These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(23)

After an eternity, I nodded and muttered, “Fine,” as we rounded onto a familiar street. He had led me back to the Kents’, and I had barely realized we moved.

“Good. Then I will have a carriage sent for you at noon tomorrow—”

“No, you will provide me the name and address of your friend, and I will come on my own,” I insisted, watching his face closely for a reaction.

Not even the slightest twitch. “Very well,” he said and paused, looking at me expectantly.

“What is it?”

“I will need my coat.”

I hastily pulled it off, carefully rearranging my arms over the mess of my gown. He coughed, pulled out a pen and a card holder, scrawled an address on the back of a card, and handed it to me.

“I still think you’re mad,” I said.

“I’m sure you do.” He stopped at the intersection of street and alley, on the edge of the greasy streetlamp light. “I trust you can find your way from here?”

“I’m not sure I can get inside. It’s ever so difficult.”

A spark of humor altered his features in a rather pleasing way. “I’m sure you can pry a door open with your quips,” he said, gliding back into the dark street, blending into shadows. Typical.

I crept toward the window I left ajar ages ago and, standing on my toes, shoved it open. A figure flickered by an adjacent window, and my heart jumped along with the rest of my body. Desperately, I pulled myself up and over the sill, tangling my skirts, falling into the room with a thud, and nearly wrecking an expensive-looking Japanese vase. The noise brought rapid footsteps down the hallway to the door, and I frantically scrambled over to a nearby couch. With a final burst of effort, I climbed up and splayed out dramatically, only just remembering to cover my ripped bodice with a nearby blanket.

The doorknob squeaked, and Laura slinked inside, shutting the door behind her. “Evelyn! What in heaven’s name have you been doing?” she whispered as loudly as her voice would allow.

“I barely even know myself,” I groaned.

“What?”

“Never—never mind. I—I’m sorry. Did anyone else notice I was missing?”

“No, Mama is busy with company. Why aren’t you in bed? I thought you were sick!” she exclaimed. I sensed a fit of theatrics ready to erupt.

“Shh, please, be quiet. I’m not sick. I went to find Rose—I believed the man who took her was a magician, and I went to his show.”

“So . . . you lied about being ill?”

What could I say? “I had to. It was the only night for the performance.”

“And you went alone?”

I nodded reluctantly.

“Oooh, Evelyn! That sounds so exciting!” she squealed, clutching her head as if to keep it from exploding. “I do so wish I could have accompanied you! You must include me in the future— investigating a dark magician who abducts sisters. It’s utterly delicious! Almost as delicious as Mr. Edwards tonight. He was so handsome, and his conversation so witty and interesting . . .”

Well. Not the reaction I was expecting. “It was not the same man,” I added, but Laura did not even listen as she continued to chatter and daydream her way out of the room. I followed her out into the hall, casually wrapping the blanket over the ruined dress like a shawl.

“Ah! Miss Wyndham, I heard you were unwell.”

Like some eternal mosquito that never goes away, Miss Verinder sauntered up to us, perfectly coiffed. “I do hope you are feeling better?” Her voice was thick, syrupy.

“I was,” I replied icily.

“The Verinders came to pick up music from my mother,” Laura informed me.

“Something soothing, I hope,” Miss Verinder put in. “There seemed to be enough excitement for everyone tonight.”

“Indeed. Good night, Miss Verinder,” I said curtly, nudging Laura up the stairs in front of me.

“Oh, and Miss Wyndham?” she called. “I know you’re the expert on health, but I would recommend staying indoors. The cold must have been quite hard on you.”

Rigid as a board, I glanced back, hoping no distress showed on my face. Pale eyebrows raised, and a faint, cruel smile played on Miss Verinder’s lips. Refusing to let her bother me, I simply nodded before I pulled Laura up and around the banister toward the bedrooms.





MY HAND CLUTCHED the cold railing, my feet tested every stair, and my breath refused to come as I climbed up and up through the black void. Like a beacon, the strange, dim second-floor landing called to me. In the darkness, even the faintest light was better than nothing.

The moonlight brought me up to a dusty hallway and into an open laboratory furnished with tables, chairs, cupboards, and bookshelves. The walls displayed intricate illustrations of human anatomy and chalkboards filled with indecipherable notes. Grotesque shadows of containers, equipment, and book stacks twisted and stretched across the floor like ink spills.

Where was I?

The rattling and whistling of glass panes seemed to respond to my question. A large window looked out over London’s foggy gray skyline, speckled with the orange glow of life and activity. I drew nearer, feeling the chilly draft seeping in as I peered out, but somehow the closer angle rendered it even harder to make sense of the view. The sights blurred, like indistinct smudges of paint. Colorful blobs took the vague shapes of buildings and streets below, but it was impossible to tell where I was in the city.