Her eyes were gritty, and she’d drunk the last of the water and eaten the rest of the crackers in the tin she’d shared with Oliver only days before. She’d been able to keep the small fire going by burning the stool, but it was nearly out now. She’d given up on the worry she might attract an enemy by screaming—she’d been yelling for hours, to no avail. Three mice paused outside the gate and twitched their whiskers at her, but otherwise she was alone.
The pin was bent and broken until it was almost too small for her to insert into the mechanism. She was forced to thread her hand through the bars, though they were so close together the angle was nearly impossible to manage. Finally, after what felt like hours, she managed to slip the pin directly into the center of the lock.
“Yes!” Her heart jumped, and she bit her lip as she twisted as gingerly as possible. She tasted freedom—was nearly there—when the pin snapped off in the lock and she was left holding an inch of useless metal adornment.
The air left her lungs in a rush, and she fell to her knees, her arm still threaded through the bars and twisting painfully. She barely registered the pain, could hardly think. She pulled her arm back to her side and sank completely to the floor, resting against the gate. The tears did not come. She was entirely numb. She would die in this small room beneath the city.
“Oliver,” she whispered, and then the pain hit her with a vengeance that was nearly unbearable. Sobs erupted from her heart, but she was so exhausted the sound was sad and quiet. She closed her eyes, one hand wrapped loosely around a metal bar, and imagined his face. She would think of his face, she would live the few days she had remaining by reviewing every conversation, every interaction she’d ever had with him. She would close her eyes now and leave them closed, and she would imagine him until she breathed her last.
She lay for an eternity against the gate, tears slowing, as she absently hummed a song her mother had sung at her bedside every night when she’d been young. The soft sound echoed through the little room, and she repeated the tune again and again.
“Oh, Miss Emmeline!”
Eyes still closed, she smiled, deciding she was hallucinating. At least she wouldn’t be alone anymore. “Gus,” she whispered. “How wonderful.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I’ve nothing to offer for tea . . .”
“Miss Emmeline!” Gus’s voice drew closer, and she felt a gentle touch on her fingers still wrapped around one of the bars. “Oh, my dear sweet girl, can you move? It took me ever so long, but nobody was certain, and then a few of my sources lied out of fear.”
Emme blinked and swallowed. The touch on her hand grew firmer. The light from the fire was nearly extinguished, and she had to squint to make out the features.
She slowly sat up. “Gus? Am I dreaming?”
“Dearest girl, of course not. Oh! We must be quick. You’ve nearly run out of time, but I’ve brought some things, and if we make haste, you’ll arrive before it’s over.”
“What? What—”
Gus released her hand and stood up. He had a large satchel with him, and he pulled out a lockpick, which he used to make quick work of the lock. A few seconds later, the gate swung open, and she stood up and stumbled into his arms.
“Gus! How did you find me?”
“Now, now, we must hurry. Poor Mr. Reed is beside himself, of course, and—”
She clutched his arms. “He’s alive?”
Gus nodded and pulled the large carpetbag closer. “There’s no time, miss. I tasked Miss Josephine with procuring you a suitable dress earlier today in the hope I could finally discover your location.” He withdrew a Tesla torch from the bag and switched it on. He set it down on the floor, and it illuminated the space, chasing shadows into the corners. “She included a few other necessities, and we shall do the best we can under the circumstances.”
He spied the manacle in the corner. “You were restrained?” His lips thinned. “That woman has some explaining to do, does she not?”
Emme nodded and lifted her aching foot that bore traces of her struggle with the manacle.
Gus winced and tsked, and made a swirling motion with his finger. “Turn around. I’ll unbutton and then avert my eyes. At the top of the clothing pile are the layers you’ll need; don the first, and I’ll help with the rest.”
Emme’s eyes burned even as a laugh escaped. She felt the darling little man tugging on the filthy dress. The clothing loosened, and he said, “Very well. Hurry, now!”
