The Third Circle

  “But why would he leave?” Leona asked. “By all accounts, he was careful to keep some social distance between himself and Lancing. Why would he panic and run upon learning that Lancing was dead? It would make more sense for him to remain in town and pretend to be as astonished by the news of the identity of the Midnight Monster as everyone else.”

  Spellar’s bushy brows bobbed up and down a few times. “This is mere speculation, you understand, but it occurs to me that perhaps the peculiar circumstances of Lancing’s death gave Delbridge cause to fear that he might be the next one to die in a similar fashion.”

  Thaddeus’s expression did not alter by so much as an eyelash, but Leona nearly choked on her tea.

  He knows, she thought. With his psychical intuition Detective Spellar had guessed that Lancing’s death was neither an accident nor a simple suicide. He knew what had really happened up on that roof last night; he knew and he was going to bury the secret in a grave of silence.

  It occurred to Leona that over the course of a long career, a policeman probably kept a great many secrets. A policeman who was also a member of the Arcane Society no doubt kept even more than the usual number.

  40

  THE DELBRIDGE HOUSE loomed in the fog-shrouded moonlight, a haunted mansion straight out of a gothic novel. On the evening of the party, the lower floors had been ablaze with lights, but tonight every window was darkened.

  Leona stood with Thaddeus just inside the gate at the back of the sprawling gardens. Tension and excitement and a sense of dread shivered through her. She was doing her best to conceal her emotions from Thaddeus, however. She knew it would take very little for him to change his mind and refuse to allow her to accompany him inside the mansion.

  “Detective Spellar was right,” she said. “The house appears deserted.”

  “The fact that the servants have departed along with their master indicates that Delbridge intends to be gone for some time,” Thaddeus said. “He has a hunting lodge in Scotland. Perhaps he retreated to it.”

  “Scotland.” She was aghast. “How will I ever find the crystal there?”

  “The Arcane Society has a very long reach,” Thaddeus said. He sounded as though he was suppressing a laugh.

  She raised her chin. “I would remind you that the crystal belongs to me, not the Society.”

  “And I would remind you that we agreed to postpone a discussion of ownership until after we recovered the damned stone. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Thaddeus was in his familiar black attire tonight. She, too, was dressed for midnight work. In addition to the servant’s coat and trousers that Adam had provided her for the first expedition into the Delbridge mansion, Thaddeus had given her one of his dark linen shirts.

  The shirt, naturally, was much too big for her. She had managed to stuff some of the excess fabric into her trousers, but there was no denying that the remainder created a decidedly bulky effect beneath her close-fitting coat. She felt rather like a stuffed toy animal and suspected she looked that way, too.

  “We will go in through a library window,” Thaddeus said.

  “What if he has set one of his nasty little poison traps there?” she asked.

  “I think it unlikely. He obviously left in a great hurry. There was little time to set elaborate snares. Why bother? He will have taken the crystal with him.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said glumly. “All the way to Scotland.”

  “Where’s that famous and ever so irritating streak of unbridled positive thinking?”

  She decided to ignore that.

  They threaded a path through the unkempt, overgrown garden. In spite of Thaddeus’s conviction that Delbridge had not set any traps, they both took care to cover their noses and mouths with heavy cloth when he applied his pick to the window lock.

  In less than a moment they were inside the library. The draperies were pulled tightly closed, veiling the space in utter darkness. A disturbing energy stirred in the atmosphere. Thaddeus turned up the lantern he had brought along. The yellow glow revealed an array of strange relics scattered around the room. Leona knew that the trickling currents of paranormal power emanated from the antiquities.

  “These he likely considers his less valuable artifacts,” Thaddeus said. “Unworthy of display in the museum upstairs.”

  She shivered, well aware that the unpleasant tingling of her senses was nothing compared to what awaited upstairs in the gallery that housed the main portion of Delbridge’s collection.

