The Spiritglass Charade (Stoker & Holmes 2)

“Truly, you look as if you should be in bed. Are you certain you feel all right?”

“Never better! Honest.” He lifted a hand to brush his long blond hair from his eyes, and I noticed how thin his wrist seemed to be. Even the skin there was pasty and gray. There was blood on the inside of his sleeve, dots here and there all along the white cotton.

“What have you been doing? I’m sorry I haven’t been here to see how you’re faring.” If it wouldn’t have been so improper, I would have grabbed his arm and pulled back the sleeve.

“Oh, I’ve been busy. I just came back here to get some of my things. Everything is just fine, Mina. Don’t you worry! Things are going really well.”

Though enthusiastic, his voice sounded thick and slow, and I was growing even more worried. This was not the Dylan I knew. There was something wrong, something that made him different.

The office door burst open and Evaline swept in. “Do I have some news for you, Mina!”

“Do you indeed?” I intended to continue my conversation with Dylan, but he’d gathered up his things and, giving me an affectionate pat on the shoulder, hurried from the chamber before I could say another word.

“Later!” he called just as the door closed behind him.

I stared after him, torn between demanding more answers that he didn’t seem willing to give, and knowing that Willa Ashton’s life was on the line. I had to choose the more pressing problem, and turned to Miss Stoker—who’d been chattering on anyway.

“Gadreau? That’s the vampire leader’s name? He has a mortal mistress who has a pet spider and frequents the Pickled Nurse? Indeed. Excellent information, Evaline—at least, it would be if we were investigating the whereabouts of the UnDead instead of a disturbing plot to incarcerate—or kill—an innocent young woman.” I could hardly conceal my frustration. In fact, I don’t believe I concealed it at all. “Do you not even care to know what happened in Willa’s chamber?” “Of course I do.”

Evaline flumped into a chair. “Do you not even care to know how many UnDead I killed last night?”

“You needn’t sound so . . . delighted about it.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Of course you’re a Venator, but you needn’t be so gleeful about killing people. It’s rather unbecoming, and a little startling.”

Miss Stoker gaped at me. “Blooming fish! They’re not people, Mina. They’re UnDead. Vampires. Half-demon, immortal beings. Horrible creatures. They drink blood from mortals in order to stay alive. They live off the human race. And they’d as soon as leave a person to bleed dry than kill them outright.”

“I’m aware of all that. I have read The Venators.” I sniffed and looked away. “Still. It seems wrong to feel that way. They were people at one time.”

“I suppose you don’t believe a murderer should hang, then, for his crimes?”

I spread my hands, unsure how we’d even come to this conversation. “I believe in the judicial system, but I certainly don’t celebrate a hanging.”

“I’m not celebrating—well, maybe I am a little. After all, it’s my legacy to protect the mortal world from these creatures. And they aren’t people, not any longer. There’s no hope for them to ever . . . get better, or return to their normal, mortal self. They’re like that forever. And every vampire I stake is one less horrible creature that takes from people we know, draining the blood from people we love.”

I went cold. A horrible, frightening thought lodged in my brain. Draining the blood from people we love.

The blood spots on the underside of Dylan’s shirtsleeve. The pasty, gray tinge of his skin. The circles under his eyes.

No. Surely that wasn’t possible.

Don’t be ridiculous. How would Dylan find a vampire anyway?

I pushed the absurd thought from my mind. I could consider it and its implications later.

Miss Stoker was still glaring at me, but I lifted my nose and proceeded to inform her about the events from the night before—everything from the glowing spiritglass to the green amorphous cloud.

“How did Willa come to have the spiritglass anyway? Surely if we knew who gave it to her, we’d know who is behind all of this.”

“I have asked her, and she simply doesn’t recall where it came from, nor does she remember anyone particularly drawing her attention to it. One day she noticed it sitting on the table in the front hallway. On her first visit to Willa’s house, Mrs. Yingling was the one who told her that it was an spiritglass to be used for communing with the spirits. If we only knew who’d set Mrs. Yingling up to do so . . .”

“Miss Norton! She was the one who introduced Willa to Mrs. Yingling.”

“I’m pleased you recall that bit of information, Evaline. Yes, that’s true. But it doesn’t mean Miss Norton was the one who engaged the medium for the nefarious scheme. That could just as easily have come about after the introduction was made and the relationship between Willa and Mrs. Yingling was established. And so, for now, we must be on our way to visit Olympia Babbage. Surely she can shed some light on the spiritglass, for her grandfather’s mark is on the bottom. If we can find out who commissioned it to light up via its timer-mechanism, I suspect we’ll find our perpetrator.”

A short time later, we were trundling through London traffic in Miss Stoker’s carriage. It really was very convenient to have a partner with a vehicle at her disposal. It nearly made up for her impetuousness.

“So you think Charles Babbage designed the spiritglass?” Miss Stoker seemed doubtful. “Hasn’t he been dead for . . . a while?”

“Did you not observe such a marking on all of the notes and journal pages on display at the Oligary Building? Perhaps he left his—wait.” I went still, my brain whirring into action. Oh. “I’ve made a mistake. It’s—”

“Wha—huh? You’ve made a mistake? You? Wait.” Evaline yanked open the window and stuck her head out, looked around, then drew herself back in. “The world isn’t ending. Big Ben’s Infinity Day Clock hasn’t stopped. You can’t have made a mistake. It’s simply not . . . possible. It’s a day just like any other day.”

I was not amused by her antics. “Fine.” I lifted my chin. “Then I suppose I shan’t tell you what I just realized. And it’s not a huge, great mistake. Just a minor one.”