Blaze, page 14
He came around to sit on the corner of the desk, gesturing for her to go on.
She swallowed hard and said, “I went to Spitalfields.”
“By yourself?” he said in surprised disapproval. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I wasn’t alone. Tommy was with me.”
“Tommy?”
She nodded and hurried onward with her confession. “I wanted to find out about the dead boy, Owen Norris. I had a feeling he was connected to the shades and whatever’s happening.”
She could tell that he was still perturbed by her audacity, but his interest in what she’d found out was quickly overtaking his anger.
“We spoke to Mr. Norris, Owen’s father, and he told us that his son sometimes went to Highgate Cemetery with some friends, on a lark.”
He nodded. “Children have been going there for decades. Playing at spiritualism.”
“Right. So, we went there.”
He took in a breath as if fighting the urge to admonish her again. Maybe he was saving it all up for one big frightful lecture at the end.
“Go on,” he said, his jaw clenched.
“And we found something strange. There was a grave, about twenty years old, but it had been disturbed.”
“Disturbed? How so?”
“The earth above it was loose as though it had recently been dug up and put back. And there was something else,” she added, unsure how to explain what she’d felt. “I had this curious … sensation when I touched the grave. I’m not exactly sure how to describe it, but it frightened me. It was if I could feel some sort of residual evil, like a footprint in the sand, but in my mind.” She glanced up at her father. “That sounds a little mad, doesn’t it?”
He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. As the Blaze, you will develop heightened senses for such things. A highly attuned set of preternatural instincts to help you sense danger.”
It was more than danger she’d sensed, but she didn’t say so. It was the evil itself, and more disturbing still, the affinity she had for it. How could she feel a kinship with something so vile?
“Well,” she said, forcing her thoughts back to her father. “I sensed it. In spades.”
He frowned. “I see.”
“And at least we have a name now.”
“We do?”
“The grave stone. Edwin Grey.” She paused but he didn’t react. “Does the name mean anything to you?”
He looked deep in thought as he shook his head.
“I thought maybe you’d come across it,” she said, waving vaguely toward the books, “in one of those.”
“No, not yet. But a name is good. It’s a place to start.”
She stood up. “Good. What can I do?”
“Nothing until tomorrow,” he said. “I have an appointment this evening.”
“Should I tell Tommy?”
“No. I’ll make other arrangements and then find a new driver.”
She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “A new driver?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “You mean you’re sacking Tommy?”
Her father merely nodded.
“But he didn’t do anything,” she protested. “He just drove me where I asked to go. He was only doing his job. That we went there at all is my fault, not his.”
“You were wrong to have gone,” he agreed, “but he was just as wrong to have taken you. I asked him to keep an eye on you, not drive you into the mouth of danger.”
“That’s not fair.”
His anger rushed to the surface. “Life is not fair, Artemis. The sooner you accept that the better. You put yourself and Tommy at risk today. Even after I expressly forbid it. Actions have consequences.” He walked back around behind his desk. “These are yours.”
She wanted to argue with him, but she knew from experience that when he was like this, back ramrod straight, jaw clenched, refusing to look at her, that it was no use.
She huffed in indignation and turned to leave, stopping at the door. “Tommy helped me today. I would have gone with or without him. At least with him I wasn’t alone.”
Her father didn’t look up.
She turned on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her.
Chapter Twelve
As Victor walked down Selby Street toward Waterloo Terrace a thick layer of evening fog began to roll in. Perfect, he thought.
The murkiness suited his mood at the moment, and it would helpfully provide cover on a reconnaissance mission. It would, however, also make his endeavors to observe more challenging.
Rolling his shoulders in an attempt to rid them of some of the tension that had set up residence there, he continued down the street.
Artemis wasn’t the only one who’d done a little digging around today. He had called a colleague at the hospital, the morgue to be precise. The attendant there had overheard from the police that two of the victims had last been seen near the Spitalfields Coal Depot. Apparently, it was a common place for the homeless and indigent to attempt to find shelter for the night.
Switching his bag from his right to his left hand, Victor flipped up the collar of his cape to ward off the encroaching cold and damp.
He didn’t hold much hope of finding what he needed here, but he had to try. They needed to know what they were up against. What Artemis was up against.
He regretted having been so harsh with her earlier, justified though he was. She was not invincible. Even when her full powers came into effect, she would still be mortal. She could still be injured or killed. The sooner she learned caution and to listen to what he said the bloody better!
Taking a calming breath, he tried not to worry about his obstinate daughter. He would deal with her tomorrow. And Tommy, he thought with a wince. He’d been unjust in sacking the boy, who had borne the brunt of his wrath. Tommy was merely doing his job and keeping an eye on Artemis as the doctor had instructed.
Victor shook his head. His fear turned to anger so quickly these days, and when he could not release it toward Artemis, he simply found a ready alternative. He would make amends tomorrow. Tonight he had to focus on the task at hand, and that meant putting those concerns aside.
