An odd sense of foreboding filled him.
There wasn't a lock that he and Lark couldn't pick, but Gemma was here for one reason and one reason only: with her memory, she could practically reproduce anything she saw on a piece of paper.
"Adele said there were maps," Gemma breathed. "I need light, Charlie."
Charlie shook the phosphorescent glimmer ball to brighten it again. The ghostly green glow cast just enough light across the small private study to see that someone had cleaned the desk.
No map. No schematics.
"He's locked the desk," Lark whispered, already kneeling in front of it with her lock pick. A faint click and she eased the draw open.
There were papers inside. A hollow leather tube to protect something large. Lark handed him the tube, then started rifling carefully through the papers.
He eased a roll of schematics from the tube and unrolled them across the desk. Sharply drawn lines furled across the paper.
It looked like the small control chip they'd removed from Obsidian's head several months ago that had forced him to do Balfour's bidding.
"Is it—?"
"No." Gemma frowned at the specifications. "It's not the neural regulating implant. I examined the one they took from my head. This is different." She ran her fingers across the paper, tracing the name at the top. "The Prometheus Project. I wish we'd brought Kincaid or Jack. They might be able to recognize what it does."
"Can you draw it for them?"
"I should be able to recreate it, yes."
Charlie took a step toward the bookcase, and the floorboard beneath his foot depressed.
Downstairs came the sudden loud bonging of the grandfather clock, just once. Easing his weight back sent the noise crashing through the house again, and he took three swift steps away from the loose floorboard.
All three of them looked at each other, and then Charlie tugged his pocket watch from his pocket. "It's twenty minutes past the hour."
Gemma swiftly rolled the schematics back into place and slid them inside the tube. "He's rigged the study. Hurry. We need to put everything back."
A low grinding sound echoed through the room.
Shit. Charlie lunged toward the fireplace and jammed his boot between it and the wall. Something clicked, as if the mechanism was trying to force it closed.
"Gem," he rasped, wincing as the bones in his foot creaked.
Gemma slid to the ground at his feet, peering down into the solid iron turntable the fireplace rested on. She drove a knife between the cogs, and Charlie managed to ease his foot free as the clockwork mechanism groaned.
"How the hell do we get out of here?" There was no window in the room.
"Can you reverse the clockwork mechanism?" Gemma asked, thrusting the glimmer ball low so he could see the mechanism.
"I can barely fucking see it."
"Reach through the door and see if you can depress the sun symbol," Lark hissed.
Charlie did, groping in the darkness. Instantly, the fireplace ground to a halt.
The glimmer ball was fading into darkness as Lark hastily returned everything to its right place. She shoved the drawer shut and locked it.
"How strong are you?" Gemma asked.
Charlie threw his shoulder against the fireplace, and it creaked wider. One inch. Two. The strain was immense.
"Can you fit?" he gasped.
Gemma tried to wedge herself through. "Half of me."
It was the top half causing her trouble.
He jammed his boots against the fireplace as it strained to close, forcing the gap to widen. Gemma vanished into the main study.
"Lark!"
His fiancée dashed toward him, sliding between his legs and through the narrowing gap. Charlie threw himself clear and the fireplace groaned as it closed with a hollow, resolute thump.
Lights were flickering on in the house as Gemma slipped out the window. Footsteps hurried up the stairs. He snatched a gold paperweight off the desk and shoved everything else to the floor, to make it look like they'd been ransacking the main study.
"Just like old times," Lark said, flashing him a grin as she followed Gemma.
Just before the study door flung open, Charlie threw himself through the window, hitting the ground and rolling.
Dogs set up barking.
The window sash slammed up and someone shoved their head through the opening. "Stop! Thieves!"
But the three of them were well away.
"Let go of me!" Adele cried, trying to kick Corvus in the shins as he hauled her through a narrow passage hidden behind a veil of ivy, and into the dark.
He'd stripped her hemlock ring from her finger and found the small knife she had hidden up her sleeve.
Without them, Adele was as good as defenseless.
"You don't want to cross my husband! He knows I'm here. I told him I was going to come and if I don't return home—"
"You think Malloryn gives a damn about you?" Corvus snarled, shoving her up a flight of stairs. "You're a means to an end, Adele. And you'll be returned to your nice, safe warm bed in the end. A pity it won't be in one piece."
She tried to dart under his arm, but he slammed a palm straight into her chest. The blow winded her, and then a hand closed around her upper arm and she was dragged up the rest of the stairs and thrown through a small door.
Every inch of her ached as the door slammed behind her.
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't escape the clasp of her corset around bruised ribs. But somehow, the sound of that lock clicking shut sent a chill down her spine, and she forced herself to scramble onto her knees and turn to face her worst nightmare.
Corvus's cloak flared around his boots as he stalked toward her.
"Did you think you'd escape me forever?" he demanded. "Did you think Malloryn was the answer to your prayers? I'm a patient man, you little slut. No one has ever drawn my blood before, and I'll be damned if you think you can get away with it."