“What if the spells don’t hold?” Tumblety argued. “I told you it was a mistake for him to kill the other witch. Thwaites said that the witch had a plan to stop the gessyan, put them back where they came from. Now what? All those deaths along the rivers, they’re attracting too much attention. Sooner or later, someone’s going to come looking around here.”
“Like that Scottish detective?” Brunrichter said contemptuously. “After what happened at the morgue, no one will listen to him. Thwaites said he fixed it with the cops.”
“I don’t like it,” Tumblety replied petulantly.
“Gah. You worry too much. Herr Veles is a powerful Zauberer. He’ll take care of it.”
“If he’s so powerful, why hasn’t he sent the gessyan back where they came from? And why’d he need that Polish witch?” Tumblety said. “Maybe he doesn’t want the spirits to go away. Maybe he’s got a plan he hasn’t told anyone about.”
“These new bodies appear to be usable,” Tumblety replied. “I would have liked to see some bigger men, heavier boned. Easier to sink the mechanisms in when the bones are strong.” He walked over to one of the bodies. “This one will be tricky. Young and strong, but slightly built.”
“I’ve talked to Veles about the possibility of pre-selecting our corpses,” Brunrichter said. “Identify the workers with the right body types, and then make them available to us. Cuts down on waste.”
Drostan felt his stomach tighten at the casual discussion of murder.
“Let’s check the other shipments,” Tumblety said. “I think the new embalming fluid should be strong enough to overcome the extremity failure we’ve seen. I can adjust the mix.”
“I want to get started in the morning,” Brunrichter warned. “The bodies are fresh. Good if your fluid is here, but we begin with or without it.”
The lights were switched off and Drostan heard the two men shut and lock the door behind them. He remained where he was long enough to assure himself that Brunrichter and Tumblety would not hear him leave by the side door.
In the darkness, he heard footsteps. Drostan had his gun out as he reached for the door. A hand came down heavily on his shoulder, and he turned to meet the open, staring glass eyes of one of the clockwork corpses barely visible in the low light.
Choking back a cry, Drostan fired at close range into the mechanical zombie’s chest. The suppressor deadened the noise, but it still seemed to echo in the cavernous warehouse. He knew he could not kill a dead man, but the shot sent the creature stumbling backwards, giving Drostan enough room to squeeze through the door and make it outside. He quickly locked the door behind him.
He had no idea whether the zombies would try to follow through the door, but he knew he could not hold them off by himself. Taking that shot was risky. Drostan flattened himself against the side of the building, willing his body to stop shaking, listening for signs of pursuit.
Bam. Bam. Bam. Heavy fists pounded against the door behind him. The zombies might not be able to open the padlocked door, but they could pound away at it until the door either broke or someone came to investigate. Drostan heard voices, coming closer. He did not wait to see who they belonged to, but set off as fast as he dared, staying in the shadows, eyeing the dark stretches between buildings where he might be spotted.
A guard reached the spot where the clockwork corpses were pounding on the door and blew an ear-splitting blast on his whistle. Drostan melted into the shadows. More guards joined the first at the building Drostan had just left. The door to Tumblety and Brunrichter’s hellish laboratory flew open, guards screaming as the clockwork zombies pushed their way out.
The guards’ screams would bring more security men; Drostan’s chance to escape was fading fast. Drostan ran toward the hole in the fence where he had entered—he didn’t need Farber’s locater, in the end—only to find three more clockwork zombies between him and the fence. He eyed the distance to his bicycle on the other side of the fence. The zombies would be on him before he could make it.
Drostan heard the rhythmic scrape of wheels on rails and looked up. Cars loaded with coal were heading out of the Vesta Nine compound. He glanced at the zombies, then at the train cars, and began to sprint. The zombies could not change direction quickly, but his movement attracted the attention of the human guards. A shot hit the ground near Drostan’s feet.
“Hey you! Stop!”
Drostan kept running. Glancing back, he saw the clockwork zombies heading his way with a terrifying singleness of purpose. If I survive this, I’m charging George Brand double.
