The Clockwork Scarab (28 page)

I was just about to enter the room where Miss Holmes was when I saw a shadow at the other end of the passage. Pix was back, and he looked satisfied. I took that as an indication that he’d “taken care of” the guard.

“No’ bad,” he said, gesturing to my prisoner and taking in the sight of me dressed as her.

I was still furious with him for taking liberties, so I glared. “What are you doing here?”

“Ye can’t go in there alone,” he said, pointing to the chamber.

“I certainly can. And you—if you want to do something useful, you can get all those young women out of here. I’m sure you’ll find at least one of them grateful enough to allow you to kiss her.”

He flashed a grin, then sobered. “Ye can’t go in there alone.”

“If you know who I am, then you know I’m
made
for this, Pix,” I told him. “This is what I have to do. I’m not helpless. I’m stronger and more capable than any other man or woman—even you. But those young women back in there? They
are
helpless.
They
need help. I don’t.”

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he gave a short nod. His lips were a flat line. “A’right. I’ll take ’em an’ Jemmy an’ the other boys out o’ ’ere.”

“What are all those young men doing here, anyway?”

Pix’s eyes grew dark. “She—’e—whoever ’tis—lured ’em in t’work fer ’em. F’the Society. But ’twas a bait and switch, an’ half o’ ’em are opium-eaters now and canna leave. I come t’find Jemmy and bring ’im ’ome.”

“That’s what you were doing at the museum that night, weren’t you? Trying to find him? They were there, weren’t they? The Society and the Ankh.”

“I ’ear things, luv. I ’ear lots o’ things on th’ streets and in th’ stews. Not all of ’em are good. No’ all of ’em ’re true. But sometimes
 
.
 
.
 
.” He shrugged.

“I must go. Thank you, Pix,” I said, surprised how much I meant it. I couldn’t help watching as he slipped off
back down the passage. Then I opened the door to the Inner Circle.

No one in the room seemed to notice when I crept inside. I looked around, mentally marking exits, potential weapons, and traps. Unlike the other chamber, this one was well lit. The Arabian thieves’ den decor was nonexistent. The walls were beige, and electric sconces lined the space. Part of the roof was open to the night sky, as if it had been folded back like the pleats in a fan. Above, floating like eerie dark clouds, was a trio of sky-anchors. And beyond them, high in the heavens, was a sprinkling of stars and moonlit gray clouds.

Beneath that opening in the roof was a small dais with four wide steps leading to it on each side. A white table stood at the front, and arranged on it was a long, golden scepter, whose knob was the head of a lion, and an object that looked like a long golden loop with three bars running through it. The sistrum of Sekhmet? Next to the altar was the large statue of Sekhmet we’d seen at the previous gathering. Had Mr. Eckhert really traveled back in time using that thing?

The Ankh stood on the stage. In front of him was a large, ancient book on a small podium, its pages held open by a set of metal fingers. To one side was another table containing several items: a gleaming golden bracelet and a crown; candles suspended in intricate brass and bronze holders contained flames that danced in the night breeze; and golden bowls, cups, flasks, and other utensils. Standing behind the table was a device that resembled a crude skeleton made from metal:
it had spindly legs and even spindlier arms. Wires protruded from its body.

Two male guards stood to one side. Although they weren’t identical in appearance, as the female assistants were, the two men wore similar clothing and resembled each other in stance, height, and the darkness of their hair.

Miss Holmes stood nearby, her eyes darting about the room, obviously taking in every detail. She couldn’t see me; I stood far back and to her right. The other young woman who’d been recruited from the opium chamber stood next to her
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Della Exington, niece of Lord Ramsay. The remaining female attendant stood between the two young women holding a pistol.

The Ankh was reading an incantation, his voice ringing out in a foreign language I assumed was Egyptian. He had his arms spread and looked from the book up to the open night sky and back down again as he chanted.

