by C. J. Archer
"Have you never been out of London?" he asked me.
"Rarely. We were always too busy with the shop. Of course, if my grandfather had been present he could have assisted while my parents took me to the seaside on holiday."
Miss Glass muttered, "Oh dear," and studied the wood grain on the writing desk.
"The shop hardly brought in enough money for frivolous extras like holidays," Chronos shot back. "Perhaps if your father and grandmother had used their—" He cut himself off when I shook my head furiously. "Perhaps if they'd had better business sense they would have made more money," he said instead.
"It was hard for them, particularly for my grandmother," I said. "By all accounts, even when you were in London, you rarely helped. You were always chasing…your other interests."
"Your grandmother preferred that arrangement. She liked things done a certain way—her way. She disliked my interference in the running of the shop. Your father was not much different. If the truth be told, I wasn't a very good shopkeeper. My other interests, as you call them, were far more important."
"Only to you."
He sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Everyone was better off with me leaving."
"And severing contact altogether?"
"It was for the best."
"How can you know how everyone felt when you never saw them again?"
"Stop it!" Miss Glass snapped. "Stop your arguing. It makes my head ache. India, I expect better from you. You've never behaved as childishly as this."
Her rebuke rendered me speechless. I wasn't sure whether to be offended or to defend myself. But a few moments of silence cooled my temper, and I had to agree that she had a point. I didn't like the person I became when Chronos riled me. It was too late to change what had happened, or make him understand the effect his absence had on our family, and I was better off saving my energy helping Matt find Dr. Millroy's diary and illegitimate son.
Matt himself took that moment to enter. He hesitated in the doorway, a small frown on his brow. "Has something happened?" he asked carefully.
"Everyone is a little tense," Miss Glass said, putting out her hand. "Help me up, Cyclops. I'll take my correspondence to my room."
Cyclops left with her but before he shut the door, he spoke quietly to Matt. Whatever he said, Matt didn't like it. He scowled at Cyclops and turned his back to him. Cyclops shook his head then signaled to me that Matt needed to rest.
Matt did indeed look terrible. Despite his well groomed appearance, the rims of his eyes were red and the skin beneath them as dark as fresh bruises. I did not order him to rest, however. Sometimes it was best to handle him delicately.
"What drove my aunt away?" he asked as he settled beside me on the sofa.
"Petty arguments between Chronos and me," I said. "It won't happen again."
Chronos grunted. "So what did the police say?"
"Commissioner Munro was reluctant to open up an old case at first," Matt said.
"Why?" I asked. "The murderer was never discovered. Wouldn't they welcome new evidence?"
"We don't have new evidence. He considered it a waste of police resources."
"But you convinced him to change his mind?" Chronos prompted.
Matt nodded. "Eventually, yes. That's why it took so long. After seeing Munro, I sought out Brockwell, a detective inspector of our acquaintance."
"Brockwell!" I made a face. "I haven't made up my mind whether I like him or not. He was rather plodding in the murder case of Dr. Hale."
"Methodical," Matt countered. "He got the job done in the end and made sure there was no room for error or misinterpretation by his superiors."
"I don't think he had much to do with that," I said. "Besides, he's not aware of magic. How can we share information with him without mentioning it?"
"With care."
"I agree with India," Chronos said. "This Brockwell seems like he could be a thorn in our side."
"He was my only option," Matt snapped. He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. I resisted the urge to lay a hand on his arm. "Brockwell had a word with Munro and the commissioner agreed that Brockwell can help us until something more pressing comes across his desk."
"You bribed him," Chronos said flatly.
Matt shook his head. "Brockwell cannot be bought."
"That makes him unique among the constabulary."
"He doesn't like loose ends," Matt added. "This is an open case and he wants to find the murderer. I think unfinished business bothers him just as much as an unfinished book bothers an avid reader."
"So what did Brockwell find out about Dr. Millroy's murder?" I asked.
