Tainted (The Soul Chronicles Book 1)

by Morgan L. Busse

  He looped his arm through Kat’s.

  She shot him a look. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  He leaned in as if to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Act like a couple,” he whispered back.

  She narrowed her eyes and worked her jaw.

  His gaze followed a tendril of hair that had escaped her chignon and now lay near her mouth. Maybe he should close the distance and really kiss her. He was half tempted. It would help with the charade.

  Until she slapped him.

  Stephen backed away. Of course she would slap him. And where did that thought come from anyway?

  “All right,” she whispered back, and gave his arm a small tug.

  Stephen blinked, his mind still muddled from the desire of moments ago.

  “Stephen?”

  “Yes. This way.”

  They walked as a couple across the platform and toward the stairs to the left. The train station stood at the end of Main Street. Gas lamps stood like fireflies frozen inside the fog. The scent of sewage and fish filled the damp air.

  Kat held a hand to her mouth and coughed.

  Stephen smirked. “Welcome to Covenshire. Purveyor of fine fish from the Narrow Strait.”

  “Ugh. I can tell.”

  He led her down the first block, then took a left. Another block, and a sharp right. Still, the men stayed a block behind them, casual enough that a regular person never would have realized they were being shadowed. But he had trailed enough people to know when he was being followed himself. He would have to step up his game.

  He went around the next block, two more, crossed the street, and headed for the dance hall nearby. It was a two-story structure with multiple paned windows. Wide stairs led to the double doors and a sign hung across the top, the name of the establishment written in curly letters that promised a good time.

  Kat caught sight of the hall and pulled back. “I agreed to hold your arm. But I am not going in there!”

  “We’re not going to stay.”

  “But . . .” Her face darkened in the dim light.

  “Trust me.”

  She looked over at him, deciding. “And you’re sure we’re being followed?”

  “Yes, although I don’t know who exactly or why.” All he knew was they were investigators, but Kat didn’t need to know that.

  She visibly swallowed. “All right.”

  Stephen patted her hand and led her up the stairs. He opened the door and motioned for Kat to go first. Music drifted through the air: a high feminine voice accompanied by a piano. Hazy blue smoke hung in the dark foyer, drifting in from the double doors flanking a short counter. Gaslights sputtered next to the doors.

  Kat held a hand to her chest, her eyes wide. He could only imagine the kind of stories she had heard about dance halls. Yes, some were rowdy and uncouth. But the dark interior and loud music could provide the cover they needed to throw the investigators off their trail.

  Stephen followed her inside, glancing back as the door shut. The investigators were already crossing the street. They would have to move fast. “This way, to the right.”

  Kat gave him a quick nod, her bearing stiff.

  He led her through the doors. The room opened up into one large auditorium. A dark wood counter ran along the left side, and small, round tables dotted the main floor. The hall was full tonight. At least a hundred customers.

  A stage stood in front, where a woman dressed in a tight blue corset and a short, ruffled skirt stood with her hands clasped, belting out some kind of love song with the tinny piano pounding away in the back. The black feather tucked inside the upsweep of her chestnut hair fluttered side to side.

  Kat stared at the woman, then turned away, cheeks deep red beneath the chandeliers.

  Most of the audience was men, with a few women waiting the tables, their attire similar to that of the woman on the stage. Stephen had a pretty good idea they were here to sell more than just liquor. He tightened his grip on Kat’s hand and searched the room. Somewhere dark, somewhere near an exit—

  There. Near right side of the stage was the back door. He glanced behind him. The investigators had not entered the hall. Perhaps their sensibilities would not let them. After all, the dance hall was not a place for gentlemen.

  But if they were good investigators, they would follow.

  The men from the nearest table looked over, their eyes roving across Kat. One whistled and gave her a wink. Stephen sent the man a scathing look and let his duster fall open just enough to reveal the smooth handles of his revolvers.

  The man’s eyes went wide and he turned back toward the stage. The other men followed suit.

  Stephen guided Kat along the aisle, staying close to the dark drapes that hung along the walls. Others glanced up and away as quickly as the first group. He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea.

  Halfway across the room, the woman ended her song with a high note and the audience clapped and hooted. The investigators appeared in the back.

  Stephen sat Kat down in an empty chair and took a seat between her and the door. “Watch the stage,” he hissed.

  She nodded, her eyes as wide as two saucers.

  Stephen kept his hand on her elbow, his other hand near his gun. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the investigators. They stood in the rear, moving their heads back and forth.

  Just blend in, he reminded himself. Act like you belong here.

  One glance at Kat and it was obvious she didn’t belong here. She looked neither like a mistress nor a workingwoman. Her waist shirt was modest, covered by a simple blue corset and jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a chignon, with that one small curl that clung to her neck.

  He could almost picture her in a classroom with chalk in hand, writing across a blackboard. A schoolteacher. Not a fugitive here in Covenshire, in a dance hall.

