Shadowdance(33)

Upon close inspection, gold seemed to blend like little gleaming fingers into his decomposing flesh. “Reminds me of ivy,” Jack murmured. “You know, how it will attach to a house and encompass it.”

“Yes, exactly.” Poole shook his head. “Strange business.” He looked particularly gleeful about the notion. Regulators did not call him Poole the Ghoul for no reason.

Jack straightened as Poole sighed. “In all honesty, Master Talent, I suggest you have Mistress Evernight take a look at them. She’s the mechanical expert, after all.”

Mary braced her hand upon the cool plaster wall in a dark corridor off Poole’s gruesome surgery and took another deep breath. Blast it, she could do better than this! How galling that she should lose her composure in front of Talent.

“Are you ready?”

Mary bolted upright at the sound of his deep, smooth voice. Damn that man, but he crept about on cat feet. And damn her for not quite being able to meet his eyes. “Yes.”

Smoothing her skirts, she stood before him. She would not make excuses, but she could not quite find the strength to talk to him either.

Oddly, Talent filled the silence for her. “Here.” He reached out, and she flinched, but with a perfunctory flick of his fingers, he merely tucked in a lock of hair that had dangled over her temple. His expression was grim, almost angry, as if she’d put him out. Another brusque touch at her sleeve straightened her gown where it had bunched. Mary could only gape up at him. And his frown grew. Without a word he turned and crisply walked away.

Mary found herself following.

After a moment he spoke. “We’re headed to Evernight’s laboratory.”

She could feel his gaze running over her.

“I thought she might be able to tell us about the mechanics,” he added, as if chastising her for not asking.

“Yes.” Mary took another breath, hating her embarrassment. “That is a good idea.”

Talent halted with a curse, and Mary stopped too. His eyes narrowed on her. “So help me, Chase, if you grow meek-mouthed on me, I’ll lock you up in the infirmary and have them examine you for madness.” He lifted his large hand in annoyance. “So you have an aversion to dead bodies? Why shouldn’t you? They are foul. Murder is a foul business. If any one of us were in our right minds, we’d be as far away from all this as possible.”

His hard features darkened as he worked himself up. “If you ask me, the ones who are immune to it all are already half dead. Don’t lose what bit of humanity you have, Chase. It makes you better, not weaker. End of discussion. So just… let go of this useless embarrassment, accept this about yourself, and get on with the damn case.”

He stopped there, apparently out of steam from his lecture. And, having no more to say, he crossed his arms in front of him and simply glared.

Mary’s lip twitched. “Lock me in the infirmary. Not bloody likely, Talent. I’d cut your knees out from under you before you took two steps.”

That haughty look he’d perfected grew in intensity. “I wouldn’t lay down a challenge if I were you, Chase. I might just take it up.”

With a sniff she turned on her heel, her step light and brisk, and he followed easily.

“I’m all aquiver.”

His pace missed a beat before he muttered, “I wouldn’t be offering up that information either.”

Holly Evernight’s laboratory was massive, bright and open with a grid of floor-to-ceiling windows. However, as it was also the work place for a host of inventors, the bodies were brought into another room for privacy.

“I’ve secured an area out of the way,” Holly explained as she pushed back a pair of massive oak doors to reveal a cavernous room at the top of the building. Constructed like a greenhouse, the room was comprised entirely of glass-and-iron panels. Sunlight flooded the space, but since it was London, the light was grey and weak. A set of levers, linked to a network of large chains, made it possible to slide the roof open. Mary needn’t wonder for what. She drew to a halt and gaped.

“Is that—?”

Holly stopped beside her and beamed. “A dirigible. Yes.”

Talent whistled long and low as he too took in the sight. “Never seen a model such as that.”

The dirigible was nothing new. In 1883, Mary, along with the rest of London, had read about the Frenchman Gaston Tissandier and the first electric-powered airship. A marvel of modern ingenuity. A year later La France, the first fully controllable airship, made its maiden voyage. Heady times, yet Talent was correct. Those ships had been, in essence, hot-air balloons attached to a motor and pilot’s basket.