Escaping From Houdini (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 3)

by Kerri Maniscalco

  I stumbled across the stage, thoughts circling clues like crows circling a carcass, when an arm came down around my shoulders, tugging me near.

  “Everything all right, Miss Wadsworth?” Mephistopheles asked. “If you don’t smile and take a little bow, you’re going to frighten the audience.”

  I went to comply when recognition finally struck me. “The stolen fabric…”

  “Later,” Mephistopheles said. “Please bow and take your seat.”

  “No,” I whispered. “Jian’s the murderer. We have to get him off the stage. Now.”

  “What?”

  “Jian’s the murderer!” I nearly shouted.

  Across the stage, Jian cocked his head, spinning a knife in one hand as someone might do with a pistol. “What did you just say?”

  A row of cancan dancers emerged from behind him, kicking their limbs high, their skirts in shades of vermilion, chartreuse, and cobalt. They were the only splashes of color in a moonlight palette. And they were currently making Jian’s progression toward me quite difficult. He wove through the line of dancers, ducking back from their kicks, gaze hard as he towered over me.

  “You’ve got no proof for that accusation, do you?” Jian demanded.

  Mephistopheles somehow managed to tug us behind the dancers and their voluminous skirts, almost as if he’d also predicted this and wanted the scene to be blocked from the audience’s view.

  “That fabric you’re wearing? That was stolen days ago,” I said, nodding to his waistcoat. “We believe the murderer is to blame. And here you are, wearing it for the whole audience. Tonight is your big finale, isn’t it?”

  Jian stared down at his waistcoat, blinking as if he’d only just noticed it. “This was a gift.”

  “A gift from whom?” I asked, unconvinced, although the hurt flashing in his eyes was hard to miss.

  He glanced at Mephistopheles while the dancers retreated behind the curtain. “From—”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” an accented voice boomed through the dining saloon. “Please direct your attention to our grandest performance yet! May I present… the Hanged Man!”

  Mephistopheles, Jian, and I stared at one another, expressions matching masks of dread as all the lights in the room went out at once.

  THIRTY-NINE

  SPECTACULAR SPECTACLE

  DINING SALOON

  RMS ETRURIA

  8 JANUARY 1889

  A floodlight flashed on near the end of the stage, illuminating a shadowy corner in a ghostly white blue. Next to the unmistakable, old looking glass, Dr. Arden swung slowly from a noose. His eyes bulged, and a black tongue protruded from his gaping lips. His left arm was missing at the elbow. All sounds in the room ceased, even the mournful violins screeched to a halt at the sight. My attention, however, snagged on something worse, and my blood chilled at the impossibility before me.

  Thomas sat facing the magic looking glass, blindfolded, a garrote around his neck. His hands were bound behind his back. The fortune-teller must have lured him onstage—a feat that wouldn’t have been hard, considering how much Thomas had wanted to join me for the finale.

  “If anyone moves,” Andreas said quietly, his voice projected from some mechanical device, “this young man dies.”

  Mephistopheles shifted beside me, but held his hand up, stalling the performers from making any sudden movements. I glanced back at Jian and the knives he still held. Jaw clenched, he fixed his focus only on his friend. I didn’t know if he was involved, but given the look of complete and utter betrayal playing out on his features, I had a feeling Andreas was the person who’d gifted him the waistcoat.

  “You,” Andreas barked at Anishaa, “put the flames out slowly.” The fire-eater glanced at Mephistopheles, eyes wide. “He’s not in charge! Do as I say, or I will kill him now.”

  Anishaa didn’t hesitate this time, she stumbled forward, drenching her torches in buckets of water, the hiss of the fire meeting the steam the only sound in the room. Aside from my pounding heart.

  “The knives. Drop them, by the blades, off the stage. Now.”

  Jian wordlessly did so as Andreas stood behind Thomas, expression guarded as he gripped the garrote around my friend’s neck. I wanted to take a step in their direction, but forced myself to comply to his warning. I had to remain calm, think. I would get Thomas out of this situation, or die trying. There was no other option.

  “Andreas…” I said slowly, “please let Thomas go. He’s done nothing wrong.”

