The Spiritglass Charade (32 page)

I kept the gun pressed into Miss Kluger's back as she opened a door at the opposite side of the foyer. At once we were admitted to a spacious room.

My first impression was one of
red
. And heat. Cloying heat. And a heavy, metallic scent.
Blood
.

The walls were covered with expensive red fabric—velvet, silk, cotton, tapestry—and paintings. I recognized a Rembrandt and what I was certain was a da Vinci, not to mention a number of others. The furnishings were heavy and ornate, made of mahogany, wrought iron, and bamboo. The place would be quite cozy and luxurious if I didn't know this was the lair of an UnDead. A fire burned in a large fireplace on one wall.

I found it enlightening that vampires wanted heat but could not tolerate sunlight.

Sofas and settees piled with silky pillows littered the chamber. Several bottles of wine and trays of food filled a table on one wall. And sitting in a large, thronelike chair was a man—presumably the Parisian vampire Gadreau. He was surrounded by a group of children—his gang of pickpockets.

Well then. I was going to have to rescue all of them, wasn't I? I prodded Miss Kluger nearer.

“Bonjour, ma ch
è
re
. I see you've brought us a visitor.” Gadreau didn't rise from his seat, but gestured with a slender, effeminate hand. He spoke English with an accent. “And who might you be?”

“Miss Mina Holmes.”

We were close enough now that I could see the gleam of his fangs, protruding from beneath his upper lip. A striking man, attractive in an aristocratic way, he appeared to be about thirty years old. However, since he was a vampire, I knew he had to be older in actual years.

“Ah, Miss Holmes. Welcome.”

“I'm here for Willa Ashton. And Robby, her brother.” I scanned the group of boys while keeping an eye on Miss Kluger. Fortunately, I recognized Robby straightaway from his sister's pictures and drew in a relieved breath. He was here, and alive.

Gadreau's attention had settled on my chest. “I see you've come armed. So to speak.”

He referred to the silver cross I'd hung around my neck. “I always come prepared.”

“Indeed. And you seem to be in possession of someone most important to me.” He gestured to Miss Kluger. “And so if I give you Willa, and Robby—”

“And Miss Babbage.”

“Mademoiselle Babbage as well?”

“Yes. I'll not leave without them. And the rest of these poor boys. I cannot in good conscience leave them to your evil ways.”

“But truly, Mademoiselle Holmes. You are very strict. How am I to live if I do not have my boys? My little—what do the English call them? My little snakesmen are indispensible to me.”

“I'm certain they are. Your band of pickpockets has garnered quite a reputation here in London as having the fastest and lightest of fingers. I'm certain the credit is all yours, enthralling them and training them as you have—after you abducted them. Or was it Miss Kluger who provided them for you?”

“But of course. I cannot go out in the daylight in search of those best suited for my work.
Oui
, my darling Geraldine has always had a talent for finding those with slick, elegant fingers and sharp eyes.”

I turned to Miss Kluger in outrage. “Your own nephew? You would have sentenced him to work for an UnDead? Is it not bad enough that you have committed yourself to a life with him, but your innocent nephew as well?”

“It was Robby's own fault.” She drew up and away from me. “He saw me walking through here—it was the night he'd followed Herrell to his boxing club. Herrell sent him home, and while he was riding in a cab, Robby saw me. He followed me and Gadreau, and by the time I noticed—”

“By that time, I'd seen the fine young man, and he'd seen us. We couldn't allow him to return home and tell tales. Besides. I'd always wanted a son.” Gadreau smiled affectionately at Robby, who returned the favor. “We UnDead cannot breed, you know.”

“And so you kept him captive here.”

“At first he protested, but after a time, he became comfortable with his new life—as they all do. And then we introduced
him to the joys of
La soci
é
t
é
. The only problem was that he missed his sister Willa. He wanted to say goodbye to her.”

“And so you amused her and brought her to see her brother.” I turned back to Miss Kluger. “But it didn't work out as you'd planned, and she remembered the visit. And then you were in a pickle.”

Gadreau, at least, appreciated my attempt at humor. His lips curved and his eyes glinted with humor. “Indeed.”