  The subtle scent of smoke filled his nose. Stephen blinked and sniffed again. Fire. He glanced around, searching for the orange flames. A glimmer of light caught his eye—

  Stephen looked down at the table. A small flame flickered on the tablecloth right near the candle in the center.

  He frowned and put out the flame with his thumb. A black spot remained where the flame had been, and a whisper of smoke drifted toward the ceiling.

  Kat stared at the spot, mesmerized by it.

  “Just wax,” he whispered and went back to surveying the room.

  Kat remained focused on the burn spot. Her hand flew upward and she clutched her neck. “I can’t stay here.”

  “What?” His head whipped back toward her.

  “I need to get out of here,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

  “We can’t, not yet. Sit tight, we will leave just as soon as . . .” He spotted the men again. They had moved toward the opposite corner from where he and Kat sat, their forms just a shade darker than the shadows. They were still searching the crowd.

  He glanced back at Kat, whose eyes were still fixed on the spot. Was she afraid of fire? “Don’t worry, the place won’t catch on fire.”

  She didn’t appear to hear him. Was she afraid of fire?

  Band music suddenly blasted across the hall, and a row of women clad in tight red corsets and ruffled skirts came through the curtains to the right.

  The women caught Kat’s attention. Her head swung up and her eyes went wide again, moving back and forth along with the women on the stage. “What are they doing?” The dancers started kicking in unison to the beat of the music, showing almost every inch of leg.

  Kat gasped.

  Stephen ran a hand across his face. Good job, Grey. You just exposed a lady to saloon dancing.

  He peered between his fingers. One of the investigators was focused on the dancing women, giving Stephen an idea. He motioned for one of the house ladies. Kat wasn’t going
to like this. He’d apologize later.

  The barmaid approached his table, an empty platter held against her hip. She sized him up and gave him a bold smile. “Can I get you something?”

  “See those men in the corner. The well-dressed ones?” He pointed toward the investigators. The first one was scowling at his partner.

  “You mean the gents?”

  “Yes.” He pulled out a couple of bills. “I need you to distract them.”

  She took the bills and gave him a wink. “Sure you don’t need the distraction yourself?”

  “Already here with a lady.”

  The barmaid looked past his shoulder then shrugged. She tucked the bills into her cleavage and headed toward the investigators.

  Stephen turned around.

  Kat’s gaze bounced between him and the retreating barmaid. “Why did you . . .” She held up a hand and cocked her head down, eyes closed. “Wait, I don’t want to know. The sooner we leave, the better.”

  “Hopefully this will provide just that opportunity.”

  A minute later, Stephen peeked behind. Sure enough, the first inspector seemed to be railing at his partner, whose attention was divided between him and the barmaid playing with his collar. The first man grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

  Stephen shook his head and grinned. Bad move.

  Bouncers appeared in the doorway seconds later and beelined for the investigators. Even some of the other patrons were turning to watch the conflict rather than the dancers on stage.

  Stephen gripped Kat’s elbow. “Time to go.”

  “I agree,” she said under her breath.

  They rose, and he ushered her toward the exit to the right as the sounds of a scuffle broke out behind them. Stephen chanced one more look back. A bouncer had one investigator in a prisoner hold while the other waved a badge in his face and shouted. Stephen bit back a chuckle. Given the impassive look on the bouncer’s face, the investigators wouldn’t be pursing him or Kat anytime soon.

  “Are you laughing?” Kat hissed, sounding scandalized.

  Stephen shook his head, then quickly closed the door behind them to hide his grin. As the latch clicked, the last bit of light vanished from the hallway.

  “Stephen?” Kat whispered, and this time there was a tinge of fear in her voice.

  He sobered. “Here.”

  A hand found his arm and clamped down. Using his other hand, Stephen felt along the wall. An exit should be just down the hall. His fingertips brushed over curls of wallpaper and old glue. Cigar smoke and perfume filled his nose. Kat breathed next to him, her hand tight across his forearm.

  Seconds later his hand met with a doorframe. He trailed his fingers along the wood until they met the knob.

  He swung the door open. Fog and pale light from a gas lamp at the end of the alley filled the doorway. “This way,” he said, leading Kat into the cold, dark night.

  19

  A half an hour of back streets and seedy alleys later, Stephen and Kat reached the pier. Turning, they walked along the waterside street, listening to the seawater ebb and flow unseen below them. Ahead—drawing nearer with each step—the warm glow of gaslights beckoned. As they reached the end of the street, the fog rolled back to reveal an inn at the edge of the docks.

  Rows of windows graced the first and second story, a single door stood to the left, with a large sign above. In faded green paint it said The Screaming Siren. Stephen had no idea what a siren had to do with the inn, or why it was screaming. His only guess was the name came up during a very intoxicated evening and had stuck ever since.

  Kat pointed at the building. “Are we staying there?”

  “Yes. An old friend owns the establishment.”

  Stephen opened the door and ushered her in. A low ceiling hung over a large room filled with wooden tables and chairs. Booths lined the outer edges, each one sporting a fishing net or ocean knick-knack on the wall above it. Despite its name and outer appearance, the Siren was warm and smelled like fresh bread.

