Immanuel shook his head, clasping his hands tightly under his armpits as he circled the boat. “Dr. Hawthorne told me the stages of decomposition, but I’m not sure. I don’t want to touch him, but if he’s loose, at least a day. Probably more.” He swallowed hard. “His hands are just beginning to blister, and his skin is a greenish color.”
“Please, no more, or I will be a greenish color,” Adam said, watching the seals further out play in attempt to cleanse his mind of the man’s corpse. “We need to find someone to deal with this.”
“But what if he was murdered by the same person who killed the selkie? It could be anyone here.”
Adam looked up at the bluff for any sign of passersby before dropping his voice. “Are you saying there could be a serial killer on the island?”
“Possibly. Well, maybe not a serial killer but someone willing to kill. I won’t know for certain until I— until I—” He drew in a shuddering breath as he stared down at the man’s prone body. “I don’t want to.”
“Want to what?”
“Touch him. See him die.”
“Could you even do it with him in this state?”
“I could with Percy.”
Adam sighed at the battle waging across Immanuel’s features. Determination and fear struggled for control, but as Adam reached out to put a hand on his shoulder to steer him away from the boat, Immanuel dove forward and slammed his palm onto the back of the man’s neck. The skin slipped unnaturally, sending a new wave of bitter bile knocking at Adam’s esophagus, but what chased it back was the sudden blankness that fell over Immanuel’s face. For a moment, it was as if he hung suspended on his feet. His body froze in place while his mind disappeared to a realm beyond Adam’s sight. As if shot back into his body, Immanuel staggered forward. His hand caught the edge of the boat as he shuddered and stumbled to one knee. He moved to touch his chest but pulled his hand back, remembering the putrid flesh it had grazed a moment ago. His bichrome eyes watered as he stared at the shells and pebbles dotting the sand.
“Immanuel?”
Turning his gaze to Adam, Immanuel swallowed and slumped down until he sat in the sand with his hands shaking at his sides. “Same. It’s the same.”
“What is?”
“The murderer. I think. I couldn’t see it. It was underwater. It happened so fast.” His eyes went distant, the color of the sea settling over his blue irises. “It rocked the boat, and when— and when he went to see what it was, it grabbed the oar. It hit him with it, but the man pulled a gun. Then, it— it stabbed him with a stick or something.”
Adam raised a henna brow. “A stick?”
“I don’t know what you call it. A big metal stick.”
“But he had a gun? You’re certain?”
Staring at the body for a long moment, Immanuel nodded.
Adam rolled up his sleeve, held his breath, and carefully slipped his hand into the man’s exposed pocket.
“What are you doing?” Immanuel hissed. “Someone will think you’re stealing.”
“You said it yourself, no one is here, and I have an idea of who he is.”
Reaching into his coat pocket, Adam steeled himself against the ooze of congealed blood leeching into the fabric. At least, he told himself it was blood. Nestled deep in the pocket, his fingers brushed against a wad of paper. He carefully pulled it out and set it aside before moving to the man’s other side to tug the edge of his coat out from under him. Fishing through that pocket, he withdrew a pocket watch before he found what he was looking for: a leather wallet. The leather was coated in a layer of offal, but with the edge of his nail, Adam pried it open with a yawning groan. A badge appeared below a paper license.
“Just as I thought; it’s Mr. Jacobs.”
“Jacobs? But—” Immanuel’s eyes ran between the badge and the decomposing corpse slumped in the boat. “What are we going to do? He was our contact. He was supposed to help us. He— We need to contact the Interceptors. You have the telegraph information, don’t you?”
Adam nodded. “Once we figure out what to do with him, we will telegraph them. Help me lift him, so I can reach his breast pockets.”
Biting his lip, Immanuel averted his gaze as he slipped his hands under Jacobs’ shoulders. His body gave beneath his grip, the skin sinking unnaturally with each touch. Immanuel focused on the solid bones of his clavicle, picturing the way they looked, labeling them in his mind in hopes that he could trick himself into thinking that it was merely a body and not a person. Personhood complicated everything.