I eased farther into the room as the Ankh took a pinch of something from one of the smaller bowls and crumbled it into the largest one. He poured a sparkling red liquid from one of the flasks and added another ingredient that looked like small seeds. By then I could smell the pungent scent of something exotic and indefinable. All the while, he chanted, imploring some entity in the sky above.

At last, he stopped singing and lit a tiny twig with one of the candles, then dropped it into the bowl in which he’d been mixing. A soft
pop!
and then thick, curling red smoke
snaked up from the bowl, bringing with it a stronger rush of the exotic scent.

The Ankh took the bowl and walked around the statue of Sekhmet, pausing every two steps. There were small vessels on the ground circling the statue, and he poured some of the smoking contents into each of them. This created many spirals of smoke rising around the goddess like a fragrant red curtain.

Moving to the altar, the Ankh retrieved the scepter and the sistrum and brought them to the Sekhmet statue. He fitted the scepter into the hand of Sekhmet that was positioned to hold it, and then slipped the noose of the sistrum over the other hand, which was raised with its palm facing outward. The sistrum thus hung from the goddess’s elbow.

“It is time,” said the Ankh, looking at the two young women he had chosen. “The Inner Circle has been prepared, and you must be initiated in order to access the deeper power of Sekhmet.”

Della Exington came alive and stepped eagerly onto the dais. “I am grateful and pleased to prove my loyalty to the goddess.”

“Felicitations, brave one,” the Ankh said, turning to Miss Exington. The beard and mustache obscured much of the Ankh’s face, yet I could see the delight in his eyes. His expression was unsettling in its fervor as he told Miss Exington, “You shall bring to Sekhmet her divine cuff, and you will be forever bound with her and her power.”

He gestured, and one of the guards stepped onto the stage. Under the Ankh’s direction, he helped the young woman into the circle of red smoke and turned her to face Sekhmet. As she looked up at the figure’s leonine face, the guard lifted her left hand, fitting her palm, wrist, and arm against Sekhmet’s in a mirror-like position. With her other hand, Miss Exington grasped the scepter.

The Ankh brought the cuff and fitted it around Miss Exington’s upraised wrist, using it to fasten her to Sekhmet’s arm. Fascinated and yet disturbed, I watched as the Ankh used a slender golden thong to bind her other hand to the scepter. All the while, the pungent crimson smoke continued to filter through the open roof.

“You shall join with Sekhmet. You have brought her Sacred Instrument, the golden cuff, to her, and your life force will meld with the goddess.”

Miss Exington looked up at the statue as if it were the goddess herself. “I’m ready.”

Sharp discomfort prickled over my skin, lifting the hair from the back of my neck and along my arms. What should I do? I curled my fingers around the pistol I’d slipped in my tunic pocket and glanced at Miss Holmes.

She was staring at the scene with the same horror I felt. She also had a pistol barrel pressed into her side by my twin counterpart. The Ankh wasn’t taking any chances that his other Inner Circle candidate would have second thoughts.

The guard brought the spindly mechanical figure over and positioned it behind Miss Exington. As I watched in
morbid fascination, he lined up the device’s “arms” and “legs” to mirror the position of Miss Exington’s, and then fastened three wires to the cuff. Three more wires were attached to the scepter, and three to the sistrum. The eerie red smoke curled around them, cloaking girl, statue, and machine in its thick fog.

“What—what are you doing?” the captive asked, her voice quavering as she pulled at her bonds.

“Be still, my dear. Your life force is the greatest gift you can bestow upon Sekhmet.”

For the first time since entering the chamber, I moved. I started toward the altar, and the Ankh noticed me immediately.

“Ah, Amunet, you’ve returned in time,” he said, giving me a brief glance.

I had to
act
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
but for once, I was hesitant to leap into action. The guards still loomed. And then there was the gun pressing into Miss Holmes’s torso.

Miss Exington pulled more violently against the wires that bound her. “I—I don’t think I—”

“Be still, my darling,” said the Ankh from outside of the circle of red smoke. “You are receiving a great honor from Sekhmet. You will be well rewarded. Hathor,” he said, gesturing to the man who’d been assisting him. The man stepped away from the stage.

