Eterna and Omega (40 page)

“However,” she cautioned, “Suffolk or no, there's a
great
deal of work to be done before any such future rest.”

“Pragmatic, Miss Everhart,” Spire said, amusement in his tone.

“Would you expect anything less?”

“Promise me you'll never be anything but.”

They shared a smile that Rose sure was the happiest she'd ever seen on Harold Spire's face. She was fairly sure she was returning a similarly unprecedented expression, life far fuller with such blossoms of possibility on the horizon.

 

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

The queen demanded an immediate report, of course. The papers were full of incredulity.

Black invited Spire and Rose to come along, and they agreed, if nothing else out of support and respect for Black and all he'd done, risking and fighting at their side.

They met over tea in one of the very finest receiving rooms of the palace. Black offered a relative account of what occurred, with Spire and Rose contributing the occasional detail. That it wasn't a full account was for the best.

“And what of Moriel's estate?” the queen asked. To Rose's chagrin, she seemed to be somewhat titillated by the story, as much as Rose could tell given her generally dour mien. “Do tell me your department has seized it and purged it of all foul magic, that it can never be resurrected.”

“The estate burned to the ground the night of the procession,” Spire assured her.

“Electrical fire,” Rose added.

“Electrical … that reminds me,” the regent said, eyes lighting. “That Mosley person, did you have any luck with that man?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Rose said quietly. “He is presumed to have started the fire and most certainly perished in it.”

“Oh … that's a shame.” The queen clucked her tongue and took a sip of tea.

“It is,” Black agreed.

“I hear electricity may prolong human life,” Victoria said airily. “There are sparks of it within our bodies, you know. I had hoped that Mr. Mosley might be a
healthier
key to the Omega initiative toward immortality.”

Rose noticed Spire's grip tighten upon his saucer and prayed the delicate china would not shatter.

“Don't worry, Your Majesty,” Black said, “we'll still chase immortality for you.” His companions knew full well they would not, but they'd be happy to put on a show of it as long as their honest work would keep true evil at bay.

“It isn't for my vanity, you know…” the queen said coquettishly.

“Of course not,” Spire confirmed. Only Rose, and perhaps Black, could detect the undercurrent in his voice, and Rose would commend him later for his tact.

Rose kept her smile to herself and thought of Suffolk.

Soon dismissed, the three were off to meet the Eterna team at the bustling grand train station that marked the beginning of their journey home.

*   *   *

Evelyn and Lord Denbury were already assembled in particular finery when Clara and Bishop met them at the station, Clara rushing up to embrace her mentor.

“Yes, my dear,” Evelyn began before Clara could ask. “I promise to tell you everything about our wild time at Vieuxhelles in vibrant detail. After a drink or two.”

“Or four,” Denbury added. He looked exhausted, but a weight was off his shoulders, and his striking blue eyes had regained some measure of sparkle.

“Lord Denbury,” Clara said, “I'm relieved to see you looking healthier than I've seen you in some time.”

“Thank you, Miss Templeton. I'm desperate to get back to my wife and child. The news of Moriel's death has made me feel like a new man. Thank you also for your work. I know what you did yesterday was nigh impossible.”

“I'm so proud of you
both,
” Evelyn exclaimed, hooking a satin-decked arm around each of their necks.

Effie and Andre were there on the hour, with trunk and carpetbag, talking animatedly together like old friends.

They were interrupted jovially by the arrival of Spire, Rose, and Lord Black.

“This is not the last our teams will see of one another,” Spire stated as hands were shaken and hugs exchanged. “If I may be so bold, I would like to suggest a biannual meeting between our commissions, in addition to a free and regular flow of communication.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Clara said. “After all, one cannot separate siblings indefinitely.” She smiled at Rose, who beamed back at her. “Neither of us has blood family to claim or tend to us, so you and I, Rose, must build the one that magic brought together. Write me every week. Promise?”

“We must,” Rose agreed with a nod and a smile. “And also we must make sure that long after our tenures, our respective offices do not take what we've done in vain, or become something they should not. We've made some very important promises, to very important forces and figures.”

“I'd rather take magic right out of the equation,” Spire said, shaking his head, “regardless of the inexplicable things we've dealt with. If I never see the like again, it will be too soon. Omega's purpose remains to make sure what we killed remains entirely dead, no further resurrections. Otherwise, you're all on your own, and I go back to blessed, bloody police work.”

Lord Black held up his hands in no contest.

Clara moved forward to embrace Spire. He seemed taken aback but did not withdraw. “England needs you just as skeptical as ever, Mr. Spire. Keeps us ‘damnable mystics' on our toes. May your skepticism prove ever a fruitful challenge to the great mysteries of the world, my friend.”

“Why, thank you, Miss Templeton,” he said, seeming moved.

“Be blessed, my friends,” Senator Bishop said.

Just then, a harried letter carrier in a telegraph company uniform rushed up to them.

“Are any of you Senator Rupert Bishop?”

“I am.” Bishop stepped forward.

“Thank goodness. The office that sent this didn't know where exactly you'd be, only that it was an emergency and to try and find you here.” The young man thrust an envelope at him and darted away.