"We spent some time in the archives reading reports from the detective inspector in charge of the case. He's deceased now, but his records were thorough. Millroy's throat had been cut with a sharp blade that was never found. There was a lot of blood at the scene." He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "A child witness saw a tall man walk away from the body, but he couldn't see the man's face."
"Is that it?" Chronos asked. "I knew all of that from reading the newspapers."
"That was all the physical evidence from the scene," Matt went on. "After interviewing the widow, the investigating detective discovered that Dr. Millroy had been confronted by members of both the Surgeon's Guild and the Watchmaker's Guild before his death."
"Watchmaker's!" I said. "Why them when he didn't belong to that guild?"
"Because they'd learned about our experiment on Mr. Wilson," Chronos said heavily. He rubbed his beard absently, his gaze distant. "Abercrombie confronted me too. That's the previous Abercrombie, not the current one, his son. I'd like to know how the guilds found out about the experiment."
"Are you sure you never told anyone?" Matt asked. "Not even your wife?"
"Especially not my wife. Doesn't mean Millroy had the same good sense."
"He could have written it down in his diary," I said. "Someone may have read it and passed on the information to both guilds. But who? And why?"
"His killer?" Matt said. "Perhaps he hoped to get Millroy into trouble with the guilds out of revenge for killing Wilson, but when that didn't happen, he took more drastic action."
Chronos shook his head. "That points the finger at someone who cared for Wilson, and no one did. The vagrant we experimented on had no family, no home, no friends."
"A moral crusader?" I suggested.
"The problem with that theory," Matt said, "is that the killer should have come after Chronos too."
We both looked to my grandfather. "Perhaps he tried," Chronos said. "I left London the day after I read about Millroy's murder in the papers. Abercrombie from the Watchmaker's Guild called on me, accusing me of using my magic to murder people. He told me he would notify the police and inform them of my role in the vagrant's death, and he even accused me of being involved in Dr. Millroy's death. I fled that afternoon."
"Did the reports say how the police learned of the guilds' confrontation with Dr. Millroy?" I asked.
"His widow told the inspector," Matt said.
I wagged a finger at him in thought. "She might have a reason to kill her husband. We know he had a mistress and even fathered a child with that mistress. Perhaps she killed him out of jealousy or anger. Perhaps his murder had nothing to do with the guilds or the experiment. You could have been running in fear all this time for no reason," I said to Chronos.
"The guilds still want me blamed for the vagrant's death."
"Scotland Yard is not aware of your involvement," Matt said. "I asked Brockwell if the police are looking for you in relation to any crimes. He checked and said they are not."
“They’re not?" Chronos said weakly. "So…Abercrombie never followed through on his threat?"
"You still need to remain in hiding. I don't trust the Watchmaker's Guild and they don't trust you. They might still approach the police if they know you're alive and here."
Chronos nodded slowly. "You're right. It's a
weight off my shoulders nevertheless."
"If Mrs. Millroy is involved in her husband's death," Matt said, "she got someone else to commit the actual murder. A man was seen leaving the scene, not a woman." He suppressed a yawn while avoiding looking at me. "I'll visit Abercrombie this afternoon and see what he remembers about his father's visit to Dr. Millroy before his murder."
"Good luck getting him to tell you anything," I said.
"If he's like his father he's a slippery little weasel," Chronos added.
"Then he's exactly like his father."
Matt pushed up from the sofa and stifled another yawn. He headed for the door only to stop and spin on his heel. He frowned at me. "Ordinarily you would ask to come along on an investigation, India. But you didn't this time. Why?"
Damnation. I'd wanted to avoid mentioning Oscar Barratt until after I'd seen the journalist. But I couldn't lie to Matt. "May we speak alone?"
His gaze flicked to Chronos.
"I'm going, I'm going." Chronos sidled past me but paused before leaving. "The spell, India. The second one I taught you." He nodded at Matt. "You ought to try it."
