Clockwork Kiss, page 30
“Is the shock wearing off?” he asked over his shoulder.
She nodded a little. “I think so.”
“Good, when we get to the Keep we’ll sleep for a week and put all of this behind us.”
The servant’s entrance to the Manor was, as usual, unlocked. They slipped in unnoticed and made their way toward the stairs. “I’ll wake my brother.”
An extremely displeased couple was waiting for them in the room across from the stairs, along with the children, while a third figure huddled nearby. The double doors were thrown open wide and sleepy, disbelieving eyes drank them in.
James’s voice sliced through the air. “That won’t be necessary, actually. We just got back from questioning your maid Hannah. It would seem that she’s been working as a spy for our … mother.”
Eliza flinched when he brought up a hand with such force that the huddled figure jerked, even though he wasn’t close enough to actually strike her. Straightening slowly, Hannah stepped forward. Her mouth trembled, but for once, she didn’t launch into a jumble of words. When she spoke her usually big voice was frail and soft. “Please, my Lord. Don’t fire me. I didn’t want to do it.” Her huge sad eyes fell on Eliza, and she whimpered. “My nephew. You met him when we went to Silvercove. The countess … she hurts him. Has made sure no one else will hire him. I had to do it. I swear, I had no choice.”
Eliza felt the way Cyril trembled beside her and reached out her hand, settling it on his shoulder. Her brow creased as she remembered the young man with the steam burns. “It will be all right, Hannah. We know of Harriett’s cruelty. We will … straighten everything out soon.” A pained pause sucked the air out of the room. “But, rest easy. She can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
A stunned silence filled the hall as everyone absorbed her words.
It was Christian who acted first. Jumping out of Olyve’s lap, he let out a piercing squeal and made a mad dash for Eliza, arms outstretched. She leaned down to embrace him, but was flung back hard against the ground by an unseen force.
Christian, followed quickly by the two girls, bolted like colts for the stairwell, ducking their faces safely behind the railings.
The same unnatural wind that had wrapped around them before filled the space between the stairs and the room that held the members of the Manor and a rage-filled cry snarled. “Bitch!” The booming male voice bounced off the walls.
Majorie’s form materialized in a manner so that whoever was looking at her saw her facing them in particular. Her face was twisted and hard. “Stay away from him! Quickly, get to the studio!”
A collected gasp was swallowed by the same growl. Eliza was hit again, struck in the face so hard her body slid a little way.
“Majorie!” It was James who called her name while Cyril scrambled to Eliza’s side. “Impossible. How are you here?”
She laughed. “Impossible. That seems to be the usual answer with my appearance. I say you’d better get used to my being here, James, since I will be forced to stay if you don’t get your family to the studio. The Manor, the Keep, hell, all of London is my grave.”
Eliza scrambled to a standing position, grabbing the hands of the children as she moved. She didn’t take the time to look back, didn’t check to see if her family followed her. She went on pure instinct, pushing Christian forward as she encouraged him to lead her back to the abandoned room he’d left her in before.
The wind grew mightier as they went, slamming into their bodies with such force that several times the girls were pushed to the ground. Tabitha was jerked from her hold and took to the air, helplessly caught in a violent gust. “Tabby!” Anne screamed at the top of her little lungs.
Moments before her little body would have collided with the unforgiving wall, Hugh appeared out of thin air. Again, he was soaked and his skin looked flaccid and gray, but he took the brunt of impact, sliding in between the proverbial rock and its hard place.
Eliza started toward him, but the twin was faster, pulling her sister off the battered chest of her Maven. Hugh slumped to the floor and the girls wrapped little hands around him. “Go,” Anne whispered, her voice somehow cutting through the winds. “We will watch over him but you must put a stop to all of this.”
The little girl’s voice was so much older and stronger than it had sounded before that Eliza nodded. She heard the footsteps of her family coming and turned back to Christian. “Let’s go.”
The boy nodded, pushing forward against the wall of wind. It felt as if they were caught in a snow storm. The air grew bitingly cold the deeper they went into the hallways. Still, when they finally reached the door, Christian jerked back with a hiss. “It’s hot!”
Eliza pushed him aside, using the folds of her dirtied gown to wrench the heavy barrier open. It took several tries but as soon as she stepped over the threshold, her mind’s eye blinked and the room was sparkling clean once again.
The wind stopped for a heartbeat and Eliza found herself face-to-face with an older version of Cyril. His hazel eyes were darker, crueler, but the rest of his features were much the same. Hardened by age rather than softened, his salt and pepper hair was the only indication that he was beyond the years that he seemed.
She moved forward and he raised his hand, carelessly knocking her back with a gust of wind. “You have no place here.”
Eliza held up a hand to signal that the people who entered behind her should stay where they were. She nodded subtlety to Christian who was inching toward the door, obvious worry written on his face.
Olyve stepped forward, her hair whipping around her face and head like a bright halo as the wind punched up once more. “Why attack us? No one here has wronged you!”
