Burning Lamp (33 page)

Caleb rose and took the crystal from him. He held the device up to the light for a closer look. “You say the Hulseys did not take credit for them?”

“No. Luttrell made it clear that he obtained them from Smith, who, according to Luttrell, is Arcane. Smith moves in your world, Jones, not mine.”

“You’re quite right, Mr. Winters,” Lucinda said. “Smith is our responsibility. We will investigate immediately.”

Caleb frowned. “Tell me exactly how Luttrell described Smith’s position in Arcane.”

“He claimed that Smith was at the very heart of the organization.”

Caleb nodded, grim- faced. “Odds are excellent that he’s on the Council, then. That is the heart of Arcane.”

“Well, at least that narrows our list of suspects,” Lucinda pointed out.

“I did warn Gabe that some of those half-mad old alchemists on the Council would prove to be troublesome,” Caleb said.

“I can help you identify the right man when you do find him,” Adelaide offered. “I know his dreamprints.”

“That will be extremely useful,” Lucinda said. “Is there anything else you or Mr. Winters can tell us about him?”

“One thing, perhaps,” Griffin said slowly. “I think that your Mr. Smith may have an obsession with the genealogical records of the Society. I believe that is how he found Adelaide the first time thirteen years ago.”

A great stillness came over Caleb. He exchanged a look with Lucinda. She nodded somberly.

“Samuel Lodge,” Caleb said very quietly.

 

 

HALF AN HOUR LATER, the length of time it took them to reach Lodge’s town house in a fast hansom, Griffin and Caleb stood together in Lodge’s bedroom. The wardrobe was open but it was only partially empty. Lodge had evidently taken only as many clothes as he could stuff into a pack or a small suitcase. There was a leather-bound notebook on one shelf.

Caleb looked at the nervous housekeeper. “When did he leave?”

“Mr. L-lodge left about an hour ago,” the woman stuttered nervously. “He said there was a family emergency at his estates in the North.”

“Did he receive any visitors before he left?” Griffin asked. “Were any messages delivered?”

“Y-yes, sir. A boy brought a message to the kitchen door. Said it was urgent. That was when Mr. Lodge told me that he had to leave immediately.”

“Damn,” Caleb muttered. “The Hulseys must have sent word to him after they escaped.”

“They are no doubt hoping for future employment,” Griffin said. He walked to the wardrobe and picked up the notebook. He opened it and studied some of the entries. “It appears that Lodge has been very busy with Arcane’s genealogical records of late.”

Caleb frowned. “What do you mean?”

“According to these notes he recently searched for and found three young men, all hunter-talents. All three grew up in orphanages. They were experimental subjects of a sort. He was curious to see if the crystals would work for other kinds of talents, but he did not want anyone within Arcane to become aware of his experiments. After he started doing business with Luttrell he realized he might need the three as bodyguards.”

“How in blazes did Lodge find the three hunters?”

“The same way he found Adelaide. Through the genealogical records. The three men he identified as probably having some strong talent were all fathered by members of the Society. But the babes were illegitimate. They disappeared into orphanages.”

“So Lodge now has some well-armed hunters protecting him.”

Griffin closed the notebook. “Makes one wonder how many children of Arcane have vanished into the streets over the years because they were orphaned or born illegitimate.”

Caleb exhaled deeply. “Arcane needs to do a better job of looking after its own.”

 

 

A SHORT TIME LATER Adelaide stepped into the front hall of the town house and raised her talent. Decades of warped dreamprints were thickly layered on the marble tiles. The psychical footsteps shimmered with an oily luminescence. Her stomach tightened. She was suddenly aware of Griffin’s hand on her arm, steadying her.

“Lodge is most certainly Mr. Smith,” she said. “There is no question about it.”

Caleb looked satisfied. “I made a few inquiries. It appears that he has fled to the Continent. I doubt very much that he will risk coming back. He knows that Jones and Jones will be waiting.”

