escape the past, but is there something you're holding on to?”

She scowled up at him. “That's rich from the man who won't tell how he got in such a difficult situation with the Clockwork Guild. We all have secrets, Monsieur.”

“I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” He kept his tone playful, but his heart beat a staccato retreat rhythm in his chest.

She'll think I'm a fool, but if it helps her to move forward and heal, it's worth it.

“I've got to take care of something,” she said. She glanced around, then put both hands behind his head and tugged his face to hers. He didn't resist and wrapped her in his arms, meeting her lips with his. He regretted his previous insult to her, that he wouldn't be her first kiss, but he decided to be her first amazing one. Not that it would be difficult—she brought up a depth of passion from him he'd never experienced, although she was far from his first kiss too.

She pulled away and laid her head on his chest. His heart felt like it wanted to beat through his ribs to be closer to her. There were other parts that wanted to be closer to her, and he hoped she couldn't feel them through her skirts.

“I'm sorry,” she said and pulled away. “I… I don't know what I feel, but whatever I do, it's irrelevant until I take care of something.”