A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(63)

They all dove into the school’s occult library—paying particular attention to the “restricted” books kept in Sahib’s study. They didn’t find anything by the time teatime came around and they needed to move to the greenhouse to meet with Robin.

Then again, they hadn’t really expected to. The Hartons had already gone over those books, and they generally dealt with the occult in the East, India specifically, or in Britain, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Cornwall, and the Isle of Man. There was nothing about the Caribbean Islands at all. And not a hint of anything in any of the others that could leave someone mindless . . . or soulless.

Robin was already waiting for them in the greenhouse, very sober, very adult, with no trace of his regular humor. In fact, he looked and acted like the Great Elemental that he was, a prince among his kind, even though he was wearing a quite simple tunic, trousers and boots. When each of them had finished expounding what he or she knew to him, he shook his head.

“The City confounds my magic,” he said. “I can’t watch over it as I can a stretch of woods or fields. I’ve not sensed anything, because there’s too much to sense, and I have tried, oh, I have tried. I fear I’ll be of more use to you when you find the cause, not in finding the cause itself.” He looked into their faces, mournfully—Nan had never seen him sad. Angry, yes, furious in fact. Somber. But never sad. “I feel as if I am failing you, and failing England.”

“Well, have you got any notion as to whether any of our theories is the right one?” Mary Watson asked, finally. “Because that would at least give us somewhere to start.”

He licked his lips thoughtfully. “If I were to say anything, it is that I think Nan has the right of it. But . . . that could be because I am what I am, and I see things directly.” He shrugged. “The hospital is at Hampstead Heath, aye? That’s an easy place for me to go.” He fished in a pocket and pulled out a talisman of twigs tied together with red thread and handed it to John Watson. “When next you go to have a look at those girls, put this someplace in their room where it won’t be cleaned away. I’ll come and look in on them myself and see what I can see.” He tapped his temple with his finger. “After all, I can see farther into a millstone than most.”

“So you can,” Watson agreed, and pocketed the talisman. “If you would do that, I could at least be certain we’d left no stone unturned.”

Robin made a little half bow. “Then I’ll do my best.” He straightened. “And for now, since there’s little enough I can do, I’ll be gone. I’ll be having a word with those creatures that can still dwell in Londinium; especially the ones in the places where the girls were lost and the girls were found. We’ll at least have a few more eyes about, and ears to the ground.”

And before they could thank him, he faded into the grapevines and was gone.

Mary Watson sighed. “I wish our Elementals were of more use. My sylphs would be willing enough, but I doubt they would be able to remember what it was they were to watch for for more than a day. I could put a compulsion on them to remember—but that would be a compulsion, and they’d rebel, as rightly they should.”

“Well, I will be the last person to tell you to violate their trust with such a thing,” Sahib told her. “You have a covenant with them; breaking such a contract is a terrible thing to do.”

“And my water creatures are fundamentally useless in this case,” John admitted. Then he got a thoughtful look on his face. “I could try scrying—but into the past. I know where the girls were last seen—I could see if I can find them at that point, and follow them.”

“Have you ever done that?” Nan asked him.

He shook his head. “No, but I know it can be done, and I can at least try.”

Sahib looked at each of them in turn, thoughtfully. “All right, then. Let’s try that first, in controlled conditions, with all of us guarding you. If you can’t manage this, we’ll know. And if you can—you’ll be well protected.”

“To your study, then?” Watson asked.

Sahib nodded. “Indeed. And if nothing happens, we’ll try to think of something else.”

We’re going to have to think of a great many “something elses” Nan thought as they all headed back to the study. Because so far we have a history of running into a great many brick walls. . . .





12





AS expected, the entity—whose voice had become disturbingly strong, although it was still laconic—gave Alexandre another seven days to produce two more victims. But now that he knew just how easy it was to get what the thing wanted (at least with the entity’s help), Alexandre intended two things. The first was to take his time about it. There was no point in rushing right out and obeying the damned thing when it always gave him the same seven days. He’d worked hard, and by Jove he deserved some time to enjoy himself.

The second was that from now on, he needed to be especially careful. By this point the police had certainly taken notice. Four abducted girls in the course of two weeks, two still missing and two turning up witless—that was certainly going to wake up even the sleepiest police. And that gaggle of idiot girls in the gallery would certainly have told their papas that the ugly wench had last been seen in his company. He doubted they remembered the false name he’d given—they seemed to have more hair than wits—but the authorities would be looking for someone like him at the Grosvenor Gallery by now. And given how rapacious that lot had been, the one thing they would remember was that he had said he was in trade.