Burning Lamp (20 page)

“Sorry,” Adelaide murmured. “I forgot myself.”

Griffin ignored the byplay.

“As it happens, I’ve been giving the matter of Fergus and Nate some thought,” he said. “The simplest thing to do is to set them free.”

Mrs. Trevelyan bristled. “After what they did in this household?”

Griffin cradled his tea in both hands. “Something tells me they are going to do their best to disappear.”

Delbert made a face. “If they know what’s good for them, that’s exactly what they’ll do.”

“It will be interesting to see who tries to find them after they leave here tonight,” Griffin said.

Leggett pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll take care of having them followed, Boss. Give me thirty minutes to get some men in place before you turn them loose.”

Griffin looked at Adelaide. “And now, Mrs. Pyne, I have a few questions for you. But we will conduct our conversation in private.”

 

 

 

THEY WENT BACK INTO THE LIBRARY AND CLOSED THE DOOR. A cold draft wafted through the window that had been opened earlier to clear out the last of the vapor.

Adelaide stopped in the center of the carpet. Heated memories washed through her. She would never again be able to enter the room without thinking about what had happened in it. For that matter, she would very likely think about the passionate encounter every day for the rest of her life.

Griffin closed the window. Then he crossed to the fireplace and regarded the embers of the fire with a brooding expression.

Adelaide did not sit down. She knew that it would be easier to argue with Griffin if she remained on her feet.

“Do you have any notion of what you did tonight when you worked the lamp?” he asked. His tone was chillingly cold and controlled.

“My intuition told me that some of the currents of your dreamlight were not in harmony with those of the lamp,” she said. She struggled to keep her own voice calm and professional. “I simply did a little fine-tuning.”

His jaw tightened. “Fine-tuning,” he repeated. “Is that what you call it?”

“I do not think that the terrible nightmares and hallucinations will trouble you now,” she ventured. “I believe they were caused by the slight disharmony in your patterns.”

“Do you have any notion of what other surprises I might expect from the paranormal side of my nature, Adelaide?” he asked a little too politely.

She sighed. “I cannot say. But I must insist that all I did tonight was make some minor adjustments in your own natural wavelengths. The lack of harmony in the dreamlight portions of your aura was not surprising when you think about it.”

He slanted a quick, hard look at her. “What the devil do you mean?”

She took a breath. “Griffin, please listen to me. I believe that when you came into what you call your second talent a few weeks ago some of your currents were temporarily disturbed. It seems only reasonable. Your paranormal senses suddenly had to deal with a lot more energy coming from the dreamlight end of the spectrum.”

“Disturbed. Well, that is certainly one way to describe the effects of the Curse.”

She warmed to her thesis. “I think that, given time, your currents would have gradually adjusted to the new level of power. All I did tonight was hurry things along, as it were.”

His mouth twisted. “So that I can go merrily on my way to becoming a mad Cerberus?”

“I refuse to dignify that with an answer.” She gave him her most reproving glare. “I have already made it clear that, in my opinion, you are not going mad.”

He turned away from the dying fire and stalked to the window. He stood quietly for a moment looking out at the night.

“Then what in blazes is happening to me?” he asked after a time.

She looked at the glowing footprints on the floor and gently cleared her throat.

“Well, as to that I have a theory,” she said.

“And just what is this theory of yours?”

“You are not becoming a Cerberus. Instead, you have simply developed the full potential of your own natural talent.”

“Talent develops in the teens and early twenties.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m thirty-six.”

“I suppose we must consider you a late bloomer, sir.”

He turned at that and walked toward her, eyes very dangerous. “This is not a good time to make a joke out of what is happening to me, Adelaide Pyne.”

She straightened her shoulders. “My apologies, sir. But I am convinced that what I am telling you is the truth. For whatever reason, possibly because your ancestor was not exposed to the lamp’s radiation until he was the age that you are now, your own talent did not fully develop until you reached your thirty-sixth year. Regardless, I don’t believe that you are a genuine multitalent. You are simply a much stronger version of what you have always been.”

He stopped directly in front of her and searched her face. “I was a shadow-talent. Now I generate nightmares.”

“Both abilities obviously come from the dreamlight end of the spectrum,” she insisted.

“Is that right? You’re an expert?”

She refused to let him intimidate her. “I’m a dreamlight reader. I have a great affinity for that kind of energy. Your talent is also based in dreamlight. Think about it. For years you have been able to cloak yourself in shadows. Now you can project those shadows at others. When you do so your victims’ senses are literally overwhelmed by the experience. They panic and their minds fill in the void with terrible visions and nightmares.”

“Call it what you will, I doubt that Arcane will look upon my new ability as merely an extension of my first. And what of the third talent? When will I discover that one?”

“I don’t think it’s a third talent but rather a third
level
of talent,” she said. “And you may not discover it unless or until you get into a situation in which you need it. Then your intuition will come to the fore and you will know what to do.”

“No offense, Adelaide, but that is not particularly comforting.”

“Well, if it helps, I would say, based on my reading of Nicholas’s journal, that you would require the lamp in order to achieve something more dramatic in the way of power. You would also need my assistance. So the discovery of the third level of talent is unlikely to happen by accident. It would have to be planned, by both of us.”

“But what the hell is the third level of talent?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You are the one who translated the code your ancestor used to write the journal. Are you certain that there were no clues to the nature of the third level?”

“All I know is that the old bastard refers to it as the third and greatest talent. And then there is that unpleasant business regarding the Midnight Crystal and the psychical command to destroy anyone who happens to be descended from Sylvester Jones.” He gripped the mantel very tightly. “Damn it, will I ever be free of this curse?”