My eyes widened. I stared at him. He thought I could fix Matt's watch, when he couldn't?
It was worth a try, I suppose. I raced to Matt and unbuttoned his jacket. Chronos stepped closer too, a curious light in his eyes.
Matt put up his hands in surrender as I took to unbuttoning his waistcoat. The heat coming off him warmed me, sent a thrill through me. My fingers fumbled. There was only his shirt between his skin and mine, but that held no interest for me now. I only wanted his watch.
What if I could succeed where Chronos failed? What if my magic was strong enough to fix the magic watch without a doctor?
I withdrew the watch from its pocket with trembling hands and closed my fist around it. I spoke the words Chronos had taught me, careful to get the cadence and accent right. It took three attempts then the watch glowed purple, brighter than it had glowed for Chronos. Matt's white shirt became purple too and my fingernails. Beside me, I felt Chronos shift his weight and move closer to see. Matt's swallow was audible but I did not look up at him until I handed him back his watch.
"Try now," I said, unable to keep the smile from my voice.
I watched, not daring to breathe, as he closed his eyes and drew the magic into his body.
Chapter 4
"Well?" I prompted when Matt shut the watch's case.
"Is there an improvement?" Chronos pressed. He sounded excited too, and for the first time, I felt a connection to him.
Matt blinked down at the watch in his hand, the chain dangling through his fingers. "Something's different."
I sucked in a deep, shuddery breath then clamped a shaking hand over his. "Matt…" I couldn't speak, couldn't form the words needed to ask.
He lifted his head to meet my gaze and folded his other hand over mine. "I feel stronger, India, healthier. Healthier than I have in weeks."
"As good as the first time you used it in Broken Creek?"
"No." Matt pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it gently, never taking his gaze off me. "But it's a positive development."
"Yes," I said, somewhat numb. "It is."
"Thank you," he murmured, his lips against my hand.
I caught Chronos backing from the room out of the corner of my eye. He shut the door, leaving Matt and me alone in the drawing room.
Matt quickly lowered my hand. "I need to apologize for last night."
The rapid change of topic caught me by surprise. I wanted to discuss his health more, and I thought he wanted to talk about me not visiting Abercrombie with him.
"You have nothing to apologize for," I said.
"I do. I was a boor."
"If you think you behaved poorly, you should apologize to Willie and the others. Anyway, you were upset about the watch not working after Chronos cast his spell. Your hopes had built up only to be dashed." I squeezed his arm. "It's understandable you wanted to forget for a few hours."
He cringed and I noticed the lines at the corners of his eyes looked smaller, the shadows mere smudges not bruises. It was no different to how he always looked after using the watch. "Don't be so forgiving," he said quietly. "I don't deserve it."
I smiled. "Do you need to rest?"
"Not quite as badly as I have of late." He sounded surprised.
"That's something."
"I'll rest before I see Abercrombie. Speaking of which, why aren't you insisting on coming with me this afternoon?"
"I want to call on Oscar Barratt," I said. "I ought to see how he is."
"Ah." He gave me a flat smile. "Wish him well in his recovery from me. Will you take him up on his offer to go to the theater?"
"But…you promised to take me." Good lord, I sounded pathetic.
"I haven't forgotten my promise, but there's no reason you can't go with him too."
I regarded him from beneath my lashes. "Why?"
"Why not? He likes you. He's a good man, although a little eager. About magic," he added then cleared his throat. "Give him my regards," he said, turning to go.
It took me several seconds to recover from my disappointment at his changed attitude toward my friendship with Barratt. But without seeing his face, I couldn't begin to determine what it meant.
"One other thing," he said over his shoulder. "About your intention to move out…is that decision final?"
"I'm still considering what to do. I thought my mind was made up but now I'm not sure."
The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. "Take your time. There's no need to rush."
