A Reflection of Shadows

by Anne Renwick

  Fingers curled into fists, he rushed at Nick, delivering a solid upward blow to his stomach, to his solar plexus, and knocking the wind from his lungs. The pain was awful, the inability to draw breath much worse. For a long moment, his diaphragm spasmed, leaving him groaning in an unmanly manner.

  “Not so helpful now, are they, brains?”

  Slowly, the ability to draw breath returned, but Nick couldn’t take much more.

  “For the love of aether,” Glover called. “What is the problem? He’s bound in chains. Use the voltaic prod if you must.”

  Nick hung from the chain, gasping in great gulps of icy air as he spun, letting his body weight twist the chain. “Weapons? To fight. Me?” His limp body was the very picture of defeat. Poisoned. Frozen. Gassed. He was close. Electrical shock? He would recover, but by then Colleen might no longer be alive. He needed to lure Vanderburn close once more. To make one final—

  The bolt screeched and dropped a half inch. He planted his feet beneath him and yanked. Plaster crumbled and the iron ring gave way. With a whoosh and a clatter, the chain fell to the floor. With no time to lose, Nick didn’t wait to gauge his attacker’s reaction. He wrapped a fist about the chain and, bent double, lurched forward to ram his head into Vanderburn’s stomach as he swung the chain upward.

  Thwack! Nick struck the guard on the side of his face.

  Vanderburn spun sideways, raising a hand to his jaw. A trickle of blood seeped from between his lips. Anger—the only emotion the henchman knew—flared in his eyes, and he rushed at Nick again, fists raised.

  Nick swung the loose chain behind the man’s legs and caught the free end with his other hand and pulled. Vanderburn toppled like a telegraph pole, straight and stiff. With a sickening crunch, the back of his head slammed against the cold, hard floor and he fell still. With any luck, the man was dead.

  Crouching, reduced to functioning like a feral animal, Nick spun the length of iron chain and pivoted toward Glover, ready to forever alter the function of his knee joints.

  Click. A pistol’s hammer latched into firing position. Slowly, Nick lifted his gaze. Glover held a gun pressed to Colleen’s temple.

  Glover’s irritated voice echoed inside the metal icebox. “Move another inch and I’ll end this experiment now.”

  Farquhar howled. “Absolutely not! We’re so very close. Two degrees more and her heart will stop! Shoot him instead!” The mad scientist fiddled with the dials of P.C. Hutchinson’s Magneto-Shock Machine. Its humming grew louder.

  “Don’t. Farquhar is right.” Nick took a step forward, letting the chain fall slack in his hand, lulling Glover into a false sense of security. “I’m the one you want to shoot.” There was a chance Colleen might survive. Slim, but a chance. He’d not steal that from her. Not in exchange for his own life.

  Behind him, Vanderburn groaned. “I will kill you, Torrington.”

  Dammit. Nick couldn’t seem to catch a break. Threats before and behind him.

  “No.” The barrel of the gun didn’t waver. Glover’s response demonstrated more intelligence than Nick would have credited him. “She dies. I inherit. There are more like her we can experiment upon. Your sister, for example.”

  “You’re not going to inherit anything,” Nick snarled. “Your death is a foregone conclusion.”

  “Last warning. Don’t take another step forward.”

  “Success!” Farquhar yelled, clapping his hands. “Her heart has stopped! The moment of truth is upon us!”

  Distracted, Glover glanced at Colleen. This would be Nick’s last and only chance. He leapt on the opportunity with a feral roar, rushing at Glover, praying the man would turn his weapon back toward Nick.

  He did.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  The bullets missed, zinging past Nick’s shoulder to strike the metal wall behind him.

  Nick slammed into Glover, knocking him to the ground and smashing the iron manacles about his wrists into the man’s head. Again and again and again.

  Bloody and battered, Glover lay still. Perhaps dead. Nick didn’t care.

  Behind him, the henchman growled.

  As the leather soles of the guard’s shoes pounded behind him, Nick snatched up the pistol and rolled, firing a bullet into Vanderburn’s head. The henchman dropped to the floor, this time most certainly dead.

  Nick staggered onto his feet and turned the weapon on Farquhar. Colleen’s chest no longer rose and fell. “Bring her back. Activate the Magneto-Shock Machine.”

