Quicksilver

by Amanda Quick

  He was prepared for the swiftness of the other man’s movements. It was like confronting a charging wolf. What he did not expect was the blinding flash of paranormal fire.

  It was as if a paranormal sun had struck a mirror. The night burned around him, searing his senses. He was engulfed in a blinding radiance.

  His heart pounded. A terrible chill spread through his veins, icing his blood. He fell, landing hard on his hands and knees. It was all he could do not to collapse on the cold pavement.

  He knew then that he was dying.

  “Virginia,” he whispered. The thought of never seeing her again was intolerable, but far worse was the knowledge that he was leaving her in grave danger. He had failed her.

  “Virginia,” he said again, louder this time.

  It seemed to him that the cold brilliance faded ever so slightly around him, as if the simple act of saying Virginia’s name had temporarily driven back the forces that had blinded him psychically and were now killing him.

  The unnatural radiance moved closer to him. Although his paranormal abilities were gone, he realized he could still make out the crypt and the gravestones to his left. He could feel the pavement beneath his hands. He could hear the echo of the killer’s boots on the pavement. He was rapidly losing his strength, but he still had his normal senses.

  “My client wants you dead, Sweetwater.” The voice came from the darkness beyond the senses-dazzling light. “But there is no great rush. I haven’t had a job like this in a while. I’m going to take my time.”

  “Who hired you?” Owen managed.

  “He called himself Newton, but I doubt that’s his real name. Seemed to know a lot about you, though. He said you’re a talent. Told me where I could find you. He knew all about your whore in Garnet Lane, you see.”

  “He gave you that device you used to blind me?”

  “He called it the Quicksilver Mirror. Told me it was valuable and that he’d want it back as soon as I finished with you. But between you and me, I plan to keep it. Right handy, it is.”

  “Did he tell you why he wants me dead?”

  “Doesn’t seem to like you very much. I got the impression that you’re standing in the way of something he wants.”

  Owen felt himself growing colder. His vision and hearing started to dim. The energy of the mirror was affecting his normal senses now.

  “He gave you the mirror because he knew you couldn’t take me with just your talent alone,” he said.

  “That’s a bloody damn lie.” Outraged by the insult, the hunter moved closer. “I could kill you before you take another breath. I don’t need this mirror to finish you off.”

  Owen gathered what was left of his strength. It took almost everything he had, but he managed to move his hand back to his ankle. His fingers touched the sheath strapped to his leg.

  “You’re burning a lot of energy keeping that mirror hot,” he rasped. “You’re exhausting your talent.”

  “Unlike you, I’ve got plenty to spare,” the hunter snarled.

  The paranormal brilliance was definitely fainter now. The hunter did not realize how much energy he was using to wield the mirror. He was too excited, too focused on the thrill of the kill. Emotions were always the enemy when it came to this sort of thing, Owen thought.

  “You’re definitely weakening,” Owen said. “You won’t be able to finish this.”

  “Let’s find out,” the hunter growled.

  The blinding paranormal radiance flashed once more, sending another searing wave of energy across Owen’s senses. In the next instant the terrible light winked out like a gas lamp that had been turned down.

  “Damn thing is broken,” the hunter said. “But I told you, I don’t need it.”

  “Not broken. You don’t have enough strength left to focus it.”

  “Bastard. I’ll show you who is weak.”

  The hunter hurled the mirror aside. It clanged on the paving stones. Owen was vaguely aware that he did not hear the sound of glass breaking, but there was no time to analyze the implications.

  The hunter rushed toward him, moonlight glinting on the knife in his hand. He was not nearly as fast as he had been at the start of the confrontation. He had used too much energy controlling the paranormal weapon. But he was still quick and savage, still enraged.

  Freed of the pressure of the mirror, Owen could breathe freely again. But when he tried to heighten his talent he got no response.

  He yanked the knife out of the ankle sheath. The hunter reached for him, intending to lock him in a choke hold and secure him for the killing slash across the throat.

  Owen twisted onto his side, managing just barely to avoid the hunter’s hand. He brought the knife up in the same instant, felt it sink deep into flesh.

  The hunter grunted, recovering his balance with startling speed, and leaped back. The quick action caused him to pull free of the knife. Blood gushed forth from his chest.

  For a split second, the hunter did not seem to comprehend what had happened. He looked down at the blood spraying out of his body, and then he raised his head to stare at Owen.

  “No,” he said. “No, it’s not possible. You’re not a hunter.”

  “You should not have called her a whore,” Owen said softly. “In my family we do not allow anyone to insult our women.”

  The hunter stared, horrified and bewildered, for another second. He crumpled to the pavement.

  Dragging in a lungful of air, Owen called on what was left of his resources to haul himself to his feet. It took just about everything he had left to stagger the short distance to the body. He knew before he checked for a pulse that the hunter was dead, but he crouched down and put his fingers on the man’s throat. When it came to their work, Sweetwaters were always thorough.

  He heard the others in the lane, but his head was spinning now. He tried to focus. One man, he decided, moving very fast, hunter-fast.

  “Uncle Owen, are you all right?” Matt stopped at the sight of the body. “What happened?”

