The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) (17 page)

Luca’s hands curled into fists.

“That’s right. The eye doctor believes Lady Emily can brew him something he needs, something he wants badly. A drug to assist him with his macabre surgeries. He’s
not
going to leave her alone.”

Luca’s eyes grew wide with alarm. His gaze shifted to Amanda who confirmed his testimony with a grim nod.

“Do you understand now?” He pointed at his chest. “I’m your best hope of ending this.” He pointed at Black and Amanda and once more back at himself. “We’re your best hope at stopping these murders and keeping your family safe. So stop acting like we’re desecrating your dead and start helping.”

Amanda laid a calming hand on his arm. “Enough,” she said, then turned to Luca. “Please, Luca. What Lord Thornton and I glean from a scientific examination of Tova may very well be key to preventing another gypsy death.”

Silently, the gypsy turned and helped Black carry the litter toward the morgue.

“Was that really necessary?” she asked curtly.

“Yes,” he bit out, wiping a hand over his face, over the rough stubble of a long night and wondering if he had the strength to reach his office. He’d lost his cane in the crash, but what were his options? Stand about like a stork until Black thought to come back with a litter for him?

“Your leg,” she said. “Lean on me.” She draped his arm about her shoulders. “I’m stronger than I look.”

He gritted his teeth and swallowed his pride. With slow, painful lurching steps, he made his way into the building and down the hall to his office. At least at this hour there was no one to witness his humiliation.

Inside, he dropped heavily onto the nearest chair and began tugging at his pant leg, exposing the metal brace to her view. Not once‌—‌not since the brace was fitted‌—‌had another individual viewed his infirmity. But she’d felt the brace, threaded her fingers beneath its bars to bring him relief. The pain had grown so debilitating he could no longer hide his agony.

“I could‌—‌”

“Not necessary,” he cut her off, declining her touch. “I keep a supply available there.” He indicated a carved wooden box sitting on a shelf.

She retrieved it, but her hand hesitated. Thornton snatched it from her and flipped the lid open. He snapped the tip off a glass vial and poured the entire dosage into a glass syringe, tapping away the bubbles. He plunged the needle into his leg, the sting barely registering over the nerve that screamed in agony.

Slowly, blessed numbness spread across the side of his lower leg, from his knee down to his toes. Six hours of relief. All that was left was the mental exhaustion that gnawed on his brain. He rose, limping across the room to grab an old cane.

“Shall we?” He indicated the open door, gesturing for her to precede him. There was a gypsy to examine and, hopefully, a spy to thwart.

“Just like that?” She didn’t take a single step toward the door, instead she planted two fists upon her hips. “As if you didn’t just inject yourself with five milliliters of the most powerful nerve agent available when, at the price of five minutes, pressure point therapy would have provided you with nearly four hours’ relief.”

“One.”

“One what?” she snapped, her body vibrating with frustration.

He needed to push her away. “One hour, Lady Amanda. It only worked for one hour. If that. Now. Your impatient and irate brother-in-law waits below.” He waved toward the door again.

“Later, then.” With clipped steps, she brushed past.

“No.”

“No?” She froze, her back stiff, her chin high. Without looking back.

Though it would pain them both, it needed to be stated aloud. For him as well as her. “Let us be clear,” he said. “The last few hours may have created an artificial sense of…‌ intimacy, but it’s not your place to direct my actions with regard to my personal health. We must remember that we work together in a professional capacity alone.”

“Is that so, Lord Thornton?” She strode from the room without a backward glance. Leaving the room feeling decidedly empty.

Thornton followed, knowing she would make him regret those words.

In the morgue, all was in readiness. The bright limelight burned over the examination table, casting Tova’s maimed face and neck into stark relief. Luca, pale and drawn, stood with his back pressed to the wall as far as he could remove himself from the body.

Lady Amanda wasted no time beginning her examination and the incongruity struck him as surreal. She pulled a stained canvas apron over lace and silk, then twisted her hair tightly behind her head, pinning it in place with a number of tongue depressors. His lips twitched, trying to form an unwelcome smile. She snapped magnifying goggles into place and bent over the body to probe the empty eye socket.

She asked for no assistance, and he offered none. He set about collecting a variety of blood and skin samples, studying the hands and nails closely for any clues they might reveal. Wrists and ankles were rubbed raw where they appeared to have been restrained by a coarse grade of rope. The forehead also showed indications of restraint. All marks not found on earlier victims. The eye doctor was operating in less than ideal conditions.

Fifteen minutes later, his samples were labeled and stored for later examination. Lady Amanda also declared herself done and began her report, speaking in the general direction of his left shoulder.

“Only one eye was removed. Likely the eye doctor realized that nerve agent was ineffective and aborted the procedure. However, there are, now that I know what I’m looking for, indications that he successfully interfaced with the optic nerve.”

Black shot him a dark, pointed glare.

“She figured it out on her own. I did not
tell
her about the phaoscope.”

Black’s jaw clenched.

Lady Amanda ignored them both. She continued, “From the location of the gold fibers in the superior orbital fissure, he attempted to establish a connection with the trochlear nerve, the fourth cranial nerve‌—‌and failed.”

He nodded. “Consistent with our expectations.”

“There’s more. Look.” She ripped the magnifying goggles from her head. Tongue depressors clattered to the ground as long strands of wavy hair spread wildly across bare shoulders. He felt a pang of regret as she handed the goggles to him. “Here.” She lifted a blunt-nosed probe and indicated a bit of the gold wire she’d teased free of the congealing tissue. “Remember from the last victim how the threads wove together in a tight concentric pattern?”

“Yes.” He pulled the lenses over his eyes and studied the gold fibers. “The weave pattern is less compact. Almost web-like.”

