Chase’s condemnation would be the swiftest, the most foul. Others, the ones who loved him, would be more hurt, but the mere thought of facing her disappointment sent a wave of disgust through his flesh. Shame was a sticky tar that coated and burned. Jack gritted his teeth against the sensation and closed his eyes against the sight of the small square of paper he held between his fingertips. He kept his eyes closed as he pocketed the missive. And he squeezed them tighter still as he reached inside his greatcoat and pulled out the vial of blood within.
His hand shook, his shame growing thicker, hotter. Do not do this. Regret and despair rolled down his throat like slime. His hand shook harder, sweat pebbling his brow. Hissing a breath out between his teeth, he shoved the vial into the hidden compartment. Another two breaths and he was staggering to the nearest rubbish bin. His evening meal came up in a violent wave. Empty and battered, he slid to the floor, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand.
The flutter of the doves among the iron rafters and a distant whistle told him it was time to go. But he stayed a moment longer, pulling out the paper. The first name leapt from the page: Mercer Dawn.
Mercer. A shudder went though Jack. He remembered. “Mercer, finish off, will you? There’s others who have need.” “Just one more taste.” Gleaming yellow eyes looking him over, cold hands on his fevered skin. “Such tasty blood, he has.”
Relief and despair mingled. Jack now had the means to kill those who had hurt him. But deep in his heart, he feared that was not what would heal him.
Chapter Fourteen
Mary had been the assistant to Poppy Lane for quite some time. Certainly long enough to be well acquainted with being called into Poppy’s office at odd hours on a moment’s notice. This was what Mary told herself as she gave a nod to Poppy’s secretary, Mr. Smythe, who sat just before the large iron-and-brass office door. But Mary had her doubts.
Outwardly she gave the impression of calm. Mary was known for her unflappable demeanor. She’d overhead enough SOS gossip to know that she and Poppy were often called the Stone and the Icicle. They’d had a laugh over that, fostered the image even, for theirs was a hard life and having a formidable facade was yet another layer of protection.
What worried Mary now was that inwardly she was an utter mess. Instinct told her that this meeting was not to be a friendly chat to see how Mary was getting along in her first case. Worse, Poppy Lane knew Mary well enough to see past Mary’s well-crafted social mask.
Slowly Mary turned the doorknob and went inside.
Poppy smiled when Mary entered. More trouble, Mary thought grimly. Poppy only smiled when she was about to pounce.
“Mistress Chase. Sit.” She gestured to the empty chair placed before the nice little heat stove.
Mary settled in, and Poppy moved to pour the tea. “You look a little worse for wear.”
Mary hadn’t had time to change her gown or re-coil her hair before coming to see Poppy, and she was dusty and unkempt. “I work alongside Jack Talent,” she said wryly. “We thought we’d found a suspect today, but we lost him in the train yard.”
“Pity.” Poppy handed her a cup. “Speaking of Talent. What is your impression of him?”
Calling on every bit of training she’d amassed, Mary held Poppy’s piercing gaze without flinching. “He is cagey, suspicious, quick to anger, and quite arrogant.”
“Well, yes,” said Poppy with a touch of asperity, “but we all know that much already.” She cleared her throat. “I ought to have been more specific. How do you find his handling of the case?”
Just the question Mary had feared, for suspicion lurked in Poppy’s dark eyes.
Mary’s heart worked so fast now it hurt. The compulsion to tell all was thick on her tongue. Poppy Lane was not merely her employer. She was her mentor, her friend. And what did she owe Jack Talent? He lied, perhaps murdered, he… She swallowed down a sigh. He suffered. She knew that with a bone-deep conviction.
“Mistress Chase?” Poppy prompted. “Has the cat got your tongue?”
“He has little patience for questioning.” Best to stick as close to the truth as possible. “But he is also quite perceptive. And quite determined to catch this killer.”
Sweat trickled down her spine as Poppy studied her. “You haven’t noticed anything… unusual?”
Mary allowed herself a smile, as if her insides weren’t quaking. “I have never before had a partner, Mrs. Lane. If you want me to speak ill of him, perhaps you’d better tell me why.”
Poppy did not move, but it seemed as though her narrow frame leaned closer. “All right then. Let us cut through the muck. Jack Talent has had control of this case for far too long without his usual results. In agreeing to assign you to the case, I had hoped you might give us insight into this anomaly.”