Escaping From Houdini (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 3)

by Kerri Maniscalco

  One of the giggling friends broke off her laughter. “Victim?”

  “Indeed,” Mephistopheles said. “I can think of no better term for the crime of seduction about to be committed, can you?”

  “No, I suppose I cannot.”

  She shook her head and stepped closer to her friends. The handsomely dressed girls all exchanged glances; it wasn’t quite what they had hoped, but it was an interesting bargain nonetheless. Two of them nodded, and the one who’d conducted the exchange bit her lip, seeming to consider accepting this or trying a counteroffer but finally assented.

  “Very well, sir. Which of us do you choose?”

  He indicated his prey. “Her.”

  I nearly choked on my own sip of champagne when I realized he was pointing at me. No good could come of this interest, indeed. I didn’t know what game Mephistopheles was playing, but, I supposed, whether I wanted to or not, I was about to join him.

  There was no denying the thrill that sparked through me at being chosen for this next act, though it wasn’t because of the enigmatic masked man leading me to the center of the women’s parlor. This was a remarkable opportunity to observe his sleight of hand up close—to dissect his performance and witness the tactics he used to distract both victim, as he called me, and audience.

  “Ladies, I have been requested to perform for you.” Mephistopheles held my gloved hand in his, raising it shoulder level for all to see. “Miss Wadsworth will be playing the role of willing victim. If you please, I’ll need everyone to gather in a circle around us. Pretend as if we’re about to hold a séance. I’m sure you’ve all attended one or two of those.”

  He snapped his fingers, and a liveried waiter produced a small chair from one of the side tables and set it in the center of the newly made ring. Women whispered excitedly, gazes hungry for more scandalous magic. Or perhaps they were simply happy to feast on the young ringmaster a bit more. I felt the power of their stares drift from Mephistopheles and settle on me as I stood there, unsure of where to go. Of all evenings for me to wear a sleeveless gown, I felt exposed and vulnerable.

  I twisted my mother’s ring about my finger, then stopped. I focused on the room, hoping to calm my growing nerves as Mephistopheles adjusted his top hat and suit. I didn’t care for such scrutiny, as if I were nothing more than a slide under a microscope. Houdini slowly made his way toward Liza, his focus drifting over to the ringmaster only occasionally as he took leave of several young women.

  “Next, I request the lights be dimmed.” A moment later, the chandeliers pulsed with brighter light before trickling down to a dull, golden glow. “I ask that you all take one large step back on the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

  My breath caught. It was unnerving, hearing the entire room move as one. Mephistopheles truly did command them like a puppet master. Everyone was silhouetted in the dim light, shadow people dancing around a devil’s bonfire. I could have sworn I smelled the scent of burning wood, though I knew it to be an impossibility.

  I flicked my gaze to the ringmaster as he walked around the crowd and came to a halt before me. The red of his vest reflected in his mask when he tilted his face down, motioning for me to take the seat. I hesitated, recalling the two victims, then forced my feet to carry me over to whatever sinful delight Mephistopheles had planned. I would not lose my life in front of so many witnesses.

  “Watch closely,” he said, hardly above a whisper, “or you’ll miss it.”

  He circled me now, hands trailing from my bare shoulders all the way around my neck, his touch almost as electric as the lights in the ship. I no longer felt the stares of the women surrounding us—I could only concentrate on his gloved fingertips, never straying from the path he’d chosen while he moved around me, picking up speed with each pass. It was almost scandalous, but not quite, the line too indistinguishable this close to decency. His movements were sure and steady, unlike my pulse.

  Except for one slip of his hand caressing the nape of my neck—perhaps a kind gesture of apology—I noticed no change from when he began circling me to when he abruptly stepped back. My skin felt both scorched and ice cold where his fingers had been, as unsure as I was about the entire situation. Women snapped their fans open, the sound drawing me back to the room.

  “Did you watch closely?” The ringmaster asked, voice cool and smooth as silk. As if still in a trance of their own, everyone nodded, murmuring, “Yes.” I doubted they could’ve looked away from the charismatic man if they tried. He bent down, placing his mouth dangerously close to my ear. My skin prickled; this time I knew exactly why. “Is something valuable missing, Miss Wadsworth? Something you’d do anything to get back?”

