Of Coppers and Cracksmen

by Katherine McIntyre

  He stepped in front of her, his arms moving automatically to draw her against him. She slid her knives into her waistband and collapsed against his chest, sharp, staccato breaths shuddering out of her. His heart burned at seeing the confident woman so devastated. The loathing he held for the monster roaming the streets grew, a candle flame flaring bright enough to take an entire house down.

  Bernard wrapped an arm around Ellie, holding her as her breaths began to grow more even. He gripped his pistol, wary for any movement in the shadows. With their vantage point near the wall, most of the church spanned out before him with a clear view of the entrance. Nothing sinister slunk in the shadows despite the way his eyes begged to play tricks on him.

  “Don’t suppose the bloody coward will have loitered around now that you’ve showed up,” Ellie murmured.

  “They usually don’t,” Bernard responded, his voice coming out in a low rasp. He’d seen twisted games for far too long, hunting monsters like the Butcher who preyed on those they viewed as weaker or more isolated. Unfortunately for the Butcher of Broad Street, he’d made his greatest mistake in targeting Ellie Whitfield. If ever a woman could fend off a mass murderer, she could.

  “Well if we want to draw the bastard out, I heard I make the perfect bait,” Ellie responded, her voice muffled with the way she pressed against his chest. He clutched her a little tighter. Her words were tinged with bitterness, but he couldn’t stifle the thrum of admiration at how she still fought back despite her fears.

  “While you may like to flirt with danger, that’s more of a careen off the cliff,” Bernard responded. His fingers itched to run through her long silken waves. The feel of her pressed against him served to remind him of the kiss she’d stolen earlier in the morning. “I’m sure between our joint intellect we can figure out a better path forward.”

  “Careful, Taylor, that sounds an awful lot like praise,” Ellie quipped, pulling away from his chest at last. Her lips pursed in a hint of a smile even though her dark gaze flickered with unsteadiness. “Need I remind you I’m one of the common criminals your lot likes to pluck off the street?”

  “Come now, we both know there’s never been anything common about you,” he responded, resisting the urge to reach out and touch again, if only to reassure himself that she was safe, that she hadn’t been harmed.

  Even the night couldn’t hide the flush staining her cheeks. It wasn’t like Bernard had any doubt of her inclinations toward him—however, the visible sign caused his chest to twist tight.

  “Enough with your flattery,” Ellie said, brushing her delicate fingers against his arm. She cast a glance to him. “We may as well see if our visitor left any trails to follow.” She tugged out her knives and began to trek forward, which took an astonishing amount of courage given the duress she’d just been under.

  Bernard checked his pistol as he sauntered after her, careful to scan the church around him. Moonlight streamed in through the arched windows, casting dappled beams onto the altar on the opposite side and the stacks of rough stone lining the walls, all part of the reconstruction. The killer had been toying with her, locking her inside the place.

  Ellie wandered closer to the exit, each step careful and premeditated. Bernard couldn’t help but linger close. After the way the Butcher had already intercepted her a keen reminder thundered through his veins. Despite the many promises he’d made, life would enforce its capricious whims no matter how hard he fought. He’d learned those lessons early on.

  Bernard reached the entrance of the church and stopped in front of the door. He pulled out a small box with malleable sides and an intricate copper framework. He’d paid handsomely for this piece from a world-class tinker, and it had been worth every shilling. Ellie strode a little farther past him, scanning her surroundings. Vigilance lingered in her shadowed eyes and controlled stance.

  The moonlight glinted across her glossy raven hair, tumbled from her rush inside the church, and her stubborn lips pursed with a determination he’d once been privy to. The way her shoulders still heaved and the slight unfocused glaze in her eyes tipped him off. She hadn’t just been afraid back there. Bernard clenched his jaw—he’d save that line of questioning for another time.

  While he’d been the last to touch the handle, the Butcher had been the last one to tamper with the lock itself.

