“I’ve sent word to your chief inspector.” Carlo sat in a chair next to Oliver and leaned forward, his dark-brown eyes full of worry. “Where would this Lysette take our girl?” A muscle moved in his lean jaw, signaling his distress.
Oliver felt his eyes burn. He was exhausted, in pain, bruised from his brother’s lethal attack, and so afraid for Emme he was sick with it. “I wish I knew,” he said, clearing his throat and shoving his emotions into submission. He straightened in the chair, feeling stronger as the medicine continued to work its magic. “I fear time is of the essence, however. Lysette is unhinged, and her hatred of Emmeline is severe.”
Carlo nodded. “Especially as Emmeline foiled the hunting plans.”
Oliver was frustrated with how little he knew of what had happened after Lawrence took him from the hotel. “What did she do, exactly?”
Carlo smiled grimly. “The O’Sheas had abducted several local predatory shifters and held them captive, intending to hunt them once they had changed after midnight.”
Oliver’s mouth dropped open in spite of himself. He stared at the Italian, who slowly nodded.
“According to Mr. Gustavsen, the other O’Shea sister alerted Emmeline to the problem, and Emmeline sent Gustavsen to find you while she went with the sister to free the captives.”
Oliver’s heart thumped. Of course she would do that, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d foolishly walked into his brother’s trap, even as she’d warned against it, and because of it, he’d not been there to help. “My fault,” he mumbled, trying not to lose himself in self-pity. “Had I stayed with her—”
Carlo held up a hand. “No time for recrimination. These villains are devious and would have achieved their plans one way or another. Now, why do you believe Emmeline is somewhere in the city?”
“A comment my brother made. He said Lysette would see that Emmeline arrived here before the meetings conclude. He was speaking in veiled layers, of course, and I’m certain Lysette isn’t planning for Emme to arrive in time to safely speak to the assembly.”
Giancarlo sat back in his chair and tapped his fingers against the armrest. “Someone like Lysette would want Emmeline to suffer greatly. Stash her somewhere close enough to realize the festivities are commencing without her.” He muttered a string of Italian words under his breath.
Oliver nodded his agreement, not needing to speak Italian to understand the sentiment. Voices sounded from the outer office, and then Conley appeared in the doorway, followed by three detectives from the Yard and two local constables. Oliver rose halfway from his chair and gasped when Conley grabbed him around the middle and clapped his back in a firm embrace.
“What the devil happened to you?” Conley pulled back, grasping his shoulders and looking him up and down. “You look like you’ve been attacked by a mob.”
“Later. But if you aren’t already, we need to be on the lookout for my brother. Looks like me, only younger and significantly more handsome. Until he bares his teeth.” Oliver sank back into the chair and quickly relayed the basic information he had for Conley.
Conley gave instructions to the other men and connected his scriber to relay the information to others out investigating.
Oliver turned to Giancarlo. “You mentioned Mr. Gustavsen. Do you know where he is now?”
Giancarlo nodded. “He is out ‘sniffing the air’ for our girl.” The Italian shrugged. “The little man seemed most concerned and insisted he must do something. He feels horribly responsible. Said he would attempt to track her and the wretched sister and would alert us if he found anything.”
Oliver’s eyes burned, and he felt oddly sentimental toward the man who had so earnestly sought to protect both Emme and him. He couldn’t be angry. Further commotion sounded in the outer office, and a desperate female cry sounded through the closed door.
Conley looked up from his discussions with his men. “Mrs. O’Shea,” he said grimly.
Oliver stood and opened the door, and Emme’s mother barreled into him. He steadied her and waited for the shock of his bruised appearance to recede from her stunned face. He quietly closed the door and ushered her into the chair he’d vacated. He knelt next to it and took her hand.
“What are you doing?” she asked, and her eyes filmed. “Do not dare tell me she’s gone.”
“No, no,” he said. “We will find her. I will not rest until we do.”
