Quicksilver (30 page)
Authors: Amanda Quick
Mrs. Crofton loomed in the doorway, a steaming mug in her hand. “I have made a pot of coffee, as I doubt that any of you will get much sleep tonight.” She looked at Virginia with her usual forbidding expression. “I brought some upstairs for you, ma’am, because I knew you would not be leaving this room for a time.”
Virginia smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Crofton. I appreciate that.”
Mrs. Crofton dipped her chin in minimal acknowledgment of the gratitude and set the mug on the nightstand. She looked at Owen.
“He is still feverish,” she said. “I’ll bring some more cold washcloths.”
“Thank you,” Virginia said again.
Mrs. Crofton turned and stalked out of the room.
Nick watched her leave. He was clearly awed. When she was on the stairs, he turned back to Virginia. “Your housekeeper is extraordinary. You have two men guarding your house. You rush off into the night with no explanation. You bring an unconscious man into your bedroom and invite several people to join you. And yet she shows no signs of being alarmed.”
“As I have told Owen, Mrs. Crofton is a gem of a housekeeper,” Virginia said. “But I fully expect her to give notice at any moment.”
“She doesn’t appear to be about to do any such thing,” Nick said. He turned back to Charlotte. “Is there anything more about the effects of the Quicksilver Mirror in that book?”
“Only that the device was crafted in the seventeenth century by an alchemist.”
Nick frowned. “That means it dates from the time of Sylvester Jones. I wonder if he made it.”
“I don’t think he had anything to do with it,” Charlotte said. “According to this book, the alchemist was a woman who called herself Alice Hooke.” Charlotte took off her glasses and polished the lenses with a handkerchief. “The only reason I was able to find out as much as I did concerning the history of the mirror in such a short time this evening is because I had already done a considerable amount of research on the subject of looking glasses.”
Virginia glanced at the black velvet bag. “Another mirror has popped up in this case. That cannot be a coincidence.”
Nick looked thoughtful. “I agree with you. It is too much to believe that yet another powerful weapon based on glasslight would show up in this investigation unless there was some connection. But the Quicksilver Mirror is quite different from the curiosities. It is much older, for one thing.”
“And is not a clockwork toy,” Virginia said.
Charlotte tapped the large leather-bound tome she had been reading. “The mirror is much older, so we know it was not made by Mrs. Bridewell. But I agree, there must be some link to the case.”
Nick frowned. “The mirror is a dangerous and no doubt valuable artifact, yet someone entrusted it to a common street ruffian to use against Owen this evening. Someone was very desperate to get him out of the way.”
“Well,” Charlotte said, “I’m afraid all we can do at the moment is wait and see if Mr. Sweetwater is strong enough to recover from the effects of the mirror.”
“He will recover,” Virginia vowed.
“We might have a better notion of his chances if we had some idea of just how strong the attacker was,” Charlotte said.
“We have no way of knowing that now that he is dead,” Tony said.
“He was certainly powerful enough to do serious damage with the damn mirror,” Nick said grimly.
Virginia gave him a sharp, reproving glare. “The one thing we know for certain is that Owen defeated him. That means Owen is the stronger of the two.”
Nick, Tony and Matt exchanged glances. None of them spoke.
“What is it?” Virginia demanded. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at each other that way?”
Nick cleared his throat. “We don’t really know that Uncle Owen was the stronger in terms of talent, Miss Dean, not for certain.”
“What do you mean?” she said. “He is the one who survived the encounter.”
“But he used a knife,” Tony said, as if explaining a very elementary principle to a not-very-bright child. “Not his talent. The mirror rendered his psychical senses useless.”
Virginia frowned. “What are you saying?”
“Just that Uncle Owen did not survive because of his talent,” Matt said.
“I see,” Virginia whispered. She tightened her grip on Owen’s hand.
Nick looked at the unconscious man. “He is a hunter of a sort, but he is not a true hunter-talent like Tony or Matt. His reflexes, eyesight and coordination are excellent but not preternaturally so.”
“Is that why he carries a knife concealed in his boot?” Charlotte asked.
“No,” Tony said. “He carries a knife in his boot because all Sweetwaters carry knives in their boots.”
“Used to be a dagger,” Matt offered. “But we have moved with the times.”
“Family tradition,” Nick explained. “In keeping with the family motto.”
“Talent is useful, but keep your dagger sharp,” Virginia quoted softly.
“It sounds better in the original Latin,” Tony said.
Virginia gave him a weary smile. “No doubt.”
“Owen’s great talent is his ability to predict the behavior of the monsters,” Nick explained. “Not his speed or his night vision.”
Charlotte looked at him. “I can’t see how the ability to predict the killer’s behavior would have been enough tonight. I mean, he already knew that the footpad was trying to kill him.”
“You’d be surprised,” Nick said. “Owen has a knack for provoking people. He says that if a man can be prodded into losing his self-control, he can be manipulated quite easily, regardless of the level of his talent. I suspect that is exactly what happened tonight.”
Tony looked at Owen. “It does appear that Uncle Owen sliced things a bit close, so to speak, on this occasion, however.”
Virginia shivered. “Yes.”
“Usually he leaves no trace of violence,” Matt said. “But there was a lot of blood in the lane tonight. At first I feared that at least some of it was his.”
Virginia shuddered at the memory of the blood on Owen’s hands and clothes. “So did I.”
“Do you believe that Mr. Sweetwater deliberately provoked his attacker into some reckless move?” Charlotte asked.
“Uncle Owen has a gift for shattering nerves,” Tony said proudly.
Virginia looked at Owen. His profound state of sleep did little to soften the hard planes and angles of his face. Even unconscious, he managed to appear dangerous. His psychical senses had been blinded, but dark energy nevertheless whispered in the atmosphere around him.