  He pressed the flat end of the cube against the lock, and the soft, clay-like substance melded over the surface. The echo-resonator sparked to life, the gears inside clicking and whirring. The center lit up like a nebulous cloud of steam, and a hiss cut through the air. Footsteps barely made a sound as Ellie approached.

  Vapors poured out of the vents on the other side of the cube, coalescing and shifting in the midnight air. The machine formed imprints of the energetic presence of the tethered mark—in this case, the residue from the Butcher’s touch. It had become an instrumental tool in his detective work.

  Even as he’d kept his gaze trained on the echo-resonator, he’d never stopped skimming his peripheral.

  “I see you’ve been holding out on me, detective,” Ellie murmured, a note of curiosity in her voice. “What sort of contraption are you fiddling with?”

  “Just watch,” he responded, his voice low. The killer could be lurking anywhere around here, waiting, staring at them. Yet this chance wouldn’t come often. Most times, too many other signatures covered the crime scene to utilize this device, unless they were in isolated situations. However, the Butcher leaned toward smarts—he dropped his victims in public, which muddled locations.

  At this point, Bernard could all but confirm that the Butcher had dragged the victims to those spots rather than killing them in the streets. Yet the location where the man had murdered them eluded him.

  The vapor began to take shape, filling the air like puffs from the end of a pipe. It grew in size, taller, wider, longer, until the tendrils curled into shapes like arms, like legs. The mists formed a humanoid shape, taller than him but not broader. The shape froze in place, reaching for the lock.

  Ellie let out a low whistle and lowered to a crouch beside him. “Mighty fancy. Can it do other tricks?”

  Bernard shook his head. “We might not have a description of the killer to work with, but even the slightest edge can help. This device was invented to prove individuals were at the scene of a crime, or uncover things tampered with by human hand. At the very least you can minimize your search by height and stature.”

  Ellie pursed her lips. “Sounds troublesome for anyone who might pursue the art of thieving.”

  He cast her a pointed look. Any time his mind wandered on flights of fancy, the reminder settled in his bones that Ellie Whitfield, for all her charms, continued to willfully break the law. At the end of the day, anything to transpire between them would be a transitory, fleeting thing. “Arm the police force with these and it’ll throw the cracksmen right out of business. Not like you’d have anything to worry about with the way you stealth around.”

  From where he stood by the door, he noticed the scuff of boot prints, too large to be Ellie’s and not matching his tread. It hadn’t rained tonight. He filed away the information for later.

  Ellie crouched a breath away from him, yet her gaze didn’t seize upon the vaporous form of the man who stalked her through the city. Instead, Bernard noticed the residual glances she shot toward the church, as if the building itself had struck her with fear. Their eyes met, and she glanced at the cobblestones.

  “Why don’t we take a stroll? I could use a stiff drink,” Bernard suggested. He pulled the echo-resonator from the lock on the door. The vaporous figure dissolved, and the cube whirred as the sides grew blank and dark again.

  Ellie’s brow furrowed as she rose from her crouch. Her fingers twitched in a tremble that he hadn’t missed. No matter how transitory their arrangement might be, he couldn’t help how his heart lunged at the sight of those serious eyes and the slips of vulnerability amid her mask of bravado.

  “What about the original plan
of chasing the Butcher through the city tonight?” Ellie asked, crossing her arms in front of her. “Don’t try to be a gentleman with me now, Taylor. I’m made of sterner stuff than the wilting lilies who trot around these streets.”

  Bernard withheld his grin by a thread and patted himself on his chest. “The sun and moon don’t revolve around you, my dear. I’ve found myself a bit parched from all of the beating-down-doors rubbish we got involved in.”

  Ellie rolled her eyes, but a moment later she heaved a sigh. “My attendance depends on the caliber of the libations.”

  “I may have an unopened bottle of absinthe in need of attention at my house,” Bernard murmured.

  Truth be told, he couldn’t afford a night away from the hunt for this killer. However, with the Butcher’s target on Ellie, they wouldn’t get nearly as much accomplished—not while the killer could be stalking them through the city. He didn’t feel a probing presence at his back, but that didn’t mean the Butcher of Broad Street couldn’t be watching from behind one of the tombstones lining the fields.

