The Curious Case Of The Clockwork Menace (13 page)

And then he
realized why.

The scene was
a gruesome one. One of the lighting hands - Millington, he thought
- was standing over a large, fallen figure. Blood spilled from
beneath Lovecraft’s vacant face, and pooled beneath his massive
chest. A bullet had taken him straight through the temple, and
there were two more in his back.

The creature’s
clockwork hand twitched once - then twice - as though the clockwork
mechanism hadn’t realized the body attached was dead. It was
somewhat eerie.

“
Well done!” Rommell clapped Millington on the back, one of
his feet hooked up on Lovecraft’s head, like a man posing for a
daguerreotype with his ‘trophy’. “Hoorah, boys! The menace is
dead!”

They all
cheered. Garrett felt ill. And where the hell was Perry? She should
have heard that, and come running.

Rommell saw
him standing there, and sneered. “No thanks to you Nighthawks.” He
clapped Millington on the shoulder again. “Needed some real men on
the case.”

Garrett met
Rommell’s eyes, the darkness within stirring through him. Rommell’s
smile froze as though he sensed some of the menace, and Garrett
turned away. Let them have their fun. He was here for business.

He knelt by
the body. Hot red blood puddled out, soaking into the timbers, but
nearby was a splash of something darker in the shadows by the back
curtain. Almost a handprint of bluish-red blood, small, like a
woman’s hand.

No
. His gaze locked on that print,
and he scrambled toward it. Only those stricken by the craving
virus had bluish-blood. It was what gave the blue bloods their
name.

Which meant it
had to have come from Rommell - or Perry.

And Rommell
wasn’t injured.

She’d been
here. Fury and rage flooded through him, along with fear. Most of
the men were still laughing, and someone had sent for the
photography equipment so they could immortalise the image of
Rommell standing by Lovecraft, with one fist curled in the
creature’s hair.

Garrett shoved
his way into the shadows, searching for more signs of Perry. There
- another spatter of dark blood flicked up the walls. He knew the
type of blood pattern. She’d been struck by something hard. Had it
been Lovecraft? What the hell had happened here? And where was she?
Christ, he should have been here with her. Not letting her go off
alone–

“
What’s wrong?” Miss Radcliffe was there, one hand on his
sleeve, and Garrett realized the darkness within him had almost
blinded him to his surroundings.

“
It’s Perry,” he said. “She was here. She was bleeding.” But
she wasn’t here now. Panic closed his throat until it was hard to
breathe. “I don’t know where she is now. She has to be hurt, but I
don’t know where she’s gone.”

Miss
Radcliffe’s dark eyes swam into his vision, looking worried.
“Perhaps she’s in one of the dressing rooms?”

He eyed that
blood spatter pattern. Someone had hit her, and now she was gone.
Things just weren’t adding up, and he had a horrible feeling deep
inside, turning his bones to lead. Instinct. The same instinct that
had led Perry to believe Lovecraft wouldn’t hurt her. “How could
Nelly have gone missing so easily?” he murmured to himself. “No one
saw her go, she just disappeared, and now Perry’s vanished too, as
though she was never here. How? There are only three exits from the
theatre, and the place is always full of people.”

“
Well, there are the tunnels beneath us,” Miss Radcliffe said,
then her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, goodness.” She slapped a hand
to her mouth. “The tunnels! They were there when the new theatre
was built over the last one, during the fire. They’re full of water
now, but I know some of the men use them to dump refuse
into.”

His blood was
like ice in his veins. “Where?” Garrett asked hoarsely.

Miss Radcliffe
swept a curtain out of the way, revealing a hidden trapdoor in the
floor. “Right here.”

There was a
drop of dark blood on the timber floor in front of it.

CHAPTER
TEN

“
PERRY!” GARRETT yelled, his fists clenched into tight balls
at his sides.

His voice
echoed through the tunnels, then faded, leaving him in a ringing
silence that knotted each muscle in his gut. Garrett spun, staring
at the three tunnels in front of him. Water drifted slowly through
them, leading to one of the underground rivers that afflicted
London. Where was she?