“Got it,” Adam said, sitting back on his heels. He dropped a few more scraps of paper onto the growing pile beside the boat along with a pocket watch and a small purse of coins. Adam stood to wash his hands in the ocean when he spotted something glinting beneath the seat in the boat. Holding his breath, he reached between the agent’s legs, his fingers brushing against the icy metal of a gun. He gingerly dropped it beside the rest of his belongings before retreating to the water’s edge with Immanuel in tow.
Adam released a breath, watching the cloud of mist dissolve into the aether. His hands burned with cold until he could no longer feel them, but at least the smell and offal was gone. A hesitant smile crossed his lips at the realization that he had figured it out. Somehow, they had even managed to keep it together. Perhaps he could be an Interceptor after all.
Before he could praise his companion, Immanuel wretched into the sand beside him. Rubbing his lover’s back, Adam hovered beside him, listening as his silent sobs dissolved into the rhythmic ebb and flow of strained breaths. Almost together.
“Hey. Hey, look at me,” Adam whispered at his ear. When Immanuel finally turned his red-rimmed eyes toward him, Adam wiped the tearstains from his cheeks and said, “It’s all right. What we just saw was horrible. You were very brave to see his death. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I’m sorry,” Immanuel cried, his voice cracking against his will as he splashed water over his hands. “If I had known what I was getting us into…”
“We can stop at any time. We don’t have to go through with this. We could easily call Scotland Yard and hand this off to them.”
“No, no, we can’t. Not after all I’ve seen. I’m sorry, Adam.”
Nodding, Adam released a tired sigh and helped Immanuel to his feet. Pulling a handkerchief from inside his coat, Adam carefully wrapped Jacobs’ belongings in a neat bundle. When he turned back, Adam found Immanuel’s eyes wide but far away. Adam touched his arm and watched as his lover surfaced again.
“Come on, we’re going to put this in the house. Then we’re going to find someone to help with the body, but when we speak to them, I don’t want you to tell them it’s Jacobs.”
“But why? We have to get his body back to his family.”
“I know, but think about it this way: why would someone want to kill him if he was a stranger on the island? He obviously wasn’t robbed. You said he was set upon by the killer.”
Immanuel licked his lips. As his mind quieted and Adam’s words finally sunk in, he replied, “Either he wasn’t a stranger or he found something.”
“Exactly, and if we act like we know too much, that could be us. We can tell the Interceptors, but we can’t tell the villagers.”
Adam took a step forward, but turned back to find Immanuel standing locked beside the boat. “Should… should we just leave him here? What about seagulls?”
He didn’t have the heart to tell him it wouldn’t make much of a difference. “Well, I’d rather leave him than leave you. Unless you want to find someone and I can stay.”
Immanuel shook his head and slowly walked to his lover’s side, casting one more glance at the dead man. Climbing up the embankment, Adam’s mind turned over the corpse in the boat. Had Jacobs ever gotten Judith’s telegraph letting him know they were coming or had he died never knowing they would arrive? Adam stepped to the side to catch a glimpse of Immanuel’s face, but he was as pale and drawn as he was on the beach. It was no use telling him n
ow. It would only upset him.
At the top of the hill, on the edge of a ragged step, Immanuel stopped. For a moment, Adam feared he was teetering and was about to fall back on him, but when he put his hand on the small of his companion’s back, he glanced back at Adam before turning his gaze back to the dirt path ringing the island.
“Someone is coming,” he whispered.
Between the mist and the trees, a shadow condensed into the form of a man. Adam tightened his grip on the handkerchief-bound bundle. There was nowhere to hide it, no time to run back to the inn and toss it inside as he had hoped. The rocks surrounding the steps were crammed together like an overcrowded mouth, but beside a boulder near the steps, there was a crevice within arm’s reach just large enough to shelter a parcel. Leaving Immanuel at the rail, Adam shoved the bundle into the gap in time to watch the figure round the bend. The man stiffened. His shoulders squared and for just a fraction of a second, he slowed before carrying on toward them with his head down. Adam shot Immanuel a silencing look before charging forward to meet the stranger. In his thick sweater and cap, he could have been a captain or sailor, but as Adam drew closer, he noticed his hands were far cleaner and smoother than the men who had pulled Immanuel aboard.