“His aura no doubt unnerves some people,” Virginia said.
“Perhaps that is the reason he has never married,” Charlotte said.
Virginia realized that the three Sweetwater men were exchanging yet another mysterious look.
“What now?” she demanded.
Nick cleared his throat. “The reason Owen has never married is because he has yet to find the right woman.”
Charlotte blinked and then smiled. “What a charmingly romantic notion.”
“I’m not certain Sweetwaters can be called charmingly romantic,” Nick said. “But we take marriage very seriously. You could say it’s in the blood. A Sweetwater always knows when he finds the right woman.”
Charlotte stopped smiling and narrowed her eyes. “How very convenient.”
“Actually it can be very inconvenient,” Nick said. “It isn’t always easy to find the right woman. To tell you the truth, the family was starting to become concerned about Owen.”
“Why?” Virginia asked.
Tony shifted uneasily. “We think he has started nightwalking. It’s not a good sign.”
“I don’t understand,” Virginia said. “What do you mean by nightwalking?”
Once again Nick, Tony and Matt exchanged looks. This time she knew she would not get any answers.
“It’s hard to explain,” Nick mumbled.
Charlotte fixed him with a glare. “What does a Sweetwater man do if he doesn’t find the right woman? Does he content himself with a string of mistresses?”
Nick was looking ever more uncomfortable. Matt and Tony had evidently concluded they were out of their depth. They lurched toward the door.
“I think I need a cup of Mrs. Crofton’s excellent coffee,” Tony said.
“And perhaps another muffin,” Matt added.
They went through the door and disappeared out into the hall.
An acute silence settled on the bedroom.
Charlotte peered at Nick. “Exactly how does a Sweetwater know when the right woman comes along?”
Nick blew out a deep sigh. “My father says it is a side effect of our talent. Something to do with our hunter’s intuition.”
Virginia looked at him. “But not necessarily something to do with love?”
The hunter in Nick must have sensed a trap. He glanced toward the door, as if longing to escape the room as Matt and Tony had done. But manfully he turned back.
“‘Love’ is a rather mushy word,” he said weakly. “Hard to define, don’t you think?”
Charlotte glared at him. “Not at all. One knows love when one experiences it. Isn’t that right, Ginny?”
“Quite right,” Virginia agreed. “We may never encounter true love, but that does not mean that women such as Charlotte and myself won’t know it if we do run into it. Right, Charlotte?”
“Absolutely,” Charlotte said.
Nick scowled. “But what will you do if you never discover what you believe to be true love?”
“Until then there is always Dr. Spinner’s treatment for female hysteria,” Virginia said.
THIRTY-FOUR
S
ometime later Virginia found herself alone with Owen in the bedroom. His temperature and the overheated energy of his aura were rapidly returning to normal.
ometime later Virginia found herself alone with Owen in the bedroom. His temperature and the overheated energy of his aura were rapidly returning to normal.
She released his hand. Rising to her feet, she crossed the room to the chest of drawers. The velvet sack containing the mirror was on top of the dresser. When she picked it up a ghostly frisson of glasslight shivered across her senses.
She opened the sack and took out the mirror. The silver-and-gold handle was unnaturally warm in her hand. She carried the mirror to the window and examined the back of it. Strange crystals glittered ominously in the moonlight. An intricate Baroque design had been worked into the metal. It was too dark to make out the alchemical markings, but she could feel them with her fingertips. Small lightning flashes of power crackled through her.
Glasslight, a lot of it, was held in stasis in the mirror. All that was required to release the energy, she thought, was will and talent. It was a true paranormal weapon, one that was activated by the human mind, not by a clockwork mechanism.
Slowly, drawn by a compulsion that went far deeper than mere curiosity, she turned the mirror over to look at the glass. In the deep shadows of the bedroom she could not see her own reflection, but with her senses heightened she could perceive the energy that shifted in the surface of the artifact. It was as if she gazed into a pool of mercury. The Quicksilver Mirror seethed with the forces locked deep inside.
Dread and fascination consumed her. She looked deeper. Terrible afterimages appeared and disappeared like moving photographs trapped in the strange glass. She caught fleeting glimpses of the dead and the dying.
She saw fire as well, hot flames of silver and gold. The scorching, dazzling flames crashed and cascaded in the depths of the mirror. Her senses sang in response to the wild energy, urging her to unleash the forces in the glass.
She knew then with her glass-reader’s intuition that any strong talent could use the mirror to blind or even kill. For a person with psychical abilities, the artifact was the equivalent of a gun. But someone endowed with a very special kind of talent could do much more with the device. She could set free the full power locked in the looking glass.
Someone with her kind of talent.
But what would one do with the strange energy that burned in the Quicksilver Mirror, she wondered. Then she thought about the weak energy that the killer had infused into the mirrors on Ratford’s and Hackett’s dressing tables and in the looking glasses on the walls of the terrible chamber beneath the Hollister mansion. Again the question arose in her mind. Why would anyone try to lock power into a looking glass?
From out of nowhere she recalled something her mother had said a long time ago:
Power is power, whether it is normal or paranormal. It is always potentially dangerous, and there will always be those who seek to manipulate it for their own ends.
Power is power, whether it is normal or paranormal. It is always potentially dangerous, and there will always be those who seek to manipulate it for their own ends.
“Virginia.”
Owen spoke in his sleep, uttering her name in a raw, rasping voice that shattered the spell of the mirror.
She closed down her senses. The mirror darkened to an opaque gray. She inserted the artifact into the sack with shaking fingers and tied the cord.
Setting the sack on top of the chest of drawers, she went back to the bed and gripped Owen’s hand. His fingers tightened around hers, but he did not awaken.
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