Water sloshed about his knees as he started forward, peering
into the darkness of first one tunnel, then the next.
“Perry?!”
Damn you, answer
me
.

His heart was
starting to beat a little faster now, a little harder. She had to
be down here somewhere, but why wouldn’t she answer?

His mind supplied a brutal image in response to that, and
Garrett shied away, shoving it deep.
No
. No, no, no. He waded further
into the left tunnel, sniffing the air, desperate to find some
trace of her. He’d never been a good tracker - his skills lay
elsewhere - but he had to try.

A whisper of
sound reverberated through the aural communicator. Garrett stared
across at the other tunnel, every muscle in his body locked tight
as he cupped a hand over it, trying to pinpoint the origin of the
sound. Static hissed in his ear, but that meant she had to be
close, didn’t it? Within two hundred feet, for the frequency to
have picked up its matching communicator.

Lifting the
phosphorescent glimmer ball high, he waded back into the main
tunnel, and peered into the smaller access sewer across from him.
Down there? There was no further sound, no scent, nothing, just the
faintest of hopes.

Garrett took a
step forward... and fell up to his hips in the cold, stinking
water. Gritting his teeth, he surged forward, the water deepening.
Its cold fingers penetrated his leather body armour, restricting
the movement of his legs.

Nothing to say
where she’d gone, only a certain restlessness, a need, a drive to
find her. Garrett staggered through the dark, ending up chest deep
in the water. The tunnel began to narrow, barely a foot above the
top of the water. If she’d come this far... He hesitated.

Please. Please God, let her be alive
. Words he hadn’t uttered for over twenty years, when he’d
been a young human lad, growing up in the rough streets of Bethnal.
Blue bloods didn’t believe in religion; or perhaps religion didn’t
believe in them. Only as demons, who deserved to die.

Garrett
glanced back. Ridiculous to even think she’d come this way, through
the deepening waters. Maybe he should go back? Try one of the other
tunnels?

His gaze swung between both directions, but the gloom of the
tunnel was calling him, and the static in his ear seemed a little
louder.
Just a little
further
.

Holding his
breath against the frigid water, Garrett swam through the darkening
depths, reaching an archway. The water was an inch from the ceiling
here. Despair filled him.

“
Perry!” he called again, the desperate echoes of his voice
ringing in the tunnels.
Where the hell are
you?

He turned to
swim back the way he’d come, but something caught his eye through
the archway. Garrett gulped a mouthful of filthy water as he swung
the glimmer ball that way desperately, clutching at the arch as he
gagged on the water.

Nothing.

Still, his
heart thundered in his ears. He ducked under the arch and kicked
forward, coming up into a larger cavern. The glimmer light stained
the world green and...

There.
Something shiny-slick in the water.

Leather.

His heart
leapt into his throat, and he splashed forward, his feet finding
purchase as he half-strode, half-swam. There was definitely
something in the water. Thank God.

“
Perry?”

Grabbing hold,
he dragged her into his arms. Perry was heavier than he’d
anticipated, a solid weight in his arms that surprised him. Her
pale, frigid face surfaced out of the water, lips painted an eerie
blue.

“
Perry?” he whispered.

Not a sign of
recognition. Not a sound.

She wasn’t
breathing.

Everything in
him went cold.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

Don’t you dare die on me
.

Garrett hauled
Perry into his arms, kicking out for the nearby ledge. He dragged
her out of the water, and let her fall onto the cold stone, jerking
at her coat, and the tight silver buckles on her armoured corset.
She had to breathe. Had to. He wouldn’t accept any other
possibility.

Her head
lolled bonelessly to the side as he resorted to using his knife,
cutting the tight, wet leather corset, and tearing its edges apart
with desperate hands. “Come on,” he snapped, stroking the wet hair
off her pale face as he rolled her to the side, and thumped her
hard in the centre of the back, her wet undershirt clinging to her
skin.

