The Spiritglass Charade (28 page)

Vampires beware
, I thought as I alighted from a horseless taxi near Pristin Canal, two streets from the Pickled Nurse.
You're about to meet your end
.

Conscious of my invincibility, I walked boldly down the street, weaving among clusters of people on their way to a pub, dinner-house, or music hall.

I was stronger than any man and gifted with speed and skill. I had slain my first UnDead and proven my worthiness as a vampire hunter. I had a legacy to fulfill.

Woe to he who got in my way.

A chill filtered over the nape of my neck and I smiled grimly. UnDead nearby.

I sharpened my attention on each man and woman as I approached and passed them, measuring the sensation on the back of my neck.

The cool warning grew stronger as I neared a trio of men standing in front of an establishment called Ivey & Boles. A massive cogwork key dangled from the sign over their heads, which caused me to wonder if the place was a locksmith or some other metal-working business. The three talked and gestured, blocking the walkway to other passersby.

I slid a stake from one of the loops at my waist. One of the men had to be an UnDead, for the evil chill was growing
fiercer and sharper as I approached. But they stood so close together, I couldn't tell which one.

As I drew nearer, I noticed a small, lithe shadow detach itself from the alley behind the trio. I thought nothing of it until one of the men clapped a hand to his long overcoat and spun. “Stop! Thief! Stop!”

He and his companions whirled, stumbling after the boy. But the small figure had already darted into the shadows and was immediately lost in the alley.

I could have chased the pickpocket and easily brought him to task, but I wasn't going to be distracted from my true mission. My destiny was a bigger, more dangerous prize than a street urchin who needed a silk handkerchief to sell for food.

The three men gave up their half-hearted chase after one of them tripped in the dark throughway and fell on his knees in a pool of sludge. They gathered on the street again as they turned out their pockets in turn. It appeared more than one of them had had his pocket lightened by the quick-fingered thief.

But now that I was right next to them, I realized my warning chill had evaporated.

Blast it
. The prickling at the back of my neck had gone, and so had the UnDead.

Growling to myself, I continued along the street. Turning down the alley to Nickel's, I headed toward the Pickled Nurse. I felt an occasional chill during this patrol of sorts as I paced along the street in front of the pub, but
I was still too inexperienced to know whether it was really an UnDead. So I looked for glowing red eyes, but even that strategy didn't reveal any vampires.

By the time the clock struck two, I was frustrated. Either I was wrong about
La soci
é
t
é
and vampires being in this area, or they simply weren't out and about tonight.

Nevertheless, I wasn't ready to return home. I was still spoiling for a fight. After all, that was what I was born to do. Not to sit back and contemplate clues, concoct theories, and make deductions. And
knit
.

No. I was meant to
do
. To seek out danger, to fight for life and safety, and to risk my own skin for others.

And so I headed to Spitalfields.

Though it was only a couple hours till dawn, Fenmen's End was loud, crowded, and as brightly lit as that establishment ever was. Which wasn't saying much.

I pushed open the doors and looked over the crowd, hoping to see Pix. Or at least Big Marv. Maybe he'd give me some grief for twisting his fingers, and I'd have an excuse for a good fight.

Of course, after Pix's appearance and disappearance in Vauxhall without a word to me, I could probably just as easily spar with him. I still didn't understand why he'd been so dark and cold that night. And I was annoyed that he'd vanished without a trace.

This time, I chose not to make a grand entrance and no one seemed to notice me. In the back, a group wagered over two men arm wrestling, but neither of the contestants was Pix. Several tables boasted dice or cards, and there was another where the patrons pressed in around a tiny wind-up dog that sprang up and then plopped into a small glass of golden liquid. The dog was removed and the patron drank to raucous cheering. It seemed to be some sort of game.

I made my way up to the far side of the bar. As usual, Bilbo was behind it and he recognized me right away.

“Where's Pix?”

“Dunno.”

