Lady Killer (30 page)

“No!” she shouted and this time it did echo—
no no no no no
—and as her words returned so did her reason. Statues. They were statues, funeral monuments made by families in memory of their loved ones.

They bad looked so real.

Clio swallowed hard and made herself breathe slowly, deeply. Statues. She held the lantern up and forced herself to look at each one. There were a dozen of them, all from the same family, there a young boy, then an old man, here a lovely young woman. Clio raised the lantern higher to see more of that one. Someone had obviously loved the woman, for great care had been taken with her statue, every detail of her gown had been rendered, each curve of her face. Her fingers were done with such precision that they could have been alive, long fingers, clasped across her chest, entwined around a single rose bud. Clio extended her fingers toward the woman’s hands, and, unable to stop herself, reached for them, letting her fingers slip between those of the statue. The marble was warmer than she would have expected, and in the light of the lantern glowed as if it were alive. She bent down to brush her cheek against the fingers and felt a soft exhale of breath against her neck as a voice whispered, “Clio.”

She stood up fast, staring at the woman’s face. It was the same, immobile, but it had whispered to her, she had heard it, felt it. Clio backed away, quickly, and that was when she ran into him.

She swung around and then stared, incredulous. “Justin,” she breathed finally. “You? It was you?”

“I know,” Justin replied coolly. “I always knew.”

“You knew? Knew what?”

Justin smiled and spread his hands. “Knew you were in love with me. I never doubted it for a moment.”

“What? That is why you asked me to meet you here?” Clio was outraged. “Do you know what I’ve gone through because of you? I’ve spent months trying to pay back your debts. I don’t love you.”

“You will admit it. In time.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind. Why did you send me that strange note? Why did you want to see me?”

Justin’s hand closed around her upper arm. “Because I want what I deserve.”

There was something in his tone that made her shiver. “What you deserve? It will be easier for me to disembowel you if you unhand me,” she said sweetly.

“Clio, my silly little fool. That love note you found to Plootie, when I wrote it, I was thinking of you. I really was.”

“I was not talking about the correspondence you had her landlady forward to me. I meant the other note.”

“Clio, Clio, Clio,” Justin shook his head. “I can’t believe you would let the note of debt I left in your name with Captain Black upset you so much. Would you really have money come between us?”

“Money? You think I am annoyed at you because you cost me five hundred pounds?” Clio was so angry she was almost shaking. “Tell me why you sent for me, Justin, so I can go.”

“Why do you keep asking me that? I didn’t send for you.”

Clio frowned. “How did you know I was here?”

“I followed you. I know you wanted me to. Up there, in the church, you kept turning around to make sure I was still behind you.”

“Then you are not the person I am supposed to meet,” she said as much to herself as to him.

Justin gave her a strange smile. “If you are waiting for Dearbourn, he is not coming. I had a conversation with him last night and we got things settled between us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I offered to take you off his hands, and he was only too happy to oblige. Said you were amusing at first, but now everything has palled.” When Clio did not say anything, he went on. “You did not really think he would devote himself to you? Poor, foolish little Clio.”

“I think you should go now,” she replied, her voice cold but not as cold as she felt.

Justin moved closer to her and tightened his grip on her arm. “You do not understand, do you?”

“Understand what?”

“That you are mine now and there is no way for you to escape.”

“The only way I will ever be yours is if you take me by force,” Clio told him, “Just because you managed to assuage Viscount Dearbourn, does not mean you can kidnap me with impunity. There are other people who care about me. Other people who will notice, and report, my absence.”

“Your certainty is touching, my dear, but I would not count on that,” Justin said with a grisly smile. “With the precautions I have taken, I assure you that it will not occur to anyone to report you missing.” He was obviously trying to keep his voice level, even, calm, but Clio did not miss the manic undertone.

She saw that there was only one thing to do. She shuddered slightly and her shoulders slumped. “Perhaps you are right,” she said after a pause in a voice that was equal measures disbelief and contrition. “Perhaps I have been a fool.”

Justin smiled. “I knew you would understand. Now come with m—” the last syllable was more of a strangled gasp than a word, as Clio drove her knee into Justin’s groin. His grip on her arm loosened for a second, and she dodged away, dropping the lantern to the floor and plunging them in darkness.

“Bitch,” Justin whimpered behind her.

She had only examined the chamber for a brief time, but her mind told her that there was a corridor in front of her and to the left. Groping with her hands over the marble faces of the statues, she heard Justin behind her fumbling in the dark to relight the lantern. She was close to the opening of the corridor, she knew, but not there. She heard the sound of metal on metal and saw a spark and the protective darkness disappeared.

“Where are you?” Justin demanded, holding the rekindled lantern over his head. Clio, crouched behind the statue of the young boy, thought the pounding of her heart would surely give her away. She heard his footsteps slowly circling the chamber and carefully peered out from alongside the statue. Justin’s back was to her and he was on the other side of the crypt, next to the stairs that led out, leaning over the statue of a married couple, checking behind it.

“You cannot escape me,” he announced to the room, moving toward the next statue, the one farthest from her, leaving her part of the chamber deeply in shadow.

She seized her chance. Pressing herself against the wall, she slid from the niche behind the statue toward the opening of the corridor. Justin chose that moment to spin around, and his lunge for her was good. He got his hand around her arm again, and dragged her toward him.

“Stupid bitch,” he told her, crushing her against his chest. “You are coming with me.”

“Why?” Clio demanded, struggling to pull away from him. “What do you want with me? You don’t even care about me. Why—”

Then nothing.

Miles had not expected it to be easy, but, he asked himself, did it really have to be this hard?