Clara's sensitivities allowed her to feel everyone's heart jump to their collective throats, hers included.

Bishop opened the envelope and read the wire. His face was grim. Clara felt her heart begin to sink from throat to stomach.

“It's from Franklin,” he stated, and read the message aloud. “‘Today: The torch borne by the hand of Lady Liberty burst into a green, inextinguishable flame. Trinity Church graveyard emptied of bodies. Columbia College overrun with the reanimate. Request your return. Request help.'”

Everyone stared at Bishop. The train whistle screamed.

“Bloody hell,” Lord Black whispered.

Evelyn, stone-faced and all business, made sure porters got all of their things on board. Clara wrung her gloved hands.

“Well?” Bishop stared at his British compatriots. “There was that offer you made, Lord Black, about requesting—”

“Bloody hell,” Black moaned again and stepped on to the train, turning at the compartment door to look expectantly at Rose and Spire.

“I … but I don't have my things…” Rose protested meekly.

“We've a safe house for these kinds of emergencies, Miss Everhart,” Black declared. “And I'm rich. I'll get you what you need, and we'll wire everyone with news of our plans from the port. After these Americans bravely risked their lives for us on our soil—”

“We'll do same on theirs,” Spire muttered.
“Bloody hell.”

The train whistle screamed again, louder and higher, the unbearable sound the only appropriate underscoring for the mood and moment.

“It … it won't be long,” Clara said with a shaking smile, trying to sound hopeful as they all filed onto the train and Lord Black procured tickets for his team. “Think of all we've learned. It'll just be a quick few … supernatural fires to snuff out!”

“How many states in your country?” Spire asked, taking a seat across from Bishop.

“Thirty-eight,” Evelyn replied, next to him, her elegant face as angry and fed up as Lord Denbury's across from her, whose gray pall had descended once more with sickening swiftness. Effie and Andre's bright conversation had fallen into silence as they stared out the windows past plumes of steam.

“That's a lot of fire,” Rose murmured. “Across a vast lot of space.”

“But we'll be fighting the conflagration
from
a thin island just over thirteen miles long that beats with the heart of the world,” Bishop rallied. “With our connected powers, we've all the weight of the heavens on our side.”

Andre had procured a newspaper from a trolley in the next aisle and dropped it into Bishop's lap. The headline asked the question on everyone's mind:

HEART OF CITY BESET BY MADNESS AND MONSTROSITY.

DAY SAVED BY WHOLE OF LONDON'S PEOPLE.

BUT IS THIS THE END?

Clearly, it wasn't, and Bishop's optimism hung in the air in such harsh contrast to the last curdling scream of the train as it chugged them out from the station and on toward the port in a hypnotic rhythm, this band of inextricable souls falling into a silence with a weight as heavy as their value was priceless.

Clara pressed a hand to the talisman below ruffled lace, blessed with an old magic that rested at her sternum, and prayed she could creatively whip some new tricks up her sleeve. As industrious a spirit as her country claimed, so might the capacity for horror be matched. Noticing her hand to her heart, as Bishop was increasingly attuned to her movements, he leaned close for an additional reassurance.

“Do not worry,” Bishop added, just for her, a whisper into her ear. “You were brilliant here in England, in a country not your own, with borrowed magic on another soil. Just think of what you'll do on yours. You were born for this fight, Clara Templeton, and I'll not have you doubting yourself. You've proved you are the heart of what Eterna was meant to become. Our commission has saved lives;
you
have saved lives and will do so again.”

She stared up into the senator's luminous eyes steel bright with conviction and knew he was right.

This whole ordeal had forced her to stop cursing what had gone wrong with the commission and embrace its innovations instead. It was her rite of passage, and now she could be the sort of spirit-warrior she'd always wanted to be, like her idol Evelyn Northe-Stewart, staring determinedly out the train window, inexhaustible after having led the demise of Vieuxhelles to gain victory of soul and bodily reunion.

Clara had grown into what her mentors always expected. The visitor would be proud, she thought, courage swelling within her, the energy enlivening the Ward still tucked into her corset.

She had become the storm, and the storm was headed home.

 

Tor Books by
LEANNA RENEE HIEBER

The Eterna Files

Strangely Beautiful

Eterna and Omega

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Leanna Renee Hieber
's first novel,
The Strangely Beautiful Tale of Miss Percy Parker,
is a foundation work of gaslamp fantasy. The novel won two Prism Awards and is being developed for the stage as a work of musical theater. A talented actor and singer, Hieber has appeared on stage and screen, including episodes of
Boardwalk Empire,
and regularly leads ghost tours in New York City.

Hieber has often said that she feels she was born in the wrong time, and she is rarely seen out of Victorian garb. Her lyrical, atmospheric prose made her a finalist for the Daphne du Maurier Award for historical fiction and has earned her numerous awards, including the Ancient City Romance Authors Heart of Excellence Readers' Choice Award. An energetic self-promoter, Hieber is one of the cofounders of the Lady Jane's Salon reading series and often appears at conventions, bookstores, and library events.

Leanna Renee Hieber
lives in New York City with her husband and their beloved rescue rabbit.

Find her at
Leannareneehieber.com
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