A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(94)

“I’ve heard them say it with my own ears,” Alexandre admitted. “That they don’t ask for bloody names at the door and it’s not their bloody job to memorize every customer’s face.”

“Heg-zactly. Ain’t nobody gonna suspect yer.” Alf cackled. “Woi should they? Didn’t yer bring th’ gel along loik a good liddle gennlemun? Ain’t yew got a good repewtation? Doin’ yer doody an’ all thet muck. Yew’ll get a pat on th’ back an’ sent ’ome, thet’s what’ll ’appen. An’ if Sherlock Bloody ’Olmes comes along askin’ where we found ’er, Oi’ll give ’im a good answer an’ ’e c’n go do ’is bloody detectin’ there.”

And, in fact, once his heart stopped pounding like a steam piston, he realized Alf was absolutely right. No one would suspect him, any more than they’d be suspecting anyone else in this street. He’d be commended for being a good citizen and sent away. And if Sherlock Holmes did turn up, why, there would be nothing connecting them to the girl.

“Alf . . . you are a genius,” he said fervently. “What time is it?”

“Not tew late fer me t’hev a talk wit’ th’madame,” Alf assured him. “But yew better go down an’ let thet thing know it ain’t gonna get nuthin’ naow, an’ if’t gets rid’a yew, it ain’t gonna get nuthin’ ever, ’cause it don’t got my scent an’ Oi ain’t gonna play no games with somethin’ what et my boss, Oi’m gonna leg it outa ’ere an’ lock the ’ouse up behind me. Naow lemme get dressed proper fer visitin’ th’ ’Ouse.”

Alf left, and shaking in every limb, Alexandre pulled on trousers, a dressing gown, and slippers—and went to the strongbox in his bureau. Loyalty like Alf’s needed to be rewarded immediately, so they both knew the consequences of both desertion and continued loyalty. He counted out ten golden guineas—he had no fear that Alf would have any trouble making use of a coin that large, for he had done so before, just not quite so many—and opened the door to find Alf pulling on an overcoat in the hall.

“Here,” he said, holding the heavy gold coins out where the hall light would catch their glow. “This is just for your cab fare out and back, and you keep all the rest for yourself. I’ll expect to pay the madame separately. And accordingly.”

Alf’s eyes gleamed, but he tugged on his hat brim. “Thenks, guv. I ’spect we’re both clever fellers, eh?”

“I certainly hope so, because I am about to test my cleverness against that . . . thing.” He squared his shoulders and swallowed. “Let’s just see how clever I am.”

Resolutely, he lit the lamp waiting on the hall table, opened the basement door, and if he didn’t exactly march down the stairs, at least he didn’t tiptoe, either. Better open with my strongest cards, he decided as he reached the bottom. He stood just out of tentacle reach (or so he hoped) and barked at the dark void in the floor, “You there! I have something to say to you!”

Nothing. Well, at least it didn’t strike me down for insolence . . . yet. He didn’t venture any nearer, but he raised his voice, and thought at it as hard as he could, “I said, you there! If you want any more sacrifices, you had better come out of that hole right now because we need to have a chat! You are in no position to be demanding any—”

He bit off the last word as the pillar of darkness suddenly loomed up, larger than ever, out of the hole. And there was something both hostile and edgy about it, although he could not have said what told him that if his life had depended on it. At least it didn’t sprout tentacles—or at least, not yet.

We told you—

“I know damned well what you told me,” he snapped. “And you’re not going to bloody well get it! You think virgins are lying about in the street for me to pick up? That last little delivery has sent the police crawling everywhere, looking for the abductor now! I’m of no damned mind to get myself hauled off and thrown in a cell because you are impatient to get your last ‘pure one’!”

There was a long—a very long—pause.

. . . what are Police?

“People that can and will lock me up and brick up this house, leaving you to starve alone until the end of time, my friend!” he snapped. “There are a lot more of them than you imagine, I promise you! They can seal this place up so you can never get out.” Unless they called on the White Lodge, that probably wasn’t true—but the odds had certainly changed, and they might. Now that Sherlock Holmes was on the case, they might! God only knew the kinds of resources that devil had at his disposal. He could probably have tracked the coach back here just from the cuts and dents in the wheels if the streets hadn’t been frozen as hard as rocks!

He felt something cold and alien crawling through his mind at that point . . . and this time, rather than being paralyzed, he thought, fiercely, about the worst possible outcome he could imagine. Holmes finding him. Being dragged off in a Black Maria and thrown into prison and hung. The White Lodge turning up and performing a ceremony of the sort he could only create out of imagination, full of clergymen and Elementals and lights and pure power, and sealing the house away inside something like a glass egg, only made of power.

He felt the thing withdraw from his mind. And there was silence for a very long time.