Chapter Eleven

“Romney?” Leaning against the locked cellar door, Topaz whispered his name. Part of her awareness—seemingly bonded to him—had accompanied him through that door and down the stairs. She’d half sensed his progress as he moved steadily away from her, and now she sensed something that made her heart leap in her chest.

He had vanished.

Alarm widened her eyes and made her press her palms against the panel. How could he just disappear from her awareness that way?

Panic flooded her, swift and hot. She couldn’t have lost him…no. For in only three short days his spirit had become part of hers; the sudden loss now stunned her.

Could she reach for him? Would the latent ability inside her stretch so far? Leaning against the panel, she considered the question. She had never wanted to utilize the talent she knew lay within. Fear and a certain level of decency prohibited it. Yet dealing with Romney Marsh had limbered it, freed it, and she would risk far more to assist him, were he in trouble.

To reach him.

She closed her eyes and for the first time in her life opened all her senses. She quested for him.

Beyond the doorway, down the stairs. She knew how the cellar looked; she had been there in the past, though not recently. A hallway led straight from the stairs, lined with doors. Tiny sparks of light led her along like breadcrumbs, shed as it seemed by Romney’s spirit. But beyond that—nothing.

Desperation caused sweat to break out all over her body. Where was he? She needed to find him. She unfurled all her power and tried again.

“Topaz?” Her father’s voice, close beside her.

She started violently; she hadn’t heard him approach, far too distracted to notice even his ever-present cortege of spirits.

Yet he now stood at her elbow, clad in his dressing gown of golden silk, a curious look in his eyes.

“Daughter, what are you doing?”

Hastily she withdrew her questing senses, wondering how much her father could feel. He watched her steadily, awaiting an answer, so she said, “I thought I heard something.”

His black brows lifted. Never a man to speak in haste, he pondered before replying, “You heard something all the way upstairs?”

“No, I—came down for a bite to eat after being out.”

His dark gaze never wavered from her face even though he nodded at the kitchen beyond. “And why would you not request something from one of the units?”

“They’re all on shut down at this hour.”

“And they exist for our convenience, only that.”

“Of course. But I’d just as soon prepare a sandwich for myself. I’m sure I heard something behind this door.”

And was that a tactical error? Would her father send his acute senses there and, being much better refined than hers would they detect Romney’s presence?

Something flickered in his dark eyes. Topaz felt his energy—always so focused—shift momentarily. But he said nothing.

Did that mean Romney was truly gone? But where? How? And how would she bear it?

“Father,” she said, “what is down there?”

He placed his warm hand on her shoulder. “Nothing to worry you, Topaz.”

“Then why do you keep it locked?” She wanted to break through that door so badly she nearly foamed at the mouth.

But he shook his head. “You know the kind of work I pursue. No sense letting the servants stumble on our projects.”

“Projects? But you—”

Calmly he said, “I coax willing spirits into manufactured bodies at the requests of their loved ones. You are already aware of that.”

“And—into animals.”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“Perhaps that’s what I heard, an animal in distress. We should go down and see.” Anything to get her nearer Romney.

Her father frowned. “Is that how it sounded? Like an animal?”

“Perhaps. Yes.”

“But there are no animals on the premises at this time.”

“Just mechanical units? Nothing alive?”

Frederick Hathor smiled. “Nothing alive, I assure you.”

Dead bodies, Romney had said. So her father did not lie. But why would he have corpses in the house? What possible reason could there be?

“Father, I wish you would tell me more about your work.”

“Really? Why now? For years I have been trying without success to get you interested in my work. ‘The work of the Devil,’ I think you called it. Let souls go where destined at death, you said—yes, I am sure that’s what you told me.”

“Yes, but…” Agonized, Topaz turned her eyes back to the cellar door. Still she sensed no hint from Romney. Nothing…

She fought back her panic and struggled to master her thoughts. “I remembered you saying you had some intriguing experiments ongoing in conjunction with your new colleague, Danson Clifford. Tell me about those.”

Frederick put his arm around her and turned her firmly away from the cellar door.

“If you’re truly interested in my work, Topaz, you should agree to become my assistant. I have been asking you this last year or more.”

“You asked me to act as receptionist for those who come to you for spiritual guidance, not—not be involved in your experiments. I think I would find that much more interesting.”

“Yes?” Still steering her toward the grand staircase, he cocked his head. “That would require you to work with young Danson.”

“I’ve not met him.” Topaz remembered how Sapphire had described the man: nouveau riche. But this city was filled with the newly prosperous—and the devastatingly poor. For her part, Topaz knew which she preferred.

But such thoughts wouldn’t get her into the cellar.

Her father went on, with some emphasis. “It would also require absolute confidentiality on your part.” He laid his finger against the side of his nose. “You couldn’t breathe a word of what Danson and I share to anyone—including your mother or brother.”

That distracted Topaz for an instant. What could her father possibly be about that he wouldn’t share with his wife? And which required corpses…

“You can certainly rely on my discretion.” Her father didn’t know half of what she got up to and never would. And she would readily sell her conscience for Romney Marsh’s sake.

She paused at the foot of the stairs and considered that fact. She loved her brother and the other members of her family—even this man at her side in a way too complex for her to unravel. She also cared deeply for certain members of her community—Patrick Kelly included. But she couldn’t say she would abandon her principles for any one of them.

So how could she in just a few short days bond with Romney Marsh to such a deeper extent? A man she had never actually met, had never seen more clearly than as a hazy, transparent image hanging in the air. But what an image! And what a spirit he had that whispered to her, claimed her, set up a level of need she fully realized only now that he was gone.

She looked her father in the eye. “I would very much like to be part of this new project.”

“Then I will introduce you to Danson. He will, of course, have to agree about including you.”

“Of course.”

Frederick smiled. “He will be here this afternoon, Daughter. You can meet him then.”

****

Romney. Romney Marsh.

The call came like lightning arcing through water, spearing the black void into which Romney had dispersed. Very like droplets of water in a vast sea, the particles of energy from which he was composed had nearly been assimilated by the darkness.

But now desire pulled at them, aroused and drew them together. Someone called him. He had a reason to be.

Separate pricks of light, well-scattered, moved in the blackness of oblivion, and the nothingness abruptly became the cellar of Frederick Hathor’s mansion. One bit of energy joined another, gathering strength as they combined. Not destroyed, he existed yet.

He existed for her.

A bright picture flooded his consciousness: a woman armed with a stiletto fighting naked in the cold breeze from an open window. Long black hair swirled about her and brushed against her generous white curves; strength commanded her every line and danger glittered in amber eyes, set aslant in her face.

Topaz.

Recalling her, longing consumed him. He remembered little of his identity or how he’d come here, scattered. Dead. Not dead.

But he knew he needed to be with her, drawn as irresistibly as iron to a lodestone.

He became aware suddenly that other spirits accompanied him here—a horde of them. He could feel their emotions: grief and fear, anxiety, eagerness and longing that matched his own. They all wanted something, had all—like him—been drawn to this place. Now some could not get away again.

Could he? Where was “away”? Where did he belong, save with Topaz? How could he escape and return to her?

Determined for it, he gathered himself, strove to answer her call. But he had barely condensed before a greater call descended upon him. With a rush of horror and dismay he recognized it.

Not dead, no: and that being so, he had still a connection to his body. That drew him now with irresistible force. He had no power to resist and, gathered into a glowing net of energy, his spirit flew abruptly backward, like water down a chute, until he found himself sailing, sailing, sailing to a place he did not want to be.

With a perceptible pop he reentered his body, and pain descended on him like a hammer.

He opened his eyes and began to scream.