Oscar Barratt had given me his home address some time ago so that I could visit him, day or night, if I had any questions about magic. I assumed he was there recuperating, but I was wrong. His landlady said he'd gone back to work and I found him at The Weekly Gazette's office on Lower Mire Lane, the insignificant little street off the more industrious Fleet Street. The Weekly Gazette wasn't one of the city's pre-eminent papers but it had a solid following among the middle classes who preferred its sensationalist stories over the political and financial slant of the better known dailies.
I found Mr. Barratt at his desk out the back, his arm in a sling, writing furiously. Another journalist in the adjoining office tapped at a mechanical typewriter. Its rhythmic clack clack was more soothing than I expected, and I hadn't realized my nerves were jangly until I drew in a deep breath.
"Not even a bullet wound can slow you down," I said to the dark head bent over the desk.
Mr. Barratt looked up. "India! What a pleasant surprise." He got to his feet quickly, only to wince and touch his arm.
"Are you all right?" I edged around the desk but stopped before getting too close. I offered a sympathetic smile.
"I'll be fine. Just got up too suddenly." He indicated I should sit on the chair opposite. "I'm glad you're here. I wanted to call upon you but I wasn't sure if I should. Inspector Brockwell said you had quite a scare the day I was shot."
"At least I wasn’t injured."
"How did you escape from Mr. Pitt? Brockwell was vague on the particulars."
"Matt was there."
"If he saved your life, Brockwell would have said so." He leaned forward. "Was it your watch?"
I glanced over my shoulder at the door. Even though no one stood there, I whispered. "It did, along with Matt's distraction."
He threw the pen down on his paper. Ink splattered but he didn't care. "I knew it!" He beamed. "Excellent." He reached forward to pat my hand but knocked his arm on the edge of the desk and winced.
"You look like you're in pain, Mr. Barratt. Can I get you anything?"
He hesitated. "A new shoulder without a hole in it." He smiled crookedly, turning his handsome features into something quite extraordinary. "It actually doesn't hurt as badly as you might think. The bullet didn't go right through, merely grazed me. It's still lodged in the wall in the printing room."
"You were very lucky. I am so glad you're a
ll right, as is Matt. We feel terribly responsible for involving you. None of this would have happened if we hadn't sought you out after reading your article."
"I'll forgive you on one condition."
Oh dear. What did he want from me? More than a ticket to the theater?
He laughed softly, making him even more dashing. "There's no need to worry. My condition is that you call me Oscar, since I've taken to calling you India.
I smiled, more in relief than with humor. "I can do that."
"And anyway, it wasn't your fault. I wrote that article about Dr. Hale, drawing attention to myself and to magic. I probably should take a leaf out of your book and be more discreet."
"You have drawn the notice of some people. Speaking of which, did you know Mr. Pitt took me to Lord Coyle's house when he kidnapped me from here?"
"Brockwell informed me but claimed Pitt had overreached his acquaintance with Coyle." He adjusted the sling and gingerly rested his arm on the desk. His face brightened, as if he could sense an intriguing story in the air. "Was Coyle behind Hale's murder, somehow urging Pitt to act on his behalf?"
"We don't know, but I just wanted to warn you to be careful. If Lord Coyle asks you about magic again, it may be best to be as vague as possible until we know why he collects magical objects. He's rich and influential, and he knows how to get what he wants. Fortunately, Inspector Brockwell cannot be bought."
He huffed softly. "Or perhaps the right currency hasn't been tabled."
I ought to defend Brockwell's integrity, but he'd made things difficult for us during the investigation into Hale's death. Matt may like him, but I wasn't as willing to be his friend. "I want to discuss something with you, Oscar. Something that you've mentioned before but Matt and I dismissed. I think it's worth exploring again."
"This sounds intriguing. I'm all ears."
"Let's talk about writing an article revealing magic to the public."
Chapter 5
Oscar sat back heavily, which must have jolted his shoulder, yet he didn't so much as wince. He stared at me. Then slowly, slowly, his lips curved into a smile. "You want me to write an article exposing magicians?"