She looked over her shoulder to see him bent near the fire. As she quickly changed clothing, he poked at the ashes and looked inside her portmanteau. “She burned your precious books and papers?” His voice was as forlorn and dismayed as her thoughts when she considered the loss.
“Yes. I do not know how I shall explain it to Lady and Lord Blackwell.” She blinked, rubbing her eyes and wondering if she would ever stop crying. “I’m ready.” She sniffled, and he turned around.
He sighed. “She will pay for what she has done.” He bent quickly to his bag and pulled out a dress of shimmering ice-blue. As he lifted it, yards of crushed silk and tulle fluffed out to reveal a gown to rival the original her mother had sent with her from Castles’.
“Oh, Gus. It is so lovely.”
“Yes, yes. Turn quickly, now.” He helped her step into it, tucking her petticoat and shift in place as he pulled it up and helped her thread her arms through the sleeves.
She winced as she looked at the bruises, cuts, and general scrapes from her fingertips to her shoulders. The dress settled into place, resting just at the edge of her shoulders, and fell below the smooth line of her collarbone. As he fastened the back buttons, the bodice tightened like a comfortable glove, and the skirts belled in perfect length to the floor.
He turned her shoulders gently to peruse his handiwork, and she glanced apologetically at her chest and arms. “I am all bruised and messy. Your beautiful dress is wasted on me.” She tried to smile but felt very much like crying. “I am not usually vain—”
“Shh, now.” Gus took her face gently in his hands. “Dearest girl, you put this dress to shame. Your wounds are evidence of your bravery and perseverance. I heard your song, I saw your efforts at the gate—you never quit. You are a warrior, and I am honored to be called your friend.” He took the glass heart pin from his jacket and pinned it to her dress, just above her own heart.
“Oh, Gus.” Tears flowed in earnest, and she hugged him gently. “You have saved me, sweet man. I thought I would die in this place.”
He patted her back and released her. “Never. You’ve a life ahead of you, and if we hurry, one very important speech to make. At least three of the gathered dignitaries are still unsure about signing the accord. The truth of Lawrence’s and the Committee’s villainy in framing the shifter community for various murders over the last months is circulating, but I do not know how many yet believe it.”
Her eyes widened. “I’ve missed some news, it seems.”
“We are in the eleventh hour and must hurry. Miss Josephine included a few items in the bag to fix your hair.” He tapped his fingertip against his lip. “Come, we shall finish your toilette in the carriage.”
She clasped his hands. “Gus, I hardly know how to—”
“Yes, dearest, hold that for later. I’ve paid a man an inordinate amount of coinage to hold a carriage outside, but we are under quite a labyrinth, and finding our way out may take time.”
“How did you find me?” She hopped over to her tattered and dirty portmanteau, determined to take it with her.
“An underground resident led me most of the way. For the remainder, I followed the sound of your voice.” He pulled a pair of shoes from his satchel and held them for a moment, studying her. “You’ll have to put these on when we get there.”
She blinked as he put the shoes back in his bag and snapped it shut. “Underground resident? People live down here?”
He nodded sadly
as he offered her his arm and led her quickly from the room. “Nonaggressive vampires have been forced into hiding by the Cadre. Though, we are already seeing a shift in the public’s attitude regarding vampires like me versus the Cadre and their ilk.”
He led her along the dark corridors, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out at the pain in her ankle. She leaned heavily on her escort, who took the brunt of her weight. He had them turning and twisting so many times she would have been hopelessly lost even had she managed to break out of her room. The feel of the place was oppressive, heavy, and she commented on it to Gus.
He nodded. “Haunted. Which is why I could find only one person brave enough to walk me through it.”
Eventually they heard voices echoing through the corridors, and Gus walked her past people who seemed to actually live down there. She was horrified for them, and as they nodded to Gus, she said, “We must do something about this.”
He smiled and nodded back to the underground residents. “I was hoping you would feel that way.”
