The rest of our group found us a minute later, still walking hesitantly as they blinked away the haze from their temporary blindness. In the distance, I could see Lord Lister making his escape. We could hear alarms ringing and people shouting frantically on the other side of the building, at Great Russell Street. The fire was still raging and doubtlessly destroying some of the museum’s prized possessions. The streams of water from the firemen seemed to be doing very little to help. I cringed at the thought of explaining this to Catherine.
“Did they put out the fire?” Miss Chen asked, averting her gaze from the museum.
“No,” I said, my eyes, along with everyone else’s, sliding up to the smoky sky.
“See?” She fingered the bracelet she’d stolen. “We should have saved more.”
*
With the panic centered around the fire, we were barely noticed among the fleeing museum guests. Mr. Kent and Miss Chen helped carry the unconscious Mr. Jarsdel out the gates and to the carriage. Laura looked a bit stunned as Tuffins opened the door for us. He, of course, seemed to notice nothing unusual.
Next to me, Sebastian sighed. I couldn’t help the pride I felt for him, and I squeezed his hand a little. He managed to use his power, it had only incapacitated the man, and he wasn’t catatonic right now. He looked concerned, yes, but he was still here with us.
“I think the count is down to fifty-two,” I said. Sebastian looked at me blankly. “You saved us in there. Lord Lister, Mr. Kent, Miss Chen, Mr. Adeoti, Emily, me, yourself—I think you’re down to fifty-two.”
“I’m not counting myself,” Sebastian said stubbornly.
“I don’t believe that was ever against the rules,” I said, pulling him into the carriage with the rest of the group so he wouldn’t be able to argue.
As the carriage took us away, we followed Mr. Adeoti’s instructions to suppress Mr. Jarsdel’s powers. Using Sebastian’s necktie, we bound his hands together, palms inward, so his fire could not be released.
Within minutes, the carriage stopped in front of the police station, where Sebastian and Mr. Kent unloaded our prisoner, and I followed them in. With our scorched clothes and sooty faces, we looked completely wretched, but I couldn’t ignore the feeling of triumph coursing through my body.
“Hello. I’ve found the man you’re all looking for,” Mr. Kent declared. “He’s here to make a confession.”
Mr. Kent unceremoniously dropped Mr. Jarsdel, leaving Sebastian with the weight. He set him down on the ground and stepped away, giving me space to heal him.
“Who are you, sir?” the thin booking officer yelled. “What division are you with?”
“Z division,” Mr. Kent said. “They formed one just for me. Now I have here a man responsible for a recent murder you’re investigating. He has one of those powers you’ve no doubt heard about.”
The booking officer snorted. “So do my wife and my sister,” he said, earning the easy laughs of a few other policemen.
With the effects of Sebastian’s power healed away, Mr. Jarsdel finally came to after a sniff of smelling salts. He looked rather dazed and then panicked. He struggled with his restraints, his hands glowing a bright orange that cut all the laughter short. A room full of suspicious eyes watched us.
“Thank you for the quiet,” Mr. Kent said before turning to our prisoner. “Now, sir, please tell these good men, is your name Mr. Jarsdel?”
“Yes,” Mr. Jarsdel said, his face reddening with anger as he realized where he was and what we had planned.
“Now Mr. Jarsdel, are you responsible for the murder of Sir Thomas Cox at the brothel on Leman Street last night?”
“Yes.”
“And who told you to murder the poor baronet?”
“Goode.”
“What is the man’s title?”
“Captain.”
“So it was Captain Goode who ordered this murder?”
Mr. Jarsdel tried to muffle the words in his shoulder, but the affirmative reply was heard anyway. “Mmph.”
As Mr. Kent lifted Mr. Jarsdel’s head and forced him to answer, brilliantly building his case, the curious detectives were warily striding forward, looking more and more intrigued.
“Did Captain Goode also plan the attack on the Queen at Westminster Abbey?”
“Yes.”
“Then how do you explain Sebastian Braddock’s appearance there?”
“It was an illusion. To blame him.”
“And Captain Goode is responsible for both the Westminster Abbey event and the murder last night?”
“Technically.”
“Wonderful. And now, gentlemen, I leave this filth in your hands.”
The men were staring among themselves, slack-jawed, as we backed away.
“I suggest you grab him,” I said, as Mr. Jarsdel worked at the necktie with his teeth, his breath coming in angry hisses. “And keep his palms together unless you want to be burned to death.”
That finally snapped the room into action, the men surrounding Mr. Jarsdel as we backed away toward the exit.
“Wait! You are not to leave yet!” the booking officer called after us. “Who are you? Who is your superintendent? Stop!”
But we were already out the door, hurrying back to the carriage. We’d done enough. They could sort out the rest without detaining us.
When we got back to Mrs. Tuffins’s, I ran to tell Rose and Catherine. Rose was thrilled and Catherine was pleased until she learned that the British Museum was no longer looking its best.
“The entire room of jewels from the Far East?”
“Well, Miss Chen saved one piece,” I said, nodding at her. We had taken over the parlor again and were sitting on the floor together, sharing a bottle of wine.
“Yes.” Miss Chen held up her wrist, showing off her bracelet.
“Ah. Well, fair enough. The architects and curators who have been building the museum’s collections are terrible thieves,” Catherine said, sounding as though she were about to start a much longer and angrier diatribe. But she stopped and sighed. “All those beautiful pieces, though.”
“It’s worth it,” I said firmly. When Sebastian’s name was cleared and Captain Goode’s was in the mud, he wouldn’t be able to hide. I looked behind me to see if Sebastian was paying us any mind. He looked up, then, and seemed to instinctively soften as our eyes caught.
Yes. It was worth a few ruined rooms, a few antiques. I would knock down buildings if it meant Sebastian had a chance at happiness.
Chapter Nine
“GOOD NEWS,” Mr. Kent said, entering the kitchen the next morning with the latest newspaper in one hand and a buttered roll in the other. “The world finally knows the truth: Mr. Braddock is a vampire.”
The newspaper dropped onto the table in front of me. Sebastian, Rose, Catherine, and Miss Chen stopped eating their breakfasts and waited as I scanned the article, finding only nonsense implicating Sebastian in the baronet’s murder.
“An eyewitness says,” I read aloud, “she saw Mr. Braddock climbing up the building’s three floors with his bare hands, breaking through the window, draining the life out of the poor Sir Thomas, burning him, and throwing him down to his death.”
Mr. Kent tut-tutted. “You really must be more discreet with your blood cravings, Mr. Braddock.”
“What nonsense,” I said. “We did every bit of work for the police! Really, all they had to do was move Jarsdel from the lobby into a jail cell. It couldn’t have been that difficult. When will they announce Sebastian’s innocence?”
“It’s … possible they might not be planning an announcement,” Mr. Kent said.
“What do you mean?” Rose asked.
“When I went out, I saw new police notices for Mr. Braddock blaming him for the Belgrave Ball, the attack on the Queen, and Sir Thomas’s murder.”
Sebastian sighed, taking the paper from me before I could crumple it up. I wasn’t sure if it was a good sign that a mild sigh was now his reaction to more false accusations of murder.
I dropped the rest of my cake. “But you made him confess in full view of several policemen,” I said, struggling to take this as calmly as Sebastian was. “They can’t ignore that.”
“Perhaps Captain Goode’s influence reaches further than we thought,” Miss Chen put in. “He did save the Queen, after all.”
“Then maybe we should overreach him,” I said, jabbing at the newspaper. “They’ll want to hear the truth.”
Mr. Kent snorted. “They most definitely will not. They want a good story.”
“Then we’ll give them that, too.”