The Clockwork Scarab
Chapter 12

Miss Holmes
Horror
Miss 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.
Blood pooled on the floor at my companion's feet. Splat. Splat. Splat.
"I don't think you'll be needing this any longer, Miss Stoker," said the Ankh. She wiped off the pistol with gloved hands.
My attention riveted on those gloved hands. Something familiar . . . As the Ankh replaced her handkerchief in a breast pocket, giving it a particular tuck with an odd flutter of her fingertips, my breath caught. Lady Cosgrove-Pitt had done precisely the same movement this morning while speaking to Lady Corteville.
I'd observed our captor closely during the entire course of events, watching for familiar traits and movements. Instinct told me I was correct in my suspicions, even though the Ankh looked nothing like Lady Isabella-she was taller, for one thing. She also had a different shape to her nose and jaw-from what I could discern behind the false beard and mustache. Even her teeth were different, but I well knew the effects of theatrical costume. Her eyes were heavily made up and shadowed by the curling blonde hair falling over her eyebrows, making it impossible to observe their natural shape. Her voice wasn't right either; it was much too low and deep.
I was an excellent example of how makeup and theatrics can obliterate one's identity. But there were certain mannerisms one couldn't or didn't hide, even when deep in disguise.
"From a family of legend, but not quite legendary yourself, are you, Miss Stoker?" Our captor tipped her head just as she lifted her chin-in the very same way Lady Isabella had done this morning when she'd greeted me.
The Ankh was Lady Cosgrove-Pitt.
I was convinced, but now I needed to prove it.
My attention turned back to the room at large as our captor continued to taunt my companion. "I must admit, Miss Stoker, I was concerned when I recognized you during our last meeting. As you come from a family of vampire hunters, I expected you to be more of a challenge. I thought you might be a hunter as well . . . but I was clearly mistaken."
Miss Stoker's face twisted, her eyes burned, filled with loathing and guilt. "You killed her."
The Ankh's eyebrows lifted into a swath of thick blonde hair. I could almost see Lady Isabella's sneer behind the mustache. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Miss Stoker. Miss Exington offered up her life force to the goddess Sekhmet. Did you not see how eager she was?"
"She begged you to release her."
"By then it was already too late. If she died as a result of her decision, it's no fault of mine. She wanted to raise the goddess as much as I do."
I could no longer remain silent, despite the gun pressing into my side. "What you did was murder. Just as it was with Mayellen Hodgeworth and Allison Martindale and Lilly Corteville."
The Ankh turned, her eyes scoring over me. She made a sharp gesture to my gun-toting guard.
Before she could grab me-and notice the firearm in my pocket-I snatched off my bonnet and its false hair. I no longer had reason to obscure my identity; I wanted her to know who I was. I peeled off the heavy dark brows, the rubber tip on my nose, and spit out the small clay pieces I'd held in my mouth to change the shape of my cheeks.
"Miss Holmes," said the Ankh, "are you attempting to live up to the reputation of your family as well? That plan doesn't seem to have worked in your favor."
Considering that I had a gun pressed into my side, my companion was wounded (possibly mortally), and no one knew where we were, even I couldn't make a convincing counterargument. Neither Miss Stoker nor I had done a particularly admirable job of carrying out our duties thus far.
Instead, I tried to think of a way out of our predicament, and for the first time, I felt a tremor of apprehension. The weight of the gun in my pocket mocked me with its uselessness. I eased away from my guard.
"It's fortuitous that you've both chosen to join me here tonight," said the Ankh, stroking her mustache with gloved fingers. "The two of you could be useful. Imagine what the life forces of a Stoker and a Holmes would bring to the resurrected Sekhmet. And what power I'll have when she's brought back to life."
"Don't be absurd," I said with great bravado. If the Ankh meant to give my life force to Sekhmet, I was no longer in danger from the gun poking my side. "You don't truly believe you can resurrect a goddess by . . . what? Collecting artifacts that might have belonged to her? I've never heard anything so ridiculous."
The Ankh didn't take my bait. "Believe what you will." She aimed the pistol at me and gestured to the woman at my side. "Bastet, attend to Miss Exington. She's in the way."
As Bastet moved away to do her mistress's bidding, I glanced at Hathor and his companion. They were watching, giving me no opportunity to pull out my firearm. I looked at Miss Stoker. To my horror, she'd slumped to the floor and sat with her head sagging to the side. Blood soaked the wall and floor around her.
Was she dead? Hadn't she told me multiple times that vampire hunters had great strength, speed, and healing capabilities. How could she be dead?
I started toward my companion. "She's hurt," I said when the Ankh's cold eyes fastened on me.