“Is he in his lair?”

Bilbo shrugged. “Oy'm not the bloke's keeper, missy.”

A distinct chill filtered over the back of my neck. I whirled toward the entrance to see the man who'd just walked in. Tall, fair-skinned, pierce-eyed, and reeking of malevolence.

An UnDead.

This time, I had no doubt.

I was about to slide off my stool when I noticed Pix making his way across the pub. Where the blazes had he come from?

He went directly to the vampire and greeted him at the door. They seemed to know each other, or at least have some business, for the two launched into intent conversation.

“'Ere 'e be,” said Bilbo helpfully.

“Don't tell him I'm here.” I dove off my stool, then slipped around to the edge of the bar. “If you say a word, I'll break your fingers.”

“Bleedin' darly-'eaded female.” Bilbo stomped to the other end of the counter as I peered out from my hiding place.

Suddenly, Pix and the vampire turned and went out of the pub. Pix led the way, but the vampire seemed to be right on his heels. I didn't like that development. It felt wrong. Pix wasn't the sort to turn his back to anyone, let alone a man as evil as that vampire.

Pix was in danger. Perhaps he'd even been enthralled.

I scooted from behind the bar and threaded my way across the pub. I was just about to the door when a meaty hand landed on my shoulder. It was accompanied by a familiar, gad-awful stench.

“
You
.” Big Marv hadn't brushed his teeth or shaved, and he certainly hadn't bathed since I'd seen him last.

All at once, I was flying backward. I crashed into one of the building's support beams near the edge of the room. The stake fell from my grip and rolled across the floor. Pain radiated through my hip and along my arm where I'd landed, and the wind was knocked out of me.

I sprang to my feet, fumbling the knife out of my boot. Once I had a grip, I showed it to Marv. “You don't want to be touching me because I don't want to have to hurt you again. Pix won't like it.”

He merely laughed, and the stench of his breath was nearly enough to have me on my knees.

I glanced toward the pub door, aching and a little out of breath, but mostly worried about Pix. I couldn't afford to be delayed.

Marv grabbed me by the front of my bodice, lifting me off the ground, and slammed me against the beam I'd just hit. All the air gushed from my lungs. My head whipped back and I saw stars. Now I was getting angry.

“Ye fleezy wench. I been waitin' t'see ye again. Ye owe me a good fancy there, as I bought ye a drink. An' t'night's goin' t'be it.”

I brought the knife down, but he whipped up his paw-like hand and caught my wrist. Even with one bent and swollen finger, his sharp squeeze had me gasping. I dropped the knife.

“There's a goo' fancy. Now, I'm goin' t'take ye do—” His words ended in a feminine squeal as my pointed boot lashed out and up. Bull's-eye.

Big Marv dropped me, spinning away with an agonized scream, and I landed on my feet.

None of the patrons seemed to notice our altercation. I guessed it was a familiar occurrence in the likes of Fenmen's End. I snatched up my knife and stake as I dashed for the door.

Once in the night air, I paced up and down the street, willing the chill to return to the back of my neck. The rookery
was nearly deserted. No one was fool enough to walk the streets of the stews alone in the very dead of night.

But blast it. Where the blazes was Pix?

They were gone, and that meant the UnDead had probably enthralled him, leading him off somewhere to tear into him with his fangs. The thought made my belly cramp.

Where are they?

At last the light fingers of a chill feathered over my neck, eerie and cold in the August night. I scented something deathly and old in the air.
This way
.

I listened to my innate sense, watching for the evil glow of red eyes. The prickling intensified as I made my way down the street, and I nearly walked past the dark, narrow alley . . . but I caught a glimpse of glowing red just in time.

My heart pounded as I shifted my grip on the stake. I could make out two shadowy figures, one with the unmistakable glow of red eyes, the other melding into the edge of darkness.

No time to waste. I hurried down the alley, taking no care to hide my presence. Distraction was the plan.