Miss Exington seemed to acquiesce, and her captor turned to the device.

“So shall it be! Sekhmet, I call to you to return.”

Before I could react, the Ankh pulled down on a lever. A brilliant yellow spark snapped audibly, and I could see a hot
red sizzle zip along the wires, through the device, and then over to the cuff and scepter. It was almost like electricity
 
.
 
.
 
.

“Stop!” I shouted as Miss Exington jolted and screamed, then went rigid.

The Ankh spun around. “
You!
” He released the lever and lunged toward the table, snatching up the curved knife. I saw the lever swing back into its starting position. The sizzling sparks ceased, and Miss Exington sagged, struggling weakly against her bonds. She was crying.

I launched myself toward the front of the room, vaulting over a table that stood in the way. The Ankh’s arm moved, and something silvery spun through the air toward me.

Someone cried out, and I heard a low shout
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
and then something red-hot tore into my side. Despite the sudden agony, I landed on two feet on the other side of the table just as Hathor sprang to action. Energy flooded my body as I spun into motion. I yanked up the table over which I’d just leapt, holding it with the legs facing the man.

As he rushed toward me, I whipped the heavy piece of furniture through the air. It crashed into him, and he stumbled back and into his companion. They landed in a heap on the floor.

I whirled to see that the Ankh had returned to the lever. His hand closed around it, and his eyes danced. “You’re too late.”

I pulled out my pistol and looked down at it as I lifted it to aim. And saw blood.

My
blood.

I felt as if I’d been plunged into an ice-cold pool of water. Everything stilled and slowed and became murky and mottled.

I couldn’t make my lungs work. They were thick and heavy, my vision narrow and hypnotized by the slick red blood
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
everywhere. On my hands, my torso, the gun, the floor.

I tried to fight the images assaulting my mind
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I was back there again, with Mr. O’Gallegh
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
his throat and chest torn open, the scent of blood everywhere, the burning red eyes of the vampire mocking me as I froze.
 
.
 
.
 
.

I tried to breathe, I thought I heard Mina, but she sounded far away. Too far away.

I
had
to
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
move
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I had to
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
stop
 
.
 
.
 
.

I heard someone laugh. Triumphant.

I pulled my face upright, looking at the Ankh.

He was smiling as he pulled the lever.

M
iss Exington screamed again, the horrible sound cutting through the chamber.

Frantic, I looked over at Miss Stoker. Her eyes were empty, her expression dull. The hilt of a dagger protruded from her side. A dark stain ate into the fabric of her tunic, spreading rapidly, and blood covered her hand. Her chest heaved, as if she’d been running. The blood-slicked pistol slipped from her grip and tumbled to the floor.

I returned my attention to the Ankh, and then to Miss Exington, who had gone silent in her agony, still straining at her bonds. Then I turned back to my partner, who still hadn’t removed the knife. All the while, I was cognizant of the heavy, hard metal of a pistol barrel pressing into my side.

Unfortunately, that heavy, hard metal of a pistol barrel was just above the pocket which held my own heavy, hard metal pistol
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
currently unavailable to assist me.

I could do nothing but watch the grisly scene unfold.

And I realized with a sudden cold rush that this was what awaited me.

After what seemed like forever—and yet not long enough—Miss Exington’s body went taut, vibrating rigidly. She convulsed against the statue as the vicious current continued to pulse through her.

The dull
thud-thud-thud-thud
was horrifying.

At last, the Ankh, her false facial hair gleaming golden, returned the lever to its original position, and the chamber fell silent. The only sound was my own heartbeat, filling my ears.

I focused and dared a glance at Miss Stoker. She seemed to become aware again and yanked the dagger out of her midsection. Holding it in her hand, she took one awkward step toward the Ankh, but stopped when her adversary swooped down, picked up the pistol, and pointed it at her.