The Spiritglass Charade

by Colleen Gleason

  The hideout was much larger than it seemed from the exterior. La société must have taken over the entire building. The corridor we walked was short and narrow, with five doors. Mina listened at each one, then opened it to check inside.

  Inside the fourth door, she gasped. I pushed in past her, stake at the ready, to see a woman in a crumpled heap on a small bed. A bit of light shone through a barred window. It gave us enough illumination to see the dark mass of the woman’s hair spilling around her.

  She was sleeping or worse, for she had no reaction to our presence. Her breathing was so shallow so as to be hardly noticeable, and when Mina checked a wrist for her pulse, she shook her head grimly.

  I recognized the woman wasn’t an UnDead, but when my companion pushed the hair from the victim’s face, neither of us were prepared for the sight.

  “Miss Adler?”

  Suddenly there was a small light in Mina’s hand, casting a direct glow over our mentor’s pinched, slack features.

  “Is she dead?” I whispered.

  “Pulse is very faint, and she’s hardly breathing. She’s bad. And . . . look.” Mina held the small illuminator so I could see the marks on Miss Adler’s neck and shoulder. They were raw and fairly new, with blood still oozing from them.

  My companion handed me the light as she lifted the woman’s limp hand. Bloodstains marked her sleeve, and there was another set of marks on the inside of her arm. They were older. Much older.

  “Evaline.” Mina turned Miss Adler’s wrist for me to see more clearly. On the inside, where the skin was the most delicate and thin, was the unmistakable image of a seven-legged spider.

  La société.

  “She always wears gloves, or that wide-banded watch. She took care that no one should ever see it. And it’s not new.” Mina went back into action. “She needs help, desperately. And I’m not sure . . . it may be too late already. She’s lost an inordinate amount of blood. Observe her skin.”

  Miss Adler had a pasty gray pallor and her breathing was shallow and rough. Even during our examination, she’d neither moved nor opened her eyes.

  “They’ve drained her dry.” Then another, even worse realization struck me. “Oh, gad, Mina. They might not have only fed on her. They might have—”

  “They might have turned her,” she finished for me. “That’s how you turn a mortal to an UnDead. The vampire drinks all the blood, feeds on the human until they are . . . comatose from loss of blood. And then the UnDead offers his own blood for the victim to drink, to feed on.”

  “I know.” My voice was fierce and low. Pix had come to stand next to me and for some reason, I wanted to touch him.

  “Is there any way to know whether she’s been turned?” Mina asked.

  I shook my head. “Not until she wakens. If she does.”

  “The fact is, in her state, I suspect she’ll either die from the loss of blood, or she’ll awaken as an UnDead. She’s lost too much blood to survive.”

  “Yes. Either way . . . we have to get her out of here. We can’t leave her.”

  I turned to Pix. “You need to take her. Please. Take her to safety while I find Willa. You and Olympia get Miss Adler. . . .”

  For once, he didn’t argue, though temper flared in his eyes.

  “You go too, Mina.”

  “Not bloody likely,” my partner said angrily. “I’m not leaving here without Willa. And . . . there might be others.”

  But I hardly heard her, for Pix took me by the arm and yanked me aside, away from the others.

  “Evaline Stoker.” His teeth were clenched so hard he could hardly get the words out. “Ye are th’ most infuriatin’ female . . .”

  “You know I’m right. She’s got to have help—”

  “That woman is beyond ’elp, an’ ye know it. But I’ll do as ye ask—I’ll get the Adler woman and Olympia out into the sun, where they’ll be safe—well, unless Adler’s been turned—but then I’ll be back.” He glanced at the small window. “’Ere. That’s the best way. Opens right into the dawn.”

  I wasn’t certain I could do it. . . . I grasped two of the bars and began to pull. I knew I was strong, but I didn’t know if I had enough. I felt the iron rods give, just a little . . . or maybe it was my imagination. Still, I pulled.

  “Move.” Pix shoved me out of the way. I swung back toward him, but he held up a hand. “Jus’ wait.” A small light flared in his hands. “Move,” he said more fiercely, lobbing the light at the window.