  “He must have spent years of his life acquiring these objects,” she said.

  “Delbridge is nothing if not obsessed with paranormal antiquities.” Thaddeus went to the desk, opened a drawer and took out some papers. “Any indication of the crystal?”

  She turned on her heel, opening her senses fully. The unnerving aura produced by the objects around her intensified, but there was no trace of the aurora stone’s distinctive currents.

  “No,” she said.

  “Not much in the way of helpful information here, either.” Thaddeus opened another drawer. “Some bills from his tailor and glove maker that have gone unpaid for several months and a handful of invitations.”

  “Don’t look so disappointed. It was too much to expect that Delbridge would have jotted down the address of that club he hopes to join.”

  “You’re right. But I was thinking positive.” He tossed the letters back into the drawer. “Let’s try upstairs.”

  They made their way up the staircase. The house seemed to echo with a strange sort of silence. It was as if the mansion was inhabited by ghosts, Leona thought.

  A short time later they stood in the doorway of Delbridge’s bedroom.

  “Hmm,” Leona said.

  Thaddeus gave her a quick, searching look. “What is it?” “There’s no sign that he packed in a frantic hurry. Indeed, everything appears neat and orderly as if he had just walked out a few minutes ago.”

  Thaddeus held the lantern aloft and surveyed the room. “He would likely have instructed his housekeeper to pack for him. She would have taken care to keep things tidy.”

  “Perhaps.” She hesitated. “Still, one would have expected some indication of anxiety or haste. Delbridge would have been quite desperate to get out of town. Look, his shaving things are still on the dressing table.”

  Thaddeus crossed the room and opened the wardrobe door. They both looked at the array of clothes inside.

  “He never left London,” Thaddeus said.

  Anticipation sparked through Leona. “Maybe my crystal is still here, too.”

  “Can you sense it?”

  “No, not in this room. Let’s try the museum.”

  They went back down the dark hall to the old stone staircase that linked the new section of the house to the older portion where the museum was housed. Leona braced herself for the nerve-stirring aura produced by the collection of antiquities in the gallery. Nevertheless, the whispers of unpleasant energy sluiced through her senses with the same jarring impact she had experienced the first time. She knew that Thaddeus, too, was reacting to the sensation.

  At the top of the staircase they walked across the worn stone floor and entered the long gallery. The lantern light splashed cold hellfire on the artifacts and cases of relics.

  They passed the door to the old stone stairwell they had used to escape the night of Delbridge’s party. Leona looked at the cabinet in which the crystal had been stored. There was no trace of crystal energy seeping from it.

  “It isn’t anywhere in this gallery,” she said, crushed.

  “No, but something else is.” Thaddeus held the lantern higher.

  Leona followed his gaze down the long gallery and saw the massive stone altar they had used for concealment on their previous visit. There was something different about it tonight. It took her a few heartbeats to realize that the ungainly dark shape sprawled on top of the altar was a body.

  “Dear heaven,” she whispered, stopping quite suddenly. “Not an
other one.”

  Thaddeus went to the altar and stood looking down at the motionless figure. In the fiery light Leona could see a small river of drying blood that started at the point where the ancient dagger was sunk into the man’s chest, saturated the expensive coat and once-white shirt, streamed across the stone surface and pooled on the floor.

  “Delbridge is certainly not in Scotland,” Thaddeus said. “I suspect that the crystal isn’t there, either.”

  41

  SOME TIME LATER Thaddeus lowered himself into one of the two wingback chairs in front of the hearth. He turned the brandy glass between his palms, absently noting the way the firelight transmuting the contents into liquid gold, the color of Leona’s eyes.

  “We can only presume that Delbridge was murdered because of the crystal,” he said. “The possibility that he was stabbed by a conventional housebreaker stretches coincidence too far.”

  “I agree,” Leona said from the other chair. “My crystal has disappeared yet again. Damnation. After all these years.” She slapped the arm of the chair with her free hand. “To think that only a few days ago I actually held it in my hands.”

