Like an animal cornered, Mrs. White launched forward, her arm raised. Talent leapt toward them, trying to intervene, but Mary was closer, and the GIM was coming at her. She sidestepped the woman and swung her baton deftly against Mrs. White’s wrist. The bone snapped, and Mrs. White screeched but she didn’t stop and fight as Mary had expected; she ran.
Narrowly missing Talent’s grasping hand, Mrs. White threw a potted palm at them as she darted into the servant’s stairwell, slamming the door behind her. Talent was a beat behind. With a mighty kick he smashed the door inward and stepped through the wreckage.
Mary was on his heels. The stairwell was empty. A GIM could move on silent feet if needed, and not a sound came from the dark corridor.
A wild light lit Talent’s eyes, and small fangs grew in his mouth. “Up or down?”
“You go up, I’ll go down,” Mary said.
His heavy tread boomed up the stairs as Mary flew down them. A glimpse of black skirts on the ground floor landing had her shouting, “Talent! She went down!”
Not waiting for her partner, Mary picked up her skirts and ran faster, her feet barely touching the treads as she descended into the humid air of the subterranean kitchens.
Startled cries and the crash of dishes rang out as Mrs. White scattered servants in her wake.
Mary leapt over a toppled breakfast tray and burst into the kitchen. In the next instant a shadow flickered in the periphery of her vision, and she ducked as something whizzed by her cheek. Baton in hand, Mary straightened and found Mrs. White poised between the stoves and the massive butcher-block table in the center of the kitchen. A side of beef lay upon the table and, before it, a row of gleaming knives.
Bloody hell.
Mrs. White’s eyes lit with evil intent. And then she reached for the next knife.
One, two, three, the knives hissed through the air in a blur. Mary swung, using her baton like a bat. With a clink, clank, clunk, she knocked the knives down. Her arm vibrated, her hand sore from the force of the hits. When the last knife clattered to the kitchen floor, she glared at the irate GIM. “Finished?”
Mrs. White snarled, the cry echoing against the stone. She grabbed the remaining cleaver and rushed forward. Mary braced, baton at the ready. But from out of nowhere Talent smashed into the GIM, blindsiding her and taking her down with a grunt. They tumbled in a twist of legs and crinoline, Talent landing on top and the cleaver skidding across the stone floor.
Nose to nose, Talent grasped the woman’s bodice with a massive fist, and that wild light in his eyes grew more unhinged. “You dare pull a knife on her?”
The GIM merely laughed. “Aye. An’ I’d have sunk it into her pretty neck too. What shall you do about that, Regulator?” Her eyes began to glow. “Rip my heart out? I hear you like the kill better than the hunt.”
Fangs snapped down with an audible click, and Talent grew an alarming shade of red.
“Talent, I had it in hand.” Mary moved close, touching his arm, but he ignored her.
“Did you kill Pierce?” he demanded.
Inches from Talent’s fangs, the GIM glared back in defiance. “The Bishop did that, didn’t he? Or don’t you know?”
Talent gave her a hard shake. “Who do you work for?”
Mrs. White did not answer. She went grey, her eyes rolling back in her head. And then Mary heard it, Mrs. White’s clockwork heart grinding to a halt. The GIM began to convulse, spit foaming at the sides of her mouth.
“Hell. Talent, let her go.” Mary tugged on his arm and tried to wrench the woman free. “She’s stopping her heart.”
On a curse, Talent dropped the woman to the floor. “She can do that?”
“Yes. It is a closely held secret, however. For if someone has control over her soul, it is the simplest way to destroy a GIM.” Helpless to do anything other than watch, Mary knelt next to the cold GIM. “It isn’t Adam or Lucien. They do not allow suicide, nor do they kill in that manner.” Adam created every GIM, but Lucien managed all those who lived in London. Unless the GIM had earned her freedom, she would be under their control.
“Piss and shit.” Talent briskly slapped the woman’s cheek. But she was gone. Dull blue eyes stared up at the yellowed ceiling. “Who the bloody hell would have control over a GIM if not Adam or Lucien?”
A glimmer of grey about the woman’s neck caught Mary’s eye. She leaned in close and pulled down the edge of Mrs. White’s collar. Tattooed into the dead woman’s skin was a chain collar. A slave. At some point Mrs. White had given her free will to another. Mary met Talent’s annoyed gaze. “Her new master, apparently.”