Escaping From Houdini (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 3)

by Kerri Maniscalco

  I gazed out at the sliver of moon, appearing more like a scythe ready to strike than anything else, unable to stop seeing it as a portent of new horrors to come.

  “Tonight is the last night,” I finally said, shifting my attention back to the ringmaster. He was free from a mask right now, but that, much like the sudden stillness of the sea, wouldn’t last. A flash of Liza’s finger lying in the velvet box crossed my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them. Clouds slowly crept across the sky, lining up in formation. A storm would break by morning, but hopefully I’d have my cousin back before then. “One more performance.”

  If only there was just one suspect left before the finale.

  Harry Houdini

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  GRAND FINALE

  CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS

  RMS ETRURIA

  8 JANUARY 1889

  Captain Norwood twisted in his overstuffed leather chair, his gaze stubbornly fixed on the glass half filled with amber liquid sitting on his mahogany desk. It was hardly past sunrise, though judging from the whiskers on his face, he hadn’t yet been to bed.

  “Chief Magistrate Prescott hasn’t heard from Dr. Arden in days, and mentioned arguing over whether to come forward with certain… information they’d received, so I told the chief mate to enter the doctor’s chambers.” Norwood sipped from his glass, then winced. “There wasn’t any blood, but the room was a mess. I don’t think his is a story that’s going to end well. Especially given that note.”

  At my raised brow, Uncle walked over to where I stood and handed the crumpled paper to me. I recognized the handwriting as the same from the note I’d received regarding Liza, and my heart picked up its beat.

  I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat and discreetly handed the note to Thomas, stomach churning. The postmark was the first of January, the very day we’d set sail. If Dr. Arden had only brought this to the captain then, perhaps he might have secured the passengers before anyone had lost her life.

  I exhaled. “If only” and “what could have been” had no place here now. Although, if Prescott and Arden were arguing over this very thing the day after Miss Prescott was murdered, they were likely too frightened to say anything else, lest the murderer make good on his threats. Which he did anyway.

  “It’s highly possible, given the threat laid out in that note, that his arm is the one that had been severed.” Uncle walked over to the porthole and inspected the water running down the glass in thick, frantic rivulets. The storm broke just prior to daybreak, and the rest of our journey would not be an easy one. “It was male and had a wedding band. Though without a body, it’s all conjecture. He might very well be holed up in another cabin. Have you contacted his wife?”

  Norwood swirled his drink. “He was a widower.”

  Thomas and I exchanged glances from our post near the wall, our problems from the night before pushed aside in light of our work. We were to be present, but Uncle had wanted us to remain silent and study the captain. Everyone was suspect at this point.

  A sharp rap on the door finally drew the captain’s gaze upward. “Yes?”

  A wiry man in uniform stepped in and promptly removed his cap, nodding to us before addressing the captain. “We checked all the performers and their trunks and didn’t find anything unusual, Captain. Seems like everything is ready for the show.”

  Thomas pressed his mouth into a flat line. He needn’t say so out loud, but there was no way the crew could be certain what was and what wasn’t a murder weapon. The performers had swords and daggers and ropes and handcuffs, and countless other oddities that might be used.

  Uncle looked at me and Thomas, then turned his attention back on the captain, twisting his mustache in the way that set my nerves on edge. “With all due respect, you ought to cancel the finale altogether. There’s no way this is going to end well for anyone.”

  Norwood tossed back the rest of his drink, the rain now pelting the side of the ship. It sounded like hail. “I’m afraid it can’t get much worse, Dr. Wadsworth.”

  A tingle raced down my spine. I knew by now that no amount of arguing would alter the captain’s abysmal decisions. I wish I possessed the same sentiments, but knew this finale would be the spectacle the murderer had been waiting for, his epic ending of revenge.

  Tonight’s stage reflected the overall feeling of the ship—the inky curtains were overlaid with tattered gray gauze, giving the appearance of a moldering tomb. Even the roses, which had been painted black, seemed foreboding and on the brink of decay.