“One of the stones remained dark tonight,” she said. “And as you do not appear to be consumed by a great urge to attack the members of the Jones family, I think it is safe to say we did not activate the Midnight Crystal.”

“I suppose I should be grateful for small favors. I have spent the greater part of my life avoiding the Joneses. You may believe me when I tell you that nothing has changed in that regard, especially now that they have decided that it is Arcane’s responsibility to create an investigation agency that is the psychical version of Scotland Yard.”

She pursed her lips, thinking about the red crystals Fergus and Nate had employed.

“There is another possibility,” she said.

“What is that?”

“Perhaps the Midnight Crystal did not illuminate because Nicholas failed in his attempt to infuse it with power.”

Griffin frowned, thinking about that. He nodded once, slowly.

“You may be right. It was the last crystal he added to the lamp. He was going mad and his talents were failing rapidly. In his rage and growing insanity he might well have convinced himself that he had created a powerful tool with which to secure his vengeance.”

“But in reality it was just a piece of glass.”

Griffin drummed his fingers on the mantel. “Regardless, if Caleb Jones suspects that I have used the lamp to stabilize the three talents—”

“The
three
levels of your
one
talent.”

“Rather than to reverse the Cerberus process, he will likely err on the side of caution.”

“Do you really think he will attempt to have you killed?”

Griffin shrugged. “It’s the logical thing to do and Jones is nothing if not logical. If I were—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She silenced him with an impatient wave of her hand. “If you were in his place you would take that sort of drastic step. I told you to stop saying things like that.”

“Sorry.”

She sighed. “Has there always been this enmity and lack of trust between your family and the Joneses?”

“You could say it’s in the blood.” He looked at her. “Earlier, when we were in the wall passage, you said Smith had one of those red crystals when he tried to kidnap you.”

“Yes. He used it to kill the brothel manager.”

“That was several years ago. If those devices had been on the streets all this time I would have heard about them. I would have tried to buy some.”

She frowned. “It would appear that the crystals are useful only to those who possess a fair amount of talent.”

“I know this will come as a great shock, Adelaide, but there are actually some members of the criminal class who are talents.”

She angled her chin. “There is no need for sarcasm, sir. I am well aware of that fact now.” She hesitated. “You told me at our first meeting that very little happens on the streets of London without your knowledge.”

“I may have exaggerated slightly for the sake of my reputation. Nevertheless, I cannot believe that devices as powerful as those crystals could have been floating around in the underworld all this time without coming to my attention.”

“So the question becomes, after thirteen years, why have two more crystals suddenly appeared in the hands of a pair of street thieves?”

“Unfortunately, that is only one of many questions that must be answered, and quickly.”

 

 

 

THE KNOCK ON THE CONNECTING DOOR CAME JUST AS SHE finished putting on her nightgown and robe.

She crossed the small space and opened the door. Griffin stood there. He was in his black dressing gown.

“I thought you were going to get some sleep,” she said.

“I attempted to do just that.” His mouth twisted. “Suffice it to say the effort was not a success.”

“I could not sleep, either,” she admitted. “I was thinking about going downstairs and helping myself to a glass of your excellent brandy. What have you been doing?”

“Thinking.” He scrubbed his face in a weary gesture. “Although the brandy may be a more useful idea.”

“You’ve been thinking about the intruders and those gas canisters and crystals?”

“No,” he said. “As it happens, I was reflecting on the night I was shot.”

Surprised, she opened the door wider. “I’m listening.”

He moved into the room as though he had every right to be there. Like a husband, she thought, or a longtime lover. Then, again, it was his house.

“Initially it seemed logical to assume that Luttrell or one of the other brothel owners sent an assassin to the theater to kill you,” he said. “But in view of what occurred here a few hours ago, I am inclined to believe that that assumption was wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if the gunman at the theater went there to kidnap you, not kill you?”

“If that was the case, why did he try to shoot me?”

“Maybe you weren’t the target,” Griffin said. “Maybe he was just trying to stop me from getting to you first.”

A strange shock of understanding went through her. She moved away from the door and sank slowly down onto the dressing table chair.

“I think I see what you mean,” she whispered.

Griffin began to pace the small space. “The episode at the theater was never about the brothel raids. It was about the damned lamp.”

“But who could have known I had the lamp in my possession or that I could work it?” She spread her hands. “Who else besides you would even care about that blasted artifact?”

“The one other person we know for certain has previously displayed a keen interest in both you and the lamp.”

“The man who purchased me when I was fifteen years old,” she whispered. “Mr. Smith.”

“Yes.”

“But I do not know his real identity. He wore a mask that night, so I never even saw his face.”

“You would recognize his dreamprints if you saw them again, though, correct?”

She shuddered. “Yes. But how can we go about finding him?”

“I think I know where to start the hunt.” He started to turn away. He paused. “By the way, you’ll want to pack a bag.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because you and I are going to disappear for a while.”

 

 

 

“THEY’RE NOT GOING ON A HONEYMOON, MRS. TREVELYAN,” Delbert growled. “They’re going into hiding.”

“I’m aware of that,” Susan Trevelyan said. She finished wrapping the large wedge of cheese in brown paper. “But there’s no need for them to go hungry.”

“They won’t starve.” Delbert eyed the fresh loaf of bread, the jar of pickles and the apples she had already packed in the bag. “Not with that amount of food.”

“No telling how long they’ll be gone.”

“It’s just for the evenings,” Delbert said. “The Boss can’t really disappear. He has to take care of Consortium business. Got a reputation to protect. He just wants to make certain that no one knows where Mrs. Pyne is at night.”