A cold blast of air swept through the tunnel, and he led her upward and out into the night. She turned her face to the sky. There was no rain, but she smelled it in the air. Spotty clouds shifted overhead to show a few sparkling stars blinking down at her.
“Oh, Gus, how lovely it is—”
“Yes, yes—” He clicked his pocket watch closed and nudged her ahead, mumbling an apology as she stumbled but shoving her forward at the same pace. They rounded a building to see a carriage in the street. It was made of bright, gleaming brass with jeweled handles, large windows, and a lush, red-velvet interior.
She gasped, and her heart jumped, as for a fraction of a moment she imagined it was one of the Yard’s brass carriages, which would mean Oliver was nearby. But it was too fine for common criminals. This brass carriage was fit for royalty.
He opened the carriage door and helped her climb inside. “Take us up to the castle immediately,” he told the driver. He climbed in behind Emme, and as the coach began to move forward, he once more reached inside Josephine’s magic bag of tricks. He withdrew a bag of hair-styling supplies and ordered Emme to turn in the seat.
“Quite a mass of tangles, isn’t it?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Hmm. Very well, we shall use it to our advantage.”
He pieced and pinned, taking segments of knotted hair, twisting and braiding some, and before long, pronounced the result satisfactory. “The snarls actually provide volume,” he commented as he reached into the valise for a small water canteen and cloth. “Not bad.” He looked critically at her hair from one side and the other as he dampened the cloth with water.
“Oh, you’ll want a drink, perhaps?”
She gratefully took the canteen and swallowed a large gulp of water, and he began dabbing and then scrubbing at her cheek until she felt much as she had as a young girl when her mother had cleaned her face vigorously every night after a day full of escapades outside.
“I wonder if my mother is here,” she murmured.
He paused and looked at her. “Is she here? Dear girl, she has run the Chief-Inspector ragged turning this city upside down to find you. She is desperate to see you.” He continued working on her face, then stopped and eyed her critically. “One more thing. For the princess that you are.” He reached back inside the bag and pulled out a thin tiara, a double line of small diamond chips in a silver circlet that he nestled carefully in her hair. “Subtle, not ostentatious, but will twinkle just so in the light.”
“Oh, Gus.” Her throat burned with emotion.
“And the shoes.” Gus handed her a pair of beautiful high-heeled shoes that sparkled with encrusted stones that looked like starlit diamonds.
“They’re lovely,” she said and smiled. She slipped the right shoe on her foot, and then, as the carriage moved forward, studied the other. Given how swollen her ankle was, there was no way the shoe would fit.
“Perhaps put it on just before you speak,” he suggested, patting her knee.
She grasped his fingers and held his hand tightly, looking out the window at the sparkling city, profoundly grateful to be alive and not locked in a quiet, solitary tomb. She leaned closer to the window, watching the people who milled around the streets amidst the light and the music despite the late hour.
The carriage was beautiful, the cushion like a cloud, and she clasped her shoe in one hand and her gentle savior’s hand in the other. She looked at Gus with wide eyes, hoping to keep the tears from falling and making tracks along her face. “Gus, thank you.” She kissed his cheek, and he closed his eyes with a nod and a smile.
“Dear lady, it was my pleasure. I have learned more about you today—wonderful things—and am amazed at your humility. You are quite a celebrity, did you know? Your disappearance has been news for days.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know. I’m glad to have been missed.” Her brow creased in worry, though, when she thought of Lysette. “My mother, my family, may not be safe from Lysette. Have you heard from Madeline? Or Mr. Crowe?”
“The Chief-Inspector has placed additional security around your family, and the hunt is on for Miss Lysette.” He paused as though carefully choosing his words. “Mr. Lawrence has been dispatched.” He patted her hand. “You are not alone in this—it has become much bigger than we imagined.”
“And Oliver?” She swallowed. “Where is he?”