  Boom!

  A cloud of smoke exploded into the chamber as Pix shoved me toward the hallway door. I stumbled out into the corridor, looking back to see that not only were the bars gone, but the window had gotten significantly larger. Fresh air, tinged with the gray of dawn, streamed into the room. Mina bumped into me as she staggered into the hall.

  With a smooth movement, Pix hoisted Miss Adler over his shoulder. Olympia stood by, blinking owlishly, the pale light of dawn filtering over her pale blond hair.

  She was probably wishing for a piece of paper to make notes.

  Hearing shouts in the distance, I bolted the chamber door to give Pix a few more seconds to escape. Then I rushed down the hall, checking every door to see if Willa was behind it. I had no idea where I was or the layout of the building, and after a short time, I was completely confused.

  “This way,” Mina hissed, grabbing my arm. She yanked me down a hallway that seemed familiar. Despite her pale face and the renewed shine of blood at her neck, she seemed clear-minded. She led me around a corner, and we found ourselves facing the open door of a parlor. It was a large warm, red space with low gas lamps and a roaring fire on one wall. The chamber was empty and oddly silent.

  “Where did they all go?” Mina whispered. “They were all here hours ago. The place has become deserted.”

  “I don’t know, but if we’re going to find Willa—” I stopped, for I heard a noise behind me.

  Mina turned. “Willa!”

  Her throat and dress were covered with blood. She looked pale, but there was lucidity in her eyes. As bad as she appeared, she looked much better than poor Miss Adler.

  She flew toward Mina. “Oh, thank heavens you’re here. They brought me here, and I thought—”

  “You’re going to be all right. We’re taking you home now.”

  “No!” The defiant order resounded in the empty chamber.

  I turned to see a group of boys, ranging in ages from nine to fourteen. They stood in a cluster, with one boy in front. He had honey-blond hair and a handsome face. He must have been Robby Ashton, boy vampire.

  “You’ll not take Willa,” he said. “You’ll not take her from me!”

  “Come now, Willa,” Mina was saying. Her expression was anxious, and she gripped the girl’s arm tightly. “You need to come with us. Everything’s going to be just find.”

  “Robby needs to come home. I promised Mother I’d help him—”

  “You promised your mother you’d help him get to her, to find her. To find your mother so they can rest in peace together.” Mina’s voice was odd: slow, steady, and very careful. As if she walked some dangerous line. “Robby can’t come home with you, Willa. . . .”

  The group of boys had moved into the chamber, forming a half-circle at the entrance. They were a motley crew . . . and from the blazingly cold chill at the back of my neck, it also seemed Mina was correct: All or most of them were UnDead.

  “Take her out of here,” I ordered Mina, watching the gang carefully. They might have been boys of ten or eleven, but each was more dangerous than a grown man with a weapon.

  I was facing an army. I gripped a stake in my hand and pulled the silver cross out from behind my shirt.

  “No!” Robby’s voice was shrill and agonized, and he reared back a little. His companions edged closer around him, despite the deterrent of my cross. Some of them flared red eyes and revealed fangs. Others, the ones who were still mortal, brandished knives.

  Still watching the boys, I eased down to pull two vi
als from my boot. “Mina.” I tossed one to her. “Now get her out of here. I’ll take care of this.”

  I gave her credit: She did her best. Mina tried to pull Willa with her, but the other woman dug her heels in. “I can’t leave him. I can’t leave Robby!”

  “You must! Do you not see?” Mina struggled with her, but the blond girl fought back, crying. “He’s no longer your brother. He’s lost to you.”

  “Willa stays with me! I’m not going to let her leave again,” Robby roared. His eyes flared red, and his lips curled back to show long, lethal fangs.

  In one swift move, the boy flew across the room toward Willa and Mina.

  I vaulted forward, stake in hand, and crashed into him in midair. We tumbled to the floor, his sharp nails clawing at me viciously, his mouth in a horrible rictus of fury and desperation.

