“Each time he killed, he would have burned yet more layers of afterimages into the looking glasses.”
“Yes.”
She did not say anything else. There was no need. When she met Owen’s eyes again in one of the mirrors, she knew that he understood.
“Raising your talent in this chamber will be like walking into hell,” he said.
She sighed. “It is never easy looking into mirrors that have witnessed death. I have seen some terrible things in looking glasses. But this chamber is different.”
“Because more than one woman died here?”
“In part, yes.” She thought about the first wildly disorienting sensations that had struck her elevated senses like shocks of lightning when she had awakened in the bed next to Hollister’s body. “But there is something else involved here, something I do not understand. Perhaps when I start to read the glasslight it will become clear.”
Owen came up to stand behind her. He put one powerful hand on her shoulder. “You need not do this, Virginia. I can learn a great deal here on my own.”
“Of course I must read these mirrors. We need all the information we can get from this place. But before I begin, tell me what you see in this chamber.”
Energy flared when Owen elevated his talent. He looked around slowly, taking in the bed and the table with a measuring expression.
“I didn’t have time to take a good look the other night,” he said. “But now I see that murder was done in this room, not once but on several occasions.” He walked to the bed. “The victims all died here.”
“What of the killer?” she asked.
“His energy is all over this chamber, but the darkest currents are concentrated near the bed.” Owen frowned. “The majority of the murders were done the old-fashioned way. Hollister strangled his victims. But the three most recent murders were committed by paranormal means.”
“He started using the curiosities to kill his victims.”
“Yes, I think so.” Owen prowled the small space. “There is other strong energy in here besides Hollister’s. It is difficult to distinguish from his, but I can see traces of it clearly, now that I am looking closely. It is the same energy I detected in Mrs. Ratford’s house.”
“A second killer?”
“Yes. But why does the energy blur with Hollister’s?” Owen crouched on the floor, removed one glove and touched the stone. A visible frisson of awareness went through him, and his eyes got a little hotter. “Ah, yes. I understand now.”
“What is it?” Virginia asked.
Owen rose to his feet. The energy in the atmosphere around him raised the hairs on the nape of Virginia’s neck.
“My aunt assured me Hollister had no close relatives, but I am certain that the second man in this chamber is related by blood to him,” Owen said.
“Hollister left no surviving children.”
“None that we know of. It does not necessarily follow that he did not leave any offspring.”
“Illegitimate offspring,” Virginia said quietly. “Yes, that is always a possibility, isn’t it?”
Owen glanced at her, curiosity in his eyes. “What are you thinking?”
She forced herself to concentrate. “I am thinking about Lady Hollister.”
“What of her?”
“She is a very small woman. In a fever of insane rage she might have been able to kill her husband, but how did she manage to lift him onto the bed? For that matter, how did she get me out of the dead daughter’s bedroom and into this chamber?”
“Obviously she had help.”
Virginia thought about it. “The companion, perhaps. Or one of the servants.” She composed herself and prepared to raise her talent. “Now it is my turn to see if I can add anything more to the evidence that you have discovered.”
She summoned her inner control and raised her senses cautiously.
Shadows began to shift in the mirrors. Her pulse beat faster.
“What do you see?” Owen asked.
She took a firm grip on her nerves and rode the waves of energy higher, opening her talent more fully. The dreadful afterimages appeared like dim, moving photographs deep within the glass.
“I see the victims,” she whispered. “So many of them. They are all about Becky’s age. Some of the afterimages are quite faded. Hollister started murdering in here years ago.”
Owen watched her in the looking glass.
“Virginia,” he said. “Are you all right?”
She could not answer him. The ghastly afterimages shifted and seethed in the mirrors. The visions transformed the room into a chamber of horrors. The ghostly figures screamed silently and reached out to her as if to pull her into their dark universe behind the looking glasses.
Owen’s voice came to her out of the storm.
“Virginia, if you can’t handle this, tell me.”
Rage spiked through her. She would not allow the monster who had created this chamber to win. She pulled mightily on her control.
And found it.
The afterimages in the mirrors sank back into the glass. She could still see them, but they were no longer inundating her senses.
“I’m all right,” she managed. “It was just the initial shock. I thought I was prepared, but I did not realize how many afterimages had been captured in these mirrors. Hollister was truly one of the monsters.”
“I regret that he did not come to the attention of my family early on in his career,” Owen said. He sounded grim. “That is the problem with monsters. They find it easy to conceal themselves, especially in a large city like London. In the future perhaps Jones & Jones will be able to assist us in the hunt.”
“Perhaps.”
“You do not have a lot of faith in J & J, do you?”
“No.”
“I would remind you that it was Caleb Jones who sensed that there was a strong possibility that Ratford and Hackett had been murdered by paranormal means. Furthermore, he commissioned me to hunt for the killer even though neither of the victims were members of the Arcane Society.”
She made a face. “Very well, I will concede that this new J & J appears to be taking an interest in investigating psychical murders outside the Society. But there is no getting around the fact that those in Arcane do not approve of people like me and likely never will. That is not important now, though. There is something else in these mirrors.”
“Besides the afterimages, do you mean?”
“Yes. There are faint flames burning deep in these looking glasses, just as there were in the mirror on Mrs. Ratford’s dressing table.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. The fire in these mirrors is weak, but it is perceptible. I think that when the curiosities are used to commit murder they somehow lock energy, not just afterimages, into the glass.”
“You said the fire trapped in Mrs. Ratford’s mirror was stronger. Why would that be? More people died in this chamber.”
“Yes, but those who died here were not glasslight-talents. Mrs. Ratford was. I think that may make all the difference.”
“Son of a bitch,” Owen said softly. “That’s why he is now focusing on victims who are glass-readers.”
“Yes, I think so. They provide more of the kind of energy he wants to trap in the mirrors.”
“But why does he seek to lock the fire in the glass?” Owen asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Is there any way to release the flames?”
“The energy seems to be in stasis. I’m not sure if I can ignite it. But even if it is possible, I don’t think it would be a good idea. What I see is pure, raw energy. There isn’t a lot of it, to be sure. Nevertheless, there is no telling what would happen if I tried to pull it out of the mirrors.”
“Enough.” He urged her toward the door. “We have our answers. I think we have spent enough time in this miniature hell.”
EIGHTEEN
The hunter in him sensed that he was closing in on his prey. He ought to be feeling the icy-cold rush of energy that always hit toward the end of the hunt, Owen thought. But for some reason he was consumed with an edgy, restless sensation that told him he had left at least one door unopened.