  Alarm slashed through Owen. “You left Virginia alone?”

  “What? No, sir, of course not. Tony is with her. She couldn’t keep up with us, so they sent me on ahead. They’ll be along any moment now.”

  “What the devil? You allowed her out of the house?”

  “Couldn’t stop her, sir. She said you were in terrible danger. Said we had to find you. Insisted on coming with us. He looked at the body. “Who is this?”

  “Hunter-talent. Someone named Newton gave him a commission to kill me.”

  “Bloody hell.” Matt surveyed him with concern. “Looks like he came close. Are you all right?”

  Owen ignored the question. He was on the verge of passing out. He had to stay focused awhile longer.

  “Make sure you get the weapon,” he said.

  “What weapon?”

  “I don’t know what it is. Never got a good look at it. He called it the Quicksilver Mirror. I heard him drop it on the pavement.”

  Owen turned to search the darkened street. The small movement cost him his balance. A great gray fog was enveloping his mind. He would have gone down to his knees if Matt hadn’t caught his arm.

  With Matt’s help he made his way the short distance to the weapon. It resembled a lady’s hand mirror of the sort one might see on a dressing table. It was lying facedown on the paving stones. He started to lean over to pick it up and spotted the black velvet bag nearby.

  “Hand me that sack,” he said.

  Matt scooped up the bag and gave it to him. Owen crouched and gingerly picked up the mirror. He thought he felt a faint shiver of energy when his fingers closed around the handle, but his mind was so muddled now and his senses so unresponsive that he could not be certain. Careful to keep the glass aimed downward, he inserted the artifact into the velvet sack and tightened the strip of leather that bound it shut.

  He reeled again when he tried to get to his feet. More footsteps sounded in the lane. He turned his head very cautiously, afraid he mi
ght humiliate himself by fainting dead away. His vision blurred, but he saw two people running toward him. Well, Virginia was running, he thought. Tony was loping casually alongside.

  “Owen.” Virginia rushed forward. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” he said automatically. Then he realized that was not true. “No.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” He thrust the velvet bag into her hand. “Take this. It’s a weapon of some kind, a looking glass. The nature of your talent means that you are probably more qualified to handle it than any of the rest of us. But be very, very careful. It has blinded my senses, perhaps permanently.”

  “No,” she said. “They will revive.”

  He smiled a little at her fierceness and opened his arms to fold her close. But the black night closed in and began to seep through him.

  Somewhere in the darkness he heard Virginia calling his name, speaking to him in that same bracing tone.

  “I will not let you go, Owen Sweetwater. Do you hear me? You must not leave. I will not allow you to leave. Hold on to me.”

  He thought he sensed her hand gripping his, but her voice grew fainter as he sank down into the bottomless depths. In the end all was darkness.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Do you think Uncle Owen’s psychic blindness will be permanent, Miss Tate?” Tony asked.

  “I have no way of knowing,” Charlotte said. She closed the heavy volume she had been reading and glanced uneasily at the black velvet bag on top of the chest of drawers. “According to my research, the Quicksilver Mirror is capable of blinding the senses permanently and even causing death. The power of the device, however, is directly related to the psychical strength of the person who wields it. The stronger the talent, the more radiation the mirror emits. Conversely, the amount of permanent damage that is done to the victim’s senses depends on how strong the victim is, psychically speaking.”

  “Owen will recover,” Virginia said. She tightened her grip on his hand. “He is strong. I can feel his energy. He just needs time to heal, that’s all.”

  They were crowded into her small bedroom. Owen was tucked into the bed. Matt and Tony had placed him there after carrying him back from the lane. He was in a profound but restless sleep. Mrs. Crofton had decreed that he be covered with only a sheet because he was feverishly hot. Virginia knew that the fever was psychical in origin, a result of the severe injury that had been done to his senses.

  She had not let go of him since he had collapsed, unconscious. She dared not let go. She sensed that the link between them was his best hope. Her intuition told her that he was drawing on her strength to mend his shattered senses.

  She had dispatched Matt to fetch Charlotte with instructions to bring all of the books on mirrors that were housed in the bookshop. They needed to know more about the strange hand mirror. Nick Sweetwater had arrived with Charlotte and the books. Virginia had been startled to see the two of them together at that hour of the night, but there had been no time to ask questions.

  Mrs. Crofton loomed in the doorway, a steaming mug in her hand. “I have made a pot of coffee, as I doubt that any of you will get much sleep tonight.” She looked at Virginia with her usual forbidding expression. “I brought some upstairs for you, ma’am, because I knew you would not be leaving this room for a time.”

  Virginia smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Crofton. I appreciate that.”

  Mrs. Crofton dipped her chin in minimal acknowledgment of the gratitude and set the mug on the nightstand. She looked at Owen.

  “He is still feverish,” she said. “I’ll bring some more cold washcloths.”

  “Thank you,” Virginia said again.

  Mrs. Crofton turned and stalked out of the room.

  Nick watched her leave. He was clearly awed. When she was on the stairs, he turned back to Virginia. “Your housekeeper is extraordinary. You have two men guarding your house. You rush off into the night with no explanation. You bring an unconscious man into your bedroom and invite several people to join you. And yet she shows no signs of being alarmed.”

