“Mrs. Crofton told you that I came here to do a reading?”
“She was concerned that you had not returned. When I arrived on the grounds of the Hollister estate I knew at once that something was very wrong.”
“Your talent told you as much?” She was deeply wary.
“I’m afraid so.”
“How?”
“Let’s just say that you are not the first woman to disappear into these tunnels. The difference between you and the rest of Hollister’s victims is that you are alive.”
“Dear heaven.” She took a moment to grasp the meaning of what he had said. “You detect violent death?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Explain yourself, sir.”
“Trust me, you are better off not knowing.”
“It’s a bit late to concern yourself with my delicate sensibilities,” she snapped. “I just woke up in a bed with a high-ranking gentleman who was recently stabbed to death.”
“Your nerves are obviously quite sturdy. Nevertheless, this is not the time or the place to discuss the nature of my talent.”
“And why is that?” she asked.
“We have more pressing priorities at the moment. I would remind you that if you did not stab Hollister to death, then it follows that someone else did. That individual may still be in the vicinity.”
She swallowed hard. “Right, then. I’ll save the questions for later.”
“A wise decision.”
Owen stopped so suddenly that Virginia stumbled against him. He did not seem to be aware of the impact. He raised the lantern and held it so that the yellow glare lit the passageway to the right.
“Do you feel some energy?” he asked in low tones.
A strange flicker of icy awareness brushed Virginia’s senses.
“Yes,” she said.
The sensation grew stronger. It was accompanied by a rhythmic clank-and-thud.
A miniature carriage rolled toward them out of the darkness. When it came into the light Virginia saw that it was drawn by two clockwork horses. The toy vehicle stood about a foot tall. The equipage was a work of art, not a child’s plaything. Every detail was exquisitely rendered. The cab was finished in gleaming black enamel and elaborately gilded. Small windows glinted in the lantern light. The horses were realistically sculpted, complete with flowing black manes and tails. Their harness fittings were trimmed with gold.
“Why in heavens would someone leave such an expensive toy down here?” Virginia asked.
Owen took her arm again and drew her back a step. “That thing is no toy.”
She could not take her eyes off the carriage. It fascinated her.
“What, then?” she asked.
“Damned if I know.”
Another wave of chilling energy feathered her senses.
“I can sense the power in the device,” she said. “It’s glasslight, the same kind of energy that I read in mirrors. But only humans can generate psychical energy. How is that carriage doing it?”
“We are not going to investigate.” Owen hauled her around a corner, out of the direct path of the clockwork carriage. “We must keep the wall between us and that device, whatever it is. Stone blocks psychical currents.”
A faint, frightened voice came out of the dark passageway behind the carriage.
“Is there someone out there? Please help me.”
Owen stilled. “Damn,” he said, very softly. “One complication after another.”
Virginia turned back toward the intersection of the hallways.
“Who’s there?” she called in a low voice.
“My name is Becky, ma’am. Help me, I beg you. I can’t get out. It’s very dark here. There are bars on the door.”
“Another one of Hollister’s victims,” Owen said.
Virginia glanced at him. “We must do something.”
“We can’t get to her unless we can get past that clockwork mechanism.”
“It is producing my kind of energy,” she said. “I might be able to control it.”
“Are you certain?”
“I must try. Let me take a look.”
Owen’s fingers closed like a manacle around her wrist. “Whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand. Agreed?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she said, impatient now. “I need some light.”
He held the lantern out and aloft so that it partially illuminated the intersecting corridor.
The clank-and-thud noise had ceased. Virginia risked a peek around the corner.
In the flaring light the windows of the miniature vehicle glinted ominously. As though sensing prey, the vehicle lurched forward again.
“Interesting,” Owen said, listening. “It seems to be activated by movement. Since it is a psychical device of some sort, it is probably reacting to our auras.”
“Yes, I think so.” She pulled back out of range of the carriage and flattened herself against the stone wall. “The energy is infused into the windows. I cannot be absolutely positive until I try, but I believe I may be able to neutralize the currents, at least temporarily.”