I had no right to call myself a Venator, a vampire hunter.
My great-great-aunt Victoria had sacrificed everything for her calling, even staking the husband she loved after he was turned UnDead.
I couldn’t even ignore a bit of blood in order to save a young woman’s life.
I shifted and felt the dull throb in my side. It had stopped bleeding even before Miss Holmes and I escaped from the opium chamber. But when I ran back through the building to help Amunet, it started oozing again. On a normal person, this wound would have been fatal. At the very least, debilitating. But for me, it wasn’t the injury or even the pain that had caused my paralysis.
Footsteps approached and the sound brought me out of my stupor. A tall, slender figure cloaked in an enveloping black wrap appeared. This time, the Ankh was garbed in female clothing: skirts and a poke bonnet so deep it shielded his or her face.
“Miss Stoker. I’m delighted to see that you haven’t bled to death.”
I could reach him. Her. Grab her by the leg and yank. She had to be unsteady on those tiny hourglass heels. Though it was around my ankle, my chain was long enough to wrap around her throat, to subdue her . . .
She stepped back as if she’d read my mind. Blast it.
“Your knife-throwing skills are quite good,” I said. “Traveling circus, perhaps? Was your mother the fat lady?”
The Ankh stilled, looking at me from behind the bonnet. “You’ll be pleased to know your partner has agreed to bring me Sekhmet’s diadem in exchange for your person.”
“Mina Holmes is no fool. Once you have the diadem, then what? Who will be your next victim?”
I saw the flash of a smile and the impression of two gleaming eyes. “That is a concern, I must admit. Nonetheless, I’m certain some solution will occur to me.” A low, grating laugh told me she already had one. And I wasn’t going to like it.
Despite her clothing, I still couldn’t settle on whether the person before me was a woman who dressed in male clothing, or a man currently garbed as a female. “And when do you plan to execute this wily plan?”
“Tonight. The timing is most auspicious, for today is the anniversary of when I first learned of the power of Sekhmet. Five years ago, I stumbled upon the artifact which sent me on this path.”
If Miss Holmes were here, she’d probably try to lecture and deduce the Ankh into submission. My moment of wry humor vanished as quickly as it had come. How the blazes was I going to escape my chain before my partner arrived, and how was I going to bring the Ankh down with me?
“Very well, then,” said my host. She carried something long and silver and slender and moved closer. “Now that I’ve ascertained your relative health, it’s time to send for your friend. I intend to have a gracious welcome prepared for her.”
Brilliant. Mina Holmes would walk right into that trap.
She gestured, and Hathor came toward me. I kicked and bucked. Sekhmet wavered after I yanked especially hard on the ankle chains looped around her, but the Ankh and Hathor steadied the statue before it tumbled over. Hathor swung out with a powerful hand. The blow caught me against the side of the face and, unable to brace myself, I slammed to the floor. My temple hit the ground hard, and before I could recover, Hathor grabbed me from behind. He forced me onto my knees so I couldn’t kick, and held my arms immobile. One large hand covered my nose and mouth, smothering me into stillness. I gasped for breath against his sweaty, dirty hand but couldn’t twist my face away.
Only then did the Ankh feel safe enough to get close to me. I let her see the triumph in my eyes.
When the Ankh bent close, something silver in her hand, my pulse jumped. Could she know my weakness? Was she going to cut me? Spill more blood?
She reached for me, my neck, and grabbed a handful of my hair. Twisting it viciously, she brought a silver object toward my face. I closed my eyes, steeling myself, waiting for the pain. My mind was clear.
You’re a Venator. You’re strong. Fight.
Then I heard the soft snip and a bit of my hair fell away.
Miss Holmes
An Impossible Choice
Dylan arrived at my house just before eleven o’clock, carrying a heavy satchel.
Ignoring Mrs. Raskill’s muttering about more comings and goings, I brought him into the parlor so he could show me the diadem. He greeted me with a smile and seemed to be moving toward me as if to offer an embrace, but caught himself at the last minute. A light stain flushed his cheeks, and he stepped back.
“You’re wearing pants.” The way his eyes traveled over my trouser-covered limbs made me self-conscious about the way the fabric clung to my shape. I felt indecent and exposed, and the way his blue eyes filtered over me made my cheeks heat up.
“I . . . erm . . .”
He smiled and sat down without waiting for me to do so first. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Mina. I was just surprised. You look really hot—uh, really good in pants. In my time, girls—women—wear them all the time. It’s considered completely normal.”
My discomfort eased in favor of curiosity. “Is that true? Women can wear trousers in the future without it being frowned upon?”
“And a lot of other things you’d find scandalous. Like short skirts,” he added with a bashful grin.
I bit my lip, holding back more questions that bubbled to the surface. It never seemed the right time to ask him all the things I wanted to know. I’d have to save my interrogation for another time—when I didn’t have a friend’s life to save.
“Very well,” I said. “Back to the matter at hand. I’m relieved you located the diadem. It’s a most fortuitous discovery, considering the development of the last twenty-four hours.” I explained the events of the night before, leaving out my disastrous detour to Lady Cosgrove-Pitt’s house. “And so I’m going to deliver the diadem to the Ankh.”
“And I’ll be going with you,” Dylan said. He raised a hand at my sound of negation, his blue eyes boring into me. “I’ve been stuck in the darned museum for almost two weeks, and it’s time I did something besides sulk. You can’t go alone, Mina. And it’s not because you’re a woman,” he added when I began to fume. “Remind me to tell you about Amelia Earhart and Jane Goodall someday. Going alone would be crazy, especially after last night. You should have taken me with you, or at least told the police. And besides all that, if the statue of Sekhmet is there, I want to see it. Maybe I can find a way to use it to get home.”
I had a variety of reactions to this pronouncement. First, I found I rather liked this Dylan who spoke with such strength and passion. Who didn’t think that simply being a woman was a reason not to go alone. And who liked the way I looked in trousers.
And second, I had a sudden, brilliant idea with which only he could assist me.
And third . . . I felt an unexpected pang at the thought of Dylan finding his way back to the future. Just as I was getting to know him, to feel as if we had some sort of connection, he might be leaving. I hadn’t felt such kinship with another person in a long time. Perhaps ever.
“Naturally I can’t tell Scotland Yard about this,” I said. “The Ankh is too smart; surely she’ll be watching for us when we arrive to make the exchange. If there are any authorities in the vicinity, I’m certain the deal will be off. Will you show me the diadem?”
Dylan pulled the item out of his satchel, and I examined it eagerly. It looked exactly like the drawing in the text I’d been reading. There was no doubt that, regardless whether it had actually belonged to Sekhmet or not, it was the instrument of legend. Delicate gold filigree created a very un-Egyptian-like crown. Two topazes were set in such a way in the front of the crown that they appeared to be lion’s eyes, and the slender gold was wrought in the shape of a lioness’s snout and whiskers.