Mirror, page 11
He had a good idea of why, and despite hating to see her this way, he was glad of it. He was furious when he discovered that she brought Phoebe along with her last night. It was beyond foolish.
He’d told Artemis in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t to involve someone like Phoebe in this. And what had she done? Exactly that.
He’d been quite harsh with both of them when they returned. Although, he might have gone a little overboard with Artemis. He knew she realized her mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself from impressing upon her the gravity of it. It’s bad enough that she has to risk her life without bringing innocents into the fray, especially someone like Miss Clifton, he thought, as he watched Phoebe natter on about last night’s adventure.
As badly as Artemis felt today, it would be nothing compared to the immeasurable guilt she’d feel if something happened to her friend.
“Do you think,” Phoebe asked excitedly, “that if one could summon a creature like the Jabberwock that they could also summon other fictional characters?”
Victor swallowed his coffee and wiped his mouth with his napkin, his anger ebbing with the morning but still not completely diminished.
“It wasn’t fictional.”
“What do you mean? It’s from a book. Through the Looking Glass.”
“Yes,” Victor said. “And where do you think Mr. Carroll got the idea?”
“His imagination?” Phoebe asked, but not sounding so sure.
“Or perhaps, elsewhere?” Victor said, secretly enjoying the look of discomfort on Miss Clifton’s face. “The Jabberwock, I’m afraid, is quite real. I don’t know how or when Mr. Carroll came upon such a creature, but there are other recorded instances that predate his poem.”
Victor ought to know. He’d spent the better half of last night researching it.
“Really?” Phoebe gasped. “You mean, that thing, it was real? They exist?”
She paled at the thought and he took pity on the girl. “They usually only exist in the Otherworld, but ….”
“Blimey,” Phoebe muttered, earning a laugh from Artemis that caused her to blush.
Her smooth brow wrinkled in thought until she seemed to alight on an idea. “Do you think someone could summon fictional characters? If they had a strong enough enchantment?”
Victor frowned, not understanding where this was going. “I doubt it, but—”
“It’s possible,” she said, her eyes lighting up, all previous misgivings forgotten. “You mean I could summon, say … Mr. Darcy?”
She elbowed Artemis in the side and gave her a smirk that broke through his daughter’s dour mood.
Roused from her funk, Artemis joined in the frivolity. “Or Colonel Brandon?”
“Or Mr. Darcy,” Phoebe said again, causing Artemis to snort while trying not to laugh.
Luckily, Victor was saved from more of this particular conversation by the ringing of the telephone. Mrs. Perry was still uneasy about the technology and usually avoided answering it if at all possible.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, although it was pointless, as the girls ignored him completely and carried on with their fictional wish list.
“Mr. Rochester.”
“Too moody!”
He happily left them to it and went to his office. He snatched the receiver off its cradle and sat on the corner of his desk.
“Doctor Schäfer.”
“They found a witch,” said a voice that Victor immediately recognized as Arthur’s. “Dead.”
Cold dread filled him and he stood, too anxious to remain sitting. “What do you mean?”
“Murdered. That’s all I know. Just that someone found a body by the river. And it was a witch.”
“Who? Was it … What happened?”
“I’ve told you all I know,” Arthur replied with unaccustomed sharpness.
Victor took a calming breath.
“They’ve taken her body to the Westminster station.”
Her body. With a force of will, he cleared his mind. “Right. Where are you? Are you at the museum?”
“I am.”
“Can you get away?”
“I’ll be downstairs waiting for you.”
Nothing else was said; nothing else needed to be said. The other end of the line went dead. Slowly, he put the receiver back onto its cradle and walked back into the dining room.
“Gabriel Oak,” Phoebe said and then sighed dramatically.
“I think it’s time for you to return home, Miss Clifton,” he said curtly. “Send for your carriage, as I have need of ours.”
“And you need to rest,” he told his daughter in a voice that offered no room for argument.
Despite it, she opened her mouth to do just that.
“Artemis,” he said tiredly, stopping her protest before it had time to form. She might be able to heal more quickly than others, but that didn’t mean she didn’t need time to recover from her wounds.
This time she registered the seriousness in his tone and expression. “All right.”
“You can pass the time reading those books you were supposed to have already read,” he added.
He looked at them both gravely then started toward the door.
“Where are you going?” asked Artemis.
“The morgue.”
The morgue was quiet, as morgues tended to be. The only sound was the door closing behind the attendant to give them some privacy.
Arthur looked over at Victor. “Do you know someone at every morgue in town?”
Victor’s eyes didn’t leave the white sheet or the body that lay under it. As a doctor, it came with the territory. “Most.”
“All right. Let’s get this over with,” Arthur said, as he reached trembling fingers toward the sheet, hesitated, and then drew the covering back.
“Thank God.”
Victor let out the breath he’d been holding. It wasn’t Miss Ashcroft. The woman had to be in her late forties or early fifties. Touches of grey streaked long hair, laid out in disarray against the cold slab.