Distract, surprise, and attack.

The red eyes turned to me, and I was careful not to allow their power to catch my gaze. The UnDead's attention dropped to the massive silver cross on my chest. He reared back, his face a mask of shock and pain. Without sparing a glance for Pix, I lunged for the vampire.

Someone shouted—it might have been me—as I smashed into the UnDead. He stumbled backward and something flew from his fingers. I heard the dull
thunk
when it landed on cobblestones, and I rammed the stake up into his torso.

The vampire froze, his eyes burning coals and his fangs extended in an open mouth . . . then he exploded into ash.

Panting, I turned to Pix. He had just picked up something from the ground and slipped it into his pocket before I could see what it was. It was smaller than a pound note folded in half, and I noticed a slender cord before it disappeared into his coat.

“Are you hurt?” I asked. “Did he bite you?”

Then I saw his face. His expression was not the one of gratitude, or even surprise, that I had expected. Instead, his mouth twisted grimly and his eyes glittered dark.

“I don' know whether t'strangle ye or laugh at ye, Evaline.” In his normal mellow tone, those words might have been laced with humor. But tonight, I could tell he was deadly serious.

I didn't know how to respond, so I launched into a diatribe of fury and fear. “Is that all the thanks I get? Saving your miserable life? You couldn't have hoped to fight him off. He might not have looked like much, but the UnDead—did you even
realize
he was a vampire?—they're strong, much stronger than men. He had you in his thrall, and he'd have drained you dry then left you for dead.”

I drew in my breath to continue railing at him and realized he'd chosen to laugh at me. But it was a sharp, biting
laugh. “Ah, then. Ye were worried on me, were ye, luv? I s'pose it's some cons'lation for interfering wi' me business.” “Your business? What do you mean your business?”

“Your business? What do you mean your business?”

But Pix just shook his head, his mouth a thin, dark line in the drassy light as he began to walk out of the alley. “Wot're ye doin' 'ere in the rook'ry? Oy reckon the same as ye was doin' in and about the fightin'-club yesterday.”

“How did you know I was at Nickel's?” We walked abreast down the passage.

Irritation still rolled off him and he shrugged. “An' ye didn' see me neither then, luv? Ye looked right a' me.”

I mentally reviewed the scene at Nickel's. Then I stopped, my mouth falling open. “In the corner—that was you, hitting the punching bag.” Oh, I definitely remembered him now. My stomach gave a quick little flip when I recalled how I'd admired his powerful, bare torso. How fast and hard he pummeled the man-sized bag.

“Aye.”

“How did you know I was going to be there? Were you following me?”

Pix lifted his brows. “Per'aps I should ask ye the same question—for ye arrived after me, didn't ye, luv? An' why shouldn't a bloke be practicin' 'is side-jabs if 'e wants to?” He glanced over at me sidewise, his expression turning flinty. “Does yer beau know ye was checkin' up on 'im? Gabblin' into 'is affairs? Bloody 'ell, Evaline, a' least if yer gonna find a nobby bloke, can ye pick one who's nay up to 'is ears in debt?”

It took me a moment to realize what he meant. “Mr. Ashton is
not
my beau. He's a suspect in a murder investigation.” Blast. I sounded like Mina. She must be rubbing off on me.

“'E's not yer beau, is 'e? Sure looked it to a one-eyed violin player.”

“I was interrogating him for the investigation.”

“While ye was 'anging onto 'is arm like ye couldna walk?” Pix scoffed. “Gawkin' up like 'e's a god? I didn't expect ye'd taken up wi' the likes o' that cove if ye knew 'e was a bad 'un. But I've been known t'be smack wrong.”

There was a brittle note in his normally smooth voice. “Take up with? I wasn't—” I stopped and stared at him. I couldn't make out any of his features except the impression of eyes and mouth. A silvery gleam wove through the edges of his thick, dark hair. It made him look almost angelic.