Forty-Seven
She awoke to the essence of death and the smell of strong chemicals. For a moment she lay still, afraid to move, afraid to open her eyes, fearful of what she might see.
“I think our guest is awake.”
The masculine voice was unfamiliar but there was no mistaking the whisper of unwholesome excitement that was woven through it like a dark thread.
“Yes, she is,” Victor said. “The least we can do is offer her a stimulating cup of strong tea to help her overcome the effects of the drug.”
She realized that she was lying on a cot. A strange lethargy weighed heavily on her senses. She felt vaguely nauseous. A hazy scene fluttered through her head like an image from a dream. She caught a glimpse of Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh sprawled, unconscious, on the floor of their front hall. She remembered the overpowering smell of the chloroform.
Instinctively she pulled hard on her senses, struggling to overcome the dazed ennui that held her in its grip.
She opened her eyes and found herself looking up at the night sky through a glass-and-steel dome. An icy white moon, partially obscured by clouds, shone down. The dome was modern in design as were the gas lamps that illuminated the chamber, but the stone walls around her were very old.
A figure appeared between her and the view of the night sky. She had never met him but she knew it could only be one man.
“Clement Lancing,” she said. She had a hard time getting his name out. She knew she sounded half asleep or perhaps slightly inebriated.
“Your tea, Miss Lockwood,” Clement said. “You have given us a great deal of difficulty. We were forced to go to extreme lengths to find you, but you, are here at last and in time. That is all that matters.”
Clement Lancing was a striking figure of a man—tall, broad-shouldered and endowed with an athletic physique. His dark brown hair was unfashionably long, as if he had not bothered to go to his barber in many months. He wore it brushed straight back from a sharply defined widow’s peak. The style framed a high forehead, aristocratic nose and piercing gray eyes.
“How odd,” she whispered in her drug-thickened voice. “You don’t look mad.”
She had expected the remark to send him into a rage. Instead, he startled her with a sad, knowing smile.
“Is that what Gage told you?” he asked. “That I was insane? Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? He is the madman in this affair. He murdered my beautiful Emma.”
“Rubbish. You’re the one who killed her.”
Clement’s eyes flared with an unholy light. “That is a lie.”
“Enough, both of you,” Victor snapped. “We do not have much time. We must conclude this business tonight.”
Beatrice sat up cautiously and eased her legs over the side of the cot. Instinctively she searched for the source of the strong chemical odor and saw the massive sarcophagus on the far side of the chamber. She knew at once that the smell was emanating from it. An icy thrill of horror spiked through her. Death leaked from the ancient quartz box. She could feel it all the way across the room.
A tall statue of Anubis with a human body and the head of a jackal stood next to the sarcophagus. A length of gold wire was wrapped around the god’s throat. The obsidian eyes glittered in the glary light. She could sense the paranormal energy infused into the statue.
With the horrible exception of the ancient burial box and the statue, the rest of the chamber was unsettlingly similar to Mrs. Marsh’s basement laboratory. Workbenches covered with an assortment of chemical apparatuses were arranged around the room. The shelves set against the walls were lined with boxes and jars that she knew very likely contained chemicals.
She pulled hard on her talent and some of her unnatural lethargy receded. The skirts of her gown were crushed and someone had removed her cloak, but she was relieved to note that at least she was still fully dressed. When she looked down she saw that her chatelaine with the small vial containing Mrs. Marsh’s special smelling salts was missing.
Her talent was flaring and sparking but she could see the hot footprints that covered the floor of the chamber.
She looked at Clement. “You may like to think yourself the sane one in this affair, but it is clear from your psychical prints that you are quite mad.”
Another flash of strange fire lit Clement’s eyes. But he managed to suppress it to some degree.
It was Victor who responded to her statement.
“I told you, the line between genius and madness can be difficult to detect,” he said quietly. “Believe me, Miss Lockwood, I have been attempting to find it for the past year. In the end, it seems, one must go on faith alone.”