“Perhaps you could enlighten me. What does an UnDead want with a gang of pickpockets? And food and wine and artwork. You subsist on blood, not bread.”

“Ah. But just because one is immortal doesn't mean one doesn't appreciate comfort and beauty, or has lost one's taste.” He swept his arm around the chamber. “My slick snakesmen and their quick fingers allow me—and my beloved Geraldine—to live quite comfortably. And though I may not
need
bread and cheese to survive, I am still a Frenchman and I still can appreciate the taste of a good Bordeaux. Aside from that, my boys must eat as well.”

“I see.” I couldn't suppress a little shiver, for at that moment I understood yet another purpose for the gang of boys: a ready supply of fresh, young blood for their master. “But how do you keep them from running away after you abduct them?”

“It helps that Geraldine and I have our own particular way of—heh—
amusing
them in order to gain their compliance.”

“You mean enthralling them?”

Gadreau inclined his head in acknowledgment. “These youngsters come to enjoy their game of chance, of picking pockets and learning their way through the streets.”

“Was that one of your snakesmen at New Vauxhall Gardens, on the opening night? Ah, yes, I recognize the boy—there you are.”

“Indeed. Poor Ferdy came back empty-handed that night, didn't you, boy?” Gadreau returned his attention to me. “And so now here we are—you with your silver cross and lethal weapon, and your demands. It's quite a list, now, isn't it? Are you quite certain you don't wish to search the back rooms to see if there is anyone else you might wish to negotiate for?”

I didn't care for the way his irises had turned more pink than red, and the sudden malevolent tone that crept into his voice. “I'm here to rescue Willa and Robby and Miss Babbage—and whoever else I can. I'm sorry about your gang of thieves, but I'm afraid I must take them with me. They will want to return to their parents once they are out from under your thrall.”

“All of them. Indeed. But I'm afraid that's not practical, Miss Holmes. Taking them all with you.”

“I can easily find a carriage large enough, or we shall walk to the Underground—”

Gadreau chuckled gently. “Ah, no, mademoiselle. You misunderstand me. You see, it's not practical at all—for many of them . . . they do not do well in the sunlight.”

As if on cue, several of the boys looked up at me with glowing red eyes and long, lethal fangs.

I was so taken off guard I failed to notice Miss Kluger was edging away until she lunged to the side. Before I could recover, something heavy and flowing dropped on me, hot and suffocating. I struggled to drag myself out of the cloying material while fumbling in my deep pocket for the vial of holy water. . . .

But the next thing I knew, I was pummeled to the ground, tightly enveloped in the heavy fabric . . . and smothered into darkness.

M
oonlight streamed into my bedchamber through the window . . . where a dark figure was climbing in.

I bolted upright and was out of bed by the time Pix's feet were on the floor. Tonight he was hatless and garbed in close, black clothing. But he wore the false sideburns once again and his collar was turned up high to obscure his face. For some reason, that really aggravated me. He was always hiding, stealing about, and covering himself.

“What in the blooming fish are you doing here?”

I thought I knew the answer. But the square, palm-sized device I'd slipped from his overcoat last night was well hidden. And not in my bedchamber. I had unwrapped it from its papers, but I still had no idea what the flat, metal object with metal grommets and curling wires was. A cognog like Mina might have an idea, but I was at a loss. So I sure as Pete wasn't going to let him steal it back.

For a moment Pix just stood there. The light glowed from behind him so all I could see was his shape. But I realized I was half-illuminated by the moon and stars—and that my figure was outlined beneath the loose cotton night rail I wore. Blast it. I moved into the shadows, but my insides were fluttering and my palms grew damp.

All I could think was that he'd kissed me last night. And now he was here in my bedchamber.

“Did ye 'ave a fine time a' th' Lyceum tonight? Chattin' and dancin' wi' the charmin' Mr. Dancy, were ye?”

“How did you—never mind. Yes, it was fine. And I'm exhausted. I need to sleep because Mina insists I take over for her at Willa Ashton's house first thing in the morning.”

