Escaping From Houdini (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 3)

by Kerri Maniscalco

  “Well, if one is foolish enough to play with flames, they shouldn’t be surprised when they get burned.”

  Anishaa’s expression was bemused while she twirled the flames, allowing us a bit of privacy, though I noticed her attention kept darting over to the object of her secret affection.

  “Would you care to see my work space?” Mephistopheles asked, all gentlemanly manners belied by the cunning gleam in his eye. “It’s just around the bend.” He smiled behind his mask—a wolf inviting Red Riding Hood into the darkened forest. What he didn’t know was that this particular girl carried a weapon beneath her hood and had an assortment of wolf hides mounted in her chambers. “I promise no immoral behavior. Just gears and gadgets. Maybe a bit of grease. Nothing too romantic.”

  “You certainly know how to charm a girl,” I said. “Next you’ll show me your mask collection.” I peered close to this newest work of art, a pale gray with cloudlike swirls of white, noticing the slight hitch in his breath as I drew near. “How many do you own, one thousand?”

  “Closer to one million.” He grinned, regaining his composure. “Practice twirling one, then the other, like we discussed,” he called over to Anishaa. “We’ve got to work on when you spit the flames next. I’m almost ready with the new tonic.”

  She nodded, then continued her work. He folded my hand over his arm, escorting me down the promenade to his lair. I’d only been half jesting about the masks, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he did have that many. He probably needed an entire trunk to transport them.

  “Spitting fire?” I asked. “That sounds a bit dangerous. And a little crass.”

  “It’s not as if she’ll be spewing flames onto the crowd like chewing tobacco. Danger can be found in everything, even the mundane. And that’s quite boring,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this early? It’s not time for a lesson. Did Mr. Cresswell send you here to break off our romantic entanglement? I thought he might throttle me in Miss Crenshaw’s cabin. I bet he hated sharing toys as a child.”

  “First, I am not anyone’s toy, sir. And second, if Thomas was upset, don’t you believe he would be the one standing here, challenging you for my affections?”

  Mephistopheles snorted. “Well, he does seem the type to run his enemies through.” He squinted at me. “Is that the sort of thing that attracts you? Perhaps I’ll start challenging your other suitors to duels. I may even remove my mask once I’ve won. Let them gaze upon the true face of their victor.”

  “You mean the face of their mortal enemy?”

  “I doubt they’d call me their friend after being introduced to Nightsblade.”

  “Nightsblade?” I asked, stopping. “Is that the name of your imaginary friend?”

  “Close.” He chuckled. “You’ve heard of nightshade, correct? Tantalizing plants, but deadly. Like my sword. Nightsblade.”

  “Clever.” Unease ran its icy fingers down my back. Belladonna—a type of nightshade—had been found in Miss Crenshaw’s system. “Does everyone in your carnival need to be in possession of a weapon to be accepted? Like a secret mask-wearing society of sword wielders?”

  He laughed again, only this time I wished to withdraw my arm from his.

  “Hardly. Jian and I are the only ones who’ve got swords,” he said. “His are for his tricks; mine is from my past. Alas, we have more important things to discuss. Time is one law I cannot seem to break, no matter how much I beg, borrow, or steal, I cannot produce more of it. Any news on who has been murdering passengers? Investors are not happy, and I fear what the future will bring for the carnival. No other cruise liner will hire us if they think we’re harboring a murderer.”

  I considered asking him about the tarot cards and why have each performer learn them, but didn’t want him to be suspicious of my motives. Nor did I wish to give away the fact I suspected both the tarot and playing cards were a cipher of sorts—their meanings clearly detailing the story of the crimes for anyone capable of reading it. If he was the murderer, then he might alter his methods of killing.

  “Not yet, but I do have a theory I’m working on.” I wet my lips, hoping to not raise his suspicion by being too curious about his passing comment. “Whose sword is bigger? Yours or Jian’s?”

  He stopped short, staring at me as if I’d disrobed in front of him and everyone else on this promenade. From the appraising glint in his expression, I didn’t think he’d mind if that happened. It took a moment for my brain to catch up with the innuendo I’d accidentally made.

