The Third Circle

by Amanda Quick

  “Fascinating.”

  Leona spread her hands wide. “Very well. You know who I am. I suppose it does not matter how you came to that conclusion. Sybil’s journal of experiments was lost early on. No one in my family knows what happened to it or the strongbox where she supposedly kept it and her other secrets. But I have two of the notebooks she used more or less as diaries and some letters she wrote. In those she made her feelings about Sylvester excruciatingly clear.”

  “What else did she have to say about him?” he asked.

  “Among other things, she referred to him as an arrogant mountebank and a great liar.”

  “Why did she call him a liar?”

  “He tried to woo her by promising her that they would work side by side, sharing their secrets and developing their powers. She fell in love with him and believed that he loved her, too. But when she realized that all he really wanted was to use her in his breeding experiment, she was outraged. She understood then that there would only be one great passion in Sylvester’s life and that passion was his search for a formula. So she left.”

  “Taking the aurora stone and a copy of the formula with her.”

  “She had a right to both,” Leona said forcefully.

  He smiled.

  “What do you find so amusing about all this?” Leona demanded.

  “What I find vastly entertaining is the notion that I will be escorting the descendant of Sybil the Virgin Sorceress to the Arcane Society’s first Spring Ball. Nothing the Society or my family loves more than a good legend.”

  42

  SHE’S THE DIRECT DESCENDANT of Sybil?” Gabriel Jones smiled widely. "Wait until Venetia hears about this.”

  The new Master of the Arcane Society sat behind his desk in his library, every inch the modern English gentleman. One would never know, Thaddeus thought, that Gabriel was one of the most dangerous men in London, thanks to his talents.

  Like many of those in the Jones line, he was a parahunter with reflexes, senses and instincts as keen as those of any large beast of prey. Even when he was calm and at ease, the telltale traces of the prowling paranormal energy in his aura were distinguishable if one was sensitive to such things.

  “Wait until I hear about what?” Venetia said from the doorway of the library. She smiled when she noticed Thaddeus. “Thaddeus. How nice to see you. I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Good day to you, Venetia.” Thaddeus got to his feet. “You’re looking lovely as always. Have you just come from taking a portrait?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  In addition to her new role as the wife of the head of the Society, Venetia was also a fashionable photographer whose skills were much in demand. Very few of her wealthy, elite clients, however, were aware that her talents went beyond the ability to take stunning pictures.

  With her talent, Venetia could view auras quite clearly. It was true, of course, that many, even those who laughed at the entire notion of the paranormal, were somewhat sensitive to auras. Most attributed the occasional tingle of uneasiness or fascination or other inexplicable reaction they experienced around certain individuals to their own intuition.

  The truth was that they were actually sensing some faint whisper of the aura of the person in question. Those who were endowed with strong paranormal abilities were naturally more acutely sensitive to the traces of energy that emanated from others. But only a few people possessed the rare type of second sight required to see the full and unique spectrum of another individual’s entire aura, the way Venetia could.

  “You will never guess who Thaddeus will be escorting to the Spring Ball,” Gabriel said. He went forward to greet her. “A crystal worker who just happens to be a direct descendant of Sybil the Virgin Sorceress.”

  Venetia looked at him, astonished. “I thought the tale of Sybil and the aurora stone was just another Arcane Society legend.”

  “You know what they say, there’s a grain of truth in every good legend.”

  He kissed her, a brief, affectionate, husbandly welcome, but Thaddeus sensed the currents of heat, intimacy and love in the embrace. The Master of the Arcane Society was a happily married man.

  “There are also, it turns out, two versions of any good legend,” Thaddeus said, watching Venetia sit down in the chair across from him. “Leona feels very strongly that the aurora stone belongs to her. She says it was Sybil’s to begin with, and I suspect she is right.”

  “The problem,” Gabriel said, “is that, like the formula, the stone is said to be dangerous.”

  “In what way?” Venetia asked.

  “It’s not clear.” Gabriel sat down behind his desk. “According to Sylvester’s journal it has the ability to destroy a man’s powers.”

  Venetia’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Oh, my. You mean it can render a man impotent? No wonder you Jones men are so anxious to get it back under lock and key.”

  Thaddeus laughed. “We think, or at least we hope, that the powers in question refer to psychical abilities, not the other sort.”

  “Nevertheless, a man can’t be too careful,” Gabriel said. He grew more serious. “Sylvester believed that Sybil somehow tuned the crystal so that only she could control its energy. Evidently some of her descendants inherited the ability.”

  “Leona can work it,” Thaddeus said quietly.

  Venetia frowned. “But if no one else can work the crystal, why are so many people willing to kill for it?”

  “We don’t know,” Gabriel admitted. “But Caleb suspects that, in one way or another, this is all connected to another attempt to steal the founder’s formula.”

  Venetia sighed. “That is one Arcane Society legend that should have remained a legend, if you ask me. If you and Caleb had not discovered it when you excavated Sylvester’s tomb, we wouldn’t be having all these problems.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Gabriel said. “But the damage has been done. What’s more, something tells me that damned formula is going to be a problem for the Society from now on.”