  Passengers sat so quietly at their tables they might as well have been corpses in a grave. Food remained mostly untouched, though it appeared to be edible artwork the way the lobster claws reached toward the heavens and the filets were sliced to perfection.

  I pushed English peas around my plate, unable to eat, either. Tonight was the last of our treacherous voyage, and everyone seemed as if they were perched upon needles, waiting for the final celebration or funeral. It would be another sort of death, in a way, one that determined the fate of the Moonlight Carnival. Mephistopheles was determined to make it memorable, though I could not shake the sense that the murderer had the same sentiments. This was the moment he’d been waiting for—the grandest unveiling of all. He’d carefully plotted his revenge, and I feared nothing would prevent him from seeing it through. I prayed that Liza was all right, that she would not be the star of our show.

  I felt Thomas’s gaze on me, calculating and methodical. He hadn’t attempted to continue our talk from last night, and it both relieved and worried me.

  “Are you all right, Wadsworth?”

  “Of course.” I flicked my attention to him, then back to the doors. The plague doctors would be entering any moment now. Shortly after that, I’d be called up to the stage. A lucky volunteer, chosen to brave Andreas’s magical looking glass and then stand against Jian’s daggers. It seemed as if my random training sessions would be useful after all.

  “You’re not planning anything scandalous without me, are you?” Thomas asked, voice low enough to avoid Mrs. Harvey hearing. Uncle had excused himself to direct the search for Liza, and it had taken every ounce of self-control I had to not chase after him and forgo the finale. “That would be unfair, you know. I’m quite good at improvising, especially after some wine.”

  He held his glass of white wine up, a crooked smile easing onto his face. The calculation remained in his gaze, however, telling me he wasn’t about to believe the next lie that spilled from my mouth no matter how well its delivery was. Things were still tense between us after our midnight conversation, and would likely remain that way until we could truly talk. Though I was not convinced it would go any differently—perhaps I wasn’t the marrying kind. Maybe I’d always seek freedom from any perceived cage, real or imagined, no matter how often Thomas assured me otherwise. He deserved someone who could banish their doubts. Perhaps he and I were only meant to be work partners.

  I sighed. “I’m to participate in the finale, and no,” I whispered as his face partially lit up, “you are not permitted to assist me. I didn’t interfere when you volunteered to be cut in half.”

  He drew back as if I’d slapped him. “Is this what you’ve been doing at night with Mephistopheles?”

  “Thomas,” I warned. He sounded so hopeful, but a flash of my kiss with the ringmaster reminded me how tired of lies I was becoming. I hadn’t initiated it, and it might have only lasted a second, but the kiss still happened. I would not tell him that was all we’d been doing when it wasn’t the entire truth.

  He swallowed hard and stared down at his plate. Apparently he’d lost his appetite now, too.

  A string quartet entered the room, their violins and violas playing a soft and dangerous tune. Suddenly lights fell upon two cellists sitting with their instruments near the edge of the stage, their half masks glinting in the blue hue that washed over them.

  “Ah. Brahms’s String Sextet number one in B-flat Major.” Thomas closed his eyes as if soaking
in the deliciously played string music. “Opus eighteen is one of my favorites. And a fine choice for the finale. It’s slow to start, then listen to that there… the melody goes faster, more frantic, the piece builds to a crescendo, and then”—he sat back—“and then it goes back to a sweet warning. Danger is on the horizon.”

  “Yes, well,” I began, when the doors burst open and the truly macabre and bizarre entered the dining saloon. Audible gasps went up around the room as rows of plague doctors made their silent procession, filing in one after the other, their birdlike white masks even more disturbing against the backdrop of the woeful cellos and violins.

  Choreographed to perfection, once they’d invaded the space between the tables, they all stopped, pivoted, and began waltzing around, holding their sleek black cloaks out with one arm. They looked like birds with broken wings. Herbal scents wafted around, no doubt from the fragrant bits placed in their masks. Mephistopheles had gone the authentic route, sparing no detail. I hoped it didn’t mean we’d need the aroma to cover up the scent of decay.