“What I do not understand,” Adelaide said, “is why Lodge’s dreamlight patterns are so disturbed.” She studied the floor. “The instability appears to have grown worse over the years.”

Caleb looked at Lucinda. “Do you sense any signs of the formula?”

“No,” Lucinda said. “None whatsoever. There is no hint of poison here, at least not the sort that I can detect.”

“The crystals,” Griffin suggested. “Perhaps something about using them affects the resonating patterns of one’s dreamlight energy over time.”

Caleb was impressed. “Do you know, Winters, I think your talents have been wasted as a crime lord. You would have made an excellent detective.”

“Why is it,” Griffin asked, “that lately everyone seems to think that I chose the wrong career?”

 

 

 

SHE UNDRESSED, GOT INTO HER SILK NIGHTGOWN, TURNED down the sheets and then stood looking at the bed, undecided. It had been an exhausting day. She knew she desperately needed sleep but she doubted that she would even be able to close her eyes. The unpleasant shivers that always accompanied the aftermath of danger and violence were still fluttering through her, putting her senses on edge.

A large glass of brandy might help, she thought. She was contemplating that thought when she heard the single knock on the connecting door. Hot energy swept through her, momentarily driving out the shivers.

She drew a breath, crossed the room and opened the door. Griffin stood there. He had started to undress but had not completed the process. He still wore his trousers. His shirt hung open. She knew that he needed sleep even more than she did. But when she opened her senses she saw that his dreamprints burned.

“Griffin,” she whispered. She opened her arms.

Without a word, he moved into the room, swept her up and fell with her onto the silk sheets.

He made love to her with an intensity and a single-mindedness that took her breath away.

When her body clenched in release, Griffin went rigid.

“Hold me,” he said. “Don’t let go.”

They were the first and only words he had spoken since he had entered the room. She wrapped herself around him and held him with all of her strength while he shuddered through his climax.

The psychical fireworks dazzled all of her senses. Griffin finally collapsed beside her; she followed him into sleep.

 

 

SHE AWOKE SOME TIME LATER to discover that she was alone in the bed. But she sensed Griffin’s presence. She opened her eyes and saw him standing at the window looking out into the night.

“Griffin?” she said softly. “What is wrong?”

He did not take his attention off the darkness on the other side of the window. “Are you truly convinced that my dreamlight currents are stable?”

“Yes. You must trust me on this.”

“But how is it possible that I am able to control two different talents without driving myself mad?”

“I told you, I believe your second talent is not new at all. Rather it is a different aspect of your original ability. Furthermore, although you are a direct descendant of Nicholas Winters, his is not the only powerful bloodline you inherited.”

“You refer to Eleanor Fleming, the woman who worked the lamp for Nicholas.”

“She was an extremely strong talent, too. Perhaps it is the combination of bloodlines that makes it possible for you to control such a powerful talent. Or perhaps your ability is a result of the effects the lamp’s radiation had on your ancestor. I don’t know. All I can tell you is that you are completely stable.”

Griffin contemplated the night, not speaking.

Adelaide got up and went to stand beside him.

“I have some early memories of my father discussing his research with my mother,” she said. “One of those recollections is his opinion of the Jones family tree.”

“What did he have to say about it?”

“Papa speculated on more than one occasion that he would not be at all surprised to learn that Sylvester ran a few experiments on himself with some early versions of the formula before he set about producing offspring.”

Griffin was silent for a long moment. Then he turned to look at her. In the pale glow of the moonlight his smile was very cold.

“Not that any Jones would ever admit that the founder’s formula might have irrevocably altered the bloodline,” he said.

“Of course not. Such an admission would be tantamount to saying that at least one early version of the formula had been perfected and that it worked.”

“If the Joneses know or even suspect that their bloodline is living proof that the original formula was successful, they would have every reason to believe that the Burning Lamp was also effective.” Griffin’s hand tightened on the edge of the window. “No wonder they have always kept a wary eye on my family.”

“It would explain their long-standing concern with Nicholas’s descendants and the lamp, yes.”

