Bronze Gods (6 page)

“Now then, why don’t you tell me what you were doing in the maze?”

“So direct.” His smile gained layers, amusement and something else, a darkness.

“It would be unwise to underestimate me,” she said quietly.

“I have no wish to be your enemy, Miss Wright.”

“Then what
do
you wish?”

Theron tilted his body toward her, but the move felt calculated, choreographed to make her respond. To her annoyance, it worked. She wanted to lean toward him as well, and she sensed a whisper of glamour trickling from him.

“You won’t beguile me into cooperating with whatever you want from me. If this is about my father, I’m no longer privy to his plans or schemes. I have no influence over his decisions in any sphere.”

“It’s not about your father,” Theron said softly.

Aurelia didn’t know whether she found that reassuring. “But you concede your presence here tonight was not by chance?”

“Few things truly are. I came for my own ends, but I am delighted to meet you.”

“For what reason?” she demanded.

“You are, rather, a legend among some circles.” She sensed some prevarication in that reply, but it wasn’t entirely false. Maddening. “The girl who gave up her name and became the woman who will not bend? Impressive.”

“There are others who’ve done as much. Why seek me out?” It was like bashing her head against a brick wall.

“Who’s to say I have?”

That silenced her a moment as she considered her next question. She felt sure he had an agenda but decided it was unlikely he’d disclose it on a first encounter. Intuition insisted he had a particular aim in mind, but Aurelia hoped she was too wary to permit herself to be used, however strong a man’s charisma. And forewarned was forearmed.

“You’re not the first person to come in search of some nebulous favor. But you’ll gain nothing by associating with me.”

“You presume that’s not my goal in its entirety.”

“Getting to know me?” She laughed. “A thin achievement to be sure.”

Theron only smiled, his eyes as dark and unreadable as the night sea.

After he departed, she didn’t sleep well, haunted as ever by bad dreams. But for the first time since she could recall, Aurelia did not dream of drowning. Instead, she dreamt of burning and woke gasping for air, checking her flesh to ensure it wasn’t charred as it had been in the nightmare.

•   •   •

R
EHEARSAL WAS A
disaster; the dancers were distracted by the ongoing investigation, and she capped the afternoon by arguing with Leonidas. He stormed out in a rage, not that he ever
left
the Royale. She worried about her old friend. His grief over his parents’ death had driven him deep inside himself, but now it was twisting him strange. He’d once been an open, friendly man of great personal warmth, but now . . . ? Aurelia wasn’t altogether certain what he was becoming.

Finally, she shouted, “Stop! We’ll try again tomorrow. I hope you’ll all bring more focus and a better frame of mind.”

Depressed, she returned to the club, and the sense that someone dogged her footsteps returned in force. The whole way, she kept an eye over one shoulder, and she didn’t relax until she stepped inside the foyer to be greeted by Hargrave.

In waning daylight, she passed through to the conservatory to stand before the stained-glass windows, blazing light from the setting sun. Twilight crept up on her, bearing purples as a gift. She gazed down at the city, remote from this vantage, until the sky darkened entirely, and lights glimmered to life like fireflies. The dim glow beyond gave the stained glass an empyreal glow, coronas of crimson and purple.

This room was Aurelia’s undisputed domain; her father had warned the other members to stay away, and she appreciated it. Otherwise, her life must be contained within the two rooms she kept above, and there wasn’t enough space for what she loved. She stretched and turned on her toes in a pirouette. There was only the distant murmur of the most determined gamblers in another part of the club. Aurelia moved past the sliding stage that pulled from the wall. Dominated by a grand fortepiano, along one wall stood a glass case containing various reed and wind instruments. Her skill with such was mediocre. Though she loved music, she wasn’t gifted at its creation.

Flexing her feet, she glanced about, then her gaze settled on the Victrola beneath the stained-glass arch. Dancing always helped when she was in a mood, so she set the needle on the phonograph. The resultant sound was sweet, echoing off the stone for a richer resonance, a layered harmony of lament. Aurelia stretched, then she began.