"That was my intent," said our malevolent hostess. "But feel free to see to her if you like. The less blood she loses, the more useful she'll be."
"Miss Stoker," I said as I knelt next to her, "Evaline." The pungent scent of blood filled my nose. "Let me help you." I began to feel around in an attempt to stanch her wound, but she closed her fingers around my wrist. Her grip was astonishingly strong.
I looked at her, able to see her face unobstructed for the first time. The fogginess had disappeared. Her eyes, downcast until now, when they fastened on mine, were as sharp as they'd ever been.
"Keep talking. I'm going to make a distraction," she murmured. "When I do, the door . . . it's in the back . . ."
"All right," I said, glancing over at the Ankh. She was rearranging the wires from the device as Bastet and Hathor moved Miss Exington's limp body away. The other guard watched me with a cold gaze. I manipulated myself so that the side with my firearm was out of his sight. "Miss Stoker, I-"
"I should have stopped it. I could have stopped it, and I didn't." Her voice broke. She looked down at the blood on her hand, dried and cracked. I wasn't certain if she was truly seeing it, or looking at something that wasn't actually there.
"Evaline," I began again. Trying to be inconspicuous, I pushed my gun out without putting my hand in the pocket. She turned away. Her beautiful face had become stone.
"Get away from her."
I jolted, looking up to see Hathor's companion standing over me, pointing a gun. It had enough gadgets and gears on it that I wasn't inclined to ignore his warning.
Reluctantly, I stood, using my foot and the cover of my skirts to slide the weapon firmly up against Miss Stoker. "She's badly hurt," I said as the guard gestured me to stand against the wall at what he must consider a safe distance from my companion.
"More's the pity," said the Ankh from her position behind the table. She looked purposefully at Hathor, who moved off the dais to stand over my companion. "I dislike being rushed. But we can't have her dying before I'm finished, so let us hurry with the preparations."
"Lilly Corteville escaped from you," I said. I could use my attempts to distract the Ankh by getting confirmation for my deductions. "She was meant to be attached to the cuff, wasn't she? But she got away before you could do it."
The Ankh looked at me, her shadowed, black-ringed eyes shining with dark pleasure. Even now that I knew she was Lady Cosgrove-Pitt, I still couldn't see it in her eyes.
"You are a clever one," she said. "Perhaps worthy of the Holmes name after all. Yes indeed, each of the instruments must be given the power of a life force in order to become reanimated. And it occurs to me that the stronger and more worthy the life force of the animator is, the more powerful Sekhmet will be. That is why I find it serendipitous to have two excellent candidates for the diadem. You and your companion."
"You took the life force from Mayellen and Allison the same way you did from Della Exington," I said as the Ankh made her preparations at the table. "Why did you leave their bodies where they could be found?"
"Surely you can deduce that, Miss Holmes."
"One can only assume it was to make it look as if they'd taken their own lives. If bodies were found murdered, then there would be a crime to investigate, and you could be discovered. If they were found to have taken their own lives, there would be no investigation. And even if the bodies were simply disposed of, there would still be an investigation into their disappearance. Mayellen Hodgeworth was the one who was attached to the scepter. You were witnessed leaving the museum with it-and the statue of Sekhmet-on the night she was killed. After she was killed. You did it there, didn't you?"
"Apparently my confidence in you wasn't misplaced after all," our hostess commented as she added some dried substance that smelled musty and old to the bowl. "There'd surely be a place for one like you in Sekhmet's court, once she's resurrected."
"I'm afraid I must decline."
"That wasn't an invitation, Miss Holmes. I was merely making idle conversation."
The Ankh picked up the crown, presumably the final of the four instruments. Except . . . according to the message I'd received from Dylan, he'd located the diadem. The real one, if his information from the future was correct. The one the Ankh held resembled the drawings I'd seen, but it wasn't identical. My mind began to click through the possible ways to utilize this information. I continued my interrogation. "And you left the scarabs near the bodies for what reason? Surely not to lead us here, to you?"
"No, not at all. The scarabs were meant to be a warning to the other members of my Society. Some of them were becoming unsettled and uncomfortable."
"Like Lilly Corteville."
"Lilly was a mistake. She was to be the first, and she escaped just as we were beginning the process. I couldn't find her after that."
"Until today." I looked toward her, trying to imagine what that face would look like without the heavy fringe of hair over the forehead, and the thick, obstructing facial hair. Her face was angled so that I still couldn't get a clear view of her eyes as I made this pronouncement. But I knew anyway. I was certain.
"I know who you are."
The Ankh stilled, then laughed low and deep. "Even if you did, which I'm more than assured is not the case, it won't matter now. You won't be able to tell anyone."