  “You can’t have her! She’s my sister!” He was filled with horrible strength, violent and desperate—a match even for me. He drew blood from my face, my throat, and I fought to keep hold of the stake, crushed between Robby’s torso and mine. We rolled on the ground as Willa screamed and cried for him and Mina held her back. The other boys gathered around, randomly kicking me as I twisted and rolled with the lunatic boy.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Mina’s arm move sharply toward the crowd. A rush of water sparkled through the air, then splashed onto them. Without pause, she did it a second time and more holy water sprinkled onto their sensitive skin.

  Robby slammed his head into mine, smashing into my cheek. The pain gave me a rush of furious strength and I bucked and twisted, whipping his head against the ground.

  I pulled free and leapt to my feet. Robby surged up after me, mouth stretched with malevolence. But it was too late. Before he was even upright, I had the stake ready and drove it home as he lunged, right through his heart.

  Robby screamed, high and terrified . . . then exploded into ash.

  I staggered away, savage satisfaction blasting through me as I looked around for the next victim. What was that—two so far today? One yesterday in Spitalfields—

  An agonized shriek tore through the stillness. “Nooooo!”

  Suddenly, Willa was on me, tearing at me, pulling at my hair, pounding on me. “You killed my brother! You killed him! You killed Robby!”

  Somehow Mina pulled her off me and I staggered to my feet, shocked and confused. “Willa, I—”

  “You killed my brother!” she screamed again. Her shrieks were turning into sobs, echoing through the cavernous entryway as she continued to pummel and scratch at me. “How could you kill my brother?”

  I heard voices in the distance, pounding feet and shouts. I readied myself with my stake, stepping away, but I was shaky and unsettled.

  What was wrong with her? Didn’t she understand? Robby wasn’t her brother anymore. He was an UnDead!

  A door at the opposite side of the parlor burst open. Pix stood there, and behind him, I could see the entrance where he’d unlocked the door, and, beyond, the outside courtyard. The bare light of dawn spilled over the cobblestones.

  “Willa, please.” Mina struggled to hold her back from me.

  Pix helped Mina drag a hostile, sobbing Willa out into the safety of sunlight.

  I turned to face the rest of the UnDead members of the pickpocket gang, who were just recovering from their bout with holy water. The four mortal ones edged toward the wall, watching with wide eyes.

  They surged toward me like rats attacking a piece of meat. Three, four, five, maybe six of them. It was eerie and terrifying to be fighting boys, so desperate and evil. I swung my stake, stabbing one in his slender torso, then turning to meet another. It was horrible, killing these young boys—boys who should have been playing and going to school instead of drinking blood and being turned to ash.

  They came, one after the other, pulling at my legs, tumbling me to the ground. Three pounced on me and I jammed the stake up into the nearest one as another kicked me in the head. Ash blasted into my nose and mouth. Coughing, I twisted, trying to rise, but now there were three more of them on me, their weight and furious nails and teeth holding me prisoner as I bucked and kicked.

  A shadow rose over us, and then one boy froze. He burst into ash as another one screamed and reared away. I freed my arm, shoving the stake up into him.

  Then it was silent. I looked up at Pix, who stood over me. His expression was inscrutable. The air was heavy with the stink of evil and death, along with foul ash. Fragments of it still filtered through the air.

  My eyes stung. I shook the loose hair from my face and hauled myself to my feet, turning away from Pix.

  I stood silent, breathing heavily, looking around at what remained of a dozen young boys.

  Confused. Shocked. Disturbed.

  My hands shook. My belly lurched. What had I done?

  A hand touched my shoulder.

  “Don’t say a blasted word,” I snapped at Mina. The sting in my eyes was tears.

  “Evaline,” Mina began.

  “Stop,” I hissed. “For once, just stop.” I blinked rapidly and turned before anyone could see.

  She didn’t understand. She couldn’t.

  None of them could. Ever.

  Miss Holmes

  Aftermath

  It was a terrible, horrifying task to drag Willa Ashton from what had been La société’s lair.