“Sir, sir, please help!” Adam cried, keeping his features open even as the gruff man glared at him over his hawkish nose.
“The island’s a big circle. Just keep walking ‘til you find whatever it is,” he grumbled, pushing on.
“Sir, you don’t understand. On the beach, there’s a body.”
The man’s careworn face fell before snapping back to bother and indignation. He opened his mouth as if to speak when a shorter figure emerged from the other end of the path.
“What’s all the shouting about?”
“Miss Larkin, oh thank god, it’s you,” Adam said, ignoring the man’s protests even as Miss Larkin regarded him with a nearly identical expression. “There’s a body on the beach. Is there a constable on the island?”
She looked between Adam and the grumbling man with a stern frown, but her gaze softened slightly upon seeing Immanuel’s haunted features.
“Casper, what is he talking about?” she asked the grey-haired man.
“Hell if I know. I just got here.”
“Well, you’re the one always going on about being a deputized constable and a man of knowledge, do something about it.”
“And the doctor and the lighthouse keeper and the resident everything you people need when it’s convenient for you.”
Miss Larkin leveled a glare at him that could have set him to stone, but he was already ambling down the rickety steps toward the beach, cursing under his breath. Miss Larkin took a step toward the edge when Immanuel cut in front of her.
“You shouldn’t go down there. It isn’t safe for… for…”
“For an invalid, like me? Trust me, I’m not foolish enough to attempt those bloody steps with a cannonball strapped to me. Casper will take care of it.” Standing on tiptoe, she asked, “Is he a floater? We get the dregs from wrecks sometimes.”
Immanuel shook his head as Adam motioned him to stay put. “He’s in a boat.”
“What’s he look like?”
His hand instinctively moved toward the paper folded in his jacket pocket where Will Jacobs’ face stared back at them. With a sudden stab of guilt, he regretted that he never took the time to commit Jacobs’ to memory. “I don’t know. He’s already corrupting.”
“A pity.” Pausing, her gaze lingered on the pale pink scar standing starkly against Immanuel’s ashen skin. “Is this your first time seeing a dead one?”
“No, just the first this far gone.” Ignoring her probing look, Immanuel cleared his throat and asked, “Is there a telegraph or any way we could get in touch with the police in Scarborough?”
“You can either wait for the ship back to Scarborough and use the telegraph there or you can try to use the one at the lighthouse. It’s finicky, but not as finicky as Casper. Mark my words, he’ll say the matter is settled and you’ll have a devil of a time convincing him to give it up to the mainlanders.” Watching Adam and Quince move below, Greta absently ran a hand over her belly. “I hope he wasn’t one of ours.”
Chapter Twelve
Restraint
“It’s all settled,” Adam declared, shutting the inn’s heavy door behind him.
Turning, his heart pounded in his throat as his eyes roamed over the parlor’s faded chairs and the dark paneling lining the perimeter of the makeshift dining room. If he hadn’t known how the place looked when they arrived, he wouldn’t have noticed the subtle signs of disarray. The pillows sat askance on the sofa and the cushions had haphazardly been shoved back in the place while the drawers in the banquette had been left ajar. Worst of all, Immanuel was nowhere to be found. Just as Adam was about to bound up the steps to look for him, Immanuel slunk out of the kitchen carrying a kettle and two chipped china cups. Adam’s shoulders sagged in relief as he carefully dropped the bundle of pilfered trinkets onto the nearest chair as he hung up his rain-dusted hat and coat. He hadn’t wanted to send Immanuel home by himself, but when Casper Quince interrogated them on where they found the body, Adam saw the way he held his ribs, as much in cold as in fear. At least he could alleviate the former in trying to assuage the latter.
Lowering into the dining chair across from his companion, Adam kicked off his grit-filled loafers. More than anything he wished Immanuel would settle on his lap and wrap his arms around his neck as he did so often after dinner, his body familiar and warm with Percy purring by the hearth. Instead, he sat rigid in the hand-worked chair, his gaze locked on the steaming curling out of the kettle’s spout.