Clement held out a mug. “Have some tea. It will restore your nerves, Miss Lockwood.”
“No, thank you,” she said. “You will understand when I tell you that I must assume that any tea brewed by you would be poisoned.” She looked at the sarcophagus. “Like everything else in this place.”
“You are wrong, Miss Lockwood,” Clement said. “There is no poison here. Quite the contrary, what you are going to witness is a triumph of the science of chemistry. Actually, you will be more than a witness to history tonight. You will make a great contribution.”
She looked around the room. “Joshua was right. He said that if you were still alive, you would be found in a laboratory.”
“Gage knows me well,” Clement said. “It has not been easy hiding from him for the past year. I was fortunate in that he chose to become a recluse on his estates after he murdered my beloved, but in a very real sense, I, too, have been in prison because I dared not leave this place. But that is all finished. What matters is that I have you here in my laboratory at last. I have been searching for you for months.”
“Why me?” Beatrice asked.
“Because only a woman with genuine paranormal talent can release the energy in the Anubis figure,” Clement said.
“There are thousands of paranormal practitioners in London.”
“But the vast majority are frauds,” Clement said. “I require a true talent.”
“How did you identify me as the one you wanted?” she asked.
“That was Victor’s doing,” Clement said.
Victor touched the top of the sarcophagus with a reverent hand. “We were getting desperate. I knew I had to take some risks. I used Hannah Trafford to locate you.”
“I don’t understand,” Beatrice said.
“Hannah has always considered herself a student of the paranormal,” Victor said. “Josh never believed in that sort of thing so he has always dismissed his sister’s interests. I, on the other hand, am well aware that the paranormal exists. I have some psychical talent myself.”
“A gift for strategy, perhaps?” she asked coldly.
Victor inclined his head. “Indeed. Because of my long and close association with Josh, I knew a great deal about his family. During my years as Mr. Smith I made it my business to learn as much as possible about my agents’ personal lives.”
“In other words, you spied on your spies.”
“Of course. Hannah is something of an expert on the subject of the paranormal, although I’m not sure she knows that. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a touch of talent herself. After she attended a few of Fleming’s seminars at the Academy of the Occult and booked some appointments with you, she informed the members of her little society of researchers that you were the genuine article, a woman endowed with true psychical ability.”
“You hired the Bone Man to kidnap me,” Beatrice said. “Why in heaven’s name did you order him to murder Roland Fleming?”
“Fleming’s death was regrettable but I had no choice. I knew that if you simply disappeared, Fleming would go to the police and demand an investigation.”
Beatrice pushed herself to her feet. “So you told the Bone Man to silence him.”
“But you slipped away that night,” Victor said. “At first I did not think it would be difficult to find you, but eventually I realized that you had literally vanished. It was . . . astonishing, to tell you the truth.”
“The Bone Man found Roland’s stash of blackmail material that night, didn’t he?” Beatrice said.
“Yes. He brought it to me. I had no interest in the items at the start of the affair but later, when I realized I could not find you, I took the biggest risk of all.”
“You blackmailed Hannah and made it appear that I was the extortionist. You knew that would draw Joshua into the hunt.”
Victor sighed. “By that time I was quite desperate. I feared that I might never find you.”
“Was there anything in Roland’s collection of extortion material that involved Hannah?”
“No. But Hannah and Josh had no way of knowing that.”
“You knew about the man who had died in Hannah’s kitchen,” Beatrice said. “How did you discover that?”
“Josh kept that a secret, even from me, the one person he trusted outside the family. But as I said, I made it a practice to keep an eye on my agents. There was no way I could get a spy into Josh’s house, but Hannah’s housekeeper was my unwitting informant. She was there that night and afterward badly shaken. She confided in her sister, who had been on my payroll since soon after I began to train Josh. I had no particular interest in the death at the time.”
“But when you realized you had to send Joshua after me, you knew you possessed the perfect bait,” Beatrice said. “Blackmailing Hannah yourself, however, would have been far too dangerous.”
