Shadowdance(37)

“It is impossible to tell,” Talent answered before Mary could. “With this shift in his pattern, it will be difficult to track the killer at the moment.”

“Not entirely,” Mrs. Lane said. “As it appears he has a new taste for shifters, we’ll have to find a way to catch him in the act.” Her legs swung down as she sat upright and pulled a sheet of paper from a file. “The list of remaining shifters,” she said, handing it to Mary. “One of whom is in America at the moment, visiting relatives.”

Mary read over the list, aware that Talent hadn’t moved to take it from her or even read the thing. “That leaves a Jonathan Deermont, tenth Earl of Darby and…” Mary trailed off as she read the name.

Mrs. Lane’s hard gaze flashed to Talent just as Mary’s did. “Master Talent,” said Mrs. Lane, finishing for her.

Mary’s blood ran cold. Was he a target? Or simply making himself the last shifter left in London? Her head throbbed.

Talent’s sneer was chilling, but a certain dark humor dwelled within his gaze. “Perhaps I should just offer myself up at Trafalgar Square and be done with it.” He did not appear to mind the prospect.

A wry smile tilted Mrs. Lane’s lips. “My sources tell me Lord Darby has arrived from Hampshire this afternoon. We shall make arrangements to watch him. After that, we’ll see if you need to be offered up for bait.”

Holly Evernight loved her job. It was what she’d been born to do. Inventing was in her blood: from her grandfather Eamon to her cousins, the Evernights viewed the world differently. Possibility. Potential. Life was filled with them. One did not look at a gun and ask, How do I refine it? One looked at a gun and asked, How do I make it extraordinary? A thing was not defined by its limits, but by its potential to reach beyond them. Holly often thought people would do well to subscribe to the same practice and reach beyond society’s expectations. Which was precisely why she loved the SOS, for it never set limits.

Yet even the most dedicated worker must at some point rest. A fact Holly could concede a few hours after her meeting with Mary and Talent. She rubbed her dry eyes and set down her propelling pencil. The design she worked on wavered before her, a sure sign to call it a day. Or night rather. The lofty space of her workshop was quiet and still, wide shafts of blue moonlight pouring in clean lines through the big windows. For a moment she simply stared at the geometric grid the moonbeams made upon the marble floor, then shook herself out of the trance.

Cleanup took but a moment. Locking away her drafts, Holly moved on limbs that had gone as stiff as cooled India rubber. Outside, in the main halls of the SOS, regulators drifted around. Their natural, free-flowing conversations pinged like brittle tin against Holly’s ears. She was not accustomed to social interaction. Indeed, it drained her and took time away from better things, such as the next invention. But she tried to offer a smile in return for the ones given her.

Heading toward the tunnels and the way out, Holly came to a halt when the massive iron doors swung open, and a pair of fellows came in pushing a trolley between them. Beneath a black pall was the lumpy form of a body. One man caught her gaze, and his hooded eyes lowered as if he hadn’t the right to look at her. It was a ridiculous notion but one that baggers tended to stick to, for few of their colleagues wanted anything to do with them.

Baggers had the inglorious job of prowling the streets for bodies. Should they find any of a supernatural nature, they picked them up and brought them in for inspection and disposal. A grim bunch. Regardless, Holly understood death as a natural progression of life. And so she gave the man a decided nod. “Good morning, Mr. Kane. Or evening rather.” Her smile felt awkward. “I tend to muddle the time.”

His black brows lifted a fraction, but he nodded back. “Mistress Evernight.” His voice was a deep burr, rough as broken glass, but welcoming enough. Not that he paused. He and his partner, a stocky fellow whose name eluded her at the moment, walked on, his partner giving her the side eye as if he wondered over her sanity because she had talked to them. But he nodded as well and gave a curt “Miss.”

Holly, however, caught the distinct acrid scent of an electrical fire. That it was mixed with the unfortunate aroma of roasted flesh did not stop her from stepping forward. “A moment, gentlemen.”

They paused, the large Mr. Kane lifting those thick brows of his once again. But he did not speak.

“Has this poor person been burned by electrical shock?”

Now his partner joined him in raised brows. “It isn’t anything you’ll be wanting to see, miss.”