Toes pointed, arms arched, she flowed into the forms, letting instinct drive her movements:
plie, pirouette, arabesque, fouette, glissade, jete, and again.
She could hear her instructor’s accented voice calling out the steps. She melted into the music, tears shimmering in her eyes as she danced.

Sometimes, freedom felt very much like an anchor.

CHAPTER 5

O
NLY AN EMERGENCY LIKE THIS ONE WOULD’VE DRIVEN
M
IKANI
to the Mountain District.

His first visit was an exercise in polite hostility; Ritsuko’s ancestors had negotiated well in securing a sizable portion of land on the rolling hills of northern Dorstaad. The intervening generations had turned their enclave into a walled community separate from, and barely beholden to, the rest of the city. He had time to admire the clean symmetry of the gardens and flowing fountains while someone deep within decided whether he was worthy of admittance. So after they processed his request, he deliberately trampled through several rock gardens to make up the lost time.

He jogged to her building, attracting curious glances from a few guards and the terrace patrons of a teahouse. Double-checking the address, he glanced up at the sparse lines of the white building before him. Stark, topped with the curving red tiles characteristic of the Mountain but unlike any in the rest of the city. Full-length windows dominated this side of the building, milky glass giving the illusion of paper. Inside, there was no lift, so he raced up four flights, taking the stairs two at a time.

He pounded on the door. “Ritsuko! We need to run.”

It took two more tries before he heard movement within. Mikani paced while waiting for her to open up the door. When she finally did, she had on a thin white nightgown with lace at wrists and throat; and her hair looked like a bird’s nest. She rubbed her eyes with a decidedly cranky expression.

“What?”

Mikani concealed a smirk. “You may want to put on something a bit less, ah. Lacey. We found a body in Iron Cross. Do you have coffee, by chance? I had to rush out.”

Ritsuko bit out a curse that surprised him, as she didn’t ordinarily use them. It was impossible to tell whether she was bothered by the rude awakening, the prospect of a corpse on a sunny day, or his unprecedented presence in her domain. Possibly, it was all of the above. With a vague gesture, she beckoned him in.

“Help yourself. I’m sure you can find everything. Let me get dressed.”

He stepped in, letting the door slide shut behind him while he cast a quick look around. Clean lines, sparsely furnished. But he could tell where furniture was missing, where prints or frames were gone from the stark walls. Low, dark tables and cushions had been shifted to fill the space or balance the room, which gave no hint of her personality.

As near as he could tell, he was the only spot of grime in the place.
I should get her a plant. I doubt she’d appreciate a pet.
He made his careful way to the kitchen. While he searched for a coffeepot, coffee, and mugs, he hummed. From the back, he heard the movements she made, the splash of water, rustle of clothing.
It’s not like taking off that flimsy white thing would take long . . . Ritsuko, naked.
He fumbled the coffeepot as he pictured—

With a silent oath he slammed his hand down on the counter, focusing on the pain instead, then called, “Make sure not to wear anything you’ll mind getting dirty.”

“Noted.” When she emerged, she’d brushed her hair and wet it so it lay smooth. Instead of a gray, tailored suit, she had on black trousers and a supple leather jacket, both more worn than her customary attire. “And ready.”

Mikani took in her ensemble with an arched brow. “That is . . . different.” He managed to hide the grin by lifting the coffee mug.
I do think this is the first time we look like we belong together. Mostly.

When they got back to the cruiser, Mikani revved up the engine from humming idle and eased into heavy traffic. The ubiquitous hansoms chugged along, mingling with overladen steam buses, colorful Summer Clan wagons, and ever-present messengers on their cycles. Ritsuko’s mingled irascibility and frustration kept him company during the ride across town. Mikani slowed when they reached the hulking maze of dark structures and brass pipes that housed the primary industrial complex for the city. Factories joined to one another by walkways and tubes until they seemed part of a colossal machine beast that lay across several square miles at the city’s southeast edge; the main road into the complex gaped like a dark maw with dim gas lamps glittering along its throat.