“It would have drawn Josh straight to me,” Victor said. “I required a distraction that would satisfy him.”
“You found a cheap, somewhat inept criminal who was more than happy to try to extort money from some wealthy people. You faked a couple of pages from a nonexistent diary hinting at the death in Hannah’s kitchen.”
“The fool required considerable guidance, but in the end my strategy worked,” Victor said.
“You ordered the Bone Man to kill your handpicked blackmailer at Alverstoke Hall.”
“I couldn’t allow the extortionist to live after he had served his purpose,” Victor said. “He knew too much, you see. There was always the chance that, even though I had been careful to keep my identity a secret from the blackmailer, Josh might be able to find me by following the trail.”
“You do realize that Joshua will even now be searching for me,” Beatrice said.
“Assuming he survives the encounter with the Bone Man,” Victor said. “But by then it will be finished. My daughter will have been awakened.”
“You cannot run far enough to escape Joshua, you must know that.”
“I do not intend to run.” Victor looked down at the sarcophagus. “All I care about is Emma.”
Clement snorted. “I assure you, Gage will not survive the next twenty-four hours. Even if he escapes the Bone Man’s knife, he will die in this house when he comes looking for you.”
“You have tried to kill him before and failed,” Beatrice said. “What makes you think you will succeed this time?”
Clement’s eyes heated with a savage madness. “Things were not entirely under our control on previous occasions. But if Josh comes looking for you again, he will be on my ground.”
She glanced around the room again. “You refer to this chamber?”
“The stairs and hallway that lead to this laboratory are set with a number of traps. Each contains a canister of my nightmare-inducing vapor. Only Victor and I know the safe route to this room. Anyone else who attempts to climb the staircase will die a slow and terrible death.”
“Why don’t you tell me precisely what it is you expect me to do for you?” she said.
“Yes,” Victor said, his tone sharpening. “It is time.”
“Come with me, Miss Lockwood,” Clement said.
He turned and led the way across the chamber to the sarcophagus. She followed him slowly, struggling to suppress her senses. But no matter how she tried to lower her talent she could not entirely escape the traces of decay and death that permeated the atmosphere around the ancient coffin.
Clement walked around the sarcophagus and faced her from the opposite side.
“Behold my beloved,” he said. “Tonight you will awaken her.”
Beatrice had tried to prepare herself for what she would see when they pushed the lid of the sarcophagus aside. She dreaded the sight but she reminded herself it would not be the first dead body she had viewed.
She was wholly unprepared to discover that the lid of the sarcophagus was fitted with a large panel of transparent crystal. Beneath the clear plate the body of a perfectly preserved woman floated gently in a clear liquid. She was dressed in a prim white nightgown. The hem of the garment was secured to her ankles to keep it from floating up above her knees. Her dark hair drifted around her beautiful face. Her eyes were closed.
Beatrice stopped a short distance away and fought to breathe.
“Dear heaven,” she whispered. “This is Emma.”
“Yes,” Victor said. “She is in a very deep sleep. You see now why I have gone to such lengths to revive her.”
Clement looked down at the dead woman. “Beautiful, is she not?”
Beatrice swallowed hard, trying to suppress the queasy sensation in her stomach. It was not just Emma’s beauty that had been so artfully preserved. The bruises around her throat were as vivid as if she had been strangled yesterday.
“She was, indeed, quite lovely,” Beatrice said quietly.
Clement’s eyes heated again. “She is lovely.”
“She is dead,” Beatrice said flatly. “There is nothing I or anyone else can do to bring her back to life.”
Victor’s eyes darkened with desperation and grim resolve. “She is not dead.”
“She’s asleep,” Clement hissed. “A very deep sleep, but a sleeping state, nonetheless. It’s called suspended animation.”
“I confess I am astonished by the preservative effects of the formula that you have used to keep her body looking so alive, but death is death,” Beatrice said.
