The Spiritglass Charade (Stoker & Holmes 2)

“Ashton is La société?”

Pix shifted, easing away from the window toward my dressing table. Not even the flash of a teasing grin. But his attention never left me. “Ashton or ’ooever else was at the gathering at Vauxhall.”

“Are you saying there was a La société meeting the same night of the grand opening? At the Gardens?”

I’d spent hours combing the place, searching for UnDead. How had I missed them? I looked sharply at Pix. “How do you know this? Right. That paper was an invitation for you, wasn’t it?”

He shrugged, his silhouette outlined by the cool moonlight. “Ye know better’n t’ask certain questions, luv.” He was next to my dressing table now, out of the moonlight and into the shadows . . . but he made no move to come closer to me.

I looked back down at the butcher paper, wondering what it all meant. I’d show Mina tomorrow. Surely she’d have a theory—or two. And, as usual, Pix was noncommittal and ambiguous. Blast him.

“Why do you always wear a disguise? And why do you have to sneak around so much?” I burst out. “Who or what are you hiding from?”

He became very still. “What makes ye think—”

“Blast it, Pix. Do you think I’m a complete cloud-head? You can come around regularly and take me off to your hideaway and steal kisses from me, but you can’t even tell me your real name. Or let me see your face in a good light. Your real face. And you sure as Pete can stop using that fake accent around me too.”

“Fake accent? Oy, luv, me accent isn’t fake.” But his voice was a little tight. “Exaggerated at times, mind, but not fake.”

Well, that was some progress. “I don’t even know what you look like. For real.”

“An’ it matters to ye, does it, Evaline, luv? Wot a bloke looks like?”

“If he’s going to kiss me, then, yes, it does matter.”

He reached up to his face and peeled away one of his sideburns. And then, still silent, holding my gaze, he did the same on the other side, tucking them both into his pockets. Then he tore off eyebrows—thick, dark ones I hadn’t even realized were false—and, finally, a small piece of rubber that was attached to the end of his nose. The pieces of his disguise were all simple and subtle, but together, they greatly altered his appearance.

Pix pushed his thick, dark hair out of his face and stepped into a beam of moonlight. I caught my breath. I’d thought he was handsome before, but now . . . “Thank you” was all I said.

He nodded, still looking at me, then eased back so his face was in shadow once more.

Struggling for something cool and witty to say, I noticed a faint light out of the corner of my eye. The small package from Mr. Treadwell sat on my chest of drawers. A subtle blue light glowed from beneath its wrappings.

I wasted no time pulling the papers away. Inside was the spiritglass. It was closed up into the shape of a small brass pentagon, but the light filtered through the cracks. I must have pushed a button or released a lever, for it opened in my hand to reveal the small blue sphere. It glowed enough to throw shadows around the room.

“Where did ye nick that?” Pix moved toward me for the first time tonight. He was replacing his false eyebrows.

“Mina sent it to me.” I shuffled through the items on my bureau and found her message from earlier today. Or, rather, yesterday, I thought as the clock struck half-past one.

Willa has been taken. I know the identity of the perpetrator but dare not put it in writing. You should also have received a package from Mr. Treadwell. It will contain important evidence. If you hear no further word, the worst has happened and I’ve gone after her. The hideaway of La société is in Smithfield, near Ivey & Boles. For obvious reasons, I shall need your particular support. Contact Grayling and ref: Yingling case.

“Blast.” There’d been no other message from Mina—unless it was in the foyer on the front table. I hurried down on silent feet to check and found the surface empty.

When I returned to my chamber, Pix was reapplying the rubber piece to his nose while reading Mina’s note. Not a bit of guilt crossed his face, the blooming snoop. I wondered how many of my drawers he’d combed through whilst I was gone—looking for the object I’d lifted from his pocket.

“You won’t find your curious device in here.” I yanked my wardrobe doors open as quietly as I could. My boy breeches were tucked in the back, as were a pair of comfortable, worn boots that had hollow heels. I dragged them out along with a black shirt and coat. “I’ve hidden it where even a slick-fingered thief can’t find it.”

“Yer no’ s’bad yerself, luv. I didn’t granny ye diggin’ in me pockets. Granted, I was a bit mollied at th’ time. But ye’d best return it. It’s not somethin’ the likes o’ ye want in yer possession.” The accent was back in full force, the disguise replaced, and the fragile connection between us broken.

“Right. Of course. More secrets.” I dove behind the dressing screen. “Don’t look.” I tucked the divider around so it made a half circle and blocked me from his view. I could see over the top if I stood on my toes. “In fact, you can leave. Go. Get out of my chamber.” My voice was muffled during this last bit as I shrugged the black shirt over my shift and a self-lacing corset.

I bent down to yank the breeches on, then the boots. I expected him to be gone when I straightened back up, but he wasn’t.

“I told you to leave. And I’m not giving it back—whatever it is. Not till I find out what it is.” I finger-combed my sagging hair into a thick, wild handful, then braided it and tucked the plait inside my shirt. Still ignoring Pix, I pulled out the trunk from beneath my bed and armed myself with stakes, holy water, a knife, and a silver cross. Too blasted bad I didn’t have Mina’s Steam-Stream gun.

“Good-bye, Pix. I’ve got work to do.” I vaulted out onto the oak’s branch.

By the time I reached the ground, he was there too. Surprise, surprise. “This way,” he said.

Parked in a shadowy corner between two buildings was a small vehicle hidden by a fabric cover that resembled bricks. Not quite a cycle, not at all a carriage. It had two large wheels on either side of an enclosed platform on which the driver would stand—or two people if you crowded enough. The steering device was a large circle, like in an automobile. When Pix bent to shift a lever, I saw the distinct flash of a spark.