“What happened to you?” Her voice had dropped in volume, but the pitch remained high, as if the slightest nudge would send her into mania.
“I was accosted. Have you been apprised of the happenings at the lodge? Do you know where the twins are—where Lysette might go here in town?” He glanced up at Conley. He hadn’t even asked about Madeline’s welfare, and nobody had mentioned her.
Mrs. O’Shea sniffed, and then the tears escaped. “My . . . my husband and Lysette have been accused of some awful things, and they”—she glanced at Conley—“tell me Lysette has taken Emmeline. Why would she do that? Why would they do such awful things?”
Giancarlo offered Mrs. O’Shea a snow-white handkerchief and opened the door, quietly requesting a fresh pot of tea from the harried receptionist.
Oliver bit back an extremely judgmental comment regarding Mrs. O’Shea’s inability to see the drama between the young women in her own home. Had she never truly realized how toxic Lysette was toward Emme and Madeline both?
He wouldn’t insult her, but the time for blissful ignorance had come to an end. “Mrs. O’Shea, Lysette is a jealous and vindictive young woman. She has been extremely unkind to Emmeline for some time, and I fear her envy and cruelty have reached new heights. Have you no idea at all where she might take your daughter?”
Mrs. O’Shea stared at him for a long time before finally releasing a quiet breath. She dabbed at her nose with the handkerchief and then said, “I suppose I have seen such behavior. I haven’t wanted to, and Emme is so fiercely independent. So competent. She was running our household long before I married, and she is so willful I never imagined she needed . . .” Her voice wobbled. “Protection.” She swallowed and looked at Oliver. The room was silent. “I do not know where Lysette might take Emmeline, but I do know her tastes are extravagant. Hotels? Boardinghouses in New Town?”
Oliver looked at Conley, who nodded. “We’ve men searching everywhere right now. Most rooms and accommodations have been reserved for months in advance, however, and thus far, nobody meeting the young women’s descriptions have been noticed.”
Oliver stood and motioned to Conley as a soft knock on the door heralded fresh tea. Giancarlo busied himself tending to Mrs. O’Shea, and Oliver’s anxiety climbed as he considered possible options.
“Sir,” he said quietly to Conley, “if you were going to abduct someone and keep them from view, where in this city would you take them? I imagine there are poorer areas, workhouses, unsavory spots where people might turn a blind eye for a few coin.”
Conley nodded. “I’ve spoken with local officials, and constabulary are searching Old Town and pockets outside the city.” He scratched the back of his neck, and Oliver noted the signs of fatigue and stress on his superior’s face. “What of this ‘Gus’ fellow? He seems to have contacts in nearly every nook and cranny I search. Ought I to send men with him? He may be the best resource here.”
Oliver nodded. “Do you know where he is now?”
“No, and he is easily lost in a crowd.” Conley frowned. “I’ve heard something about him I’m finding difficult to believe.”
“That he is not . . . alive?”
The confusion on Conley’s face was comical. “How can it be, though—”
“I’m learning there are many things about that part of the population we’ve yet to understand.”
“He’d make a fine detective.”
Oliver nodded. He thought of Gus’s easy movements through the countryside, of his net
work of people who trusted him and with whom he traded favors and information. “I must find him. If anybody can track her, I believe he can.”
Oliver left the ISRO building, promising to check in with Conley every hour. They met several times as the day wore on, comparing notes and marking spots on a large map of the city, places they had looked but failed to find any trace of either Lysette, Emme, or even Gus. He thought he spied his brother in the crowded streets more than once, but quick chases proved fruitless.
The skies were gray, and a light rain sprinkled intermittently. Throngs of people enjoying the festivities popped open umbrellas and continued visiting tents and buildings that hosted contingencies from various countries. Music sounded from multiple establishments up and down the Royal Mile and along Princes Street Gardens. The gardens were full to bursting with people from all walks of life, enjoying games, treats, and trying foods from foreign lands.
He was famished and weak and realized it only when he received a message from Miles that he and their friends were meeting for a quick dinner.