“Damn you,” Clement snarled. He came around the end of the sarcophagus. “You are no scientist. You know nothing about chemistry.”
He reached for her throat with hands that trembled with fury. His eyes were on fire.
Beatrice stumbled backward so quickly that her heel caught in the hem of her gown. She went down hard on the floor.
Victor moved swiftly, stepping into Clement’s path. “Stop this foolishness. Have you forgotten that we require Miss Lockwood’s assistance in this matter?”
Clement halted abruptly. He blinked a couple of times as though dazed, took a deep breath and pulled himself together with a visible effort of will. The fires of madness dimmed in his eyes but not in his aura.
“Yes, of course,” he rasped.
Beatrice scrambled to her feet. Clement was not the only one struggling to breathe. Her heart was pounding with terror.
She backed away from the two men and came up hard against a workbench. She heard metal instruments rattle behind her but she ignored the sound, intent on finding a way out of the chamber.
But the only exit was the single door on the far side of the room. Victor and Clement barred the way. Her only real option was to continue buying time for Joshua to find her. That meant not provoking Clement to a killing fury.
Clement had himself in hand once more. “You are right, Victor. I will not kill Miss Lockwood now. That pleasure will come later.”
“There is no need for anyone to die tonight,” Victor said.
He spoke in soothing tones, as if he were an attendant in an asylum attempting to calm a patient. It was clear this was not the first time he had talked Clement out of a fit of madness.
Beatrice thought about the metallic rattling she had heard when she had come up against the workbench. She glanced over her shoulder to see what had made the noise.
An array of gleaming surgical instruments—scalpels, clamps and syringes—was set out on the workbench. A row of glass jars containing dead rats floating in liquid sat on a nearby shelf.
Victor was still calming Clement. She had to take the chance. It might be the only one she would get. She reached behind herself and groped cautiously. Her fingers closed around the handle of one of the scalpels. She slipped the blade into the hidden pocket of her gown, the one designed to hold a hankie.
Clement straightened his shoulders. He was composed once more but his eyes still burned.
“We have wasted enough time,” he said. He went to the statue that stood next to the sarcophagus. “Bring Miss Lockwood to me, Victor.”
Victor gave Beatrice an apologetic look. He started toward her.
“It will not be necessary to put your hands on me again,” she said in her iciest accent.
Victor stopped, waiting.
She moved slowly toward the sarcophagus.
“I still do not understand what you think I can do to assist you in this madness,” she said quietly.
“There are two steps to the awakening process,” Clement announced. He sounded like a professor now. “The first requires that the power infused into the statue be released.” He picked up the trailing end of the gold wire that was wrapped around the neck of Anubis. “That is your task. The energy will be conducted along this wire into the Egyptian Water. That will cause a chemical reaction that will reverse the state of suspended animation.”
She thought about telling him again that he was insane but decided that as he had not responded well the last time, it would probably not be wise to do so.
“What is the second step of the process?” she asked.
“Once the Egyptian Water has been ignited it will be necessary to add fresh blood to the chemicals in order to keep the process going long enough to accomplish the awakening. My beautiful Emma was a woman of talent. It’s obvious that the best source of strong blood would be that of another female with strong psychical abilities.”
She looked at the surgical instruments set out on the workbench.
“Me,” she said.
He smiled. “Yes, Miss Lockwood, you.”
Victor frowned. “Clement assures me that the process does not require a great deal of blood, merely a small amount to spark the energy of the Water. You will not be a sacrifice, Miss Lockwood.”
She looked into Clement’s mad eyes. “You lied to Mr. Hazelton about that aspect of the thing, didn’t you? You’re going to murder me tonight.”
“Nonsense,” Clement said. “As Victor said, the process merely requires a small amount of blood.”
He was definitely lying but there was no point arguing.
“What if I can’t awaken her?” she asked.
“Then I will have no further use for you, will I? You will live only as long as you are useful to me. Enough. It’s time. Victor, help me remove the lid of the sarcophagus.”
