That I already knew. “And she’s fond of Honey-Sweet pickles. But what’s her name? Where do they stay? How can I find them? What else did you find out?”
Pix shook his head, his mouth still flat. “Yer gonna ’ave t’learn, Evaline Stoker, ye jus’ can’t rush in an’ molly things up wi’out thinkin’. Th’ fact is, I din’t need savin’, and ye darlied up me work tonight.”
I bristled. “I’m a vampire hunter, and my job is to hunt vampires. I’m not going to stop and think about it—especially when I see a situation that looks threatening.”
“Ye need t’ take care, luv. Ye mi’ be a mighty vampire-rozzer, but ye’re still mortal. And ye still can be drained dry.” His words were taut and his eyes glittered. “Or worst, turned UnDead yersel’. An’ I’d ’ate that t’appen t’ such a bang-up loidy as ye are. Once word gets out ’bout the female Venator, they’ll be after puttin’ a stop t’ye. And ye won’ be safe nowhere.” His voice had softened at the end of his speech.
I stilled as he reached up to brush my cheek, pushing a loose lock of hair from my face. His bare, elegant fingers tucked the curl behind my ear then skimmed lightly down the side of my neck.
“What . . . what was that thing he dropped back there?” He was standing so close . . . was he going to kiss me? Would I let him? “You picked it up and put it in your—”
“Ye don’ wanna be worryin’ ’bout that-there, luv,” he said, easing closer to me. His lips had softened and twitched into a half-smile. The timbre of his voice had dropped. “An’ I’m supposin’ Oy should a’ least be thankin’ ye for savin’ me . . . though ye really mollied m’ work up instead.”
“I didn’t—”
But he leaned in and covered my mouth with his.
I didn’t push him away. And I’m not ashamed to admit it.
When our lips touched, his were soft and gentle, pressing to mine and molding to them like a caressing hand. Heat and prickling shivers rushed through my body. Pix’s arms had gone around me, and he pulled me close. I could feel the power in his embrace and the warmth of his torso. I knew I could break his hold at any moment. So I relaxed, kissing him back. I tasted a hint of ale and tobacco mixed with mint.
When he pulled away, the world was a little fuzzy. Kind of tilty. But I also had my hand in his pocket. I smoothly withdrew the item he’d placed in there as I stepped back, hiding it in the folds of my skirt.
“Well, then, there, luv.” He straightened his coat sleeve. “Oy’m not sure ’oo was thankin’ ’oo just then, but ye’ll ’ear no complaints from the likes o’ me.”
“I’m fairly certain there shouldn’t be any thanking at all,” I said, once again adopting Mina’s crisp, affronted tones. “In fact, I do believe an apology is in order.”
He made a low, gritty sound that streaked down my spine. “O’ course, luv. I’ll accept yer apol’gy an’ time ye want t’give it. So long’s it’s just like that.”
And then, without another word, he slipped into the shadows and disappeared. The last thing I heard was his silky chuckle coming from the darkness.
But it was I, for once, who had the last laugh. I shoved the paper-wrapped item I’d pilfered into my pocket and headed for home.
Miss Holmes
Miss Holmes Makes an Error
It was with some trepidation that I left Miss Ashton’s home after spending the night there, but there was no help for it. I had preparations to make and clues to investigate. However, I fully intended to return by early afternoon and to remain with Willa until I’d put a halt to the evil plot surrounding her.
My first stop was home, to freshen up and repack my reticule. I slipped in and out without being trapped in conversation by Mrs. Raskill, taking enough time to send a message to Miss Stoker to meet me at Miss Adler’s office.
We needed to reconnoiter and make plans for our next steps.
On my way to the Museum, I made a detour to Miss Louisa Fenley’s séance parlor. Using the threat of exposure of her fraudulent activities, I induced her to show me some tricks of her trade. Although I left feeling pleased about that progress, my intention to find out who’d hired her to fool Miss Ashton met with a dead end. Miss Fenley hadn’t been contacted by anyone to conduct séances for Willa Ashton. So the supposed referral from Mrs. Yingling had, in fact, been forged and manufactured by our villain.
Miss Fenley, however, did confess to taking advantage of the young woman’s desperation and researching Willa’s past in order to hold a realistic meeting.
“And how did you come by the papers you used?”
“The papers the spirits wrote on?” Miss Louisa was the very picture of ingenuousness.
“The ones on which you wrote. Let’s be honest, shall we? You faked the messages—and I care not that you did so as much as I want to know from where those papers came.”
She shrugged and I believed her when she said, “They’re the same papers I use for all my spirit-writing.” She showed me the drawer in which they were kept and I accepted that information as truth. Which meant that the papers with the glowing-in-the-dark message had been altered after they arrived at Miss Ashton’s house.
This only confirmed my deductions that one of three people had the means with which to make such alterations.
One question I chose not to ask Miss Fenley was in regards to the strange and eerie message Espasia had delivered to Evaline in the voice of Mr. O’Gallegh.
I didn’t want to know the answer to that query.
When I arrived at Miss Adler’s office, I was pleased to find Dylan present. My mentor was not, and Miss Stoker had not yet arrived—which gave me the pleasure of a few moments of privacy with him. After all, I hadn’t spoken to him since the night in the carriage when he kissed me.
But when I noticed Dylan’s pasty complexion and its underlying gray tinge, the dark circles under his eyes, and the dullness in his gaze, I was horrified. He appeared worse than Miss Adler had.
I frowned. Maybe there was some sort of illness they both had contracted.
“Are you sick? What’s happened? You look . . . terrible.”
He waved off my concern. “I’m fine, Mina. All is well. I’m totally fine.” His smile was bright and sincere, but I felt the rest of his appearance was cause for alarm.