She began to pace. “It’s exactly as we feared. The eye doctor
is
making his own improvements to my neurachnid.” Her eyes blazed with insight. “It’s genius. The eye doctor may be evil, but he’s also brilliant. If…‌ I need paper.” She crossed the tiled room to the sink, her ruined gown dragging behind her. She washed her hands with determined concentration. Meanwhile, he pulled open drawers, dragging forth a dull pencil and autopsy forms. The backs were blank.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the pencil and paper. Standing at the cold, steel counter, Lady Amanda began to sketch. He watched, entranced, as her idea took form before his eyes. She paused, tapping the pencil against the paper in irritation. “It’s missing something. How can we connect the…‌”

He plucked the pencil from her hand and added a small modification. “With an extension of the pin here and a size three spring there.”

“That would do it.” Her voice was tight, her gaze fixed upon the design.

The gears and pins and rods modified as she indicated, along with some programming changes to the Babbage card, would adjust the pincers so that they could angle through the supraorbital fissure in a manner that would allow wires tipped with rare earth elements to penetrate the brainstem in multiple locations, thereby tapping into the diffuse elements of the cranial nerve.

It was nothing short of brilliant, but he kept his admiration to himself. She was a member of his laboratory, nothing more.

“
That
,” she stabbed the paper with a finger, “is what our eye doctor is attempting. His modifications are incomplete, and the ineffective nerve agent sabotaged his most recent effort to test his spider improvements.”

“Unfortunately,” Thornton said, “we’re no closer to discovering who the eye doctor is, or where he conducts his experiments.”

Black spoke up. “Nevertheless, his failure buys us time.”

Luca shifted, drawing attention. “But at what price?”

Chapter Seventeen

A
MANDA DIDN’T CONSIDER
a chaperone necessary for an afternoon walk with Henri along Clockwork Corridor. It was a public thoroughfare. If the still-burning gas street lamps only served to give the fog that swirled about her skirts an otherworldly glow, she could at least claim the street was well lit.

They passed a number of storefronts that possessed such parts as were required for the neurachnid’s modifications, but few possessed them at both the minuscule size and the quality required. Such was the ostensible reason they searched for Nicu Sindel’s vardo.

The other reason was personal. She worried for her sister’s safety. For the safety of her impending niece or nephew. For Luca, for Nadya, and even Nicu himself. Though most of the eye doctor’s targets had been young and male, knowing what she now did, there was no reason to think the murderer would not select a different target. Perhaps, now that they were on alert, the eye doctor would avoid gypsies altogether.

After rushing home to attend to her appearance, she’d attended classes then reported to the laboratory‌—‌attempting normalcy‌—‌to find the great man himself cloistered within the eye laboratory and unavailable. Though disappointed, Amanda knew proper channels must be followed before the Queen’s agents and Black would grant her permission to view the phaoscope.

The idea intrigued her more than she cared to admit. She was desperate to know the details of this ground-breaking research. That the phaoscope was a more advanced eye providing its user with super-human visual acuity was certain‌—‌as was its secretive nature, but from the look of pride on Thornton’s face she
knew
there was more.

But Henri had been awaiting her arrival.

With a broad, welcoming grin, he’d clapped his hands and rocked back on his heels. “I hear a brilliant modification is to be made to the neurachnid?”

She smiled in return; it was impossible not to return such a greeting. “A breakthrough, perhaps. A modification of the pincers should allow us to access the very origin of the cranial nerve inside the brain.”

“Ah, we will slide inside the very fissures and foramen of the skull.”

“That is the plan.” She had pulled the sketches from her satchel and handed them to him.

Henri stroked his goatee as he perused the pages and noises of pleasure escaped his throat. At last he spoke. “Brilliant. A vast improvement over our method for installing the acousticotransmitter. It might prevent all the resultant intense nausea and dizziness.” His gaze rose. “Once again, we need supplies. Have you a list?”

“Of course.” She waved a long strip of paper.

“Only Nicu will do. Shall we?”

He’d offered his arm, she’d accepted, and they had set out on their quest into the gloom of London’s streets. Last night’s fog had yet to lift.

They searched the entirety of Clockwork Corridor without success and began turning down narrow side streets. Nicu was proving elusive as he had for the past several days. Amanda hadn’t seen him in the camp on Putney Heath, but the fog and the trees and the time pressure hadn’t allowed her to search for him there. But perhaps he was, perhaps he remained for the funeral services, in which case their search was in vain.

“Pardon me,” Henri said. “You look tired, my lady. Too many late hours working on your invention?”

Chasing after it, rather. “It’s exhausting,” she admitted. “Living two lives.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“The social expectations of a lady of the
ton
do not mesh well with that of medical student.”

“Ahh. Yes. It is hard for Lord Thornton as well.”

“Hard?” she scoffed. The man
wanted
no social life. “He buries himself in his work. I don’t believe he has ever been sighted on a ballroom floor or on Rotten Row. Not even before his injury.”

“He broods too much over things he cannot change. You are good for him.”

Her head jerked in his direction. “Good?”

“You bring him out of his shell.” Henri’s voice radiated approval. “He attended a ball last night, did he not? The man could use some feminine distraction.”

It was not her presence at a ball that had drawn him there. Realizing two of his daughters were now involved in the gypsy murders, Father had taken it upon himself to personally oversee the situation. It seemed Father was Thornton’s superior, though the hierarchy eluded her. In any case, the Duke of Avesbury crooked his finger and, quite probably against his will, Thornton appeared.

It annoyed her to no end that Father had seen fit to give Thornton Emily’s location directly, an attempt to keep Amanda herself from visiting the gypsies. If not for Simon’s overzealousness in his suit and Thornton’s injured leg, they would not have found themselves locked in a dark, moonlit room where, for a moment, she’d glimpsed cracks in the man’s hard exterior.