As a teenager back in Scotland, Drostan had occasionally hopped freight trains. That was a long time ago, when he was younger and faster. The coal cars were slowly accelerating, and Drostan knew that if he did not catch up soon, he would never be able to jump onboard.
More shots, one of them nearly grazing Drostan’s left shoulder. He swore under his breath, pivoted, and squeezed off three shots; two hit the zombies, knocking one flat on its ass and forcing another back several steps. The third shot went just shy of the pursuing guards, since Drostan had no desire to have blood on his hands this evening.
Drostan thanked the stars for his long legs and ran after the last coal car. The zombies were close behind. He jumped, and his hands caught the back of the last car, just as cold, strong hands clamped onto his leg, nearly pulling him free. The train was accelerating, and Drostan felt as if he were flying off the end of it like a flag.
A shot zinged off the side of the car, sending up a shower of sparks. Drostan let the train’s momentum swing his body from side to side, the zombie on his ankle flailing behind him. One of the zombie’s legs tore off, when its left foot caught in the railroad ties. The right leg ripped away a moment later. The torso swayed crazily, and the zombie began to climb, hand-over-hand, up Drostan’s leg.
Holding on for all he was worth, Drostan swung himself to the right just as they passed a light post. The pole caught the zombie in the chest with enough force that it nearly tore Drostan from his hold on the car. The blow shattered bone, and ripped the undead creature’s torso away, leaving two severed arms clinging as tightly as before.
With a monumental effort, Drostan heaved himself into the coal car and began kicking at the zombie hands, not resting until he had broken both limbs free and pitched them overboard. Only then did he lean back on the hard bed of coal and draw a deep, shuddering sigh of relief.
We’ve got the missing links. We know what happened to Jasinski, and we’ve confirmation on the tourmaquartz—those ‘precious crystals’. With luck, Jacob and Hans would turn up more evidence, and Mitch would find something of value in the records. A ‘simple’ murder investigation had become a dangerous conspiracy, and until it was finished, Drostan was in the crosshairs.
JAKE, NICKI, AND Rick dropped off ‘Dynamite’ Danny Maguire at a corner where a hansom cab was waiting. When they were alone, Jake slumped in his seat, still clutching Marcin of Krakow’s book.
“Want to talk about it?” Nicki asked.
Jake shook his head. “No. There were monsters.”
Nicki nodded, as if that answered everything. “All right. You’re both here,” Nicki said. “You’ve got the book, and the Alekanovo stone. So how did they end up at the Carnegie?”
Jake sat up, cradling the book. “Good question. It could be an innocent mistake.”
Rick snorted. “Yeah. Sure.”
Jake shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time a box went awry, and we do a lot of work for the museum.”
“Maybe,” Rick admitted grudgingly. “At least it kept it away from Veles and Thwaites.”
“What’s the plan?” Nicki asked.
“We take the stone and the book back to Andreas and Renate, and hope to high heaven that they can figure out a way to use them to stop the gessyan—and get some justice for Father by shutting down Veles and Thwaites,” Jake replied. “We’d never be able to make a case against them for Father’s death in court—and that’s not even counting Thwaite
s’s influence with the judges,” he added. “So we’ll have to take the matter into our own hands.”
“Think we’ll hear from Fletcher tomorrow?” Rick asked.
Jake checked his pocket watch. “Probably. Here’s hoping he found something noteworthy out at Vesta Nine.”
The carriage lurched, throwing them from their seats. Charles, with Kovach riding shotgun, was taking them at ever-increasing speeds through the dark, empty streets of New Pittsburgh.
“What the hell?” Jake muttered, climbing back to his seat with an arm around the book, while Rick held on tightly, keeping the precious Alekanovo stone safe in his lap. Kovach banged three times on the window between the carriage and the driver, a warning that something was wrong. Nicki muttered under her breath in street French, her derringer already in hand.
Jake and Rick peered from the carriage’s windows. The wide expanse of Fifth Avenue lay dark and empty. Maybe too dark.
“Am I imagining things, or are the shadows… wrong?” Jake said.
