Chapter Fifteen
Miss Maguire had taken up his invitation and he’d been thrilled to see her a short time ago staring down at his latest act in horror.
Good, he thought, having watched her from the shadows.
He wanted her terrified. He wanted her last moments in this world, when they eventually came by his hands, to be filled with pure fear.
And then when she took her last, shuddering breath before the flames and smoke engulfed her, he would finally feel peace, and she would know that not only had he been the architect of her demise, but he’d been responsible for her father’s death too, along with the burning of his legacy.
The very thought of it all sent a shiver of delight down his spine.
He could barely contain himself, let alone wait for his grand finale.
But he had to. There were too many eyes upon him now, and he had to pretend to be who he was disguised as, going about his normal business as if it were simply another day and another job.
He was too close now to risk jeopardizing it all.
Oh, but the joy he felt was wanting to burst free, and he knew he’d have to celebrate later, in the only way that brought him true joy.
But it couldn’t be with his assistants, given he had specific performances planned for them each.
No. His pleasure tonight had to be unrelated to his grand plans, with nothing to link him to these murders.
Perhaps a prostitute whom no one would even notice going off with a man and then never returning, her body dumped in the Thames, with the local police not caring an ounce for her death.
Or perhaps he could use her in his next performance?
The idea had merit, given he did need some bones and a skull, and though he’d been planning to simply steal some from the local graveyard or mortuary, that had always felt rather impersonal.
Yes, he liked this idea more. He could use the bones of the prostitute he satisfied himself with tonight for his next grand performance.
True, it would be a bit messy, and he’d have to clean up her bones for their appearance in his act, but it would be so much more satisfying, given he doubted he’d enjoy the boring method he had to use to kill his next assistant.
Hmm, yes, this could be just the thing to both quench the thirst for blood building inside him and to really make his next act far more personal and authentic to him. So perhaps yes, he could give in to the voices in his head, whispering for him to satisfy his urges before his next act.
He could already anticipate the terror amongst the audience to his next act, a crowd gathered to jostle for a look at the crime scene.
He could smell their fear and see the eager anticipation in their eyes as they hoped to catch a glimpse of the body.
And the police, they would be terrified too, trying to do anything but look at the body.
They were all calling him a monster, of course, the Coffin Conjurer who was even more brutal than the Ripper.
Though none of them understood that he wasn’t being brutal; he was being precise, showing them all exactly the horror that magic truly was.
The death it occasioned around it, as it tried to suspend people’s disbelief.
But in the end, it was nothing more than an illusion, and the magicians should not have been revered for their skills, but rather loathed for their depravity.
And that was his mission, of course. A mission to which he’d been called as a young man. A mission he intended to see succeed, no matter what it took.
He peeked up at the window again, but she was gone, almost like she’d never been there.
Well, he knew she was a skilled magician too, even if she didn’t want to call herself that.
He’d kept track of her over the years, all in preparation for his ultimate show.
Reluctantly, he’d been impressed. After all, he’d made her an orphan that night fifteen years ago, when he’d knocked out her father and set the fire that had killed him.
At the time, he’d locked her in a back room, intending for her to perish too.
But it had seemed that fate had other plans, and she’d survived.
At first, he’d been enraged, but then inspiration had struck.
She would be the finale in his triumph, his final homage to her father.
That was when he’d started making his preparations, and with everything now perfectly on track, he could sit back in the background and watch his masterpiece come together.
In a sense, though, it would be a shame killing her.
Having watched her from the shadows over the past few years, she did intrigue him.
She was bold and clever, and very resourceful.
And yes, his baser instincts of being a man did recognize her beauty.
She was very much like how he remembered her mother.
Attractive, elegant, and graceful in how she moved.
Though she was without the easy smile her mother had regularly worn.
Instead looking at the world without any illusions of exactly what it was.
But he did like that about her. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her parents, he imagined she would be an excellent fit for him.
She was skilled like he was, and so much cleverer than everyone else they were surrounded by.
Yes, if only the situation were different, he would perhaps even have considered wooing her, rather than eliminating her.
For a moment, he wondered whether that could actually be an option.
Could she be convinced that what he was doing was for a noble cause?
To join him on his path to unmask the hypocrisy of magic and reveal the truth to all?
The idea had merit, and even the very thought of having her there watching him when he performed his acts sent an undeniable sense of euphoria through him.
He got hard at the thought. But could she really be converted?
And even more the question, could he change his plans to include her, rather than make her his grand finale?
He doubted so, and in any event, his plans for revenge were far too important to pander to his male instincts.
Weren’t they? They were. He had to stick to his plans.
Doing so had served him so well over the course of his thirty-five years, so he couldn’t in all good conscience sacrifice his plans, in any manner.
Slowly, he sighed. Life could certainly be unfair sometimes, a fact he’d learned early on in his own life the hard way.
But no. She would be his Burning Lady. It was her destiny.
Otherwise, he would forever be a failure in his father’s eyes, and he refused to continue suffering that fate, not for any woman in the world.
Not even for one as remarkable as his Jack of Hearts was turning out to be.
Die at his hands she would, and he would relive her suffering over and over in his mind, and he would have to be satisfied with that form of ecstasy.