Victor went forward, leaned down and placed both hands on the edge of the crystal-and-stone lid. Clement did the same. Together they pushed the top of the coffin to the side, angling it so that it rested across the foot of the burial box.
The heavy scent of harsh chemicals grew abruptly stronger. Beatrice winced and took a step back. The body floating in the liquid appeared unreal, a beautiful wax doll made to resemble a sleeping woman.
Clement pulled on a pair of leather gloves and picked up the end of the gold wire. He submerged the tip into the preservative fluid.
“Touch the statue’s eyes and release the power,” he ordered.
Beatrice studied the Anubis. “What, exactly, do you want me to do?”
“I just told you, touch the eyes. When you make physical contact with the obsidian stones you will sense the energy locked inside. Even I can feel it. My paranormal senses are not strong enough to release it. Let us hope that yours are because otherwise there is no reason to keep you alive.”
Victor scowled. “That’s enough, Clement. There is no reason to threaten Miss Lockwood.”
Beatrice moved closer to the statue. Warily she raised one arm and touched an obsidian eye with her fingertip. An icy shiver of energy whispered through her. She flinched and quickly took her finger away from the stone.
“This is not a good idea,” she said.
“Do it,” Clement ordered.
He was losing control again, she realized. Gingerly she put two fingertips on one of the jeweled eyes and heightened her talent. Energy stirred in the stone. Power rose in the atmosphere. Intuitively she tried to find a way to channel it. There was, she discovered, something oddly seductive about controlling the currents. She pushed her senses higher.
She was concentrating so intently on the statue that she did not realize anything was happening to the preservative formula until she heard Victor speak in a hushed voice.
“Look at the Water,” he said.
“It’s working,” Clement said. Fierce satisfaction reverberated in the words. “It’s working. It’s working.”
Keeping her fingertips on the eye, Beatrice turned her head to look at the sarcophagus. The fluid was turning an eerie shade of violet and starting to bubble. She could feel currents of paranormal energy coming from it now.
Clement gave her an impatient glance. “Touch the other eye, you slow-witted woman. Hurry. Emma’s finger twitched. She’s coming awake.”
“Emma,” Victor whispered. “Dear God, Emma. Wake up, my darling girl.”
Beatrice looked at the dead woman’s hand. The fingers were moving slightly but she knew it was not with the stirrings of a life force. The small motions were caused by the bubbling, frothing water. Clement and Victor were deluding themselves. But some sort of energy was building in the statue and she was quite certain it was dangerous. There was no knowing what would happen if she pushed it higher, but it might prove to be the distraction she needed to escape. She focused on the rising energy in the stones.
Clement gave a startled shout of pain.
Beatrice took her fingers off the statue and whirled around to see what had happened. Clement had dropped the wire into the Water and was peeling off the leather gloves.
Victor looked at him, irritated. “What happened?”
“So strong,” Clement muttered. He stared at his fingers. “Too strong. I dare not hold the wire. The gloves are not sufficient protection. I’ll leave the wire in the Water and stand aside while the energy is being generated.” He stood back. “Again, Miss Lockwood.”
This was not going to end well, she thought. But she had nothing to lose.
She put the full power of her talent into exciting the energy in the obsidian. The Egyptian Water churned and roiled and seethed. The body in the tank shuddered and twitched but Beatrice knew the movements did not indicate life. The corpse was being jostled about by the agitation of the fluid.
The energy in the statue was building swiftly now. She was not sure she was still in control.
The explosion did not come from the Anubis, as Beatrice had anticipated. It came from above. A large pane of glass in the dome ceiling shattered inward. Shards rained down.
For a few seconds Clement and Victor did not seem to comprehend what had happened. By the time they realized that the source of the broken glass was from the ceiling, it was too late.
An avenging angel clad in black and carrying a steel-and-ebony sword in the form of a cane was plummeting down into the small antechamber of hell.
Joshua.