I glanced at the package that had arrived from her, via Mr. Treadwell of all people, earlier today. I'd been too busy getting my hair done to unwrap it or read the separate note Mina sent. Florence was Attila the Hun when we were preparing for a social engagement like the soiree.

“What do you want?” I demanded again.

“I thought ye'd be wantin' a gander at this.” He tossed something onto the edge of my bed.

It was a scrap of butcher paper, like the one from the Pickled Nurse. It even smelled like pickles. “And so?”

“Look at it.”

I had to come into a beam of moonlight to see the fragment. My hair prickled when I recognized the simple sketch on it. A long-legged spider. “Where did you get it?”

His expression was hidden in the shadows, but his stance was stiff and removed. “It was tossed in m'violin case at New Vauxhall. By your
paramour
 . . . or someone 'oo was wi' ye an' 'im.”

“Ashton is
La soci
é
t
é
?”

Pix shifted, easing away from the window toward my dressing table. Not even the flash of a teasing grin. But his attention never left me. “Ashton or 'ooever else was at the gathering at Vauxhall.”

“Are you saying there was a
La soci
é
t
é
meeting the same night of the grand opening? At the Gardens?”

I'd spent hours combing the place, searching for UnDead. How had I missed them? I looked sharply at Pix. “How do you know this? Right. That paper was an invitation for you, wasn't it?”

He shrugged, his silhouette outlined by the cool moonlight. “Ye know better'n t'ask certain questions, luv.” He was next to my dressing table now, out of the moonlight and into the shadows . . . but he made no move to come closer to me.

I looked back down at the butcher paper, wondering what it all meant. I'd show Mina tomorrow. Surely she'd have a theory—or two. And, as usual, Pix was noncommittal and ambiguous. Blast him.

“Why do you always wear a disguise? And why do you have to sneak around so much?” I burst out. “Who or what are you hiding from?”

He became very still. “What makes ye think—”

“Blast it, Pix. Do you think I'm a complete cloud-head? You can come around regularly and take me off to your hideaway and steal kisses from me, but you can't even tell me your real name. Or let me see your face in a good light. Your
real
face. And you sure as Pete can stop using that fake accent around me too.”

“Fake accent? Oy, luv, me accent isn't fake.” But his voice was a little tight. “Exaggerated at times, mind, but not fake.”

Well, that was some progress. “I don't even know what you look like. For real.”

“An' it matters to ye, does it, Evaline, luv? Wot a bloke looks like?”

“If he's going to kiss me, then, yes, it does matter.”

He reached up to his face and peeled away one of his sideburns. And then, still silent, holding my gaze, he did the same on the other side, tucking them both into his pockets. Then he tore off eyebrows—thick, dark ones I hadn't even realized were false—and, finally, a small piece of rubber that was attached to the end of his nose. The pieces of his disguise were all simple and subtle, but together, they greatly altered his appearance.

Pix pushed his thick, dark hair out of his face and stepped into a beam of moonlight. I caught my breath. I'd thought he was handsome before, but now . . . “Thank you” was all I said.

He nodded, still looking at me, then eased back so his face was in shadow once more.

Struggling for something cool and witty to say, I noticed a faint light out of the corner of my eye. The small package from Mr. Treadwell sat on my chest of drawers. A subtle blue light glowed from beneath its wrappings.

I wasted no time pulling the papers away. Inside was the spiritglass. It was closed up into the shape of a small brass pentagon, but the light filtered through the cracks. I must have pushed a button or released a lever, for it opened in my hand to reveal the small blue sphere. It glowed enough to throw shadows around the room.

“Where did ye nick that?” Pix moved toward me for the first time tonight. He was replacing his false eyebrows.

“Mina sent it to me.” I shuffled through the items on my bureau and found her message from earlier today. Or, rather, yesterday, I thought as the clock struck half-past one.

Willa has been taken. I know the identity of the perpetrator but dare not put it in writing. You should also have received a package from Mr. Treadwell. It will contain important evidence. If you hear no further word, the worst has happened and I've gone after her. The hideaway of
La soci
é
t
é
is in Smithfield, near Ivey & Boles. For obvious reasons, I shall need your particular support. Contact Grayling and ref: Yingling case
.