  The music took a darker turn, the strings more melancholy and deep in tone, raising gooseflesh down my arms.

  “String Sextet number two,” Thomas murmured, brows tugged together. “Another appropriate choice. Though it seems—”

  Mephistopheles nearly exploded onto the stage. He appeared behind a wall of igniting fireworks, the white sparkling flares shooting high to the ceiling and remaining that way for several beats of my heart. Smoke lingered before him, grayish tendrils curling about before disappearing. The room now stank of sulfur.

  “Ladies. Gentlemen.” He swept his arms out, and instead of simply appearing like wings, his cloak actually had black feathers sewn onto it, so inky and dark it almost looked iridescent. “Welcome to the grand finale. I promised magic, mischief, and mayhem. And this…” He walked around in a wide circle, lights clicking on and illuminating different acts already set up in rings on the stage. “This evening is devoted to mayhem. Prepare to be swept into the space between dreams and nightmares. Welcome to the final night of the Moonlight Carnival.”

  Resplendent in her dragon costume, Anishaa stepped into a ring onstage. The pearly lavender scales practically glowed as she blew fire out in long bursts. The audience in front screeched, moving their chairs swiftly back and away, hoping to avoid being burnt.

  Another bright flood lamp clicked on, drawing the crowd’s attention skyward, where Cassie shot across the room like a shooting star, tumbling from one trapeze to the next. My heart thrummed. Clowns juggling colorful balls hopped from side to side, making faces. A tattooed woman with a large snake picked her way through the saloon, sashaying as she went, her pet hissing whenever anyone stared too hard. Once everyone was in their spots, it would be my turn. I gripped my napkin beneath the table, focusing on my breath.

  Finally, Andreas and Jian made their way into the room, hoisting Houdini upside down on a large wooden scaffold as they went. He was wearing a straitjacket, over which his entire body was woven in chains. I hadn’t seen him practice this trick, and I imagined it was yet another secret the ringmaster had kept to himself.

  Once Houdini was strung up like a fish that had been caught, wriggling on the line, Mephistopheles stomped his feet three times, and rings of fire went up around each act. This was it. I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip, watching each performer for any hints as to who might be plotting murder this very moment. Everyone seemed suspicious. And nearly each of them had motive. My pulse sped up—any moment now…

  “A volunteer is needed from the audience tonight.” Mephistopheles walked from one end of the stage to the other, gloved hand shielding his eyes from both the flames and blaring lights. “Who amongst you is brave enough to stand before the knight’s blades of fury? Who has the strength to stare into the magical Bavarian looking glass and witness their future?”

  The room seemed to hold its breath; not one person moved, lest they were called up to the stage. Understanding dawned brightly. Here was yet another reason Mephistopheles had asked me to participate in the finale—he’d feared this very thing would happen. After the first murder, he’d purchased a bit of insurance for his carnival. The show would go on, and he would have audience participation even if that was an illusion as well.

  I slowly stood, my red-and-black-striped evening gown suddenly feeling two sizes too small.

  “Audrey Rose, wait,” Thomas’s voice was low and urgent. “Don’t. Something is wrong… where is the contortionist?”

  I gestured up to the ceiling as Cassie vaulted from one trapeze to the next, where I knew Sebastián was waiting for his cue to join her in flight.

  “You!” Mephistopheles jumped from the stage, his cloak wings spread out intimidatingly. Diners at the nearest table quickly shot up from their seats and rushed to the doors, dodging around the plague doctors who continued to waltz to the same two songs that were being replayed. Apparently the costumes were a bit too frightening, and the sudden movement of the ringmaster wasn’t helping to quell their fears. “Come, sweet lady”—he offered his arm—“let us see what fate has in store for you this evening.”

  I squeezed Thomas’s shoulder lightly and accepted the ringmaster’s arm. Once we were onstage, waiting for the target board to be rolled out, the gravity of the night finally struck me. Someone was either about to die, or their corpse was about to be displayed. Of that much I was near certain. Neither of those scenarios would be welcome, especially if my cousin was harmed.

  Or if the someone was me.