  “As I have told Owen, Mrs. Crofton is a gem of a housekeeper,” Virginia said. “But I fully expect her to give notice at any moment.”

  “She doesn’t appear to be about to do any such thing,” Nick said. He turned back to Charlotte. “Is there anything more about the effects of the Quicksilver Mirror in that book?”

  “Only that the device was crafted in the seventeenth century by an alchemist.”

  Nick frowned. “That means it dates from the time of Sylvester Jones. I wonder if he made it.”

  “I don’t think he had anything to do with it,” Charlotte said. “According to this book, the alchemist was a woman who called herself Alice Hooke.” Charlotte took off her glasses and polished the lenses with a handkerchief. “The only reason I was able to find out as much as I did concerning the history of the mirror in such a short time this evening is because I had already done a considerable amount of research on the subject of looking glasses.”

  Virginia glanced at the black velvet bag. “Another mirror has popped up in this case. That cannot be a coincidence.”

  Nick looked thoughtful. “I agree with you. It is too much to believe that yet another powerful weapon based on glasslight would show up in this investigation unless there was some connection. But the Quicksilver Mirror is quite different from the curiosities. It is much older, for one thing.”

  “And is not a clockwork toy,” Virginia said.

  Charlotte tapped the large leather-bound tome she had been reading. “The mirror is much older, so we know it was not made by Mrs. Bridewell. But I agree, there must be some link to the case.”

  Nick frowned. “The mirror is a dangerous and no doubt valuable artifact, yet someone entrusted it to a common street ruffian to use against Owen this evening. Someone was very desperate to get him out of the way.”

  “Well,” Charlotte said, “I’m afraid all we can do at the moment is wait and see if Mr. Sweetwater is strong enough to recover from the effects of the mirror.”

  “He will recover,” Virginia vowed.

  “We might have a better notion of his chances if we had some idea of just how strong the attacker was,” Charlotte said.

  “We have no way of knowing that now that he is dead,” Tony said.

  “He was certainly powerful enough to do serious damage with the damn mirror,” Nick said grimly.

  Virginia gave him a sharp, reproving glare. “The one thing we know for certain is that Owen defeated him. That means Owen is the stronger of the two.”

  Nick, Tony and Matt exchanged glances. None of them spoke.

  “What is it?” Virginia demanded. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at each other that way?”

  Nick cleared his throat. “We don’t really know that Uncle Owen was the stronger in terms of talent, Miss Dean, not for certain.”

  “What do you mean?” she said. “He is the one who survived the encounter.”

  “But he used a knife,” Tony said, as if explaining a very elementary principle to a not-very-bright child. “Not his talent. The mirror rendered his psychical senses useless.”

  Virginia frowned. “What are you saying?”

  “Just that Uncle Owen did not survive because of his talent,” Matt said.

  “I see,” Virginia whispered. She tightened her grip on Owen’s hand.

  Nick looked at the unconscious man. “He is a hunter of a sort, but he is not a true hunter-talent like Tony or Matt. His reflexes, eyesight and coordination are excellent but not preternaturally so.”

  “Is that why he carries a knife concealed in his boot?” Charlotte asked.

  “No,” Tony said. “He carries a knife in his boot because all Sweetwaters carry knives in their boots.”

  “Used to be a dagger,” Matt offered. “But we have moved with the times.”

  “Family tradition,” Nick explained. “In keeping with the family motto.”

  “Talent is useful, but keep your d
agger sharp,” Virginia quoted softly.

  “It sounds better in the original Latin,” Tony said.

  Virginia gave him a weary smile. “No doubt.”

  “Owen’s great talent is his ability to predict the behavior of the monsters,” Nick explained. “Not his speed or his night vision.”

  Charlotte looked at him. “I can’t see how the ability to predict the killer’s behavior would have been enough tonight. I mean, he already knew that the footpad was trying to kill him.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Nick said. “Owen has a knack for provoking people. He says that if a man can be prodded into losing his self-control, he can be manipulated quite easily, regardless of the level of his talent. I suspect that is exactly what happened tonight.”

  Tony looked at Owen. “It does appear that Uncle Owen sliced things a bit close, so to speak, on this occasion, however.”

  Virginia shivered. “Yes.”

  “Usually he leaves no trace of violence,” Matt said. “But there was a lot of blood in the lane tonight. At first I feared that at least some of it was his.”

  Virginia shuddered at the memory of the blood on Owen’s hands and clothes. “So did I.”

  “Do you believe that Mr. Sweetwater deliberately provoked his attacker into some reckless move?” Charlotte asked.

  “Uncle Owen has a gift for shattering nerves,” Tony said proudly.

  Virginia looked at Owen. His profound state of sleep did little to soften the hard planes and angles of his face. Even unconscious, he managed to appear dangerous. His psychical senses had been blinded, but dark energy nevertheless whispered in the atmosphere around him.

  “His aura no doubt unnerves some people,” Virginia said.

  “Perhaps that is the reason he has never married,” Charlotte said.

  Virginia realized that the three Sweetwater men were exchanging yet another mysterious look.