“La société and the UnDead are always my concern,” Evaline said flatly. “And always will be.”
“Of course you’re right, Evaline. Please accept my apologies, again. Sincerely. I’ll be bringing Her Royal Highness Princess Alexandra up to date on everything that’s occurred—including that you and Mina have aborted La société’s return—and I’ll highly recommend you to her once more.”
“But what were you doing there that night?” I pressed. “Why were you there with Gadreau and Miss Kluger? And nearly dead? Were they trying to kill you?”
For the first time, I had the disconcerting experience of seeing Miss Adler appear chagrined. “When one is a member of La société, one knows how to communicate with other members. As you may have suspected, the Pickled Nurse was a location where messages could be delivered and received, and one night I managed to gain entrance to the purlieu. I thought I could do my own detective work, and report back to you. But my true purpose was discovered and Gadreau and his boys . . . they took the opportunity to express their displeasure with my infiltration.” She reached over to touch Dylan’s hand. “If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be dead. For I would never have drunk the blood of an UnDead, and I was nearly dry. And you two, Mina and Evaline. If you hadn’t searched thoroughly enough . . . You all saved my life.”
I looked away when I noticed the uncharacteristic glistening in her eyes. Evaline cleared her throat and Dylan shifted in his seat.
“Very well then.” Miss Adler tucked her handkerchief away and turned to me. “As far as Scotland Yard is concerned, the case with Mrs. Yingling is closed?”
I nodded. “Yes. I heard from Inspector Grayling that, thanks to my information—including a description of Miss Kluger’s Two-Seat Charley—they were able to apprehend her. She’s in custody and will stand trial for kidnapping and attempted murder. Unfortunately, during the scuffle of removing her from her vehicle—which has tinted gray windows—Gadreau tried to escape. As you might recall, it was a very sunny day, and . . . well, I do not believe he got very far.” I smiled grimly.
“The vampire burned up?” Dylan asked, his eyes lit with humor. “You mean, he doesn’t sparkle in the sunlight?”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes with affection. I had no idea why he was under the impression that UnDead glittered in the sunlight, but he was always making jests like that. “I haven’t heard from Grayling precisely what the police thought about Gadreau’s sudden disappearance, and I’m certainly not about to ask. Let them investigate that mystery if they so choose.”
“And so all of the Para-Natural happenings have been fully explained?” Miss Adler said.
I did not respond.
That was the one thing that niggled at me, the one thing I couldn’t accept. There was no physical or rational explanation for the green amorphous visitations of Marta Ashton . . . as well as the odd messages for Evaline.
The only other interpretation was that they had, in fact, been real spiritual manifestations.
I’d mulled over the possibility for days, trying to find a more palatable explanation for those occurrences.
But over and over, I returned to Uncle Sherlock’s philosophy: When even the impossible has been eliminated, whatever remains, regardless of how improbable, must be the truth.
And yet the truth was one I could not accept. Or, at least, I did not wish to accept it.
Visiting spirits? Ghosts? Speaking through mediums and dreams?
I didn’t like the realization that there were things of this world that cannot be explained through logic and deduction. It made me feel unsettled and inadequate.
It made me feel as if I could never be wholly certain of everything I understood about the world, ever again.
After Miss Adler left to rest and Dylan returned to hospital—where he’d been spending a good amount of time—Evaline offered me a ride home in her carriage.
“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something for over a week now,” she said once we started off. “But I wanted to think about it first.”
“What is it?” She looked very serious. Maybe she was going to bow out of our partnership in order to hunt vampires full-time. If there were any left in London—we didn’t really know. And we wouldn’t until one showed up again.
Evaline shifted on the carriage seat, her pretty face serious. “Where did you get the book The Venator?”
Her question took me by surprise. “It’s my father’s, I would guess. Or I suppose it could be Uncle Sherlock’s. I found it in our library at home. I discovered it one day—I’ve read every volume in there. It was tucked in the back behind another book, and it appeared interesting.”
She was still looking at me strangely. “I don’t think it’s your father’s.”
“What do you mean?” I felt an odd sensation inside me. What was wrong with her? But my heart was pounding, my insides were in an upheaval. There was something unsettling about the way she was staring at me.
“Why do you have a picture of my mentor, Siri, on the shelf above your fireplace?”
I stared at her and the whole space seemed to tilt and then right itself. “That’s not your mentor,” I said stupidly. “That’s my mother, Desirée.”