Rick frowned, staring into the darkness. “Now that you mention it, they seem to be following us.”
Rick peeled off his jacket and nestled the Alekanovo stone in it, laying it carefully on the floor of the carriage. Jake did the same with Marcin of Krakow’s book and drew his gun, although what use it would be against shadows he did not know.
Outside, the streetlights seemed to struggle just to cast a pale glow. By the time the carriage passed each light, the last was already lost in utter blackness. The night was unnaturally quiet. And then, in the darkness, Jake saw movement.
“Something’s out there,” he said, watching the shadows for another glimpse.
“I saw it,” Rick agreed. “Don’t know what it is, but it’s fast.”
“Not ‘it’. Them. Whatever’s out there, there’s a lot of them.”
Charles urged the horses to greater speed. Jake and Rick grappled for a hold as the carriage jolted over the paving stones.
Something heavy struck the carriage from the side and Jake heard the report of Kovach’s rifle. Another thud, the sound of a body striking the coach, and now Jake could hear the scrabble of claws very close at hand.
Kovach fired again, and an infernal cry rent the night air. A body fell away from the carriage, and its wheels jolted as the coach rolled over the attacker.
“What in Hell are those things?” Rick asked, staring out the window.
They were huge black dogs the size of lions. Red-eyed, frothing at the mouth, the creatures snarled and howled, displaying powerful jaws filled with stained, pointed teeth.
“Hell hounds,” Jake replied. “Another type of gessyan. Something Veles probably called up. I think that he knows we found Jasinski’s shipment.”
“Mon Dieu,” Nicki said. “In France, they are called rongeurs d’os, ‘bone crushers’. They draw their power from the dead.” Fifth Avenue was close to both the Minserville and German cemeteries. “We need to get away from the graveyards!”
Jake flinched as Kovach’s rifle fired three times in quick succession. One of the black hounds fell from the side of the carriage, only to be replaced by another, sinking its claws deep into the carriage frame.
“Steel plates or not, it’s not going to be long before those things either rip the carriage to pieces or go after Kovach and the horses; and even with their armor, I don’t like their chances,” Rick said. “Got a plan?”
Veles sent his shadow-double looking for the Alekanovo stone and Marcin’s book at the museum. He knows I saw him and he’s got to suspect I found what he was looking for, Jake thought. The alarms bought me time; Veles couldn’t go after me in the confusion. But he knew we had to head home eventually. And when we did—
“Behind you!” Rick shouted as one of the black hounds ripped away a corner of the carriage.
Jake dove to the other side, and the three of them opened fire. The bullets tore into the hell hound’s massive body, knocking it away. With a heavy impact and the scrabbling of claws, another monster took the place of the first. Jake planted a bullet square in its maw.
“This isn’t going well,” Nicki said.
“Keep shooting,” Jake snapped. “Cover me.”
The night air had grown unseasonably cold, and through the hole in the carriage, Jake could hear the hell hounds howling. The carriage lurched violently from side to side, and Jake heard the panicked squeal of the horses. He pressed a button, and a panel slid back to reveal the Gatling gun protruding from its bullet-proof glass bubble.
Rick squeezed off more shots to keep the hell hounds away and Nicki kept watch while Jake got into position. His seat swiveled, allowing him to lay down covering fire in a smooth sweep. The shots echoed, tearing into asphalt and ripping through the creatures’ bodies. He cheered as a dozen of the monstrous predators were torn apart under the Gatling gun’s firepower.
The victory was short-lived. Jake’s Gatling gun could keep the hounds away from the back of the carriage, but could do nothing to keep the creatures from circling around to block their progress, or to hedge them in from the sides.
The carriage came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street as an iridescent curtain of shimmering energy sprang up out of nowhere, surrounding them in a glittering barrier, before it swept out toward the hell hounds with the force of a tidal wave.
“What’s going on?” Rick said. “Why the hell are we stopping?”
“Off hand, I’d say it’s because we’ve got new players,” Jake replied. Rick bent down to see out through the glass bubble. Two figures dressed in long black cassocks had stepped from the shadows on the right.