  “I—I mean,” I stuttered, “which is more finely crafted?”

  “Hmm.” He started walking again, though that devious smile still curled his lips. “If I’m being honest? I’d say his. Nightsblade is a gorgeous sword, but Jian’s are works of art.”

  Now I was the one who halted our procession. I hadn’t expected him to be anything other than cocky. “I thought men like you lied for sport.”

  “Which makes it all the more fun for you to sort out the truth from my lies.”

  He kept walking, not in a hurry or appearing suspicious. If anything, he seemed relaxed, his stride confident. We were nothing more than a young couple, strolling along the promenade. Except he wore a ridiculous mask and I wore a concealed blade, and most of the ship wore fear like a new overcoat.

  A few times I caught him lifting his face as if to feel the sunshine, though the sun was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. A storm was brewing.

  “Jian had his swords crafted by an expert bladesmith from the Ottoman Empire during his travels,” he continued, though I hadn’t inquired. “The metal practically sings as it cuts through the air. You’ll have to come to one of his practices—you can hear it best when there’s not a crowd.”

  “Does he sleep with his swords near? It sounds as if they’re worth a great amount.”

  “Why all the curiosity about Jian?” He paused near a cabin in the middle of the deck. “Do you believe he’s keeping bodies in his sword bin?”

  His question was light, but there was an edge in his expression that pricked my pulse.

  “Can I not inquire over a singing sword without a motive?” I asked. “Not everything revolves around you, you insufferable thing.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You know? I just had a tremendous idea! You ought to rename his show ‘Jian, the Sultan of Singing Swords.’ I’d wager people would love to hear that symphony. Perhaps you can engineer a way to enhance the sword song. Have you tried using the methods of an ear trumpet to amplify sound?”

  Mephistopheles raised both brows. A feat I was always impressed by, since he never took off his mask. “Are you interested in turning your scientific mind into profit?” He held a hand to his heart. “Have I convinced you to join show business after only a few nights? I’m even better than I thought. And I thought quite highly of my wooing skills before, mind you.”

  “‘Show business’?” I asked, relieved to have distracted him. “Is that what you’re calling the carnival today?”

  “It’s what P. T. Barnum calls the circus, has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  I scoffed. “I’ve heard rumors of him being unkind and a scoundrel. I’m not sure basing anything off of him is a wise idea.”

  “He’s an opportunist, as are most businessmen, which doesn’t require respectability.”

  Mephistopheles inserted a key, then pushed open the door, revealing a cabin unoccupied by anything other than tools and props. There was a faint scent of metal in the air, and, for once, it wasn’t due to spilled blood.

  He flipped the light on, revealing ordinary-enough-looking things mixed with the improbable. Top hats with metal parts on the inside, bird cages with mechanical doves covered in real feathers that appeared so lifelike I had to touch them to be sure they were toys. I spied a tailcoat hanging on a hook, the entire inside of it stitched with metal and gearshifts. Raven feathers perched along the shoulders, sleek and shiny as oil.

  Scattered across the vanity were screws a
nd bolts and plague-doctor masks. I shuddered as I drew closer to one, its leather beak a cream so rich it appeared to be carved from bone.

  “These are…”

  “Terrifying?” he supplied, picking one up and running a gloved finger over the large beak. I imagined his expression as thoughtful, though it was hard to tell. “Did you know that during medieval times, when plague doctors wore these, they placed aromatic scents at the tip of the beak? Rose petals, juniper berries, lemon balm, and mint. They helped keep putrid scents of death away.” He set it down. “They were also allowed to perform postmortems on the dead, though it was forbidden to others during those days. Someone such as yourself would have faced grave charges.”

  “How does it relate to your carnival?”

  Instead of answering straightaway, he turned and removed a black caped overcoat from a peg and donned it along with circular glass goggles and finally the plague mask. He slowly faced me, standing there, unmoving, dressed solidly in black except the bone-white mask. He reached for a small top hat, adding it to complete his look of a gentleman plague doctor come to call on the nearly dead.