The ward officers’ signal beacon flashed up ahead. He tapped Ritsuko’s arm and nodded toward the blue-tinged lantern as he steered the vehicle toward the site, a quarter mile away along the dark passage. After he parked the cruiser, they rode a cargo lift to the top of the building where a maintenance crew had found the body.

Against the clanking of iron and brass, Mikani had to shout to make sure Ritsuko heard him. “She was burned to death. Preliminary sweeps are still under way . . . they didn’t want to touch anything until we got here.” He was already pulling on his gloves as they stepped out onto the windswept roof.

Only the tic in her cheek revealed she was moved by the information, and her dark eyes were as flat as lager-bottle glass as they walked. Mechanically, she flashed her credentials to the uniforms milling about the area, then she paused about five yards from the site itself. “Mikani.” She sounded hesitant. “Are you going to read the scene?”

“If you can think of a better time and place, let me know.” Corroded exhaust pipes and slow-turning fans dotted the rooftop. A fine layer of oily dust completed the sense of quiet despair that had started seeping into Mikani’s head the moment they had driven into the metal-and-stone warren. Around the body, red rope cordoned off the area, and two constables stood about fifty feet away, as if they wanted to distance themselves.

The rest awaited the result of their inspection near the elevator or conducted searches throughout the buildings below, which made the charred remains seem more forsaken. Spread-eagled, she lay atop a reflective sheet of metal. All around, an elaborate arrangement of mirrors and lenses had concentrated the sun’s rays on her. With a small sigh, Mikani knelt next to the body and ran his hands over her, not quite touching the heat-withered remains.

There is no anger, here. Strange.
Mikani smelled the girl’s fear, feeling her agony in phantom shivers and pain. Terror, shards of emotional memories screamed against the very stone. But of the killer . . . the mirrors and lenses were clear. Empty, as if they’d known no human touch, or the very fire they’d summoned had swept away all traces of their owner. Even the residue of decay and rot had been eradicated around her body; it lingered as a pervasive and faint trail of corruption leading from the stairs and to the apparatus’s periphery before fading.

And yet, there is purpose. He planned all this, abducted her, then killed her slowly and painfully.

Though no positive ID had been made, Mikani already knew it was Cira that they’d found. He recognized her fading echo from the pretty pink-and-gold bedroom she’d left behind.

He saw her struggle, as aftershocks of terror rather than visual images: the taste of blood from a bitten tongue, the pain of constraints against wrists and ankles, harsh stone against the girl’s back, and the sickening scent of the charnel house her body became.
That would be so much simpler—to see, rather than feel.
Shivering, he turned away. Already, his head pounded in protest, and from a detached place in his mind, he knew that when he came down, he’d pay dearly.

“I’ll take over,” Ritsuko said at last.

Mikani started: he had been too lost in Cira’s death to hear his partner approach. He nodded curtly, watching her summon a junior officer.

“How’s your shorthand?” Ritsuko asked.

“Excellent, ma’am.” The young man pulled a pen out of his pocket as if to prove his eagerness.

He felt ancient compared to the kid with the notepad.

His partner said, “Then take dictation for me.”

She opened her kit and produced a magnifying glass. As Ritsuko crawled over the ground, she spoke. “The mirrors and lenses were pounded into the ground by hand. No trace of drill work. Our killer possesses exceptional strength.” Next she examined the apparatus more closely. “This is set in a complex geometric pattern. From the precision, I gather that the suspect has an advanced knowledge of mathematics, Academy level. Check at the registrar’s office.”

She paused at the edge of the metal plate, and Mikani stumbled over to take a closer look at what she’d found—an ashy substance. After delving into her case, she scraped a sample into an evidence packet, then she collected a spare.

“Just in case?” Mikani asked.

She ducked her head, sheepish. “Of course.”