  “We’re about to begin the divination of Mr. Cresswell’s future, Miss Wadsworth. Fate chooses its mark,” Andreas replied. “Some people have faith in the magic looking glass. It will show him his future bride. He believes in the beauty of true, fated love. As I once did.”

  I tried to keep my voice steady, to keep the entire situation calm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw diners fidgeting in their seats. I hoped their movement didn’t enrage Andreas. His knuckles were turning white. “Thomas’s future is most certainly brighter without the looking glass. If you let him go, we can assist you. I’m sure you had a very good reason for what you did. All you have to do is let Thomas go and we can discuss this.”

  He gave a quick, stiff shake of his head. “Afraid I can’t do that, Miss Wadsworth. He wants to know his fate and I will give it to him.”

  Thomas made a strangled sound, his fingers tugging uselessly at the restraints on his wrists.

  “I already know his fate,” I said, near pleading. “He and I are going to live happily in the country. He’ll have his laboratory and I’ll have mine. We’ll—” I blinked the tears back, angry with myself for letting my emotions get the better of me. “Andreas… please stop. I—I love him.”

  “No.” He held an arm out. “You do not deserve him, running around with the ringmaster, forsaking his love. The looking glass will show him a different fate, one that is free of hurt. I insist that you sit down and watch the show.”

  “Enough, Andreas.” Mephistopheles stepped up beside me. I could clearly read the panic in his expression, though his voice held that familiar edge of authority. “Put the garrote down. The captain and his men are on their way. The dining saloon has been locked and there is no escape. Crew members are standing guard outside—we had them as a precaution.”

  “Escape?” Andreas snorted, his grip tightening on Thomas’s bindings. If he pulled any harder, Thomas was going to die. I clenched my fists. “I never imagined I’d escape from this, Ringmaster.”

  Thomas, lips just beginning to turn blue, made a sudden movement to stand, and Andreas shoved him down, eyes flashing as if he could take all of us on at once and win. I went to charge forward, but Mephistopheles snatched the back of my skirts, keeping me in place and probably saving Thomas’s life.

  “You all have two choices,” Andreas said. “Either handle this civilly and with dignity, or I will have to make this much harder and more painful.”

  “Where’s Liza?” I asked, hoping to distract him. “Is she still alive?”

  He turned unfathomably cold eyes upon me. “For now.”

  It was hardly comforting, but it was better than her being dead. He set his attention back on the garrote, tugging it a little tighter. Thomas wheezed and I nearly lost my mind.

  “I know why you’ve murdered those women,” I shouted out, ignoring the gasp from the audience. I’d nearly forgotten them. “Revenge. Correct? You said Liesel sold roses. Lord Crenshaw paid her a compliment and Lady Crenshaw falsely accused her of theft. Out of nothing more than jealousy.” A simple story of a broken love turned lethal. “The Crenshaws. The Prescotts. They conspired to put Liesel in prison, didn’t they?”

  I closed my eyes. Suddenly a new image sprang into my head. I felt as though I were Thomas Cresswell, traveling into the mind of a murderer once more. In my mind I saw a girl with a sweet smile and kind eyes. A girl who didn’t have much but made the most of her simple life. A girl who’d captured the heart of the young man before us.

  “Lord Crensh
aw had your betrothed arrested, didn’t he?” I asked, venturing a step closer. Andreas didn’t answer. “Mr. Prescott is the chief magistrate who sentenced her without a fair trial.” I shook my head. “Conditions in prisons are atrocious. Your betrothed got sick there. Something that could have been treatable, but Dr. Arden refused to tend to her in the workhouse.”

  “It all started with that horrible woman.” Andreas clenched his teeth so hard he all but growled the words. “Confessed right before drinking the poison I’d laid out. Said she couldn’t live with what had happened to her daughter. She’d overpaid for the flowers, even though Liesel tried to refuse.” His expression turned colder than the winter sea slapping against the ship. “Her husband confronted her over missing money and she claimed it must have been that thieving flower girl. The one with the funny accent. Lady Crenshaw knew how her husband would react—apparently he’s got a history of locking people away.”