  Shivers ran along my limbs. His silence was as creepy as the costume, if not more so.

  “Well?” I asked, stuffing my nerves deep down. “What do you plan on doing in those costumes?”

  He slowly moved forward, circling me as a vulture might do to a fresh carcass.

  “By now your pulse is likely pounding.” Mephistopheles drew close. “Your breath catching the tiniest bit. I have your full attention, your full fear and excitement. I promised three things in my opening sequence, Miss Wadsworth. Do you recall them?”

  I refused to be afraid. He’d said his carnival was filled with magic, mischief, and mayhem. “I do.”

  I couldn’t see it behind this new mask, but I pictured the devilish grin he’d worn countless times before. “When the finale stage is filled with an army of plague doctors, I believe it will cause a bit of mayhem in the saloon. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  A terrifyingly gothic scene indeed.

  “Perhaps in light of the fact young women are being murdered and at least one man has been dismembered,” I said coolly, “you ought to rethink that. I know I won’t be wearing it.” I nodded toward another costume laid out on the bed. It was somewhere between lavender and moonbeam gray—another fanciful outfit for the Moonlight Carnival. Silver fish scales lay over the shoulders like armor, the corset of the bodice composed of deep charcoal and black scales. “Who is that for?”

  Mephistopheles turned around while he removed his terrible costume, put his old mask on, then pointed at his workbench. On it was the most elaborate mask I’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure how I’d missed it during my first scan of the room, but there were a lot of objects. This mask was more like a Roman war helmet, complete with open jaws that contained fangs. A dragon skull, I realized upon closer inspection.

  “Anishaa asked to redefine her act—to come up with something more memorable.” He fingered the fine fabrics of the costume. “She wants to be known as the Dragon Queen instead of a plain old fire-eater. So I obliged. Now, with the aid of a special tonic I’m crafting, she’ll not only swallow the flames, she’ll breathe them.”

  “But that sounds—”

  “Dangerous?” he asked. “No more so than following a young man into his room, alone, with masks and machinery. Tell me,” he said, shutting the door, “when did you start believing I had anything to do with the murders?”

  TWENTY-SIX

  A BEAUTIFULLY DRESSED SPY

  MEPHISTOPHELES’S ENGINEERING CABIN

  RMS ETRURIA

  6 JANUARY 1889

  My hand ghosted over the hidden blade sheathed on my thigh. “Who said anything about guilt?” I asked. “Unless there’s something more you haven’t told me. Have you news to share?”

  To either his or my own credit, he seemed impressed that I hadn’t shrunk away from him. He leaned against the door, arms crossed. “My issue is with you parading about this ship, pretending as if you’re interested in me in front of my performers, when in reality you’re just a beautifully dressed spy for your uncle.”

  “You’re the one who wanted them to believe there was something more between us! And I take great offense to that.” I drew myself up. “I am no one’s spy.” Liar, definitely. But he hadn’t accused me of that. Yet. “I’m doing exactly what you asked as per our bargain. If you’re that upset, perhaps it’s time to change the terms.”

  “Do not insult my intelligence,” he said. “Yes, I may have wanted them to see us together, to work a bit harder to teach you tricks for the finale, but nowhere in our agreement did I mention flirting or staring at me when you think I’m not looking. Or, would you have me believe between our midnight rendezvous and your predawn dissection, you’ve found yourself thinking of the softness of my hair, the sharp angle of my jaw, the—”

  “—the arrogance of your demeanor.” I rolled my eyes. “Perhaps, despite good judgment, I enjoy your company. If you’re that confident of yourself, why is it so hard to believe?”

  “So those looks are real?” He examined me closely, attention falling to my lips and remaining there. Half a breath later, he turned the lights off, then slowly moved toward me. My heart, the only thing not playing along with my false bravado, stuttered at his growing proximity.

