"My writings, they will sell?" Poe questioned eagerly.
Lady Abby studied him, seeing in his eyes the mark of a demon. Mr. Poe was a haunted man. "Yes. Hear the tolling of the bells. Iron bells." But Lady Abby knew the price Mr. Poe paid would be high: his sanity and his life.
The man laughed with delighted abandon. "I was so afraid, so afraid. But I will become a great writer after all."
"In time. All in God's good time. But not all of this fame will come in your own time."
"What do you mean?" Poe demanded. His laughter faded.
"Your greatest fame will be after your death," Abby prophesied.
"But, but," Poe stuttered, his expression confused and defeated. "My writings. My destiny is to be a great writer. An author of great renown."
"You already are, sir. You need no man to tell you that your macabre words have a life of their own, and that they will be remembered for decades to come." Lady Abby smiled regally, then indicated for him to rise. "Go now and head thy soul away from stealing shadows and birds."
Poe stood, hesitating, afraid to anger the old lady, but his curiosity was unsatisfied.
"Begone, I say," Lady Abby demanded boldly in a tone that would have done Elizabeth Tudor proud. Mr. Poe had no choice but to back away, a confused expression on his features.
"My lord." Turning slightly in her chair, Lady Abby addressed Ian. "Now it is your turn."
Ian felt apprehensive, but he sat down before the grand dame. He didn't want his fortune read, knowing his own future far too well. Still, in this gathering of giants he couldn't risk refusing and having questions asked.
"Now, Baron, draw three cards," Abby instructed.
She nodded as she handed him the deck to shuffle. "Many men are mere puppets who come and go, formless men who do the bidding of others. But you are not such a one."
Ian glanced up at the old lady, but he remained silent as he picked the three cards. He drew the Tower, the Hanged Man, and Death. Ian heard a few hushed murmurs of concern over the last card.
Lady Abby stared at Ian for a long while, her expression grave. "Your life has been magic, but also a tragic adventure. At times your journey in life has been obscure, other times lonely."
He nodded.
"There is great change in your life, continual change. The Tower indicates this. Always there is change, but at the cost of destruction," Lady Abby explained to everyone, studying Ian closely. "Strange how this change is such a constant thread throughout your life. You keep so many things hidden."
Ian shifted uncomfortably. Lady Abby was touching on secrets that needed to remain hidden. "My life has been what it should be."
Lady Abby shook her head. "No, my lord. Destiny causes you to chase the wind and the moon. You struggle to accept what is written upon the wind. Some spell shall bind you."
Behind him, Ian could sense Clair moving closer. Her curiosity seemed almost a living thing.
Lady Abby pointed to the next card. "The Hanged Man indicates that you are undecided about a situation. You do not know how to act, therefore you choose not to act at all. That will not do. You must act in order to preserve your destiny."
"And what am I undecided upon?"
Lady Abby only smiled a mysterious smile and shook her head. "Ride boldly down the valley of shadow. Ride boldly." She pointed to the last card. "The card of Death."
"That's something I don't fear."
Lady Abby looked deep into his eyes. "No, you are not afraid, but death is stalking you, you know. He rides a big black horse, and he is legion to immortals."
Clair gasped, moving to stand by Ian's side, her concern a palpable thing.
"He stalks us all," Ian said quietly.
"But methinks he chases you harder than most. You have outwitted him so far, but be wary, my lord. Death rides a dark horse and he rides it fast. And as the Norsemen used to say, he rides also the night wind." She inclined her head. The tarot reading was finished.
Ian took Lady Abby's hand, giving it a courtier's kiss, then stood as she motioned at Mrs. Garwood to take a seat.
Clair guided him to a corner in the room where they could stand without being overheard. "I am sorry about the reading, Ian, it was really quite grim."
Ian smiled down at her. "Clair, I don't believe in such things."
She put her hand on his arm, beseeching him with her eyes. "But you should. My great-aunt may be a bit of a character, but she is quite good at her cards. She warns you to be careful. Please do so."
Ian grinned. "Her cards told you that I was a vampire," he reminded her.
"Her cards told me that there was something otherworldly about you."
"You see how wrong she can be?"
Clair shrugged. "Everyone is entitled to a mistake or two."
Ian chuckled. "Well, that one was a doozy."
"Don't you ever make mistakes?"
"Not since I was in leading strings."
Her gray eyes twinkling like the evening sky, she teased, "I see I can add modesty to your list of admirable traits."
Ian could feel the strong pull of attraction. Luckily, it appeared to be mutual. Yes, he thought, he was well satisfied with the progress of his Plan A, The Seduction of Clair Frankenstein. The affair was proceeding as planned. Clair was becoming enamored of him. Soon he would have her concerned only with his kisses, have her walking about with her head in the clouds and not on the walking dead.
A loud, "Humph!" interrupted their exchange. Clair and Ian quickly glanced around to find Lady Abby standing and holding out her dress, upon which a large wine stain was spreading.
"Out, damned spot! Out I say!" Lady Abby quoted dramatically.
Ian whispered, "Isn't that Shakespeare?"
Clair nodded. "She gets her characters confused sometimes. Well, there's no help for it. I need to take her to the maid so she can get changed. I'll be back momentarily."
"I wait with bated breath."
Clair arched an eyebrow and left.
Instead of joining the others, Ian decided he needed a few moments of peace, letting the conversations swirl around him. He could hear Professor Whutson commenting to Mr. Raleigh on another of the Homes cases. Lady Mary was enthusiastically showing Mr. Poe her taxidermy specimens.
Brooks broke Ian's concentration as the butler entered the room carrying a note on a silver platter. The servant glanced around, then exited.
On gut instinct Ian followed, and Brooks led him to a back room near the kitchen where Clair was just leaving. The butler handed her the note while Ian hid in the shadows of the stairwell.
"Aha!" Clair exclaimed.
"Oh no, Miss Clair, not again." Brooks clutched a hand to his chest, a mournful expression on his homely face.
"Oh, Brooks, you are such a worrier."
"With more than good reason. Now what have you gotten yourself into?" the butler asked cautiously.
"Brooks," Clair sighed, giving the man's shoulder a fond pat. "The game is at hand."
"Miss Clair, you really worry me when you start imitating that Durlock fellow." His voice was filled with reproach.
"My dear fellow, if it were up to you, I would still be in the nursery."
"Yes, you would. Safe and sound, and not out gallivanting around the cemeteries and in people's crypts. It's not fitting for a genteel lady like yourself."
"Dear, dear Brooks, you know better than most that a Frankenstein can't quit once on the trail of a scientific breakthrough. The truth at all costs."