"Your plan isn't going to work. You must have all four of the instruments for Sekhmet to rise. All four of the correct instruments, or Sekhmet won't be resurrected after all, regardless of whose life force you use."
"What are you saying?"
"That isn't Sekhmet's diadem."
The Ankh had ceased her preparations and stood unmoving. I read the struggle in the stance of her body: she didn't want to believe, she didn't want to have erred . . . but nor did she want to take the chance of failing at such an important moment.
I decided to assist her along the path of uncertainty. "The real one is at the British Museum."
She gave me a chill smile. "You're mistaken, Miss Holmes. I've commissioned or searched every part of the building myself. This is the Holy Diadem of Sekhmet."
I forced myself to keep from looking at Evaline. What was taking her so long? If she didn't act, I'd run out of things to say-and I'd find myself attached to the statue.
Keeping my attention on my adversary, acutely aware of the proximity of my personal guard and his gun, I replied, "The fact that the crown you're holding looks nothing like any of the drawings doesn't lead you to question your certainty? A woman like you wouldn't want to take the chance of being wrong. After all your plans. If you were wrong . . . they'd all come to naught. And you would have lost your chance."
Silence reigned for a long moment. What was Evaline waiting for?
"And I happen to be the only one who knows where the real diadem is," I said.
Miss Stoker
Out of the Frying Pan
At Miss Holmes's announcement, I did three things at once: surged to my feet, discharged the Steam-Stream gun, and yanked on a string I'd looped around the leg of the Ankh's table.
The guard who'd been halfheartedly watching me howled when I slammed into his chin with the top of my head. The table shifted and fell off the dais. Its contents tumbled everywhere. And the blast of steam from my gun seared into the guard next to Miss Holmes.
I met her eyes. "Go!"
She darted toward the double doors as I whirled to blast the gun at the Ankh. He ducked, reaching for a weapon in his pocket as I discharged the gun again. This time it caught Bastet, and the woman screamed as the steam burned through her tunic and into her arm.
Boom! Something had fallen off the preparation table and combined with an element it shouldn't have. Flames erupted, catching on the edge of a tablecloth, and jumped quickly to an upholstered chair. Soon the space would be engulfed.
I ran toward the door in Miss Holmes's wake, flinging a heavy table behind me. The guard whose jaw I broke wasn't fast enough, and the table caught him in the torso. He stumbled back and fell into the man I'd Steam-Streamed. In the midst of the chaos, someone's pistol discharged with a loud crack.
The flames spread near the front of the chamber, and as I turned back to blast one more wide stream of steam around the room, I heard a loud mechanical grinding. But I didn't wait to find out what it was; I shot steam at my pursuers and burst through the double doors into the opium room.
To my relief, the chamber was empty except for Miss Holmes, who'd paused at the opposite side. Why was she waiting for me?
"Go!" I couldn't stop, I couldn't allow myself to think. If I did, everything would catch up to me: the pain, the loss of blood, my cowardice.
I should have stopped them. I should have saved her.
My partner went through the double doors, and I was only seconds behind her. We bolted down the corridor, and just as we rounded the corner, a figure appeared.
Miss Holmes hesitated, but I recognized him. "Keep going!" I pushed her between the shoulder blades as I met Pix's eyes. "There's a fire!"
My partner was panting, not used to the sort of physical activity that came naturally to me. Pix seemed to understand, for he grabbed her arm and helped me tow her along. She didn't argue, but she was probably so out of breath she simply couldn't. When she stumbled again, he slung her over his shoulder just as he'd done with Lilly Corteville. And he continued to run, outpacing even me.
We were coming out onto the street when I remembered Amunet. Tied up and hidden in the side hall where I'd left her.
"Oh no," I said, taking one deep breath of cool night air. "She's trapped!"
It was one thing to leave the Ankh and his guards in the chamber to find their way out. But Amunet was helpless and no one knew she was there.
No one but me.
I dashed back into the building. I had time. The building was made from brick. It wasn't as if it was going to burn to the ground. But the smoke, and the flames . . . they would eat anything wooden or cloth.
Or human.
Using my small illuminator for light, I retraced our steps. Despite the growing pain from my wound and the renewed flow of blood, I managed to find my way back . . . back to the opium room, now filling with a different sort of smoke . . . back through the side door, where Pix had stolen that kiss from me right against that wall . . . into the side hallway, tinged with smoke. A dull, grating roar filled my ears.
Beaming my light, I ran up the narrow corridor to where I had left Amunet. The smoke had begun to filter through, but it wasn't as thick as I'd expected. Light flickered from . . . the open door.
Amunet was gone.
But I wasn't alone.
I looked up to find a gun pointed at me.
"Welcome back, Miss Stoker."