  As Stephen breathed in the air deeply and sighed, he sensed Kat relax a degree beside him. His stomach grumbled.

  A couple of old sailors sat in the corner, already stuffing large chunks of bread dipped in the daily stew into their mouths. One looked up, grunted, and went back to eating.

  Marty ran a clean establishment. Kat would be safe here while he made his inquiries.

  Toward the back of the room stood a long counter with a mirror behind it. The man behind the counter turned as they approached. Long strands of dark hair were pulled across his bald head, and a second chin wobbled beneath the first. His shirt barely fit over a girth that had expanded since the last time Stephen had been here over a year ago.

  The man looked up with watery eyes. He blinked and grinned. “Stephen Grey.”

  Stephen gave him nod and a smile. “Marty.”

  “What brings you to Covenshire?”

  “Business. Always business. I need one of your private rooms for a couple of days.”

  Marty’s eyes wandered toward Kat and gave her a glance over. “Mistress?”

  Kat stiffened again, but Stephen spoke up quickly. “No. I’m working a case. And she’s part of it. I’ll take the suite if it’s available.”

  Marty came around the counter, his shirt rolling up to reveal the flab beneath. He pulled the shirt down and tucked it into his sagging pants. “How long will you need the room?”

  Stephen paused. “Five nights.” That would give him time check on Harvey, a retired policeman a day southwest of here, and to see if his old friend Captain Robert Grim was in town. If anyone knew anything, especially if it concerned Austrium, Grim would.

  “I’ll give you the yellow suite.”

  Stephen nodded. “All right.”

  Marty headed across the room. Stephen followed with Kat close behind. Marty puffed his way up the stairs, pausing at the top to open a door. Instead of a room on the other side, there was a long hallway. A single gas lamp lit the corridor.

  “Can’t thank you enough for what you did last year.” Marty pulled a set of keys from somewhere inside his pants as he lumbered down the hallway. “Collier about wiped me out. If you hadn’t arrested him when you did, I would have lost the inn.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  Marty stopped at the third door and worked the lock. “Still, it was mighty helpful. Tell you what”—he pushed the door open and turned—“the rooms are on me, as a thank you for last year.”

  Stephen tipped his head toward the innkeeper. “That is very generous. Thank you, Marty.”

  The room was about the size of Stephen’s living room back home and covered in mustard-colored wallpaper. A large, round table and four chairs took up most of the space, with a green lamp that hung low over the table, casting the rest of the room in shadows. Cigar smoke clung to the space like perfume to a woman’s body. A door stood on either side of the room, leading to two private bedrooms. Perfect.

  Marty stepped back. “Need anything else?”

  Stephen turned back. “Not at the moment.”

  Marty tipped his head. “Stephen. Miss.” He headed down the hall, whistling some rowdy tune.

  Kat watched him, her mouth slightly open, then turned back to Stephen.

  He shrugged. “I meet a lot of interesting people in my profession.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “You certainly do.” She looked back into the room. “So . . . What is this place used for?”

  Stephen walked in. “Card games.”

  Kat wrinkled her nose.

  He pulled out a chair. “Please, take a seat.”

  She walked over and sat down.

  Stephen shut the door and joined her. As he sat down, he took off his hat and placed it on the table. Kat clasped her hands in her lap and looked around at everything but him.

  “H
ow are you doing?”

  She blinked and looked back. “I . . . uh . . .” Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. “Not so well,” she finally admitted and looked down at her hands.

  Stephen leaned back into his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Everyone grieves in their own way.”

  “I wish I could have been there. At the end.”

  “And why weren’t you?”

  Kat looked up.

  “Your father was there. At the funeral.”

  Her face tightened. “You asked me to be honest when we first met. Then let me tell you this. My father and I are not on good terms. In fact, we haven’t spoken to each other in years.”

  That confirmed his suspicions about Kat’s relationship with her father. “So you stayed away because of him?”

  She paused. “Yes. I thought it would be better if I kept away from the funeral.”

  Stephen pulled on the bit of hair beneath his lip. “You said earlier that there were things about your father, things I would never imagine. Do you think he murdered my aunt?”

  Kat met his eyes. “No.” She turned her gaze to the table. “At least not first hand. Science is my father’s life. He is always pushing the boundaries, eager to explore the unknown. Sometimes that has meant choosing to use more . . . unconventional methods in his research.”

  “Such as?”

  Kat rubbed her arm and said nothing for a long time. Just when he thought she wouldn’t answer, she began. “I’ve seen his laboratories in the Tower. Not the ones available for the public to observe. His private ones. When I was twelve”—she rubbed her arm harder—“I stumbled into one of the back rooms. I thought I had heard something . . .”

  The color in her face washed away to a pallor. Silence filled the space.

  Stephen leaned forward. “And?”

  “I found . . . humans.”

  She spoke so quietly that at first Stephen didn’t catch the word. But the look on her face, and the way she said it sent a shiver down his spine. “Humans? Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alive?”