“Do you know her?” Victor asked.
“Not by name, but I’ve seen her about.”
“A witch?”
“Yes,” Arthur said and then eased the sheet back to cover the woman. He fussed over it for a moment while Victor headed for the door. He loathed this place; every doctor did.
He pulled open the door as Arthur cleared his throat.
“At least it wasn’t—”
“Miss Ashcroft?” Victor said, startled. The very young woman in question stood before him, very much alive.
“Yes,” Arthur said in a melancholy voice, having not seen her yet.
“Hello, Doctor,” she said brightly.
“Isadora!” Arthur cried as he came forward and pulled her into a hug.
She was caught off guard but managed a confused smile and patted his shoulders. “Good to see you, too, Arthur.”
He pulled away instantly, ducking his head. “Forgive me.”
“I wish everyone greeted me with such excitement,” she said, trying to ease the awkwardness.
“We thought ….” Victor said, letting his gaze drift toward the body.
“Oh. Oh!”
“You know each other?” the officer with Miss Ashcroft asked.
Victor offered him his hand. “Sergeant Treadway. You’re out of your jurisdiction.”
“I could say the same for you, Doctor,” Treadway said as they shook hands, neither commenting on the other’s observation.
“What are you doing here, Isadora?” Arthur asked.
“She’s come to identify the body,” Treadway said, “unless you already have."
They both stood aside as she stepped further into the room and watched as the sergeant pulled back the sheet.
Miss Ashcroft gave a soft, sad sigh. “Her name is Liùsaidh MacBhrìghdeinn.”
Treadway scratched his cheek in confusion. “I beg your pardon, miss?”
Miss Ashcroft looked at him in understanding. “I’ll write it down for you.”
With a grateful nod, Treadway covered the woman’s body again.
“She was murdered?” Miss Ashcroft asked.
Treadway grunted his assent. “I’m afraid so, miss. Bludgeoned.”
Miss Ashcroft whispered something Victor could not hear and then looked up at the sergeant. “You’ll contact me when you can release the body? I’d like to make sure she receives the proper rites.”
Treadway inclined his head and they walked over to the door where Arthur and Victor stood waiting. He observed the trio with curiosity but merely put his cap back on and touched the brim. “Gentlemen. Miss Ashcroft.”
They stepped out into the hall and waited until he left before anyone spoke.
“Do you think,” Victor asked, keeping his voice low, “that she was caught up in what happened over Samhain?”
Miss Ashcroft thought about it for a moment and then said, “I doubt it. She never touched black magic.”
“Leroux didn’t perform that spell on his own.”
“Not unless he’s a powerful warlock,” Arthur added. “And from the little we know, that seems unlikely.”
“Then he had help,” Miss Ashcroft said.
“That witch you mentioned the other day,” Victor suggested, “you said she was asking around about things. Is it possible …?”
“Perhaps,” Miss Ashcroft allowed. “I was called away, but I’ll see what I can find out.”
“I would appreciate that,” Victor said.
If he was going to find Leroux, he would need all of the help he could get.
Artemis lingered near the closed stall of the mirror shop at the Pantechnicon. The bazaar was moderately crowded today and she’d have to time her entrance just so.
She’d spent the better part of the morning after Phoebe left reading the books her father had left for her. She hadn’t expected them to be interesting, but they actually were. The history of Samhain was fascinating, but it wasn’t going to help her stop whatever came through those mirrors.
Reading was all well and good, but she itched to do something. Doing something also had the added benefit of occupying her mind, which was, until she’d left, busy going over the mistakes she’d made last night.
God, what a fool she’d been to bring Phoebe along.
Selfish. Well, no more, she told herself. She was the Blaze, no one else. The responsibility lay on her shoulders. She could do this alone. Right?
You can, Artemis. And you will. You have to.
More determined than ever to prove herself, she had to take action. She had to protect the others from whatever had come through their mirrors. But how could she protect them if she didn’t know who they were?
That thought had led her here to the Pantechnicon, where she stood waiting for her chance, when her side suddenly itched again. Thanks to her abilities, her cuts were nearly healed, but they’d entered the annoying itching phase. She tried to scratch them but her corset was in the way.
“Damn things,” she muttered as she futilely tried to ease the itch by clawing at her sides.
Just as she did, a wealthy couple strolled passed. The gentleman arched a disapproving eyebrow at her, whether from her language or that she was scratching herself like a dog, she wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered. She offered him a weak smile. In return, he tipped his hat and steered his lady away.
That embarrassment over, Artemis got back to the task at hand. She leaned forward and looked both ways down the long, broad hall. The coast was clear; no one was near her.
She pulled a hairpin out of her hair and knelt down to work on the lock. In exchange for reading lessons, Tommy was teaching her to pick locks. Her father didn’t know about their bargain, but what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
Her pin slipped again. “Darn it.”
Unfortunately, she was not the student Tommy was. With a quick look around, she tried again and the lock gave way under her ministrations. She eased open the door and hurried inside.