  “And so will men like Lancing,” Thaddeus said. “For obvious reasons the police will always have difficulty stopping such criminals.”

  “I agree.” Gabriel folded his hands on top of the desk. “As it happens, I have given such matters a great deal of thought lately. I believe the Society has a responsibility not only to protect its most dangerous secrets but also to try to control powerful rogues such as Lancing.”

  “What have you got in mind?” Thaddeus asked.

  “I think the time has come to establish an office dedicated to security matters within the Society. It will be under the control of the Council and the Master.”

  “Who will you put in charge of this new office?” Venetia asked.

  Thaddeus smiled slowly. “Someone who is preternaturally good at seeing patterns where others see only chaos, perhaps? A first-rate conspiracy theorist?”

  “How did you guess?” Gabriel laughed. “I intend to speak to Caleb immediately.”

  43

  THE SHOEMAKER WAS a skeletally thin, rumpled man with a nervous air and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. He employed two burly assistants.

  “I do apologize for the confusion concerning the time of my appointment here today,” he said. “But Madame LaFontaine sent a message informing me that I was to arrive promptly at eleven to fit Miss Hewitt with her dancing slippers.”

  “We were not expecting you until three o’clock,” Victoria said, “but as we have just finished with the milliner we may as well deal with the slippers. It will be one less thing to bother with this afternoon.”

  “Yes, of course.” The shoemaker turned to Leona and gave her an anxious, ingratiating smile. “This won’t take long. Madame LaFontaine was adamant that the slippers complement the color of your gown. I have brought several pairs with me so that you will have a wide selection.”

  Leona looked at the large wooden box the two assistants had set down on the carpet. More decisions, she thought glumly. Under normal
circumstances she would have savored the process of selecting dancing slippers to go with the gorgeous gown Madame LaFontaine had designed. Indeed, the whole business of preparing for the Spring Ball should have been utterly intoxicating. She had never been invited to such a grand affair in her entire life. Not only would it be a glorious, glittering occasion, she would be on the arm of the man with whom she had fallen head-over-heels in love.

  But the circumstances were anything but normal. The only reason she would be attending the Spring Ball was so that she could help Thaddeus identify the people involved in a dangerous conspiracy. In addition, if it got out that she was Edward Pipewell’s niece, the woman who had, however unwittingly, helped fleece a dozen of the most important men in the Arcane Society, she would be lucky to get through the night without being arrested. Those two facts had removed a lot of her enthusiasm for the business of choosing such things as dancing slippers.

  Victoria, however, was remarkably animated. Evidently she’d had another good night’s sleep. She eyed the box with a look of great expectation.

  “Let us see what you have brought,” she said to the shoemaker.

  “But of course, madam.” He gestured toward his two assistants. “The samples, if you please.”

  One of the men went to open the large crate. The hair stirred on the nape of Leona’s neck. Why did the shoemaker need two such large assistants? she wondered.

  She glanced at Victoria, whose attention was focused on the long, coffin-sized box. The assistant had the lid open now. He reached inside. Leona did not see any shoes.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll just close this door so that we won’t be interrupted,” the shoemaker said softly.

  Leona swung around, an inexplicable alarm shafting through her.

  “No,” she said. “Don’t—”

  But it was too late. One of the big assistants seized her, pinning her arms and clamping a beefy hand across her lips. She heard Victoria’s horrified gasp and then an ominous silence. The strong odor of chemical fumes filled the air.

  She struggled fiercely, digging her nails into her captor’s arms and kicking wildly.

  “Hurry,” the shoemaker snapped. “We have only moments.”

  “She’s a right little she-devil,” the man holding Leona muttered. “I should just throttle the bitch.”

  “She must not be harmed,” the shoemaker yelped, furious now. “Do you hear me? I need her alive.”

  “I hear ye,” the man muttered. “Be quick about it, Paddon.”

  The second man was in front of her now. He held a damp rag in one hand. She could smell the noxious chemicals in which it had been soaked.

  He forced the fabric across her nose. She tried to kick him in the vicinity of his cock, but her skirts impeded the effort. Should have worn my men’s clothes, she thought.

  The vapors flooded her senses. The world tilted. Darkness poured into the sunny morning room, sweeping her away into an endless night.

  The last thing she heard was Fog. Out in the gardens he started to howl. He sounded like a lost soul in hell.

  44

  I DO WISH THAT wretched dog would cease that interminable howling,” Victoria muttered. She reclined on the sofa, a damp cloth across her forehead, a bracing cup of tea at her side. "The servants told me he started at about the time the kidnappers attacked us. He hasn’t stopped. It is beginning to affect my nerves.”

  Thaddeus looked at Fog, who was still out in the garden. The dog was visible through the glass panes of the French doors. He raised his head and loosed another bloodcurdling howl.

  Thaddeus sympathized. He wanted to shout his rage to the skies, too, but he managed to suppress the impulse. He could not afford the luxury of venting his emotions in such a pointless manner. Time was of the essence, he knew that as surely as he knew who had taken Leona. The kidnapper needed her but probably not for long.