  Uncle had not mentioned my rebellion earlier, but if he were to find out I’d flouted his rules once again… I held my ground. Mephistopheles cocked his head, inspecting every steady breath I took and every slow blink of my eyes, searching for a lie he wouldn’t find. I held an image of Thomas’s crooked smile in my mind, projecting it onto the young man before me.

  Reaching a hand out, Mephistopheles tenderly pushed a stray lock over my ear.

  “Are you certain that’s what you’d like me to believe, Miss Wadsworth? That you’re here, in this cabin alone with me, because you choose to be… of your own free will… with no motive? You simply wish to spend the morning with me?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice to remain strong when the rest of my nerves were ready to crack. I saw the hunger in his gaze then, the longing he couldn’t cover with any mask. I knew he wanted to kiss me, though I wasn’t conceited enough to believe he wouldn’t gaze at most any young woman the same way. He was an opportunist. And this was a perfect opportunity. His fingers reached out once more, his touch barely anything at all, while he waited for permission.

  Up this close I could smell his cologne—it reminded me of the aromatics used in the plague mask, but was heady instead of frightening. Perhaps he was a true mage—because here, in a cabin below the world I knew upstairs, I couldn’t help but fall under his spell.

  In the dark it was easy to forget he wasn’t the boy I kept thinking about. The one whose lips were becoming as familiar as my own. My heart surged when he leaned toward me, his face so close to mine. I noticed subtle dark growth over his skin, as if he hadn’t had time for a proper shave this morning.

  Curse me, but I almost longed to feel its roughness against my own skin, so similar and yet so different from Thomas. Something in my expression must have shifted, unleashing him. He slipped his hands into my hair, gently pulling me closer. I did not resist.

  I lifted my chin, knowing it was the most dangerous deception of all, pretending he was someone else, yearning for what his lips might feel like, how cool the filigree of his mask might be under my fingertips. His mouth hovered over mine, sharing breath but not touching. Not yet…

  “I’ve thought about doing this all week,” he whispered against my lips. “A-are you certain—”

  The door banged open. “Have you got those new cuffs ready yet? Liza’s in a mood and I ain’t got anything better to do than—”

  I jerked away from the ringmaster, face flaming as Houdini’s mouth snapped shut. The escape artist appeared as if he was about to do just that. He stood for a full breath, frozen with indecision.

  “Uh… sorry to interrupt. Anishaa didn’t
mention—” Houdini motioned toward the two of us, not meeting either of our eyes. “I’ll come back for the cuffs.”

  He slipped out from the room before Mephistopheles could regain his composure. I collected my breath, grateful for the interruption, though I hadn’t been surprised. Liza had mentioned that Houdini met with the ringmaster around this time, something I’d been counting on. My plan had been hastily constructed on the walk here, but with any luck, I’d played my part convincingly. Gossip was a currency most couldn’t help spending.

  For better or worse, performers would hopefully be whispering about the clandestine meeting between me and their ringmaster. They might have suspected it before, but there would be “proof” now of our feelings. A sleight of hand to keep their attention where I wanted it.

  I stepped away from Mephistopheles, giving us both space to breathe as I smoothed down the front of my skirts. Had Houdini been a moment later, I might have fallen into my own trap.

  Mephistopheles rubbed the back of his neck, seeming at a loss on how to proceed. “I must apologize for my forwardness, Miss Wadsworth. I didn’t mean to be so untoward—”

  “Please, let’s not worry over what could have happened.” I waved a hand in the air, not feeling half as bold as I sounded. My knees wobbled and my heart stuttered frantically. I loved Thomas, but I couldn’t deny the appeal of the ringmaster. Was it possible to pretend to be someone else so thoroughly that you actually stepped into that life? “Right now, I need to examine Jian’s swords. I know we were only joking before, but does Jian keep them locked up? Are they near yours?”

  The ringmaster appeared reluctant to turn the conversation away from our almost-kiss, but relented. “Next to and below the animal cargo is where we keep the trunks for the show. Tents, tightropes, most every prop we use is there, including the trunks containing Jian’s swords. They’re painted lapis blue and encrusted with bits of mosaic tiles. You can’t miss them.”