  I shook my head, hoping to set my mind straight with the action. “No, I don’t believe so.”

  And I meant it. Though his fingers were quite a distraction, I kept my focus on them entirely; not once did they leave my skin. He dropped to one knee, eyes dancing when they met mine. “Strange. I could have sworn I’d just stolen your heart.”

  “I beg—”

  “As do most young women I encounter, I’m afraid.”

  My face flamed. But before I could scold him, he produced the heart pendant that had been one of my mother’s favorite pieces, watching as I blinked disbelief away. I fumbled around my throat, tugging at a chain. “That’s impossible. I’m still wearing—”

  In my hand was a pocket watch, one that did not belong to me. Thorns and a Latin phrase were etched onto the back of it, VINCERE VEL MORI. I stared unblinking, trying to understand how it was possible. Somehow, in front of all of these witnesses, Mephistopheles had switched my necklace with his watch. I swallowed my questions down. I had no idea how he’d managed such a thing without being caught, but it had to be luck mixed with sleight of hand. I wanted to know how he had accomplished it and if it could be applied in other ways, such as acting; however, that would need to wait until we were alone. Which I would make sure happened soon. Tonight.

  “Very impressive, I suppose,” I said, knowing I was being dishonest. It was one of the most impressive feats I’d seen, aside from Houdini’s Metamorphosis trick. “Now, give it back, please.”

  I held my hand out and immediately had the sensation of walking into a trap. It was a well-laid snare, so hidden I’d had no idea it had been the actual trick the whole time. I wanted to curl my fingers back into a fist, but resisted the urge. Mephistopheles swiftly took my hand in his, turning it over so my palm faced down. Still on one knee, he made a ring appear and disappear across his fingers. My heart slowed.

  “If you had to choose,” he asked, “would you want your heart or your hand?”

  Any whispers that had broken out died. All eyes turned to me once more, making my palms sweat. I could barely think, barely focus on anything other than my mother’s ring and pendant in some stranger’s grasp. Stealing my necklace was one thing—how he’d managed to also remove my ring was too much to process. I felt entirely undone, a dinghy bobbing unanchored in a storm.

  “They are both mine.” I drew my brows together. “I don’t have to choose.”

  He watched me behind his mask, eyes searching. “Not yet. But I imagine you soon will.” He leaned close, until no one could overhear his next words. “Have I earned your interest in our bargain yet?” My pulse sped up. This choice. I had a feeling it would bring chaos into my life. But the reward would be worth it. I slightly inclined my head. “I’ll meet you where I did last time.”

  Without another word, he handed both pieces of jewelry over and stood, clapping his hands generously. “Please offer a round of applause to my latest victim, Miss Audrey Rose Wadsworth. She survived this time, but perhaps she’ll lose her heart to me yet.”

  Liza beamed beside Houdini, bringing her hands together the loudest of everyone while he leaned in and chatted with one of the girls who’d prompted this show. I wanted to return Liza’s elation, but couldn’t shake the essence of trouble that hung like a mist in the air.

  If Mephistopheles was
that talented with pilfering objects, perhaps he was gifted enough to steal a person’s sensibilities. He swooped down, kissing hands, and earning the admiration of the women in the parlor, and I wondered if I’d made a fatal mistake by agreeing to meet with him tonight.

  ELEVEN

  PRINCE OR PAUPER

  WOMEN’S PARLOR

  RMS ETRURIA

  3 JANUARY 1889

  I retrieved my fur stole and left the women’s parlor as soon as I could extricate myself from conversations on how it had felt having the ringmaster’s searing touch on my skin. For members of upper-class society, they certainly were not shying away from such devious talks. No one even cast an accusatory or judgmental eye on me, either. It was as if they’d been spellbound.

  I held the fur close around me, trying to ignore the bite in the air as I exited the corridor and hurried down the empty promenade. Tiny snowflakes began falling, neither promising nor denying a storm was on the way. A figure leaning against the wall of rowboats came into view.