The mirror shop was considerably smaller than most of the other stalls here but was still probably thirty feet across and twenty feet deep. Mirrors of varying sizes and shapes were scattered across the floor and hung on the walls, and she noted that two mirrors shaped like hers and Phoebe’s still waited to be sold. Two more people she didn’t have to worry about.
That is, if those are the only kind enchanted, she thought, staring at the dozens of others. Surely, if the rest had been cursed as well, there would be a hundred creatures loose. No, the all of the mirrors where the strange occurrences had taken place had the tall cheval glass. At least that was something.
Now, virtually in the dark except for the faint light from the main hall filtering through the shop window, she crept further into the shop. There had to be a record of what Leroux had sold. If she could find that, she would know who to help.
She moved quickly through the sparse wares left in the store and spied a door in the back. An office, perhaps?
She reached it and grasped hold of the handle. This one wasn’t locked and so she quietly opened the door. This room, too, was dark inside. The ambient light of the Pantechnicon hall faded this deep into the shop and she could barely see anything.
She managed to spy a lamp on a nearby cabinet, lit the flame, and closed the office door. It was small and nearly empty, holding only a single desk and chair, a cabinet, and a few crates.
She made her way over to the desk and set the lamp down.
There have to be records here.
She rifled through the papers atop the desk and then opened the top drawer. There was a small ledger inside and she pulled it out, resting it on the desk.
She flipped through several pages until she found the entries she was looking for—the mirrors. Her father’s and Phoebe’s father’s names, the Quills' and the Smiths’ were all there. She was just reading down the list of twenty or so names, when she heard something in the shop. Pausing, she watched the closed door to the office. Her heart beat against her ribs, but no other sound followed. Then she noticed something else on the desk—a photograph.
Picking it up, she held it toward the light. A loving couple held hands and posed formally for the photographer. It took Artemis a moment, but then she recognized the woman.
Helen Quill?
Then she heard another sound coming from the shop. A crease of light lit the space between the bottom of the door and the floor.
Not good.
Quickly, she put the photograph back and blew out the lamp. As quietly as she could, she put the lamp back where she’d found it and hid in the space that would be behind the door should it open.
Her heart began to race again, and she was sure that if someone came into the office they’d hear it, too. She breathed as softly as she could as footsteps neared the door and she pressed herself back against the wall.
The door to the office opened partway when a man’s voice spoke from deeper inside the shop.
“What do you want to do with these, Monsieur Leroux?”
The man who was standing just on the other side of the door answered in a thick French accent. “It does not matter.”
He pushed the office door open a little further and Artemis tried to flatten herself even further against the wall.
“Please, monsieur. It will only take a moment,” the other man said.
The man closest to her sighed resignedly and the door stopped, now nearly all the way open. Peering through the gap between the door and its hinges, she could only see the back of the man’s head.
“C’est bon,” he said and as he moved, she saw his face. He was the man in the photograph with Helen Quill.
Resigned to deal with his clerk, Leroux walked to the far end of the showroom floor. Moving as quickly and quietly as she could, Artemis moved around to the doorway and waited until both men were looking away.
Keeping to her toes to stay as quiet as she could, she half-ran, half-crept toward the main door. Blessedly, neither of the men looked her way, and she managed to get across the shop without being seen. She carefully opened the door to the main hall and, once outside, ran.
And run she did, right into a rather firm chest.
Strong hands grasped her upper arms to steady her.
“Excuse me,” she muttered before looking up to see Liam Parker smiling down at her.
“Miss Schäfer! I’d say we need to stop running into each other like this, but I find I rather enjoy it.”
Artemis blushed and ducked her head as he released her.
He searched for the provocation for her behavior. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, gesturing toward at the mirror shop. “You’re not going in there, are you?”
He chuckled. “No. Should I?”
“Definitely not.” She gripped his arm and moved him away from it, leading him down the hall.
He gazed down at her with a puzzled look.
“Shabby goods,” she said, releasing his arm. “I would stay away, if I were you.”
He seemed satisfied with her answer, but he was still obviously curious about what had caused her to run into him. Casting one last glance over her shoulder, and seeing no one following her, Artemis let out a breath.
“Are you sure you’re all right? You’re a little flushed,” he said.
She waved his concern away. “What are you doing here?”
If he noticed her abrupt change of subject he didn’t show it.
“Looking for a new carriage. Mother and Father seem to think ours has run its course, so to speak. I don’t see what’s wrong with it. No reason to get rid of something perfectly serviceable.”
He rubbed his chin, abashed. “More than you wanted to know, I’m sure.”
“No, it’s interesting,” she said, instantly feeling a fool. It wasn’t all that interesting, but he was.
They both stood there thoroughly unnerved by the quiet moment, and yet relishing in the electricity of it.
Abruptly, Liam’s expression shifted and he began scanning the area as if searching for someone. “Is your father here?”
Artemis shook her head.
He looked relieved and then confused when she offered no more explanation. “You’re here alone?”