Her thoroughness amused him, but in a good way. The fact that she could make him smile through the pounding in his skull? Felt like a minor miracle. He stumbled toward the wall and eased down. A quiet sigh escaped as he lifted his face toward the sun. Though it was a bright enough day, the warmth didn’t penetrate.

Watching her label the samples, Mikani dug for a handkerchief to blot the blood off his upper lip. When he pushed his gift too hard, it felt like his brain tried to expand with his senses until it hit bone, and he got terrible nosebleeds. As if she could read his mind, Ritsuko handed him a crisp cotton square, saving him the trouble.

“What do you think?” He gestured vaguely at the murder machine.

“Geometric pattern, but I don’t know what it means. I also found an organic compound, but we won’t know what it is until the lab gets back to us,” she said. “Rest. I’m going to question the workers.”

“Thanks.”

It could’ve been ten minutes or half an hour before she came back. And she didn’t look excited, so no phenomenal break in the case. However, she did seem thoughtful. Puzzled, even.

“What?”

Ritsuko came over to kneel beside him, pitching her voice so nobody else could hear her. “I don’t understand how this contraption could burn someone to death, just harnessing the sun. It would take a long time, wouldn’t it?”

“Probably. There are workers day and night . . . there should’ve been a witness. And someone would’ve interrupted him before the process was complete.”

“And that’s the thing. I talked to the maintenance crew. Checked their work log. There’s a record with date, time, and initials, each time someone accesses the roof. Security reasons.”

“And?”

“There was a four-hour window, Mikani. To make this happen, start to finish. Now you tell me how that’s possible.”

“A cover-up involving the factories? Probably not. Most of the owners would rather kill each other than cooperate.” He held up a hand, resting his head on the wall and closing his eyes for a moment. “All right. Give me a minute here.” Mikani chewed his bottom lip to distract him from the throbbing of his skull. “Maybe the body was placed here? It would still take some work to assemble this . . . thing, and bring it up without someone’s noticing, but far less so than keeping her murder quiet.”

“So let’s ask Dr. Byfeld. I believe he’s finishing up with his analysis.” She glanced down, then added, “Let me get him. I’ll be right back.”

As he watched, she rounded up the doctor and herded him toward where Mikani sat, leaning on the wall. It was good of her not to draw attention to his problem though the constables probably thought he was drunk or lazy. Better they should think that than realize the truth.

Dr. Byfeld was a short, round man with a tonsure of patchy brown hair. He had a nervous habit of peering down his nose at people while pursing his mouth, and it gave him a rather rabbity air. But he was also incredibly observant, so perhaps the squinting served some purpose. As they approached, Ritsuko was saying, “I hope you can shed some light on the machine and the state of the remains.”

The doctor tilted his head back, the better to make sure Mikani caught his disapproving glare, then cleared his throat. “I cannot tell you much about that . . . thing . . .” He gestured with a vague wave toward the device. “But the body suffered extensive injuries from a source of high heat. It was concentrated here”—he tapped at Mikani’s forehead with his pen—“and it spread until it consumed her. The burn marks are clearly radial and gradual. The pattern of the molten tissue seems to indicate that liquefaction occurred on-site.”

Mikani grunted and pushed himself upright, forcing the doctor to step back. “She was . . . burned, here. Did she die here?”

“Oh, yes, yes. There are evident signs of struggle after the process started—”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Mikani clapped the smaller man on the shoulder to disguise the stumble as he pushed past him and toward the lift.

Rather than force him to answer questions from the others, his partner put on her sternest expression and strode over to a nearby knot of officers, demanding attention in a tone that made them cluster about her. “I want this area cordoned off until further notice. Nobody touches a single bolt on that device until I give the order. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The collective terror of the uniformed constabulary gave Mikani a chance to shuffle out unnoticed. He made it to the vehicle, but barely. Things were spinning, so he crawled into the passenger side and lay for a second with his face on the seat. A minute later, he hauled himself upright. By the time his partner joined him, he was sitting with his head tilted back, her handkerchief sealed against his mouth. He didn’t open his eyes when she slid into the driver’s seat.