He shifted the heavy bag back to his right hand. The weapons inside were a mere precaution. He had no intention of using them unless there was no alternative. He wasn’t here to fight, just to observe. The sooner he could understand what they were up against, the sooner he could come up with a plan to fight it.
As he neared the yard, he slowed his pace. The coal depot was vast. Eight or more tracks ran parallel into a terminus where wagons of coal were unloaded. A few thirty-foot tall towers with dim lights lit the yard, which was barren at this time of night.
All was still. Flatbed wagons sat near large covered hoists. Lines of train cars rested silently on the tracks waiting for the morning light.
He climbed up onto a platform to get a better view. There were a few small shacks, perfect for a night’s shelter, just visible between the cars in the middle of the yard, but he could not tell if they were occupied. He needed a better vantage point. Someplace higher.
There was an upper rail level to his left. He decided he’d have a much better view of the yard from there and jumped down from his spot on the platform.
Gravel crunched beneath his boots when he landed, far too loud given the stillness, and he froze in place, cringing at the sound. All fell back into silence. Apparently, there was no one around to hear.
He carefully made his way to the upper level and settled in for a long wait. There was no telling if anyone would be here this evening or if anything would happen to them if they were, but he’d exhausted all other avenues of research.
Pulling his cloak more tightly about himself, he found a comfortable corner in which to lean and waited.
As it happened, he did not have to wait long. Less than an hour later, a dark figure darted out of the shadows and ran across the tracks. Victor lost him in the mass of cars for a moment but then he reappeared, walking the line of cars, evidently looking for one to suit his needs, passing closed door after closed door.
Finally, the man found one that was open and climbed up the steps, looking around cautiously before going inside. He hadn’t been inside more than a second before his body came flying back out of the open door as if he’d been blown back by an explosion, landing hard on the gravel. There hadn’t been a sound except the soft distant crunch of his body hitting the ground.
Victor leaned forward, his pulse racing. Another figure emerged from the train car and jumped effortlessly down next to the fallen man.
The second man leaned over the first, and Victor thought he could see some sort of light in his hand. No. The light was not in his hand, but coming from it.
Victor’s mouth went dry and he fought against his instinct to help the poor man, letting whatever was going to happen, happen. It turned his stomach, but he had no choice. He was no match for a shade, and Artemis’s life depended upon him not only surviving, but learning more about their enemy.
He watched in stony silence as the shade performed his deviltry. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw another, smaller figure dashing between the shadows. It wasn’t until it moved into the light of one of the tall lamps that he realized with a sinking feeling of dread who it was.
“Artemis.”
Dammit! She must have followed me.
She was running toward the two men.
What on earth are you thinking?! his mind screamed.
Grabbing his bag, he raced down the wobbly iron stairs and ran after her. He leapt over train couplings and tried to keep his heart from beating out of his chest.
Just as he moved between the last set of cars separating himself and his daughter, he saw her run across the expanse of gravel and headlong into the shade. She threw her entire weight into him, tackling him like a rugby player, the two of them tumbling in the gravel.
She found her footing first and sprang to her feet. She balled her small hands into fists, ready to fight. She was equal parts magnificent and absurd. And horrifying. No matter how proud Victor was of her in that moment, he knew the awful truth. Without her full powers she was no match for a shade.
The shade rose to his feet and stood, ready to attack, but hesitated.
Victor expected Artemis to draw her sword, but she didn’t. He realized with a sinking feeling that she hadn’t brought it. And why? a traitorous voice inside him asked. Because I told her that she wasn’t ready to use it. Now, there she stood, facing off against a demon from Hell with nothing but her bare hands.
Victor’s blood ran cold.
Although it was too dark to see his expression, the shade had clearly come to the same conclusion— that she had no sword. He settled his feet in the deep gravel and prepared to attack.
Artemis took her ready stance. Victor absently noted her feet were too far apart. This was apparently not lost on the shade either, as he suddenly moved toward her.
Victor was too far away to stop him and wasn’t sure he’d be able to even if was closer. He opened his bag and took out his pistol. He felt foolish to have brought it, considering how little effect his shotgun had on the shade that had attacked Artemis, but this gun did not hold ordinary bullets. They were specially treated with an iron composite that should slow a shade down, though they wouldn’t kill him. Should being the operative word.
Please, let me be right about this.
The shade strode confidently toward Artemis, who moved to the side, putting her directly in Victor’s line of fire. He had to get a different angle if he had any hope of hitting the shade and not his daughter.
As he repositioned himself, Artemis managed to sidestep the shade’s initial onslaught, but the movement threw her off-balance. The shade quickly turned, striking her hard with back of his hand and knocking her to the ground. A hot rage boiled in Victor’s chest.
The shade loomed over Artemis. Victor pulled the trigger and the report cracked through the night.
The bullet struck the shade between his third and fourth ribs, and he whirled around to face the shooter. At first, Victor thought his research had been wrong; the iron didn’t seem to be having an effect. The shade took a raging step forward, then stopped and clutched his side. The burning had begun.