  Andreas turned his furious gaze in my direction, grip lessening. “They killed her. All of them.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “They took my beloved from me, so I took what they cared about most in return. An eye for an eye. I will not stop until they’ve tasted from the well of despair that I’ve been drowning in these past few months.”

  A noble family. A doctor. A chief magistrate. Six of Diamonds. Ace of Spades. Five of Hearts. Ace of Clubs. Their roles, laid out. Seven of Swords, the Star—punishments fitting their crimes. A story of jealously, love, loss, betrayal, and revenge.

  He wrapped the garrote more tightly around Thomas’s neck, and I could have sworn I felt the phantom sensation of losing my own breath. My world seemed on the brink of annihilation.

  “Each of them murdered her. All of their hands are dirty, stained in blood. Everyone gets their hands dirty in this business, right, boss? You taught me that. Even you betrayed me. You sent me out to fetch those flowers that day. Without you I wouldn’t have met Liesel and she’d still be alive in Bavaria. This cursed carnival should burn. And after this voyage? After this I don’t think even you can recover, Mephistopheles. Though I do thank you for that money; without it, none of this would have been possible.”

  “Money?” I asked, glancing between them. “What money?”

  Andreas looked at me, eyes narrowed. “I arranged for them all to receive paid first-class passage on this ship. Our glorious ringmaster felt so bad about Liesel, he agreed to give me a handsome sum for her grave marker. Being as she is dead, I didn’t think she’d mind me using the money to avenge her. See?” he said, momentarily letting up on the garrote. “My hands are filthy now, boss.”

  “Oh, Andreas.” Mephistopheles slowly shook his head. “I never meant… that wasn’t the point of my story. I was speaking of living well as the best revenge. And getting your hands dirty—that’s just stage talk. Not something literal. My hands are usually covered in grease from engineering new mechanisms. Not the blood of innocents.”

  “‘Innocents’? Haven’t you been paying attention? None of them was innocent!” Andreas shook his head. “What world could I ever live in after they killed my love? The only thing keeping me going is the thought of vengeance, making those men pay. My hands are no more stained than the hands of those who are in supposed good standing in society. How many others have they killed, and yet they still walk free? How many lives destroyed by their whims?”

  Murmurs went up from the crowd. With Thomas gasping for breath, I’d again forgotten the audience was watching every moment of this. I was focused on two things: the steady war-drum beat of my heart, and the realization that I’d fight a thousand battles and die a thousand ways before I allowed any harm to befall my love. Andreas would be revealing his spectacular spectacle soon, especially now that his whole plan had been laid bare.

  “But… you didn’t kill those men,” I said, maneuvering closer. “You murdered their daughters, and Mrs. Prescott.”

  Andreas barely flicked his gaze in my direction. “I hurt them where it did the most damage. Once each of those men has lost everything he’s ever loved, that’s when this will be made right. Leaving Prescott and Lord Crenshaw alive is the best form of torture for them. Let them live out their days in misery. As they did for me.”

  “You cannot take justice into your own hands,” Mephistopheles said. “You should have told the detective inspectors.”

  Andreas snorted. “If you believe they would investigate the death of a poor, sick flower girl from the slums, and put the rich men who killed her behind bars, then you’re as bad as they are. Justice is only given to the powerful, and that’s not really justice, is it?”

  Thomas’s eyes rolled back and he began to go limp. The audience gasped, and I involuntarily took a step forward, then halted at Andreas’s command, brimming with anguish and frustration.

  I cried out as Andreas released the garrote, but my relief was short-lived when his knife flashed in the bright lights. Someone screamed behind us, but I shut out all distractions, my focus set only on the blade. He’d swiftly removed the new weapon from his boot, eyes trained on Thomas, who was struggling to draw in breath. He was going to kill Thomas, then do the same to me and Mephistopheles as his grand finale.