“Quince is taking the body and the boat back to the lighthouse for safekeeping. Apparently the place has a basement where the body will stay cold long enough for reinforcements to get here. Not that it really matters with him looking the way he does. It doesn’t sound very sanitary, does it?”
“So the police are coming?” Immanuel asked, his voice thin as he poured them each a cup of tea.
“Yes, but…”
His companion’s eyes widened, pinning Adam with their silent plea before he could shrug.
“There’s a storm coming that could disrupt the telegraph lines, so we would never know if they received the message. Quince thinks our best bet may be going directly to Scarborough.”
“What you’re saying is the authorities won’t know about any of this until Monday?”
“It’s only a few days.”
“A few days on an island with no way off and a killer running free.”
Adam sighed, resting his hand against the hot teacup to keep from working at the scab on his wrist. “Immanuel, you knew it could be dangerous when you got involved with the Interceptors. Did you forget what happened with Lady Rose?”
“I know, but—”
“But?”
But what? That he had no idea one murder would lead to more? That this was supposed to be a simple mission to gather facts? It all sounded so simple: find out if the selkies were still on the island, and if the murder was more than an accident, try to find who it was and then leave it up to Mr. Jacobs to deal with. But now there was no more Mr. Jacobs and there were two very real murders. Two corpses on his hands, two deaths he had lived but couldn’t prevent, two families without a body or a word as to what happened to their loved ones. Immanuel’s head pounded at the thought. He couldn’t stop any of it.
“Gah! Immanuel! Immanuel, stop!”
Jerking from his thoughts, Immanuel looked up in time to see Adam run into the kitchen to fetch a towel as tea gurgled in thick gushes from the top and spout of the kettle. The moment his mind cleared enough to realize what he was looking at, the tin lid clanked shut, leaving only a growing pool of tea spreading across the table in an inky stain. Immanuel pawed at his pocket for his handkerchief only to find it in time to have the tea run off the side of the table in a shower of rivulets. He glared at the spreading liqu
id, furious that his mind or body or wherever magic resided had betrayed him. Drawing in a steadying breath, he stared at the tea, willing his mind to connect to it. With a twitch, it caught, and he pulled on the liquid until it slowed and finally stopped spreading. Holding tight to the invisible lattice, he raised it until the tea bubbled from the rug.
“What a bloody mess,” Adam spat as he threw a towel on top of the spill. “What were you thinking?”
Immanuel gritted his teeth and rubbed the pain in his scalp as the headache bloomed anew and another shower of tea pattered onto the floor beside him. Dropping to his knees, Immanuel tried to mop it up with his handkerchief, but it was immediately saturated. He swallowed hard at the sound of Adam wringing the towel out over the kitchen sink. The dark paneled walls and patchy threadbare carpet tilted around him. Closing his eyes against the disorienting sensation, Immanuel sat back on his heels.
His voice cracked against his will as he finally replied, “I— I didn’t mean to. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“How does this happen by accident? Magic doesn’t just happen. I thought you needed sigils and quiet,” Adam said, disappearing into the kitchen with the offending teapot, which he dumped into the sink with a jarring clank that made Immanuel blench.
“When I’m upset, it just… happens.”
“Explain to me how this just happens, Immanuel. You can’t just let this happen. Do you not realize what could go wrong?”
Smacking his head on the lip of the table as he stood, Immanuel released an oath in German. He rubbed his scalp and tossed the soggy handkerchief where Adam had just finished cleaning. His lover gave him a defiant glare and batted it aside.
“Do you think I want to make a mess? I didn’t even know I had done anything until you yelled at me!” Immanuel cried.
Adam rose and barred his arms across his violet waistcoat. “Then you need to learn to control yourself. What if you did that in front of someone else?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m scared.” Immanuel stared into Adam’s eyes and was met with the hard gaze he usually reserved for everyone but him. “I was thinking about the case. I was thinking about how we’re going to figure this out when our only resource was killed by the same person who killed the selkie. It’s hard to control your emotions when everything is going to hell.”
Selkie Cove (The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Book 5) Page 13