  “She’ll turn,” the scientist insisted without giving Nick a second glance. “Any second. We must have patience.”

  “Now!” Nick bellowed. Had the madman not noticed the two men—one dead—at his feet?

  Colleen’s eyes flew open. A horrible sound—a great and prolonged gasp—ripped from her throat. She was alive!

  “Failure!” Farquhar moaned, pressing his hands to either side of his head. His fingers curled into his wild hair, taking hold as if he might rip it from its roots. “I was so very certain it would work.” His wide eyes met Nick’s gaze, unaware or uncaring of the death that surrounded him. “Perhaps transformation only happens on the final death? On the ninth and final round?” He blinked. “We’ll need more ice.”

  There would be no reasoning with the scientist. They might, however, still have need of him later. Assuming anything logical could be dragged forth from his brain. Nick stalked toward Farquhar and smashed the butt of the pistol into the side of his head, turning away as the man crumpled to the floor.

  Colleen’s eyes fluttered shut as she sank once more toward cardiopulmonary arrest. She needed warmth, and she needed it now.

  Nick shoved the wet, dripping ice bags from her body, then clamped the tubing that fed ice-cold saline into her veins and cut the tubing. He bent, digging through the mad doctor’s pockets, yanking out the keys to unlock the iron bands binding her to the metal gurney.

  “There’ll be a fire upstairs.” His fingers felt thick and clumsy and they fumbled his first attempt with the lock. The key nearly jammed with the force of his second effort, but it turned inside the keyhole. Clang. The iron band fell to the ground. The second was in his hand.

  Yeowl!

  The cry of a demon split the air.

  Sorcha?

  Snatching up the pistol, Nick spun.

  Blood dripped from raw gashes upon Glover’s face. He’d not had the courtesy to die. Instead, he’d managed to crawl across the floor to retrieve the galvanic prod. It hummed in his hands.

  A black shape darted across the room, swiping at Glover’s ankles.

  Cursing, the man kicked at the cat sìth, then he lowered the galvanic prod, pointing it at Nick.

  Their eyes locked.

  “Don’t.” It wasn’t a warning. It was a command. Nick hadn’t the strength to wrestle Glover, to win control of the galvanic prod. Nor the inclination. Not only would he gladly see the man dead, Colleen needed warmth now.

  Beside him, Sorcha hissed, arching her back.

  But Glover was far beyond reason. His nostrils flared as he rushed forward.

  Hiss!

  Sorcha slashed at Glover’s pant leg as he ran past.

  Bang!

  Nick fired the last bullet into Glover’s chest. Shock and surprise rippled across the man’s features. Then he fell. Dead.

  Nick felt no remorse. Not the faintest inkling.

  He threw aside the weapon and turned back to Colleen. Once her wrists and ankles were free, he yanked off the metal belt, shoved the keys into his pocket and scooped her into his arms. His own shackles could wait.

  “Yeowl!” Sorcha looked at him, then ran into the hall.

  Nick staggered behind, trailing the cat through the twists and turns of the subterranean cellars of The Three-Eyed Bat, blindly trusting the ever-loyal creature to lead her human to warmth, to safety.

  Curled against his chest, Nick could feel the rise and fall of Colleen’s chest, the faint thud as her heart beat slowly. Then, without warning, they bo
th stopped.

  “No, Colleen.” He gave her a great shake, ready to drop to the ground, to pound her upon her chest and insist she revive. “Stay with me!”

  Another horrible intake of breath rattled her chest as her heart jolted back to life once more. The heart worm? Could Farquhar have been right about the electrical pulses the nematode could deliver, if not the shape-shifting?

  The cat sìth yowled again, looking at Nick insistently.

  The distant sound of people yelling met his years. A woman’s voice—two—rose above a deeper rumbling. Both warmth and assistance were close at hand.

  The feline had not let them down.

  Ignoring the snap and groan of his cold joints, Nick struggled onward behind Sorcha who paused at each corner, glancing behind to ensure he followed. A moment later, they arrived at the stairs that led upward into the tavern.

  He lifted his foot and heaved them both upward. But Nick’s adrenaline-fueled efforts to knock down—kill—their captors had weakened him, making each step a struggle to climb. One. Two. “Help!” he yelled.

  A third step.