He met up with them but didn’t stay; Isla and Daniel went with him to purchase a meat pie from a vendor, and they searched together while the others ate at the hotel. They set up a command center of their own in Sam and Hazel’s room, and between that support and his communication with Conley and law enforcement, he had a sense of which ground had been covered.
The hours marched forward relentlessly, and as outdoor lights twinkled to life and the daylight faded into darkness, the world seemed to celebrate in cozy oblivion while Oliver held on to his hope with only the most tenuous of threads. Isla was sick with worry; she was also a person who solved problems with action, and that they were met time after time with blank faces and negative responses was clearly wearing on her.
They separated to cover more ground, but he honestly couldn’t imagine a corner of the city that hadn’t been combed by now by the small army of people out searching. He trudged toward the old castle, which was lit with torches and played host to a double-stringed quartet that entertained those gathering for the final remarks.
Twelve state representatives and their staffs were gathering for the event, and according to all accounts, were prepared to vote on a multinational agreement adopting new standards and legislation for shape-shifter rights. Oliver swallowed past a lump in his throat when he considered all of the meetings, dinners, gatherings, and festivities Emme had missed. Local news reports splashed headlines that proclaimed the Summit an incredible success, a touchstone, and tremendous beginning to a new era.
News that Emme was missing was also spreading. Giancarlo told Oliver that in the last several days, her absence at multiple events had been remarked upon. Now that a small force of people was out looking for her prompted chatter that was spreading like wildfire. It told Oliver that the world did indeed know who Emmeline O’Shea was and that she was admired more than she knew. The only bright spot was that the entire city seemed to know something had happened to her, and having more eyes looking for her was a good turn of fortune.
He paused at the fountain at the base of the castle, looking up at the outer courtyard, where people were gathering, laughing, and enjoying the music while waiting for the Summit organizers to share remarks. Giancarlo would speak, and musical numbers would follow, but the final time segment before the midnight vote was reserved for Emme.
His eyes burned in earnest now, and he leaned against a tree for support. He put a hand to his chest, rubbing it in a vain attempt to soothe his heart. Never one for poetic drama, he couldn’t dispute the fact that it felt as though his heart was made of glass and would shatter into a million shards if Emme was dead.
Suddenly, a hand clamped on his neck from behind, nails digging into his skin.
“Come quietly with me, brother, and nobody will be harmed.” Lawrence pulled him from the courtyard with dizzying speed. Mayhem erupted as several figures dressed in formal attire began to storm the area and climb the sides of the castle.
Lawrence’s vampires were attacking, and Oliver’s blood boiled even as he was dragged along like a rag doll. He hadn’t found Emme, but he wouldn’t allow his brother to ruin his life. He would fight with everything he had.
Chaos abounded as people ran, screaming, but to Oliver’s satisfaction, members of the military who were tasked with security, as well as dozens of constabulary armed with appropriate weaponry responded to the attack. Vampire after vampire fell, and Oliver marked the moment his brother realized they were losing numbers at an alarming rate.
“No matter. You’ll be my consolation prize,” Lawrence snarled in his ear as he dragged him farther from the castle. “Lysette has hers, and you will die knowing how closely you came to a lovely reunion.”
“Not today.” Oliver went limp, mimicking a deadweight ploy Emme had once used on him. It gave him a fraction of a second’s advantage. As Lawrence paused in surprise, he shoved his elbow hard into his brother’s abdomen. He pushed away just enough to reach the new silver knife in his boot and pull it free, but Lawrence knocked it from his hand, sending it flying.
Oliver scrambled toward the knife, but Lawrence lunged at him, fangs extended. Oliver punched and struggled like a man possessed, but Lawrence easily tore the bandage from his neck and reopened the wound. He lifted his head and smiled at Oliver in a grotesque mockery of joy, and Oliver struggled, shoving away with everything he had. Lawrence laughed, and Oliver knew he was going to end him.