  Inviting Ellie Whitfield into his house was a terrible idea on a personal front as well. Yet, as much as they could find another tavern to catch a drink and settle, their two initial incursions had ended in arson and a mad dash. He’d begun to see that Ellie Whitfield and taverns were oil and water. Besides, the idea of bringing her to his home sent flames coursing through him from head to toe.

  Ellie’s dark eyes flared with the same desire, and Bernard’s mouth dried with want.

  The woman’s curves were undeniable, even with the trousers and fitted shirt she wore. All he could envisage was taking the shirt off button by button, then doing away with the trousers. Her voice was throaty and charming to begin with, and he could only imagine how she sounded when moans escaped those full, beguiling lips.

  “Absinthe, you say?” Ellie responded. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ellie couldn’t help but devour their surroundings as Bernard led her closer to his house. This part of town didn’t reek of piss and gin, nor were the cobblestones cracked and splintered. Unbroken windows wore clean frames, and the posh doors created an inviting atmosphere, decidedly unlike Islington’s abject determination to inflict misery upon anyone who strolled through its streets.

  Her heart thrummed in her chest faster than the tick, tick, tick of a clock at a tinker’s table. Bernard walked with a confidence to his stance that she only felt in the worst sections of town. The pair of them couldn’t be more different, yet Ellie couldn’t deny the way the sight of him caused her pulse to soar and how sheer relief saturated her in his presence. The image of Bernard breaking down the door of the church to sweep in to the rescue would linger for a long while.

  Long after she’d danced back to the darkness she’d emerged from.

  “You know,” Bernard murmured in an all-too-idle tone to be genuine, “back in the naval guard, we saw some fairly…lurid sights.”

  “Why take to the sea for that? All you need to do is stroll through Islington at midnight,” Ellie drawled, hooking her thumbs through her belt loops. Her shoulders still hadn’t relaxed, her palms taut and ready to snag her knives the moment a shadow stretched longer than normal.

  He sucked in an exhale, which drew her attention. A distance formed in his eyes, like he’d lost himself in old memories. “In the church, the way you reacted…I recognized the affliction at once. I’ve spent too many nights awake with terrors, and I’ve frozen too many times only for the scent of copper to trickle in like I’m back on those barges.”

  Bernard trailed off, and those firm lips pursed as he returned to the quiet he’d emerged from, even if for a moment.

  Ellie’s throat tightened. She felt seen in a way only her family seemed to glimpse her, and the urge to bolt rode her veins almost as fiercely as the relief snagging her throat with each breath. In the short time she’d known this man, she’d fast come to learn he chose every word with intent, far different from the way she flung her phrases like wayward daggers.

  While she’d cast him plenty of looks along their walks throughout the town, this time, she memorized the sharp lines of his waistcoat and slacks, the angle of his jaw and the furrow of his brow in deep thought, all softened like moonlight’s reflection over the water.

  The silence between them stretched out like a tunnel and their footsteps echoed ever louder as her mind reeled. For the first time, the quick retorts melted on her lips. For the first time, she wanted to tell the truth.

  “Ah, that,” was all she managed to get out at first, the words stilted on her tongue, the burgeoning truth foreign there. Bernard’s gaze zeroed in on her with an intensity that begged for retreat—in those depths lay folly. Her heart thumped a little harder.

  Ellie never followed orders well, even her own.

  “About a year ago, I got in a spell of trouble with one of the gangs I used to run with. Blair used to rule the streets around here, and he tended to have the best jobs. I wanted in, or so I thought,” Ellie murmured. Saying the words out loud caused a shiver to pulse through her, like the night sky had somehow drifted down to stain her skin darker.