  The voices quieted, then began shouting all at once. “Here!” he called.

  A pale face appeared at the top of the stairs. Lady Isabella Maynard peered down the dim staircase. “I found them!”

  Footsteps thundered in his direction.

  Agent Jackson rushed down the stairs and took Colleen from his arms.

  “Fire,” Nick ordered. “She needs as much warmth as possible. Immediately.”

  Jackson nodded. “Of course.” He turned and rushed up the stairs.

  Another man grasped Nick beneath his arms, pulled him upward and into the warm, fire-lit pub.

  Colleen shifted, burrowing closer to the glorious heat that pressed against her. A soft blanket slipped across her shoulders. Across bare shoulders. Beneath one ear was warm skin and the steady thump of a heartbeat. Listening to the soft crackle of a nearby fire, she slid her palm across the rough curls of hair that dusted Nick’s chest as they gathered and trailed down his stomach. He’d made good on his promise. A smile formed on her lips—then froze.

  Froze.

  This wasn’t right. She had no memory of—

  “Wake up, Colleen,” Nick’s voice pleaded. His rough hands rubbed up and down her arms beneath the blanket. “Please wake up. We’re safe now, I promise.”

  Her eyes snapped open, and her gaze darted about in confusion. “Where are we?”

  “Thank aether.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Upstairs in the pub. Sorcha reached your aunt, and Isabella mobilized the cavalry, including a number of Queen’s agents. When they arrived en masse, everyone but the owner turned tail and fled.”

  “We’re still in The Three-Eyed Bat?” Were she not so chilled, a blush would have crept up onto her cheeks. “We’re naked?” The low murmur of nearby voices met her ears. “In a public tavern?”

  “Nearly naked. We’ve a blanket.” A low laugh rumbled through his chest. “But no worries, we’re not on display.” He tipped his head toward a privacy screen that hid them from general view. “Well, except for Sorcha who refuses to let you out of her sight.”

  She shifted and found the cat sìth seated upon the hearth. “Ach, sweetie,” Colleen crooned, slipping a hand from beneath the blanket to stroke her hand down the feline’s back. “Thank ye.”

  Sorcha blinked her two golden eyes slowly. Satisfied her human had rallied, she sank down onto her front feet, tucking them beneath her chest, ever watchful. If the cat sìth wasn’t worried, Colleen too could relax.

  “What happened? How did we escape? The last thing I can recall is the pain of cold fluid burning through my veins.”

  “You died,” he whispered.

  Her jaw dropped as Nick recounted Vanderburn’s attack, a pistol held to her head, a mad scientist knocked unconscious, and her miraculous return to the world of the living. “Sorcha, extraordinary creature that she is, arrived in time to alert me of Glover’s recovery, of his intent to attack.” Nick clenched his jaw. “He didn’t survive the second attempt.”

  “Good.” And she meant it. Betrayal had left her bloodthirsty. “I never thought I’d be so happy to find myself a widow.”

  Nick huffed a laugh. “Sorcha made it back to the pub before our other rescuers, slipping down into the tunnels beneath the building. It was she who led us out through the underground maze while everyone else was above, arguing with the proprietors and organizing a search.” Nick squeezed her tight. “You died. At least three times before we reached this room.”

  “The worms?” She shuddered.

  “I suspect they saved your life. Not that it would have needed saving, but for your greedy uncle, a malevolent suitor, and one persistent mad scientist.” He slipped his hand from beneath the blanket. Circling his small finger was the amber ring. “My sister found this on the dressing table.”

  “It catches the light.” She reached for her engagement ring. “I didn’t want to risk—”

  “Shh. You told me to ask again.” A gleam lit Nick’s eyes from within, and her heart gave a great leap of joy. “I love you, Lady Colleen Stewart of Craigieburn. London or Scotland, running across roofs or restoring family estates, I would be by your side. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  “Yes.” A tear of happiness escaped the corner of her eye as she took his ring and slid it back onto her finger where it belonged. “Only one man has ever stolen my heart.” The corner of her mouth kicked up. “How convenient that I find myself a widow when a date is already set.” He opened his mouth, but she pressed a finger to his lips. “And it’s fortunate you work for a secret government agency, is it not? I imagine the Duke of Avesbury might be able to make those official papers in Mr. Glover’s possession disappear.”