For a second it seemed like Peter Reeves would strike her down, but after a moment he relaxed slightly. “Olyve,” his winds whispered faintly. The living woman jerked back when a ghostly hand reached out toward her, stopping short. “You would have been fun.” He slapped her. Slapped her so hard that she flew to the side and onto a chaise where her body draped helplessly. Peter laughed while James rushed to her side. “Now there’s an image I’m used to!”
Cyril swallowed. “I don’t believe my eyes, but … Father, what is … what is all of this? I don’t understand what is happening. Did you know that mother killed my Majorie? Were you a part of it?” His voice trembled as he spoke.
The ghostly expression had been twisted in amusement since Cyril began speaking. By time he was finished his father had burst into mocking laughter. “Your mother? Able to kill anyone? Only in her wildest fantasies. She may have scattered the pieces but she had not the ability to end your little whore.”
The globes of light in the room flickered violently and Majorie formed in the air, her translucent form so weak that only Eliza saw her. Her mouth moved but no words came out.
“I’m surprised your brother never told you. He used to build mecha for me before we realized what a little genius you were. Isn’t that right, son?”
James pulled himself up. “What are you saying? You killed Majorie over some little lock and key I made for you when I was but a child?”
“So naïve, my boy!”
It was hard. James, the practical one, the down to earth one, the sane one, was struggling to hold on to the threads of his sanity. Eliza watched a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth run down his cheek. He’d bitten himself to keep from lashing out and she couldn’t blame him. He was staring at a ghost, listening to accusations of rape and murder against his parents. “Then why?”
Peter Reeves gave a little shrug. “That is all Cyril’s fault. I preferred to stick with unattached toys to play with, but his little Majorie was pushing him to create something I couldn’t afford to have built. Then, to top it all off, she started following me around, gathering her petty little ‘evidence.’ She stole something from me.”
If it were at all possible, Cyril turned even more pale. “The interrogation device?”
The ghost shrugged again. “It hardly matters now, does it? I have all that I could ever want. A nice, cozy room filled with toys. Your device was only the reason I had to dispose of your little wife. Of course, she and I had a great time before that.”
The floating form of Majorie pointed to Cyril, holding her hands together, palms outstretched. She pushed her palms against one another and pulled them back, keeping the edges of her hands together as she repeated the action. It was almost as if she were miming a…
“The book!” Eliza turned to Cyril just as she was hit from behind. Her body collided with his, knocking both of them to the floor. Her forehead bounced with a sick thud and she swallowed a mouthful of bile.
Cyril wrapped his arms around her, spinning so that his body took most of the continued rain of blows. He grunted softly, pulling the little book from his vest while managing to shield her completely. “Hurry!”
Shaking hands went to the pouch that held the keys she’d collected. She franticly matched each to its keyhole and twisted them. She pushed the hard cover open and the air around them vibrated with spirit energy. Ghostly wails lifted up off the page and wrapped around them, immediately stopping the attack that Cyril was protecting her from.
He rolled to the side after she prompted him, her gaze falling to the ink-splattered pages. As she read, tears filled her eyes. It was a journal, a diary, to be exact. Written in bold male handwriting. Her stomach turned in flip flops and a hand came up to her mouth. “Oh God.”
He had been a gifted artist, though the information shouldn’t have surprised her. He had stenciled drawings of the faces of his victims to go with the detailed descriptions of his “affairs” and why he’d chosen the girls he had. “Years,” she whispered. “It’s been years.” Her hands shook as she turned the pages. She gasped, her heart skipping a beat. “All of them. You killed all of them.”
As if from a distance, she heard Cyril ask what was going on. After the book opened, the image of his father had vanished.
“No, he’s still here.” Eliza knew her eyes must have been blazing blue fire. She could see everything that was happening. All of it. Majorie, Emma, and even the nameless woman who had been following her since the first day she attempted to storm the Keep, now held the ghostly man still, holding him down like chains. “You killed all of them.”
The same madness she’d seen taint Cyril’s eyes stained Peter both physically and internally. His eyes mirrored the shadows of his heart and the blemishes on his soul. “They were toys. Why shouldn’t I play with them? And who gives a fuck if one or two of them gets broken? They will stay here! Trapped with me forever!”
The threat bounced off the walls and even in his weakened state, his ire caused bulbs to explode and the glass on the walls to shatter. The frame of one of the portraits on the wall hit the ground with enough force to rip the painting in half.
One of the transparent women who held the crazed man shimmered, her grasp of the spirit world lessened slightly. Eliza saw this with her mind’s eye, saw it echoed in the negative of the world she had two feet firmly set into. She let her altered vision slide around the room and it touched on every one of the false smiling faces. Each had a signature, a residue that marked it clearly with one of the ghost women. Each was a stone that held them firmly in place.
Anger, sorrow, desperation and loneliness flooded her body. She felt the physical pain echoed in the wounds of their souls and it filled her with fire. This time she did not fight it, did not back away from the agony. When the energy came to her palms, she welcomed it. “You’re wrong, Peter. These women are going to be set free. And you are going where you belong.”
He screamed, finally seeing what she held, but his struggles were pointless. The women held him down as Eliza took in deep breaths, feeling tears in her over-bright eyes. She pulled back and thrust forward, every motion catching a painting with the blue flames of the spirit world.