Suddenly, a blur of movement pulled Lawrence away from him long enough that Oliver was able to wrench himself free.
Lawrence gasped and stumbled back. Embedded in his chest was Oliver’s silver knife, and standing to the side was Gus.
Lawrence sank to the ground, mouth open in a silent scream, and as he fell backward, Gus pulled the knife from his chest. “You are finished,” the calm man told Lawrence, who twitched once and then was still, destroyed.
Gus pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wiped off Oliver’s knife. “A man shouldn’t have to kill his own brother,” he said quietly, then returned Oliver’s knife to him.
Oliver took the knife, dumbfounded and feeling a profound sense of shock at the diminutive, unassuming little vampire who looked more accountant than warrior.
Gus quickly helped Oliver to his feet. “Sir, I have credible information on Miss Emmeline’s whereabouts.” He stopped with a sharp intake of breath. “Your throat, sir! We must heal you immediately!”
“Gus.” Oliver clutched at his burning neck, feeling the venom again beginning to spread. “Go, find her. Quickly. I’ll get help.”
By now, a crowd was gathering, and in his periphery, Oliver saw Conley running toward them.
“But, sir,” Gus said, “you should be Miss Emmeline’s hero!”
Oliver coughed and spat, too dizzy to remain upright. He staggered against the smaller man and then shoved at him. “Finding her is the priority. We must reach her before Lysette realizes the Cadre’s plan has been foiled! If Emme isn’t dead already, I fear she will be soon. Go, and do not tell her I’ve been bitten!”
Gus turned, running through the crowd and out of sight.
Oliver clutched his neck and looked at the castle and surrounding area. Military and police had made quick work of containing the attack. Thanks in part to Gus’s information, they’d already doubled security around the gathering of diplomats and dignitaries, and archers armed with silver-tipped arrows had been standing as sentries high on the castle walls.
Oliver dropped to one knee, pressing his hand against the wound at his throat, trying to stop the flow of blood.
Conley rushed up and caught him, yelling over his shoulder for a medic. “Do not even think about escaping your responsibilities now, Reed.” Conley was pale, and a sheen of sweat dotted his forehead. “If you leave me alone to deal with Lady O’Shea . . .”
Oliver managed a weak laugh. “She respe
cts you enormously. You’ll be fine. How many others wounded?”
“Very few, from what I’ve seen. No, do not lie down! Stay awake!” Conley shook him, and Oliver wished he would just leave him be for a moment.
Oliver tried to swallow. “Gus . . . might have found Emme. Tell her, tell Emme—”
“Blast it, Oliver! You tell her yourself!” Conley yelled over his shoulder again for medical help.
The venom spread, moving faster than before because of Oliver’s already weakened state. His head spun, and a fierce ache throbbed behind his eyes. His grip on Conley’s jacket began to slacken, even as he tried to maintain hold. Numbness spread into his fingers, and they slipped from Conley’s sleeve.
His thoughts turned to Emme. If Gus could reach her in time, she would still be able to address the assembly. Even if Lysette had hurt her, as long as Emme was conscious, she would fight to take her place before the midnight vote.
“Don’t tell her about me until after . . . after she speaks . . .” Oliver mumbled to Conley.
“What did you say? Stay with me, man!”
“. . . so proud. So proud of her . . . proud to have been her protector . . .”
Conley cursed, yelling again for help, but the sound faded away until Oliver felt nothing but blissful calm.
Emme’s fingers were bloody and raw as she tried one last, desperate time to unlock the gate with the long hatpin she’d found in the portmanteau. Lysette had removed the pair of shears Emme kept inside, and her tool options were limited. She’d been able to free herself from the manacle using the pin, but the entire plaster cast, already weakened from running in the rain on wet ground, finally cracked and broke. She’d wrenched the thing from her foot, nearly passing out from the pain. Her ankle was swelling again, and her skin showed a dark array of bruises and scrapes.
Brass Carriages and Glass Hearts Page 23