  Mephistopheles tipped his hat back. “I’m pleased you’ve decided to meet me.”

  “Why did you choose me for that performance?”

  “Truth or a lovely version of it?” he asked.

  “I do not require soft versions of reality, Mr.—”

  “Ah. Let’s deal with one truth at a time, all right?”

  He moved to the railing on the deck, canting his head toward me. Snow danced and twirled between us, though he gave no indication of being affected by the cold. I, however, nestled deeper into my furs, wishing I also had an overcoat.

  “I chose you because I believe you search for the truth hidden in the lie. Others enjoy the magic and spectacle. You are fascinated with the how. I don’t think you’re taken with me or the illusion I offer… the distraction.” He looked directly into my eyes, searching for what, I couldn’t tell. A moment passed and his expression didn’t change. “What is it you do for that old man you travel with?”

  I didn’t know what harm could come of admitting my chosen path. “I study forensic medicine with my uncle. Mr. Cresswell and I apprentice under him.” I opened my mouth, then shut it, hesitant to speak about either the Ripper or Dracula case. Both were too raw and personal to share with a stranger. “We’re going to America for a new case, actually.”

  “You study the dead?” He raised a brow above his mask as I nodded. “Which means you’re aware of the darkness and seek to bring about the light. I cannot help being equally intrigued by that. I create chaos, and you fabricate order from it. We’re not so different, you and me. We both have a core that’s built of science, only different outward expressions of it.”

  It was eerily similar to my own thoughts. I did not wish to find commonality with such a scoundrel, but couldn’t deny his assessment. Despite inner warnings to stay far from this young man, my curiosity about his mechanical inventions was piqued.

  “Why did you choose the path of an illusionist?” I asked. “You might have become an impressive chemist. Don’t you wish to help people?”

  “Some might argue that entertaining people is helping them.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Producing smoke in looking glasses does not equate with creating scientific or engineering advancements that could eradicate disease and save lives.”

  “I politely disagree, Miss Wadsworth. There are many ways to assist people. Laughter and distraction are sometimes things people need in conjunction with medical diagnoses and treatments.” Mephistopheles studied me. “You might want to explore other avenues of possibility, since you’re such a gifted student of science. I may only offer a few hours of distraction, but for some that is enough to press on through dark times. Hope is an invisible yet mighty force. Don’t dismiss its power.”

  I blinked, stunned by both how correct he was and how ignorantly I had viewed things. A long-ago memory emerged from the grave I’d buried it in. I’d often read stories to my mother as she lay dying, hoping to transport her from her pain, if only for a few moments. Part of me bristled at being schooled by such a devious young man, but mostly my cheeks burned with shame for not understanding his point sooner. People did need to be entertained, to have their minds occupied with thoughts other than a constant bombardment of negativity. Mother’s spirits certainly seemed lifted whenever I’d open a book and take her on a new adventure.

  “I am—”

  Mephistopheles suddenly grasped my hand in his and pressed a chaste kiss to it. Words of apology died on my tongue as I took in the fire in his eyes and the way they shifted just over my shoulder. He was putting on yet another show, and it was not for my benefit. I yanked my hand away, but it was too late. He grinned.

  “An absolute pleasure, Miss Wadsworth,” he said. Perhaps we’ll meet again at our favorite spot…” He leaned in so only I might hear the next part. “Let’s say around midnight? Seems our meeting has come to an abrupt end and I still have much to discuss, if you’re game?” The ringmaster nodded behind me, that antagonistic smile still in place. “Good evening. Mr. Cresswell, I presume? We were just discussing you. And who is the lovely lady with you?”

  I let my breath out in a deep exhale, not wanting to turn around and face Thomas just yet.

  “Oh? You were discussing me?” Thomas sounded skeptical and appeared even more so when I shifted to find his gaze on me. “An honor considering I don’t possess a trick hat with ink-dyed roses. Or the ability to tumble across the stage. Though I am darkly enchanting. I understand the draw.” He paused as if considering his next words. “You’re still wearing that mask, I see. Does it chafe?”