With each engulfed portrait, one of the women sighed, whispering silent appreciation until only one was left. Majorie clung to the thrashing form of her tormentor, her will alone keeping him from moving. “Wait,” she pleaded. “Him first. I want to watch him burn.”
Eliza nodded, turning her attention to the journal that was steeped in dark aura. Slamming it to the ground, she doused it with the blue fire as well, gritting her teeth as her own energy battled his.
She felt the moment when the door within her mind threw itself open, unleashing more power than she’d thought she had in her. The book turned into a towering inferno, the flames no longer the light, cleansing blue that had freed the souls of the women. Instead, those flames burned black, damning everything it consumed. Peter burned along with his twisted agenda, screaming in agony as his body turned into charred chunks of ash and bone.
Majorie let out a sigh, her eyes filled with such sadness it made Eliza’s heart ache to look at her. After several moments, the ghost bowed her head, at once relieved and despairing that it was finally over.
“Majorie, you don’t have to cling to this world any longer. You have had your vengeance and I swear I will take care of Cyril.”
The ghost sniffled. Her slender shoulders shook with silent tears and she lifted her head, her lashes thick with the tears that she’d held inside for so many years. “He is a good man. He always has been. Sometimes he buries himself in his work, thinks that success will buy him love. I should have tried harder to bring him out of his shell. I should have…” She trailed off, her voice so soft Eliza had to strain to hear the rest. “It is not fair. I should have been where you are standing at this moment.” She looked at Cyril. “It should be me.”
Eliza tried to think of something to say. Majorie was right. Her life had been taken prematurely, but that did not change the love she felt for the people around her. She wanted to reassure the scared woman, but all she could do was stare up at her, her heart naked on her face.
Majorie smiled softly and nodded. “I know.” Both of them stood there, staring at one another, embraced in mutual respect and love until Majorie nodded again.
Eliza lifted her hands, able to call the flames easily. Fingers spread, she sent them toward the last portrait, watching it explode into a rainbow array of globe-shaped sparkles that shot around the room, kissing and caressing everyone and everything. “Be at peace.”
Eliza felt the difference immediately and she was sure the others did as well. A collective sigh of relief went up and the energy calmed and the air grew lighter. They looked at one another, all of them aware of the fact that they were now alone.
Several minutes dragged by before anyone moved. It was James who broke the silence, clearing his throat. “How about we open the kitchen and fill in the blanks? I’m sure we could find something to eat while we all pretend none of that just happened.”
Epilogue
“Girls!” Eliza stumbled, laughing loudly. She was aware of the fact that she was no longer inside the Keep. The twins had pulled her away from the ledge where she had fallen asleep with a book, and quickly bound her eyes, pulling her arms with their usual high-pitched giggles.
“You just have to trust us, Lady Liza!”
She started to correct them once again but quickly shut her mouth. After all, she was now indeed, Lady Elizabeth Lynn Blackwell Reeves. Her father had demanded she be introduced to polite society before the wedding, though she had wondered why, since they cared little for the ton.
When she had asked him, he had given her a sly little wink and shrugged, simply stating that he liked to stir the pot. Then of course, he’d stolen off on his airship before the cake had been cut. But, of course, not before he’d spoken to Cyril.
Eliza still had no idea what they’d spoken on or where they disappeared to but she did notice the slight tremble her husband-to-be hadn’t been able to shake until her father had vanished. Cyril’s color had been a little off as well.
“Yes, trust us!” Anne giggled, her wet hands groping Eliza’s bigger palms.
It’d been months since James and Olyve had decided to completely gut that old studio and had remodeled it into a sort of jungle room for the children to tear through.
Their recovery had been slow going, though it wasn’t fear that had driven them to fall so ill. Hugh had been so badly injured that the three little rug rats had banded together without permission to bring him healing waters. They’d vanished for three weeks while their Maven lay in bed and had come back with more bruises than she’d cared to count.
Eliza had never seen Hugh lose his temper like that, but the children hadn’t cowered away from him this time. Indeed, they’d ganged up on him, demanding he lay down and get more rest. She wasn’t sure what they did to him but when she’d come by to check on him later, the entire room was soaked as if it had rained indoors but he had looked much better.
Now they seemed to bounce from Keep to Manor to apartment on whatever whim suited their fancy and it appeared that she was their latest stop. “Where on earth are we going, young ladies? Isn’t it past time for you two to be in bed? Hugh is going to burn your ears off.”
“We’re almost there!” She was met with more giggles and dragging. All she could do was shake head, laughing along with them. No doubt, Christian was behind this. He had adapted to the changes in his life almost as if he was meant for it. Not to mention the shine he’d taken to quiet little Ginny.
Now that he was sure he and the twins were welcomed members of the family, he was practically a little miniature gentleman. He poured over his lessons just as Eliza had her own, shining like a jewel in the classroom. His speech was a little rough still but he worked hard at it.
“Girls, Christian and you both are going to have a terrible timeouts if this doesn’t get to a point in a hurry.”
The twins abruptly pulled to a stop, practically squealing with excitement.
Cyril’s voice filled the air. “It wasn’t Christian who asked them to bring you here. Thank you, girls.”