  I wiped my palms down the front of my bodice. The stage lights were hotter than I’d thought. Or perhaps standing before the crowd—though it was a fraction of what it once had been at the start of the week—was more unnerving than I’d imagined it to be.

  I subtly glanced from Jian’s blades—glinting each time he swung them around—to Anishaa spitting fire to Houdini already half freed from his constraints. He’d escape these new bonds and make yet another legendary story of himself. Andreas, in full plague-doctor costume, stood before his looking glass as if standing guard over the future. All I needed to do was step up to the target board, and the true finale would start. I hoped it would not be my death march.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mephistopheles crooned, “let the mayhem… begin!”

  Fireworks burst off in the corners of the saloon like fountains of sparkling water. It might not have been the best idea, considering how jumpy everyone already was. One woman collapsed onto her table, squishing the lobster and sauce across her bosom. Another man shoved back from his seat so quickly, he fell over. Plague doctors nearby assisted them, which might have been more frightening than the loud noise.

  Even amongst the stirring crowd Thomas drew my attention as he always did, his sharp gaze stuck to something behind me, brows knit. I half turned, but only saw the looking glass. No one was lurking behind it. No bodies hanging, set ablaze, or submerged. It was just as it always had been, except it appeared as if the ringmaster had finally convinced Andreas to clean it up a bit.

  “Miss Wadsworth?” Mephistopheles whispered. “It’s time.”

  I took a deep breath and picked my way around the rings of fire until I stood before Jian’s target board. A woman’s silhouette had been painted onto it, allowing the audience a hint as to what was to come. I went to reach for a blindfold, but Jian gave one jerk of his head. “Not tonight. Here.” He handed me an apple, his taunting smile softening into something that almost looked like respect as I took it without so much as a tremor in my hands. “Place this on your head. And don’t. Move.”

  I swallowed hard, eyes darting around the saloon in search of a bit of strength. A nod of support. What I needed was my best friend. Except Thomas was nowhere to be seen. “I…”

  “Miss Wadsworth,” Mephistopheles said, briefly taking my hand in his and squeezing it in comfort, “be brave.”

  In a haze, I slowly walked to the target board, mind moving faster than the silver-clad stilt walkers who’d just
entered the room, spinning teacups on sticks. For Thomas to have left…

  I reached the board and brought the bloodred apple to the top of my head, only half thinking about my safety. Liza. He had to have figured something out about my cousin, or was he too angry to sit and watch me onstage? Perhaps he worried Mephistopheles and I might have been practicing our own act and the thought made him ill.

  Jian barked commands at the audience, but all I felt was the heat from the lights, the sound of the crackling flames nearly drowning out the string sextet as it lurched into the next melody, and the general cacophony ringing in both my ears and my chest. A bead of sweat rolled between my shoulder blades. Something was wrong.

  I stared unseeingly at Jian’s waistcoat—it was unusual for the Moonlight Carnival. It was made of cloth stitched with an enchanted forest from a fairy tale, complete with vines and trees and constellations. I’d seen it before…

  A knife sailed through the air, landing near my ear. Another rapidly followed, sinking deep into the wood on the opposite side. My pulse roared. I’d missed something. Something that had caught Thomas’s attention. I could have sworn my makeup was melting down my face under the burning lights. Another knife struck near my skull. Thomas had been staring at the looking glass, but Andreas couldn’t be the one who’d stolen my cousin and severed her finger. He was right there, doing card tricks with the now-free Houdini.

  Apple pulp sprayed down around me, the juice sticky and sweet as it stuck to my face and neck. The crowd surged to its feet, bringing their hands together. The knight had dazzled them with his blades once more. I couldn’t concentrate on the here and now, however. Andreas lifted his plague-doctor mask and stole a quick sip of water. Jian took a slow, deliberate bow, eyes fixed to mine. Cassie smiled down from above, her mask glinting like a blade. I swallowed hard, attention straying to Anishaa, who swung twin ropes of flames and then spit them perilously close to where I stood. Each of them was beautiful yet deadly. And perhaps they were all guilty.