“Artemis!” Victor called to her, beckoning her to run toward him.
She remained frozen for a second, then shook her head as if gathering her wits and scrambled to her feet. As she ran, the shade fell to one knee, smoke curling up from his chest, the burning more than he could bear.
“Are you all right?” Victor asked her quickly, gently touching her face where the shade had struck her.
She nodded. He reached for her hand but she was suddenly torn from his grasp. Victor was thrown against the side of a railcar, so hard it rattled his brain. He fell to the ground, gasping for breath, and saw a second shade looming over him. The man grabbed Artemis by the wrist and yanked her back toward him.
Victor struggled to breathe.
“Wot did you do to Bert?” the man rasped.
Artemis struggled in his grip.
The gun. Victor had dropped it. He looked around frantically for it and finally he saw a glint of steel a few feet way. He lunged toward it, but a boot heel stomped down onto his hand, crushing it into the gravel.
The shade laughed. “Not so fast. I think I’d like to—”
The doctor never found out what he’d like to do as a crowbar smashed into the side of the shade’s head.
His expression temporarily frozen, the shade turned to see who had struck him.
Tommy, breathing hard, stared in wonder that the man hadn’t been knocked out by the blow. The shade took a menacing step toward Tommy.
Victor didn’t have time to wonder what the boy was doing here. He snatched up the pistol with his aching hand.
“Get down!” he yelled.
Tommy glanced at the doctor, and seeing the gun, ducked. Victor fired, the bullet tearing through the shade’s back. The beast shrieked and angled toward the doctor. Victor fired again, this time aiming for the head. The shade’s skull jerked back like he had just taken a massive blow from a boxer.
As with the other shade, it took a moment before he began to writhe in searing pain. He released Artemis, who moved quickly to Victor’s side. The shade stumbled backward, looking at Victor with surprise and anguish.
He managed to make his way back to his friend with the bullet in his side and helped him to his feet.
Victor held the gun ready, knowing it would only slow them down, not stop them. Thankfully they didn’t attack, or were too weak to do so. They only glared, mumbling to each other as they hobbled off into the foggy darkness.
“Shouldn’t we go after them?” Artemis asked.
Victor gave her a withering look.
“All right, maybe not,” she added.
Tommy gave Victor a hand up, his attention focused on the direction the shades had gone.
“What just ’appened?” Tommy asked.
Victor shared a knowing look with his daughter. “It’s a long story,” he finally said.
Artemis was still breathing heavily but she appeared uninjured. She looked at Tommy. “I thought I told you to wait by the carriage.”
The boy gave a short, nervous laugh. “I was never good at waiting neither.”
The ride back home in the carriage was quiet and tense. Artemis envied Tommy; at least he didn’t have to sit next her father and watch him quietly seethe.
He’d already been angry with her before this, and now, his fury was barely contained. He kept his gaze turned away from her, jaw clenched as he stared out the window.
He had a right to be angry, she supposed, but so did she. She wasn’t the only one who’d transgressed tonight. He’d lied to her. Right to her face. Again. Going on an appointment, indeed.
The two stewed silently all the way home to Marylebone. When they arrived, Artemis threw open the carriage door and started up the front steps, ready to stalk upstairs to her room. Her father’s voice called out to her.
“We are not finished,” he said, then turned toward Tommy, pointing a finger at him. “You, inside.”
Tommy’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when he nodded. He attached the weight to the horse then sullenly walked up the front steps to where Artemis stood waiting. Her father, his face stony, came up behind them.
Mrs. Perry was there waiting for them when they entered the house. She looked at Artemis’s father expectantly.
“Tea?” she offered.
“No tea, thank you, Mrs. Perry.” He turned to Tommy and Artemis. “In my study.”
Tommy immediately obeyed, but Artemis didn’t until her father ground out a “please” through gritted teeth.
Considering that a major concession and knowing she was already pressing her luck, she obliged.
Once they were inside, Tommy spoke up.
“Sir, I—”
Her father held up a silencing hand. He regarded them both rigidly for a moment before letting out a deep breath.
His gaze lingered on Artemis, his disappointment clear in his eyes. She repressed the instinctive feeling of regret it provoked and attempted to hold onto her anger.
After a painful moment he turned his attention to Tommy. The boy fidgeted, visibly uneasy under her father’s scrutiny.
Finally, her father spoke.
“Thank you.”
Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, that wasn’t it.
“While I cannot condone either your or Artemis’s appearance tonight,” he continued, shifting his gaze slightly toward her before looking back at Tommy, “I am grateful for your assistance. It is quite possible that without your timely intervention, things might have gone … poorly both for myself and for my daughter.” He extended his hand. “I am in your debt.”
Tommy stared at him, eyelids blinking rapidly. Finally, he appeared to get a hold of himself and shook her father’s hand.
For a moment, as their handshake broke, he looked at Tommy fixedly, weighing just what to say next.
Tommy had obviously seen the shades, but considering how secretive her father was about it all, she was certain he would come up with a vague explanation and discourage any more conversation on the topic.