“We’ve got two more over here,” Nicki called out, watching from the carriage window to the left.
“Damn. Friend or foe?” Jake asked.
“That all depends on what they do next,” Rick replied.
Both of the black-clad men had their arms upraised. Energy crackled from their outstretched palms, gathering for another salvo. The hounds had been driven back, but they could not or would not admit defeat, and Jake could see them readying for another assault.
“What the bloody hell is going on with that stone?” Rick asked.
Jake turned to look at where the Alekanovo stone lay on the coach floor. The runes carved into the black surface glowed with an inner fire and Jake felt a hum in the air, like the charge just before a lightning strike.
A pillar of light burst from the stone, streaming through the runes. It shone from the coach windows, from the bubble of the gunner’s mount, and from the hole the hound had torn, blindingly bright. Jake threw up an arm to shield his eyes, while Nicki and Rick fell back, covering their faces.
The Alekanovo stone’s fiery light erupted into the night sky and joined with the iridescent curtain of power raised by the four black-robed strangers. The energy swelled, too bright to watch, and then sent a powerful shockwave out from the circle, sweeping aside the hounds and the shadows with a blazing, scouring tide. To Jake, it felt as if the universe had gathered its breath and released it in a mighty blast.
Silence and darkness returned. Jake blinked, his vision still clouded. Rick righted himself and climbed back into his seat. Nicki smoothed her hair back with a shaking hand.
“Out of the frying pan…” Jake muttered as he saw two of the four dark-clad men moving toward the carriage. He reached for the controls to the Gatling gun, fearing the worst, but sparks flew as he touched the metal, and he jerked his hand back reflexively.
“We did not come to harm you,” one of the men said. “The hell hounds are gone. They will not trouble you again tonight.”
“Who are you?” Jake shouted.
“We are the Logonje,” said a dark-haired, bearded man in his early thirties. “I’m Father Matija. Andreas Thalberg feared for you and sent us to bring you back safely.” He looked at Nicki. “I believe your friend can vouch for us. We have met before.”
Nicki nodded. “He’s the one I told you about, the one who helped Renate keep that thing
at Jasinski’s apartment from coming after us.”
“You carry a precious cargo,” Matija said. “Drive on, and we will make sure you reach your destination safely.”
At that, the four men stepped back from the road, and Charles urged the horses on. Jake stayed close to the Gatling gun.
“Renate and Matija knew each other, even before he showed up at Jasinski’s apartment,” Nicki said as the carriage drew away and the four priests faded into the darkness.
“I certainly appreciate the help, but I’m not sure that I’m ready to trust them just yet,” Jake replied. He retracted the Gatling gun and took his seat. “Then again, I’m not surprised the Thalbergs have called in reinforcements.”
“Reinforcements?” Rick mused. “Or allies? I can’t quite imagine Father Matija and his priests working for Andreas Thalberg, although if the threat was great enough, they might work with him.”
“Just as he worked with Renate,” Nicki added.
Jake shrugged. “I guess we’ll see. For the moment, if someone isn’t shooting at us or trying to rip our heads off, that’s good enough for me.”
When they arrived back at the Desmet house, Catherine was waiting for them in the kitchen. Mrs. Jones already had a kettle boiling and a first aid kit on the table. She tended to Jake’s cuts and bruises and wrapped his badly bruised and scraped shin while Catherine poured tea. Jake, Nicki, and Rick took turns recounting what had occurred at the museum, while Catherine listened intently. The set of her mouth and her grip on the fine tea cup gave evidence of her anger and fear.
“I’m just glad that you’re all back safely,” Catherine said when they had finished their tale. “And there was a message from Renate while you were out. She had a vision of danger—she was insistent that I pass along a warning.”
“Spot on, as usual,” Nicki replied, tossing off her tea and looking for some gin to replace it. “Did she say anything else?”
“Only that she thinks it wise for us to gather the whole group tomorrow night. By then, Drostan should have a report for us, and we may know more from Cady and the others as well.” Catherine fussed with one of the pins that held her hair in place, a sure sign she was upset.
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