Again, the small man paused, and a curl of dread snaked up her spine.
“When I last saw him, he was near the castle courtyard. I cannot speak to his current whereabouts, but I give you my word that I will find him the moment we deliver you to your destination.” He was serious but sincere, and she had little choice but to trust him.
The carriage continued toward the ancient castle that sat alongside a cliff, the water down below. They neared the castle base and climbed upward, the crowd parting for the carriage as they traveled.
Finally, it rolled to a gentle stop, swaying as the driver descended from his perch. Emme looked at her forlorn carpetbag, her faithful portmanteau that had held priceless treasures inside. “Gus, she burned my notes, the pages I’d prepared for this speech.” Apprehension shot through her. “I’ve never spoken to a gathering of such significance, and after all of this, what if—”
“Shh, none of that.” He patted her hand and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “The words you need to share tonight are in your heart, not on a paper.”
She looked at his kind, serious face and closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead. “Now, off you go, princess. Your time is here.”
He passed her through the door to the driver. Clutching her shoe with one hand and the driver’s arm with the other, she walked to the base of the stairs and began to climb. When they reached the top, she thanked him, and he offered a deep bow before disappearing back down to the carriage below.
She took a deep breath and turned her face into a soft breeze, feeling the chill but welcoming the fresh air. A few moments more brought stronger winds, and she realized she should make for the relative shelter of the common area where people had gathered to hear final remarks.
She leaned down to slip her foot into the shoe only to lose her grip and watch as it tumbled down the stairs. A small cry of dismay escaped her lips. The staircase was empty, with guards down below preventing anyone else from ascending.
She heard voices in the courtyard where the esteemed group was gathered. Her shoe lay too far away to retrieve, and time was running out. She turned to the courtyard and slipped off the other shoe. The stone was cold on her feet, but she hardly felt it as she made her way through the arched opening.
Heads turned toward her, faces showing shock and then delight. A murmur spread through the small crowd and grew in volume. She spied Giancarlo, who clapped his hands and leapt forward with a cheer. He grasped her to him and led her to the p
odium, where the Summit director smiled at her in surprise and said, “She is here, after all!”
She had hidden her remaining shoe in the folds of her skirt and dropped it carefully behind the podium. She ran her hands along her midsection, trying to still her nerves as exclamations of delight flowed from the crowd through the courtyard and down the stairs. She licked her lips, feeling bruised, battered, and utterly overwhelmed.
It was so much to absorb. Less than an hour ago, she’d been locked in a cavern, and now she stood at the castle. Carlo was the only familiar face in the crowd, and she wished desperately that Oliver and her family were there. She knew as she spied a clock that had been placed on the podium to monitor time, however, that her moment was at hand and would pass whether or not she uttered a word.
She cleared her throat, took a breath, and smiled. “Esteemed ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor and privilege to speak with you on this momentous occasion. My name is Emmeline Castle O’Shea, and I represent the International Shifter Rights Organization . . .”
“ . . . going to check with the other inspector . . . young woman in custody matching Miss Lysette O’Shea’s description . . .” Conley’s voice sounded through a fog that Oliver tried to navigate. His limbs were heavy, his eyes burned, and his throat felt like sandpaper.
“Keep an eye on Detective-Inspector Reed, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Oliver heard the soft whisper of a tent flap closing, and for a moment, he wondered why the Chief-Inspector was with him in India. His thoughts tumbled and churned until he finally broke the surface and cracked open his eyes and saw a pair of young constables standing guard over him.
He shoved himself up on one elbow and then to a sitting position with a groan, feeling much as he had when he’d awoken in Lawrence’s carriage. With sudden clarity, his memories shuffled and then slammed into place, and he realized he was in the makeshift medical tent near the castle.
The constables looked at him uneasily.
“Sir, ye’ve had a horse’s ration of anti-venom. Ye need rest,” one of them said.
Brass Carriages and Glass Hearts Page 24
