Chapter Thirteen
The street was surprisingly busy for this time of the morning as Jack made her way carefully through the throng of people and carriages towards her destination, making sure she wasn’t followed, a chill of apprehension ever present after she’d gotten another anonymous note an hour ago.
Catching sight of some constables up ahead, she pulled the hood of her cloak down lower over her face.
They were the fourth pair she’d seen in the short few blocks she’d walked since leaving her townhouse.
Hopefully, their increased presence was because of the killer the press was now dubbing ‘the Coffin Conjurer,’ rather than Jack’s own visit with the inspector at the Yard on Sunday.
The very thought of the man caused an equal measure of annoyance and confusion to swirl inside her.
Despite her best efforts to not think about him again, thoughts and images of him and his soulful, gray eyes had consumed a large portion of her sleep over the last few nights as she’d tossed and turned in her bed.
That, mixed with the knowledge that some madman possibly had her in his sights, had not made for very restful slumber.
As much as she didn’t have confidence in the police and their abilities, she did hope this inspector would catch the fiend before anyone else suffered such a terrifying fate, or before he possibly threatened all Jack held dear.
Which, after receiving the cryptic note, she wasn’t feeling confident about.
Especially when it had simply read, ‘Come and see your father’s legacy.
Abernathy Street.’ Though she’d promised Cordy and Sera that she wouldn’t place herself at risk, she didn’t consider visiting a usually very busy lane in Filsbury to be doing so.
Particularly as she had a dagger in her boot and another strapped around the thigh of her trouser leg, which her large skirts happily concealed.
As much as it was easier to wear trousers, people noticed things that were out of the ordinary, and if you wanted to blend in, as Jack usually did, then the last thing she needed was people paying attention to her.
Dressing just like everyone else was the easiest way to go unnoticed.
However, she always had a change of clothes underneath so she could disappear quickly if needed.
As she rounded the corner, she saw a crowd gathered up ahead at the entrance to the very street to which she’d been heading, and beyond the people was a line of police blocking off all traffic and pedestrians from entering.
Weaving in and out of the throng of bodies to get closer to the front, Jack came to a stop, hidden enough behind some of the crowd, to be able to see beyond the police barricade without coming into the direct line of sight of the constables.
Her stomach dropped as she saw the big sheet of fabric being held up by more police beyond the street entrance. A sheet that was obviously hiding a body from everyone’s view. The whispers of the crowd then started to reach her…whispers suggesting the Coffin Conjurer had struck again…
Her whole body froze for a moment, then slowly, she glanced over at the street sign, confirming that yes, the street police were cordoning off was the same one written on the note.
In that instant, it became very clear that this Conjurer was actively involving her in the situation too.
She still didn’t know who it could be, especially considering that no one knew she was alive, except for four people.
And even then, how did this killer know of the significance of the Jack of Hearts to send her one?
A card that had been used in her father’s shows, but it had also been her father’s nickname for her—his Jack of Hearts—and now it was her own calling card, left at the scenes from which her agents retrieved items.
Glancing around, for a moment, she wondered if she were being watched.
Stalked from the shadows by the killer himself…
But there was far too much chaos with the jostling of the crowd, who were all busy clamoring to see the murder, for anyone to be able to see her hidden in amongst them all, with her black cloak and hood hiding her identity.
Slipping back through the crowd to the entrance of the street, she turned the corner and strode down the back alley that ran parallel to the street of the murder. Glancing up at the buildings, she chose one she calculated should give her a clear view of the scene.
She pulled out her lockpicking tools and deftly used them to unlock the back door of the building in thirty seconds.
Closing the door silently behind her, she paused and took a minute to simply listen.
All was silent, the workers for this particular building obviously having not been allowed in from the front of the street, deciding not to bother with attending work at all.
Quickly, she found the back stairs and headed up to the first floor, her footfalls silent on the wooden floorboards, courtesy of hours a day as a child spent practicing her footwork to not be heard moving even an inch.
Stealthily, she crept through the building heading towards the front of it, just in case there was anyone present, but thankfully, this floor seemed empty of staff too.
She located an office that had a window looking out of the front of the building onto the street below and slipped inside, keeping to the shadows as she cautiously approached.