  “Long story short, a couple of poor decisions on my part, and I found myself locked away in Blair’s basement. The beatings they levied didn’t bother me much,” she mentioned, tugging on a stray curl. It wasn’t like she’d enjoyed the pain, but that, she could endure. “It was the silence. The dark, creeping silence that stretched for hours down there alone.” Her voice grew hoarse and her skin seared like someone was pouring acid, but she continued. “Never knowing if the next time he came down would be the end, or if anyone out there even knew I’d gone missing.”

  Theo and Silas had saved her, a blessing she’d begun to feel she didn’t deserve. After all, she was the one who’d snuck out in the wee hours of the night to pilfer from the rich. She was the sister who’d sometimes disappear for days at a time if she were running a particular job to bring in the income she and Theo both shared the burden of. She got the morbs whenever her mind circled around the subject.

  “Ever since then, I’ve never been able to tolerate enclosed spaces. Not for long, at least.” A finality settled over her with those words out in the air, freed from their prison.

  Ellie couldn’t bring herself to look over at Bernard.

  Quiet spread between them like censure, and her heels tugged with the urge to run the other way and never look back. Bernard came to a halt in front of a tidy-looking flat with a large black door and two deadbolts. By the precise lines of the place, the even stones and the heavy curtains blocking the windows, she had little doubt who this house belonged to.

  Warm fingers brushed against her chin. Somehow, he’d slipped to her side before she’d realized.

  Bernard stared at her, his tawny eyes full of a wonder that made her chest twist tight. Dangerous. This man was dangerous for her. Far too fast, she could see herself falling for the strength he radiated, for the wry quirk of his smile. Her lip trembled. She caught herself, but those intense eyes seized upon the motion. When he trailed his thumb across her lower lip, a sinful shudder rolled down her spine.

  She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t tear herself away from the inferno that blazed between them or the magnetic pull of his alluring eyes. She’d tasted him earlier, but sunlit kisses didn’t compare to those stolen under the moon.

  Ellie leaned in, but he’d already caught the motion. He pressed his palm against the nape of her neck and guided her up. She lifted to her toes to reach him, splaying her fingers on his chest as she brushed her lips to his in a kiss. Bernard let out a low growl in the back of his throat. He swept his tongue into her mouth in a caress, and he kissed with a ferocity that made her forget they were standing in the middle of his street in front of his home.

  Bernard pulled back, and a small noise of protest escaped her lips.

  He grinned. “I promised you a drink inside, my dear.”

  Ellie lifted an
eyebrow. “Treating me like a high-class lady won’t take the ruffian out of me.”

  “You have more merit than class could ever allow,” Bernard responded, with an honesty in his tone that stroked at her heart.

  The normal blokes she ran with might leer at her or make a pass, and if the man was handsome enough and didn’t talk too much, she would go for a tangle in the bedsheets. Those men were cheap, fleeting and far from memorable, unlike Bernard Taylor. He didn’t throw slick lines, but those never worked on her anyway—she was far too well-versed. Instead, his genuine compliments drove straight through to her heart. And the sheer spark that flared around him, how a single kiss had left her breathless—Ellie could guarantee she’d never experience the like of this man again.

  Ellie swept her hand forward in a mocking bow. “Well then, after you, detective.” She’d tugged her composure from the cobblestones, but barely.

  Bernard pulled out his keys and they jangled as he unlocked deadbolt after deadbolt. A paranoid man after her own heart. Her shoulders lifted and fell from the sensations whirling through her in the wake of their kiss. If anything could expunge the earlier terror from her mind, it was that man’s lips. Ellie cast a cursory glance down the streets on either side, but she didn’t feel the crawling tension smeared through the air, not like before.

  For these stolen moments with Bernard, she felt safe, and that was a gift unto itself.

  His door creaked open, and he gestured inside. “After you.”

  Ellie stepped in through the doorway, and the scent of cedar wafted toward her. Clicks sounded behind her as Bernard locked back up. She’d crept into these sorts of buildings before, and she didn’t have the heart to confess that while the locks might deter most, she could enter through the second story window. Houses like these made for perfect targets—if a person had enough coin for a proper place like this, their belongings might be worth nicking.