  “Please,” Nick rolled his eyes. “So little faith. While you slept, I dispatched Agent Harrison to Glover’s home. He found those pages. So certain of his success, the fool hadn’t bothered to secure them, but dropped them atop his desk. The touch of a match to dry paper, and a moment later you were once again an unwed heiress. I’d tell you to abandon your black clothing, but—”

  She grinned and kissed his nose. “I’ve been promised rooftops.”

  “And I’ll see them provided.”

  “Colleen?” Eyes wide, Isabella peeked around the paneled screen. Her hand was pressed to her chest as if afraid to hope that Colleen had truly rallied. “You’re awake! It’s been hours. How do you feel?”

  “I’m fine. Really.” She looked to Nick. “Hours?”

  He nodded. “We’ve all been worried.”

  Isabella disappeared a moment, then was back, rounding the divider with a tea tray in hand. Depositing it upon the nearest table, she hastily poured a cup of steaming liquid, adding far more sugar than Colleen preferred. “No arguing. You need both the energy and hot liquids.”

  Dutifully, Colleen cradled the warm cup and sipped.

  “After your cryptic note, you can imagine my concern when I returned from the dinner party to find my husband on our doorstep, surrounded by police. A most gruesome sight.” Isabella shuddered. “One of those horrid newspaper reporters was dancing about the edge of the crowd, whipped into a frenzy by an earlier death that occurred on—above?—Viscount Stafford’s property. All of them firing questions and demanding immediate answers.” Her hand fell against her lower abdomen. “Already, like hyenas, they’re circling demanding answers. They want to know…”

  “Who will inherit,” Colleen finished. The watch would be on. Should Isabella’s child be male, he would become the next Lord Maynard. Otherwise, a cousin would claim the honorific. But at least her aunt was free.

  “I will, of course, wear black, but my husband will not be missed.” Her face was tight. “Not by me and certainly not by you. But the burden of his misdeeds will take time to sort, to set to rights. Particularly given what was discovered on the premises. Don’t think I didn’t see you, Mr. Torrington, passing secre
ts along to one Mr. Jackson. Soon after, an expert locksmith was sent to my house.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m informed they found a human heart inside the safe!”

  “Leave such problems to the Queen’s agents,” Nick said. “I’ll see it sorted.”

  “Gladly.” She glanced from him to Colleen. “In any case, I had to pretend a faint before the police would allow me to rest in my room. Not one minute after I opened that sardine tin, Sorcha was on my window sill and, well,” Isabella lifted a hand, “you see the rest.”

  “I hear voices.” Anna rounded the privacy screen and dropped into a free chair. “Receiving guests, are you?” She held up a hand, forestalling Colleen’s question. “Yes, they tried to stop me from coming, but I have a vested interest in the outcome of tonight’s events.” She eyed the ring on Colleen’s finger, then glanced at Isabella. “Is there to be a wedding after all?”

  “Well,” her aunt huffed. “It won’t be postponed on account of mourning for a murderous, traitorous relative, that’s for certain.”

  “Would a small one disappoint your mother?” Colleen asked.

  Anna clapped. “A private ceremony will thrill our mother. She’s utterly convinced Nicholas will scare you away before he manages to slip a wedding band on your finger.”

  “Will you be up to it, Colleen?” Isabella asked. “Lest we forget the trauma of all you’ve been through this past night.”

  “There’s nothing to be done,” Nick added, “but watch and wait.”

  Colleen snatched up his hand and pressed it to her heart. “I feel absolutely fine. But if you want to delay the wedding…”

  “Absolutely not.” The sultry look on his face told her everything she needed to know.

  “Then all that’s left to sort,” Anna’s haunted face searched Colleen’s, “is the matter of… an unconventional treatment for my heart block.”

  “Anna.” Nick’s voice warned, though his voice cracked. Desperation warred with logic as he weighed the risks. In the past, charlatans and their false cures had raised the hopes of Anna and her family, one disappointment following another. “It’s unproven. There are tests I need to run. People I need to consult, including Dr. Farquhar himself. When they took him into custody, he was spouting all sorts of nonsense. Sorting fact from fantasy will take some time.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “In the meantime, deliberately infecting someone with parasitic nematodes. I—”