The Raven Spell (Conspiracy of Magic #1)(40)
“It’s him,” she insisted. “It has to be. Look at the name.” She bit her nail as she waited for Ian to come to the same conclusion. “That’s his real name. Fey is his stage name. But why hasn’t anyone from the police come by the theater to check? Or come tell me what happened or where he is?” The name in the paper listed Henry Elvanfoot as the lone victim to have survived an attack. “They got the first name mixed up, is all.” She began to pace. “The papers get things wrong all the time, right? Which means he’s alive.”
“Nae, Lizzie, listen to me. That’s what I need to tell you. The man listed in the paper is me. I’m the one they found on the foreshore. I’m the one who was hit on the head and left for dead. I had a sort of amnesia when I woke up in hospital,” he said, not yet knowing how much he could confide about magic to this woman. “Couldn’t remember anything. The police found Henry Elvanfoot’s card in my pocket and thought that’s who I was. A wee muddle. I’m sorry, lass. It isn’t him.”
She sank onto the stool in front of her makeup mirror. “Then where is he?”
“I’m sorry I canna tell you yet. I still dinna remember everything that’s happened over the last four days. But I believe I was very close to finding him. I must have been, to earn that clout on the head.”
“Four days? Didn’t take you for a drinker, Mr. Cameron.” Her eyes gave him the once-over, from his unshaven face to his wrinkled clothes that reeked of the foreshore and city soot. “I’ve seen men black out for days at a time before.”
“Nae, ’tisn’t that. I promise you. Just a hit on the head.” He struggled with the notion of explaining the truth, but it was clear she was a mortal, and there was no way of knowing how much George Elvanfoot had confided in her. “All I know is I was sent here to find George, and I will. With your help, if you’ll give it.”
Ian swore she sniffed the air to see if she smelled alcohol on him, then gave a vague nod of her head. “That’s what you said the other day when you were here. That you’d find him. But it’s already been near three weeks since he disappeared. Why wouldn’t he come home unless something terrible has happened? And with that maniac roaming the streets out there attacking people. I’ve checked the hospitals and the police station, but the cops don’t know nothing. Or more like don’t want to talk to me.”
He was certain more than ever there was a connection between George’s disappearance and the recent string of murders. He wouldn’t have spent time drawing crime scenes in his hotel room if he hadn’t thought the events were related. He didn’t get distracted from a case. He charged forward, following one lead after another until he came to the end of the line, working out the details with notes, drawings, and interviews. The same way he’d worked a case when he was a detective with the Witches’ Constabulary. Whatever happened to George Elvanfoot, or George Fey, was inexplicably tied up in the city’s latest drama.
“I’m sorry to do this to you, Lizzie, but can we start over again? Can you tell me everything you told me before? When was the last time you saw George? Did anything unusual happen that day? His father gave me the name of this music hall as a contact point, but he wasn’t sure if it was still true, so maybe start with why he might have said that.”
Lizzie had been lost in her own thoughts as he spoke, obviously listening with only one ear. But at the mention of the father, she seemed to find a steady point to hold on to. “George didn’t think his father approved of his work in the city. I’ve never met his father, but I know he’s never made the effort to visit us. Shame, really. George has made a real name for himself recently.”
“He works as a magician, doesn’t he?” Ian casually opened his watch to get another reading, wondering if Lizzie knew of George’s magical heredity. He was reasonably certain she was pure mortal, but it never hurt to check, especially for those attracted to the stage.
“He was still doing his magic act when we first met. We got hired on at the Wilshire at the same time two years ago. He had a natural gift for doing tricks, you know? Never even rehearsed. But it wasn’t what he wanted to do. Not long term.”
“What did he want?”
Lizzie picked up a stick of lip color and turned toward the vanity mirror. “Like I told you last time, he’s an actor now,” she said, as if George had achieved the highest rung one could reach. She drew a layer of rose pink on her lips that accentuated her flawless skin and brown eyes. “He got the lead in a new play by Jacques Dubois. Not in one of those West End house productions but very up and coming. In the city proper at the Belfry Theater.” She stopped and pressed her lips together. “Only it’s an odd play. About man’s duality and inner demons. Half-man, half-beast storyline. Don’t get me wrong, he was perfect for the role, but the burden of taking on such a disturbed character changed him.”
“Oh? How so?” Ian asked.
Lizzie hesitated, as though unsure how much she should share, then apparently erred on the side of more was better if it meant finding George and bringing him home. “He got real philosophical, you know? Asking questions about the meaning of life. The inequality of power. He was always a serious man, but he knew how to have a good laugh too. It’s why I fell in love with him. But after performing the role for a couple of weeks, he began sulking during the day. I’d catch him staring out the window in the middle of the afternoon. Just watching the crowds and carriages going by for an hour or more, and all the time talking about how depraved people really were on the inside. And how if only there were windows on people’s brains, you could see what despicable thoughts they were truly having.”