  Soft whistling from the rafters drew my attention; I glanced up beyond the maimed body of Dr. Arden as it twisted on the rope, where Cassie and Sebastián stood near their trapezes. They pointed to Andreas and a large bag of whatever they held, signaling their plan. Mephistopheles and I wouldn’t be alone in our attack. We’d likely tackle Andreas before any true harm could be done to us, or Cassie and Sebastián would drop the sack and knock him out, but Thomas…

  Sounds of diners crying faded into one throbbing pulse—the beat of my heart, the only rhythm urging me on. Andreas was going to slay Thomas right before my very eyes. He saw him as just another wealthy elitist, one more problem in a broken system.

  I would never allow Cresswell to become the final showpiece in his warped finale.

  For a moment, all of us were frozen in a horrifying tableau. Then Andreas drew his leg back and kicked Thomas halfway across the stage. I knew he was giving himself room to show off his knife skills. My entire body felt as if it had been dunked in ice, then immediately set ablaze. In that moment, watching Thomas stagger and fall to his knees, I understood with startling clarity what Andreas had been through watching Liesel die needlessly.

  There was no world I wanted to live in where Thomas Cresswell wasn’t a part of it. No matter the odds stacked against us, I’d fight for him until I drew in my last, shuddering breath. Even in death I’d never stop coming for those who threatened my family. Because that’s what Thomas had become. He was mine—I’d chosen him just as he’d chosen me, and I’d defend him with everything I had. Our friendship had caught fire and blazed with something powerful and untamed. Something I’d been foolish to ever doubt.

  “No!” Cries and shouts went up around me, and I could have sworn I heard the performers charging their friend. A bag of resin missed its target and smashed onto the stage, the powder puffing out like one of Mephistopheles’s smoke entrances. I ignored it all, my focus as sharp as a bone saw.

  Andreas raised his knife, and I knew he’d fling it into Thomas’s chest. He’d been practicing with Jian all week, and his aim had gotten frighteningly true.

  I didn’t think. I didn’t need to. I simply needed to act. I’d been practicing sleight of hand all week, never realizing that I would apply those tactics in a moment such as this. My body was in motion without a second thought.

  I slipped my hand under my skirts, seized the scalpel strapped there, and threw it as hard and fast as I could. I didn’t bother aiming, there was no point. I wasn’t a marksman, nor did I possess Jian’s skills. I would not hit a moving target. But the smashing of the precious looking glass would land the deepest blow anyway. Just like murdering the wives and daughters of his enemies inflicted the most pain.

  The sound of glass shattering caused the moment of distraction I’d hoped it would, a moment I pressed to my ad
vantage like any magician worth her salt in tricks.

  Andreas screamed, guttural and unhinged. I’d taken the last of his Liesel from this earth. Mephistopheles yelled my name, perhaps in warning, but I was already aware of the danger as he ran at the fortune-teller, barreling into him. I didn’t cry out as I crashed into Thomas, wrapping my arms around him, knocking us both to the ground, nor did I make a sound as Andreas’s knife sank deep into my flesh.

  It struck exactly where I’d imagined it would. In that moment, I felt darkly victorious. I’d gone up against the monster and protected the one I loved. I’d banished my doubts. At first there wasn’t any pain, and I foolishly believed he’d missed hitting anything vital. That Thomas and I were both going to escape from this nightmare whole and unharmed. That the two of us would live out our days in the country, exactly as I’d said we would. That I’d spend as long as it would take to make things right between us, to earn back his love and prove mine.

  But that blissful nothingness didn’t last. A moment later a sharp, searing sensation tore through me, wrenching a scream from deep within. The sound was more animalistic than human, and I’d no idea I could emit such a terrible, feral noise. Tears streamed down my face and dripped into my mouth, salty and warm.

  “Thomas!” Everything became hot and sticky, though shudders simultaneously racked my body. Fingers slick with blood gripped mine. “Thomas,” I said again, more softly.

  “Wadsworth”—Thomas’s voice was strained—“stay here. Stay here with me.”

  “I’m not… going… anywhere.” There was nowhere in the entire world I’d rather be. Though the part of me not consumed by the searing heat in my leg worried I’d just told another lie… that wishing to or not, I might leave Thomas Cresswell yet. I wanted to cry or laugh out, but the pain was overwhelming. Blessedly, bits of darkness sneaked in, dulling some of my agony.