  Fog was stretched out in front of the hearth, his nose on his paws. He did not open his eyes but one of his ears twitched, registering Leona’s frustration and tension. Ever the barometer of his mistress’s moods, Thaddeus thought.

  As for the connection between himself and Leona, he needed no more evidence that it existed than the sensation of completeness that he felt in her presence. He had been looking for her all of his life without knowing it. She filled in all the empty places, making him whole. He took an elemental satisfaction in just being alive and in the same room with her.

  He relaxed deeper into the chair, allowing himself to savor the sight and sensation of Leona sitting here so close to him. She had removed her coat and was now dressed in only her close-fitting trousers and the oversized shirt he had loaned her.

  When they had walked back into the house a short time earlier, she had yanked the billowing shirttails free of the trousers. The garment now flowed loosely around her, emphasizing the delicate bones at her throat and at her wrists, where she had turned back the cuffs. How could a woman appear so enticingly sensual dressed in men’s clothing? he wondered. He thought about his first impression of her the night she had rounded the corner in the long gallery and flown straight into his arms. A lady of secrets and mysteries.

  At the moment she was also a woman seething with outrage.

  “We’ll find the crystal,” he said calmly.

  She did not seem to hear him. Instead she gazed into the fire he had built, eyes fierce and shadowed.

  “It’s enough to make one wonder if she really was a sorceress,” Leona whispered. “Maybe she cursed the stone.”

  Thaddeus said nothing, just let the words hang in the air for a moment, waiting for her to realize what she had said.

  Leona froze. Then, with an obvious effort of will, she managed to raise the glass in her hand and toss back a large quantity of brandy.

  He winced and waited for the inevitable.

  Leona inhaled sharply when the brandy hit. Her eyes watered. She gasped and started to cough. Frantically she reached into her pocket and came up empty.

  Thaddeus withdrew a square of linen from his own pocket and handed it to her.

  “Next time you put on men’s clothes you might want to remember that a gentleman never leaves the house without a clean handkerchief,” he said.

  She ignored him, dabbing at her eyes while she caught her breath. Eventually she regained her composure.

  “I’m more accustomed to sherry,” she said weakly.

  “Obviously. Now, then, I believe we have played this particular game long enough.”

  “Game?” Her voice was still breathy from the fire of the brandy. “What game?”

  He rotated the glass in his hand again. “I think it’s time you told me why you are so convinced that you have a claim on the aurora stone.”

  She stilled as if he had put her into a trance. Fog raised his head and fixed her with an intent expression.

  “Old family heirloom,” Leona said smoothly.

  “Which your family seems to be in the habit of losing on a regular basis.”

  “Primarily because people connected to the Arcane Society keep stealing it,” she shot back.

  He shrugged and drank some more of his brandy.

  She exhaled deeply, stretched out her legs toward the hearth and slumped into her chair.

  “You know, don’t you?” she said.

  “That you are a descendant of Sybil the Virgin Sorceress? It was a guess until now, but, I think, a fairly reasonable and logical one under the circumstances.”

  She made a face. “We all hated the title the Society gave her, you know.”

  “Sybil the Virgin Sorceress?” He shrugged. “Seems rather catchy to me. Just the sort of thing you expect from a legend.”

  “She did not practice sorcery, no more than you or I do. She was a brilliant, psychically gifted alchemist, just like your infamous Sylvester Jones. Today, she would have been called a scientist.”

  “Sybil the Virgin Scientist doesn’t have quite the same ring.”

  “She wasn’t a virgin, either,” Leona said dryly. “At least not for the whole of her life. I’m proof of that. So are my mother and my grandmother and the whole long line of my female ancestors before them. We are all descended from Sybil.”

  “All right, I’ll grant you that the term virgin sorceress may have been something of a theatrical embellishment.”

