“Perhaps they tried. All I know is that eventually Adam learned to use more of his magic. Now when he creates a GIM, the heart, our revived health, all of it, occurs with a touch of his hand.”
Talent stared down at the two clockwork hearts. “At the risk of jumping to conclusions, someone else appears to be trying their hand at creation.”
Chapter Ten
Poppy Lane listened to their report without moving. The past two days’ discoveries had pushed their case up to the top of Mother’s priorities, and Poppy called them into her office as soon as they’d finished with Holly. She reclined in her desk chair, her booted feet propped upon the desk, her pale fingers tented beneath her chin. Two years ago, before going off to battle a demon, she’d hacked off her hair. An act that, Mary knew, had left Inspector Lane nearly in tears. Now Mrs. Lane’s growing hair was swept back in a severe, if sparse, bun, leaving her clean profile stark against the dark walls of her office.
“I heard from Lucien this morning,” Mary said. “He remembers releasing one Eugenia White from her contract with the GIM in 1844. She’s had ample opportunity to make a slave pact with someone.” Mary glanced at Talent. He’d been relatively quiet, forgoing even his usual snide remarks. “I gather you found nothing further, Master Talent?”
He stirred, as if the whole business bored him. “No. The only significant difference in the crime is the obvious: it was not Pierce but a raptor demon posing as Pierce.”
“Why turn Pierce into a crawler?” Mary asked. “If his blood is so valuable? Why kill the raptor disguised as Pierce, for that matter? When all it served to do was alert us to the abduction?”
Talent’s eyes narrowed as if he was annoyed at her question. “We cannot yet say with any authority that whoever killed the raptor also made Pierce a crawler.” The muscle along his jaw bunched. “You do realize that Pierce might have been sold on the black market for experiments.”
On that pleasant thought, the room fell silent.
“I do not know if it is of any significance,” said Mary, “but we found this at the scene in Trafalgar Square.” She pulled the feather out of her pocket and handed it to Mrs. Lane. Even that small contact sent a zing of power down her fingers.
Mrs. Lane’s straight brows lifted. “An angel’s feather.” She held the thing with care, touching only the very base with her fingertips. “Extraordinary.”
“Angel?” Mary took back the proffered feather and carefully tucked it away. “Are you quite sure?” An angel hadn’t been sighted in London since 1666, during the Great Fire of London. That catastrophe had apparently occurred when a fallen angel decided to set London ablaze in an attempt to cripple England during its war with the Dutch.
“Quite,” Mrs. Lane said smartly. “Can you not feel the power in it?” Her pale lips flattened. “Dark and disturbed. I would guess that particular plumage belongs to a fallen.”
“Christ,” said Talent. “That is just what we need, an incalculably strong, and likely mad, immortal to add to the mix.”
“Why do you assume mad?” Mary asked.
His expression turned cold. “The older ones usually are. And fallen are older than dirt.”
Poppy nodded in an absent sort of way. “Sometimes they are mad. And there will be times when a fallen will be standing right in front of you, and you will never know it because they appear so human.” She gave a brief, small smile. “They aren’t inclined to reveal their true nature to anyone other than one of their own kind. Nor are they inclined to mix with other immortals.”
“Someone would have seen a fallen flying about,” said Talent. “Can’t mistake something that big for a bloody bird.”
Mary almost laughed but caught herself at the last moment. “Yes, but how many people ever look up? And there is our lovely London fog to hide in, is there not?”
Poppy shook her head. “Perhaps you two are unaware of this, but a fallen can shift his appearance as well as you can. Likely even better. A person might very well see a bird when one flies overhead.” With a sigh Mrs. Lane sat back once more and idly tapped her lip with her forefinger. “So, we have an identity stolen, dead shifters and raptors, shadow crawlers running amok, and now possibly a fallen interfering. What a bloody mess.” She turned then, her dark gaze sharp and waiting. “What is the connection?”
The real question was, how was it all linked to Jack Talent? Mary might have considered him guilty of killing raptors, but to kidnap a fellow shifter? Make a shadow crawler? She couldn’t fathom it. Mercer had to have been lying to her. But why?