It seemed she’d calculated correctly, the office being just to the right of where the murder was below, and only about twenty feet away. She tucked herself in behind the drapes pulled to the side of the window and then quickly glanced down at the street below.
She recoiled in horror, the curtains flinching slightly from her movement.
Closing her eyes tightly, Jack tried to calm her ragged breathing from what she’d just seen. A sight she’d seen before, many times, in fact, but not like this. Never like this.
What she was used to seeing was a skillfully designed illusion; a trick of mirrors and black drapes to fool the audience into believing they were seeing a man being decapitated, along with his arm and leg cut off and thrown into a basket, before the magician then magically put the man together again.
An illusion called ‘the Palingenesia.’ An illusion her father had adapted to great success…
But this was no illusion. This was a horror show and there would be no putting that soul below back together.
It took her a good minute to calm herself, trying to erase the image she’d just seen but having no luck.
Breathe, Jack, just breathe. Slowly, her heartbeat calmed and her rational thought returned.
She couldn’t afford to let the police know she was up here, so she had to remain composed.
But she also had to look at the scene again, if nothing else but to see if there was something that might identify the killer to her.
Some aspect of the twisted illusion she might recognize.
Steeling herself, she twisted her head back to the window and, being sure to keep her body hidden behind the curtain, she carefully peered down at the sight again, doing her best not to look at the actual victim himself.
Instead, her eyes ran over the scene and instantly, she recognized the inspector from the previous day, even though all she could see was his back. But given the man was several inches taller than the others surrounding him and presented with an air of someone in charge, she knew it was him.
Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the victim and then he pulled some sort of card out from the victim’s jacket pocket.
Briefly, he glanced down at it before hastily tucking it away in his own breast pocket and if Jack hadn’t been so used to quickly observing things in intricate detail, she would have missed that the card was the Jack of Hearts.
Then, just as she was about to spin around, her eyes glanced down to the victim once again, and she gasped, unconsciously leaning in closer to the window, hoping against hope that she was seeing things. But with a sinking heart, she realized she wasn’t…
She knew the victim. But, no… No, it couldn’t have been Jeremiah…
Because that would have been too much of a coincidence.
That would mean the Conjurer had not only send her a card, but that he knew about her past…
because Jeremiah was the only connection she had left to her father’s world of illusion, besides Caleb.
Jeremiah, one of the kindest men she knew, and the only man left in the world who’d cared about her, happy to keep her secret of being alive from everyone else to protect her.
And he had died at the hands of a butcher.
The agony of how unfair the world could be combined with a profound sense of fury ripped through her. She clutched at her chest then pushed away from the window, tears streaming down her face.
Swiping away the wetness from her cheeks, she gritted her teeth.
How dare this bastard do that to Jeremiah?
No one deserved to die in such a manner, not even the monster who had killed her mother.
The fact that this killer had specifically chosen Jeremiah could be no accident.
He’d done so to get Jack’s attention and involvement; of that, she had no doubt.
Well, he had her attention now, whoever he was, and if he thought she was going to let him get away with killing Jeremiah while degrading her father’s illusions, twisting them into sick and unforgivable acts, he was very much mistaken!
Because whoever this monster was, Jack was going to find him and put an end to his rampage.
She might have refused to have anything more to do with magic and stage illusions partly due to her father’s death, though mostly after Caleb’s betrayal, but she refused to let this bastard trample on the marvel of what magic was meant to be for everyone else.
And despite the promise she’d made to Cordy and Sera, clearly, this monster was leaving her with no other option.
He’d all but waved a red flag in her face, leading her right to where he’d enacted his vile interpretation of the Palingenesia on Jeremiah.
She would not let him get away with it, nor would she allow her father’s legacy to be destroyed by a madman.
She would find this killer and show him what magic was really meant to be.
“It seems I have been able to find you.”
Jack recognized the deep tone of the inspector’s voice. She glanced up at the doorway to see him standing there blocking the only exit, the breadth of his shoulders very nearly touching each side of the door frame. Her heart sunk. This was the last thing she needed.
“And trust me when I say,” he continued, “I won’t be letting you disappear again.”