  She gave a disdainful little sniff. “Typical Arcane Society legend.”

  “We’re good at that sort of thing,” he agreed.

  Leona frowned. “I understand the sorceress part, but why on earth did she get labeled a virgin?”

  “Blame that on Sylvester. He was furious because she refused to surrender said virginity to him. According to his journal she told him that she had consecrated herself to alchemy.”

  “He didn’t love her,” Leona said tightly. “He just wanted to use her as part of an experiment to see if his own psychical talents could be passed down to his offspring.”

  “I know. He found a couple of other talented women instead, one of whom was my own ancestress. But it always infuriated Sylvester that Sybil had refused him.”

  Leona leaned her head against the back of the chair. “How long have you known?”

  “Your skill with crystals, of course, was the main clue.”

  “I’m hardly the only crystal worker in the world.”

  “No, but according to the legend, the aurora stone was different from other crystals. Sylvester was of the opinion that the talent required to channel energy through it was extremely rare. Sybil was the only person he ever found who could work it. Stands to reason that someone who had inherited her unique abilities would also be able to employ it.”

  Leona’s mouth tightened. She did not take her attention off the fire.

  “Mmm,” she said.

  He waited a moment longer. When it became obvious she was not going to say anything more, he looked at Fog.

  “The legend also states that Sybil had a loyal wolf for a companion. Sylvester suspected that she and the beast shared a psychical bond. He found that fascinating because until then he had believed that only humans possessed the potential for paranormal talents.”

  “It sounds like all you had to go on were a few coincidences with a legend.”

  “There is also the brief description of Sybil that Sylvester wrote in his journal. It bears an uncanny resemblance to you.”

  She turned her head to look at him. “Uncanny?”

  “ ‘The sorceress is exceedingly dangerous, with hair as dark as night and eyes of a strange shade of amber,’ ” he quoted. “ ‘She possesses the power to control one’s very dreams.’ ”

  Leona looked suddenly interested. “You think I am exceedingly dangerous?”

  “In the most deligh
tful way.”

  “Did Sylvester describe Sybil in more detail?” she asked.

  “As I recall, the terms treacherous vixen, shrew, she-cat and virago were thrown about somewhat liberally in his journal.”

  “Hardly a flattering description.”

  “Depends on one’s point of view, I suppose. I found it . . . intriguing.”

  “That was it? You leaped to the conclusion that I am Sybil’s descendant based on that rather unflattering description and a few thin coincidences?”

  “There was one final clue that was not so frail,” he admitted.

  “What was it?”

  He rose, picked up the brandy bottle and splashed more of the contents into his glass. “You failed to ask the right question when I told you that Caleb Jones believes there is a plot afoot to steal the Arcane Society’s most closely held secret.”

  She watched him, wary and bemused. “As I recall, I asked any number of questions when you told me about the conspiracy.”

  “Ah, but you did not ask me the most obvious question. You did not ask me to explain the nature of a secret that could cause men to kill.”

  She blinked once and then sighed in disgust. “Damn.”

  “You didn’t need to ask, did you?” He saluted her lightly with the glass and sat down again. “You already knew all about the formula.”

  “The legend of the founder’s formula is part of my family’s heritage,” she admitted. “It was passed down from mother to daughter. Sybil said Sylvester’s obsession with perfecting the elixir that he believed would expand and enhance his paranormal powers was madness. He thought it would even extend his life. She was convinced that, in truth, it killed him.”

  “Nevertheless, she stole the formula?”

  Leona glowered. “She was his assistant for a time. She made a copy and took it with her when she left. She didn’t steal it.”

  “Why did she take it if she thought it wouldn’t work?”

  “For a time she had dreams of perfecting it, thereby proving herself superior to Sylvester. They were fierce rivals until the end. But Sybil finally came to believe that the elixir would always be too dangerous to use. Still, she could not bring herself to destroy her copy of the formula. Or so she implies in her letters.”