  She was inconsolable, and no matter how much I tried to reason with her, she couldn’t accept the death of her brother. I had to forcibly keep her from attacking Evaline more than once after that. That disreputable Pix made himself useful by herding out the four boys who hadn’t been turned UnDead, keeping close watch on them. None of them appeared to want to escape. I could only assume whatever thrall or mesmerization had been inflicted on them had now worn off.

  I also took one last sweep through the hideout to see if I could find Dylan—or any other member of La société who needed to be retrieved. I hadn’t really expected to find him there, but nor had I expected to see Miss Adler either. Still, I was beyond relieved when there was no sign of my friend.

  By the time we managed to get Willa and the rest of the pickpocket gang out into the daylight, it was well past dawn and the courtyard was filling with curious bystanders and the authorities. But for once, London was greeted with a bright yellow sun that cast a warm glow over the dark, drab buildings of Smithfield.

  Pix—who, I must admit, had been instrumental in the entire process of our escape—disappeared at the whine of police caddies approaching. I would have done so myself, for now that Willa was safe I was desperate to find out Miss Adler’s condition—except that one of the Met officers who arrived on the scene was none other than my ginger-haired nemesis.

  “Good morning, Inspector Grayling.”

  “Ah. Miss Holmes. I should have expected it. Wherever there are dead bodies, fires, pickpockets, or explosions, you always seem to appear. I received a cryptic and nearly illegible message from your friend Miss Stoker which I interpreted as a request for assistance. What is it you’ve gotten yourself involved in this time?” He looked down at me from that excessive height. “Was it you who caused the explosion?”

  “Of course not. But I’m happy to report, I’ve solved the Yingling case—as well as put a stop to that particularly adept pickpocket ring. The culprit is Miss Geraldine Kluger, who has been attempting to discredit her niece, Willa Ashton, so she could be committed to a lunatic asylum. She was also instrumental in abducting a number of boys and forcing them to act as a pickpocket gang.”

  Although I explained in great detail about our escapades, I declined to tell Grayling about the UnDead element of the case. He struck me as the sort of man who would scoff at the very thought of vampires running about his London.

  “And so,” I finished, “as I saw no sign of Miss Kluger during my final search of the hideaway, I suggest you put out an arrest warrant for her. She is driving a Two-Seat Charley.”

  “Right then. Admirable work, Miss Holmes. Between yo
ur experiences and the evidence we collected at the crime scene, once the Yard apprehends Geraldine Kluger, one can expect her to be incarcerated for a long time.” He handed me a handkerchief.

  I took it and raised a brow. “Inspector?”

  “You appear to have met with some . . . mishap of your own.” He gestured to my neck.

  Oh. I immediately dabbed at the blood encrusted on my neck, thankful I’d already applied salted holy water to stop the bleeding and encourage healing.

  “Let us be thankful there weren’t any two-story windows for you to try and tumble from” were Grayling’s last words as he turned to his official business. “Or rivers to fall into.”

  I might have had a witty response, but at the moment I was much too worried about Miss Adler. Instead, I grabbed Evaline and said, “Pix said Olympia took Miss Adler to hospital. We must get there immediately, for in the event she does awaken . . .” I stopped, for I didn’t want to put it into words.

  Evaline looked at me with expressionless eyes. “Yes. I’ll take care of it. If she awakens, I know what must be done.”

  Miss Holmes

  Many Questions and One Answer

  “I was young. And impressionable. I was in Paris! And La société . . . that’s what they do. They prey on impressionable, naive people—especially young ones.”

  A very thin and pale Miss Adler was speaking to us in her office one week after the events at the La société hideout. But, miraculously, she was alive—mortal and alive.

  And it was all thanks to Dylan.

  Not even certain where he was or what he’d been doing—though I was terribly relieved not to have found him in La société—as we left Smithfield that morning, I sent word to Dylan that Miss Adler was gravely ill, suggesting he come at once.

  I was sure he’d want to see her one last time. I sent one message through the Museum and another to Dr. Watson, not knowing whether Dylan had been spending time with my uncle’s partner. I didn’t know any other way to reach him so urgently.

  When Dylan arrived at the hospital, he rushed up to me. “What’s happened to her?”