Water spilled
from Perry’s mouth. Not enough though. Garrett tried again and
again, on her side, on her back, using the pressure of his hands to
shove at her abdomen. Her head was bleeding, and he felt the pulpy
softness at the base of her skull that indicated where she’d been
hit from behind.

“
You stubborn bitch.” Heat warmed the back of his eyes as he
cupped her face in his palms, leaning over her. He could feel each
tick of the minutes slowly thudding by, the weight of time pressing
down on him. How long had she been in the water? His mind raced.
Ten minutes? She’d been missing for a good twenty.

Garrett leaned
forward, pressing his lips against her cold ones, and breathing
into her mouth. He’d seen it done once before, when a young lass
tumbled into the Thames when he’d been a boy.

The girl
hadn’t survived.

But Perry wasn’t human. The only ways to truly kill a blue
blood were by decapitation or removing the heart. The craving virus
could heal
anything
.

Couldn’t
it?

Garrett
breathed for her again and again. She was so cold, like ice.
Despair broke over him. “Come on. I’m going to tan your hide when
you’re breathing again.” He couldn’t stand the cold of her, using
his hands to rub her chest and arms, pausing just long enough to
force air into her mouth. “Come on.”

A sudden cough
spilled water into his face. Garrett jerked back in shock as her
eyes sprung wide, and she choked on the water in her mouth and
lungs. He shoved her onto the side, thumping her hard in the middle
of the back as water vomited from her mouth in hideous retching
noises.

“
Perry. Oh, God, Perry.” He dragged her into his arms as the
sound of a breath tore through her throat; the most painful - and
wonderful - sound he’d ever heard. A hand caught at his, a
terrified cry ripping through her raw throat as her body
bowed.

He rocked her
against his chest. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Fingers curled
in the wet lapels of his coat. Another rasping breath of sound made
his chest tighten... but at least she was breathing again.

Garrett
pressed his cold lips against her forehead, screwing his eyes
closed. He didn’t want to let her go, but reason demanded that he
keep them moving, and get some blood into her. She’d be weakened
now, as the craving virus sought to heal her scarred lungs.

Cutting his
wrist, he held it to her lips. Perry’s eyes darkened as the hunger
caught hold, but he didn’t like how unfocused they were.

“
Drink,” he encouraged, holding her mouth to his
wrist.

Perry’s mouth
locked over his skin, and the hunger within her flared to life. The
hot bite of her saliva flooded the wound, and Garrett let out a
breath of relief as she started drinking.

Someone had
shoved her down that trapdoor into the water. Garrett rocked her
gently in his arms as she collapsed back against him. Her eyelashes
fluttered, and she was sated and sleepy now, his blood already
flushing through her system. She’d heal.

But someone
else wouldn’t. Garrett was going to tear the bastard who’d done
this limb from limb.

As soon as
Perry woke up and told him who it was.

Curling her in his arms, Garrett turned and waded to his
feet. He passed the main tunnel, the gleam of the discarded glimmer
ball floating beneath the eerie darkness of the waters. Something
pale ghosted beneath the surface, and Garrett caught a glimpse of
pallid flesh.
What the hell?
He paused and nudged the glimmer ball he’d
dropped closer to the shape.

A bloated set
of fingers floated into view.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

“
I’M SORRY TO ask this,” Garrett murmured, pushing open the
door to the autopsy room at the Guild headquarters. “But we need a
positive identification, and in the absence of Nelly’s familial
background, it has to be someone she worked with.”

Miss Radcliffe
swallowed, looking pale. “Of course.”

Doctor Gibson
looked up from his file, then gestured the actress toward the
autopsy table. “There is some mild decomposition,” he murmured,
lifting back the sheet a couple of inches. “It’s not very pleasant
to look at. Please let us know if you’re feeling unwell.”

One glimpse.
That was all it took.

Miss
Radcliffe’s eyes filled with tears, and she managed a brief nod,
before turning away to cup her hands over her face. Garrett
gestured for Doctor Gibson to drag the sheet up over the dead
woman’s face, and slid a hand over Miss Radcliffe’s shoulder.