  He decided not to further alarm Victoria by informing her that it was undoubtedly the necessity of keeping Leona alive and sane that had saved both of them. The bastard had used chloroform, not the nightmare vapor.

  Fifteen minutes earlier he had returned home to discover the disaster. The staff had not realized that anything was amiss until shortly before he had walked through the front door. The scene had been one of panic and chaos.

  “Found Lady Milden on the carpet,” Gribbs, the butler, had explained sadly. “The shoemaker and his assistants had been gone for some time, along with Miss Hewitt, of course.”

  The kidnappers had stuffed Leona into the wooden crate and taken her out through the tradesmen’s entrance. No one had thought it amiss that the shoemaker and his assistants had departed so soon after their arrival. The shoemaker had explained in the most apologetic manner that there had been a dreadful mix-up in the appointment times and that Lady Milden had instructed him to return at a more convenient hour.

  The crate was loaded into a waiting carriage, and the entire lot had disappeared into the fog.

  But with a touch of hypnosis Thaddeus had elicited detailed descriptions of the shoemaker and his assistants from Gribbs. He had not recognized the shoemaker, but there was no doubt in his mind as to the identities of the two burly men who had helped him kidnap Leona.

  “They were the two guards Delbridge employed the night of the party at the mansion,” he said to Victoria. “The bastard probably didn’t know any other men in that line of work so he contacted them.”

  She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I, but it is a place to start.”

  “Dear heaven, she is in mortal danger, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  He crossed the library and opened the French doors.

  Fog stopped crying vengeance to the heavens and looked at him, ears pricked, cold death in his eyes.

  “Come with me,” Thaddeus said quietly. “We are going to find her.”

  45

  LEONA AWOKE TO NAUSEA and the murmured ravings of a madwoman. For one horrified moment she thought she was a madwoman. For one horrified moment she thought she was the one carrying on the crazed, fearful conversation.

  "The demon is from hell. Ye’d never know it to look at him but comes straight from hell, he does. Is that where you come from?”

  Leona opened her eyes cautiously. The world was no longer spinning as it had been when she had slipped away into unconsciousness, but it was still a very dark place. The shoemaker’s box. Perhaps she was trapped inside.

  A wave of terror shot through her. She sat up quickly, too quickly. Her stomach rebelled. For a few seconds she thought she was going to be quite ill. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe deeply. Gradually the roiling sensation calmed.

  “He’s a demon but ye’d best not tell him that. Thinks he’s special, he does. Calls himself a scientist.”

  Leona risked opening her eyes again and discovered that she was sitting on the edge of a cot positioned against the wall of a small stone chamber. Bands of lantern light filtered through the iron bars set in the door of the cell, but there were no windows. That explained the deep shadows.

  “It was the demon’s servants that brought ye down here to hell.”

  Leona considered closely for a few seconds and decided she was not hearing voices in her head. There was someone else in the cell. She looked around and saw the woman huddled in the corner.

  The other prisoner wore a faded brown dress. She peered at Leona through a tangle of matted blonde hair. There was a desperate, hollow-eyed look about her.

  “Says he’s a scientist, but he’s really a demon,” she explained to Leona.

  “If you’re talking about the man who pretends to be a shoemaker, I agree with you,” Leona said softly.

  “No, no, no, not a shoemaker.” The woman twitched violently in her agitation. “A scientist.”

  “I understand,” Leona said gently. “The scientist is really a demon.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” The woman seemed relieved now that her main point ha
d been grasped. “A terrible demon. He’s got magic potions that make the nightmares real.”

  Leona shivered. “I know.”

  A tiny thrill of awareness fluttered through her, stirring the hair on the nape of her neck. Thaddeus and Fog were searching for her. She knew it as surely as she knew the sun would rise in the morning. She needed to buy time for them to find her.

  “Says he’s a scientist, but he’s a monster, just like the other one,” the woman explained in a terrified whisper.

  Leona frowned. “Who are you talking about? Who is the other one?”

  “I thought he was a gentleman, ye see. So handsome, he was.” The woman’s voice changed to a wistful sigh. “So fine and elegant. He has the prettiest hair. Like gold. He looks like one of those angels in the old paintings.”

  Leona gripped the edges of the cot. “Did you say he has gold hair?”

  “Smiled so nicely ye’d never know he was a monster.” The woman’s voice roughened in despair. “Knew he’d had his eye on me. Thought he’d pay well. But he lied. Brought me down here to hell, he did.”

  “Dear heaven,” Leona whispered. “You’re Annie Spence.”

  Annie jerked wildly and pressed deeper into the grimy corner. “How do ye know my name? Are you a demon, too?”

  “No, I’m not a demon. Annie, listen to me, the golden-haired monster who brought you here is dead.”

  “No, no, ye can’t kill monsters and demons.”

  “His name was Lancing, and I swear to you that he is dead.” She tried to think of some way to get through Annie’s fantasies. “The Monster died when he encountered The Ghost.”

  “I’ve heard about The Ghost.” Hope sparked briefly in Annie’s voice. “They whisper about him on the street.”

  “Lancing tried to run from The Ghost. He fell to his death.”