“Don’t you have any idea where she went?” he demanded again of Mr. Williams. “Did you see which direction she went in?”

Mr. Williams regarded Miles skeptically. “Why are you asking me if those were your men posted out back. They could have seen her come and go just as well as me.”

At the mention of his men, Miles’s jaw tightened. Three men. There had been three men assigned to watch Clio at all times. Three men who had all inexplicably taken ill at the same time in the night. It was just too damn convenient. “My men were posted in front. I did not—”

Mr. Pearl’s soft voice interrupted him. “Clio’s in danger, isn’t she?” he asked, and his eyes were worried.

“Yes. Do you know where she is?”

Mr. Pearl shook his head and looked at Mr. Hakesly who said, “She went on an appointment. Appointment at ten, that’s what she said. And if you know anything, boy, you know it’s not good to ask her too many questions, not if you like your head about your shoulders.”

“Ten?” Miles interrupted ferociously. “It’s nearly eleven. Where was this appointment? With whom?”

“Don’t know,” Mr. Hakesly replied, pulling away from Miles slightly. “Looked strange, though. Told us all to stay here.”

“What do you mean, strange?” Miles demanded.

“Bit like you do right now. Scary. Or maybe just scared. Yes, I’d say scared. Wouldn’t you, Mr. Pearl?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, she looked strange all yesterday,” Mr. Williams put in, with a pointed look at Miles. “Not at all herself since she came back from your house.”

But Miles neither heard his words nor saw his rancor. His mind was racing. Clio had gone out and no one knew where. Or even what direction she had gone in. Which meant that she could be anywhere in London. Alone. With the vampire. Without even her monkey for company.

One woman in a city of sixty thousand. One woman and a deadly killer.

Not one woman. Clio.

“I’ve got an idea,” Miles said, abruptly. It was probably the strangest plan he had ever devised. It was also, he knew, his only chance of finding Clio while she was still breathing.

Consciousness came slowly to Clio, as if she were fighting her way through a vat of sticky pudding. There were faces and voices all around, people touching her, fingering her head, her side, whispering to each other. She wished they would stop, because it hurt, but then the hurt disappeared and above all the whispering, she heard another voice, a voice she recognized from the dream she had after the fair, the voice of her father. “I love you Clio,” he said and she called out to him, begging him to tell her what she was. She saw him holding something, and heard him whisper, “Look in the mirror, Clio. It is not how you begin, it is how you end up that matters.” She did not understand and she pled with him to stay, but he just backed away, repeating, “What you are you are you are you are,” over and over again and she could not tell if it was a statement or a question. She pushed as hard as she could to the surface, struggling to catch him, reaching for him. “Wait,” she wanted to call to him, “Wait, wait I am coming,” but the sticky pudding clogged her mouth and she could not speak.

She awoke coughing and gasping for breath. Her eyes flew open but she could see nothing. It was black in the crypt, and quiet. She could tell that she was propped against a wall, and when she tried to stand, she felt a sharp pain in her side. Wincing, she used the wall to support her and dragged herself to her feet. Over the pain, the only thing she was aware of was the need to escape. She could not remember what had happened, had no recollection of how she had freed herself from her pursuer, but she knew she had to get away. Justin might come back at any moment.

She felt her way around the wall to the opening she had tried to leave through, and then to the staircase. She paused before she stepped onto it, summoning her energy. Every step up felt like a stab wound in her side—which, later, she would learn was exactly what she had—but she forced herself to keep going. She was so weak. She counted the stairs to distract herself, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one. At thirty-two she had to stop and rest. At thirty-six she saw a faint light and knew she was getting close.

That was when she heard the footsteps behind her. They started out faint but got louder as they got closer. Whoever it was had more strength than she did, and was actually running. She wrapped one arm around her aching side and with the other supported herself against the wall of the staircase. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. At forty she tripped and fell forward. She was so tired. So exhausted. Maybe if she just rested for a moment. Maybe—

The footsteps were closer now, and she could hear panting. She dragged herself to her feet and kept going. Forty-one. Forty-two. It was getting lighter. Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty—she tripped again. This time there was no strength left. The darkness tugged at her, pulled at her mind, warm, soothing darkness, a place beyond consciousness, beyond pain. She would just slip into it and everything would be fine. Her eyes, so heavy, began to close.

The footsteps kept coming, pounding up toward her. With a great act of will she opened her eyes and saw that one of her hands and her entire dress was covered in sticky brown blood. Then she looked behind her and saw Justin’s face emerge from the stairs below.

She shook her head, struggling to keep the darkness at bay. Just a little longer, she told herself. Clutching her side, she stumbled to her feet and up the remaining ten stairs. She threw herself into the nave of the church, reeling into the crowds like a pilgrim who has journeyed without food or water, and then collapsed. She lay on her back, gasping, waiting for the darkness to come and take her, waiting to feel Justin’s hand close around her leg, willing her eyes to stay open just until it happened, just to know. And then a miracle occurred.

From out of nowhere, Miles appeared, golden and smiling and so beautiful he looked like an angel. She knew she was mad at him, but at that moment she felt nothing but supreme joy at seeing him, at feeling him bend toward her, feeling his arms around her. “Justin,” she panted as he lifted her into his arms. “Must get Justin.” Then the darkness took over and she was gone.

“Are you sure she is all right?” Miles demanded for the thirtieth time as the clock in his bedchamber showed five in the evening. They had put Clio to bed six hours earlier and she still had not awoken.

Bianca, Ian’s wife and Miles’s cousin by marriage, exchanged a look with Corin, then pasted on her most compassionate expression. “Yes, Miles. She will be fine,” she replied, using the exact same words she had used all thirty other times. “If you do not trust me, you may call in another physician.”