  “Not at all. There’s velvet on the inside.” Mephistopheles turned a smile on Mrs. Harvey, so radiant I feared she’d faint from overheating. “Will you introduce me to this pretty young thing, or shall I die of want?”

  “Mrs. Edna Harvey, Mr.…” Mrs. Harvey drew her brows together. “Er… Mr.?”

  “‘Mephistopheles’ is perfectly adequate, if you please.” He inclined his head. “If you’ll excuse me, I must tend to consortium business. Good evening to you all.”

  We stood together on the deck a moment, watching the ringmaster make his way to the troupe and whatever business carnival folk had postshow. Once he was out of earshot Mrs. Harvey dropped Thomas’s arm and fanned herself.

  “He is quite something, isn’t he?” she asked. “So mysterious with that mask and name. I wonder if he ever slips—can’t be an easy thing, taking on a new identity like that. I imagine he’s got to take that mask off when he sleeps…”

  “Maybe one of us should sneak into his rooms and find out,” I said, teasing.

  Mrs. Harvey’s attention shot to me. “I wouldn’t mind volunteering for that task.”

  Thomas grinned, then took Mrs. Harvey’s arm once more, leading us to our rooms in a show of courtly manners I was impressed by. “I doubt any of his performers even know his true identity. There’s a definite reason for the masks, and I’m sure it’s not simply to create an aura of mystique. I’d wager he’s either hiding from someone, or hiding a sordid past.”

  I snorted in the most unladylike fashion. “Is this one of your infamous deductions based on observation?”

  “Mock me all you will.” Thomas lifted a shoulder. “But his mannerisms speak of aristocracy. As do his boots.”

  Honestly, I was unsurprised that Thomas had once again divined some seemingly impossible detail from the salty ocean air. “All right. Tell me more about his boots and how they signal aristocracy in the Thomas Cresswell deduction journal.”

  “I bet something terrible happened to him. Poor thing.” Mrs. Harvey stopped walking in front of her cabin. She glanced down the deck behind us. “Miss Wadsworth, since you’re only next door, I think it will be fine if Thomas escorts you home this once. Unless you find it to be too indecent. I’m suddenly feeling quite…”

  “In need of your traveling tonic?” Thomas supplied, doing a terrible job of keeping the laughter out of his voice when she poked him in the chest. “Ow
.”

  “Hush, you,” she said, not unkindly. “It’s not polite to make fun of your elders. One day you’ll need a nip of traveling tonic to help you sleep, too.”

  I ignored the silliness passing between them and smiled at our lackadaisical chaperone. It was entirely improper for Thomas to walk anywhere with me without a chaperone, but we’d been in more-compromising positions than a short walk, much to my father’s horror, should he ever find out. “It’s fine, Mrs. Harvey. Since our rooms connect—I’m sure no one will be too scandalized. Most everyone has turned in for the night anyway. We won’t linger long.”

  “What a magical evening it’s been. And not one corpse ruined the fun!” She kissed my cheeks and Thomas’s, then opened her door. “I’m completely spent.”

  Once she closed the door, Thomas and I walked the few steps to a bench situated between my room and the next. Sensing that he had something to say, I sat down and patted the spot next to me. The snowflakes had mostly ceased, but the bite was still nipping at the air. Ever attuned to me, he shrugged his overcoat off and wrapped it about my shoulders.

  “Thank you,” I said. “You were saying something intriguing about shoes, I believe?”

  “The soles had no scuffs,” he said, glancing around once before sitting and rubbing his hands together. “Before you mention it, no, I don’t believe that a good buff and shine would explain it. They are new. Or at least they haven’t been worn much.”

  “Maybe he only wears them during his performances.”

  Thomas sat back, his smile heartbreakingly wicked in the dark. “A good theory, Wadsworth, but the way he runs around and tumbles across the stage… even if he only wore those particular boots during his shows, they’d show a little wear. Since none can be found, what might that indicate?”

  “He purchased new ones.”