“The Joneses no doubt fear the creation of another organization of strong talents that would rival the Arcane Society and its own power.”

She smiled. “Well, I’m not sure you can leap to that conclusion. Are all crime lords so suspicious of the motives of others?”

“Crime lords who are not steeped in suspicion generally do not survive long.”

“Are you suspicious of me?”

“No.” He turned to face her. “Never. I would trust you with my life, Adelaide.”

It was not exactly a declaration of love, she thought, but for a crime lord it was no doubt the next best thing.

 

 

 

AT THREE O’CLOCK THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, THE DOOR of the bedroom opened with such force that it crashed against the wall. It bounced so hard it would have slammed shut again had it not been for Griffin’s booted foot in the opening.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Trevelyan murmured. She put the neatly folded silk nightgown into the trunk. “I had a feeling this was going to happen.”

“What the devil is going on here?” Griffin strode into the room and came to a halt directly in front of Adelaide. The heat in his eyes could have set fire to the bed along with everything else in the vicinity. “I just found Jed and Leggett in front of the Abbey with the carriage. They told me that you are leaving.”

Adelaide turned back to the wardrobe and took out a petticoat. “Mrs. Trevelyan and I are moving back to Lexford Square.”

“You can’t leave here yet,” Griffin said. “It isn’t safe. J-and-J hasn’t found Samuel Lodge.”

“You heard Mr. Jones.” Adelaide stepped around Griffin and carried the petticoat to the trunk. “Lodge has fled to the Continent and is unlikely to return. If he does, Arcane will be waiting. What’s more, Lodge knows that. I will be quite safe.”

“What if Caleb Jones is wrong?”

She placed the petticoat on top of her nightgown. “I understand that Mr. Jones is rarely wrong. Regardless, we both know that I cannot spend the rest of my life here at the Abbey. I have to return to my own house sooner or later. I think sooner is best.”

There was a sudden silence.

Mrs. Trevelyan cleared her throat. “I believe I’ll go downstairs and put the kettle on.”

She sailed out into the hall, closing the door quietly but firmly behind her.

Griffin looked hard at Adelaide. “What is this all about?”

“It’s time for me to leave,” she said gently. She swept back past him. The ruffles at the hem of her skirts drifted over the toe of one of his black leather boots. She went to the dressing table and picked up her silver-backed brush and comb. “I will admit that being the mistress of a crime lord has a certain, shall we say, exotic aspect. Nevertheless, a mistress is a mistress. She does not live in her lover’s house.”

“You’re not my mistress, damn it.”

“Really?” She put the brush and comb into the trunk. “What word would you use to describe my position in your life?”

“You’re my—” He stopped. “You’re mine.”

“I love you, Griffin,” she said.

He looked at her with his fevered eyes. “You must know that I love you.”

She smiled. “I hoped that was the case. Neither of us has had a real home for a very long time. It is up to us to make one for each other.”

“You want marriage,” he said, his voice very flat and cold.

“I think that is what we both want. Am I wrong?”

“It is the one thing that I cannot give you. Ask anything else of me.” His hands tightened at his sides. “
ANythiNg
.”

She touched the side of his hard face with her fingertips and smiled.

“There is nothing else I want,” she said.

“For God’s sake, Adelaide.” He clamped his hands around her shoulders. “Don’t you understand? Marriage to me would put you at risk. As my wife you would be in constant danger.”

“Surely you don’t think that I would betray you with one of your men as your first wife did.”

“No. Never. That is not the problem and you know it. But marriage to me will make you a target for all of my enemies.”

“Do you have that many enemies, then?”

“I have been in this business a very long time,” he said. “Things have occurred that cannot be changed. There are those who dream of vengeance. Yes, I have enemies. What is more, I have forged a certain reputation. There will always be some who will seek to prove themselves by trying to destroy me.”

“You are like one of those notorious gunfighters in the Wild West who must forever be prepared to defend himself against the hot- blooded younger males who wish to challenge him.”