Chapter Forty-One
There was silence for a good thirty seconds after she’d finished reading the note aloud.
“I’m going to kill whoever this Conjurer is,” Sera vowed, caring little that Tobias was standing right there too.
“You’ll have to get in line,” Jack replied.
“No one is killing anyone,” Tobias said. “We will find him and Mrs. Thomspon.”
“How? We have no idea where he’s taken her and we’re running out of time,” Jack replied. “Especially once he hears about Miss Brunham surviving.”
“We have to find where he’s taken Mrs. Thompson,” Sera said.
“Where would he take her, though?” Cordy asked, glancing over at Jack and Tobias.
“It would have to be somewhere private, where screams can’t be heard,” Tobias replied before he turned to Jack.
His words sent an icy chill down her spine, while Cordy shuddered.
“Do you know anything about Thomas Clorren or even the baron from when you were a child?” Tobias continued. “Anywhere the baron used to stay or frequent? Or even any special places your father went or frequented—or performed in?”
“Who is Thomas Clorren?” Sera asked. “And what does this have to do with the baron?”
Both Cordy and Sera had been out working their own cases yesterday evening when Tobias had dropped Jack off, and after what had happened with the baron, the last thing she’d felt like doing was discussing the events of it with anyone.
So she’d gone straight to bed and hadn’t yet had a chance yet to mention what had happened at Broadmoor.
Quickly, she filled them in about what they’d discovered yesterday.
“So you see, Thomas Clorren is the baron’s son, and most likely Tommy Smith, an apprentice to my father, who probably set the fire that killed him too,” Jack said, the very reminder of what Clorren had taken from her causing the ball of rage already in her stomach to rise in fury.
A fury she fully intended to unleash on the man as soon as she found him.
“We also suspect he’s also a doctor now, using the name Ignatius Patterson. ”
“It’s all very confusing,” Cordy said.
That it is, Jack thought in agreement.
“How long do we have before he kills again?” Sera asked.
“I’m not sure,” Jack replied. “Previously, it was between two to four days, but he killed someone this morning, or rather yesterday morning, given it’s after midnight now, and then tried to have Miss Brunham killed within the same day. That’s less than twenty-four hours between murders.”
“That’s not good at all,” Sera said.
“No, it’s not,” Jack agreed.
“He used a theater for his third victim,” Tobias said. “How complicated are these next two illusions he plans?”
“Fairly complicated, actually,” Jack said, thinking of all the props and what was required for the Mystery of Maguire and the Burning Lady Illusions. “He probably would want to stage them in theaters.”
“What other theaters has your father performed at in the past?” Tobias asked.
“It would be easier narrowing down the theaters my father didn’t perform in,” Jack replied, trying to think if any one theater held any special significance. “He performed in so many venues around London, and across Europe too, it wouldn’t be possible to search them all.”
Jack felt helpless and frustrated. Worry for Mrs. Thompson was eating away at her, and all this talk wasn’t helping find her. But with no other leads, what could they do? Draw him out, the voice whispered once again.
“What about the theater your mother was killed in?” Tobias asked. “Which theater was that?”
Jack pressed her lips together. That would make an odd sort of sense for Thomas Clorren to exact his twisted revenge in the very theater that had played a pivotal role in his own father’s downfall. “It was the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly.”
The place was known throughout the world as the ‘home of magic,’ hosting only the most elite magicians from across the world.
It was London’s unrivaled hub for illusions, where audiences knew they would be treated to wonder, delight, and the supernatural.
Jack had always marveled at the facade of the building itself, every time she had gone there as a child.
Fashioned in a striking Egyptian revival style, with half columns at the entrance and statues of Isis and Osiris above the columns, it was a sight to behold.
Inside the Egyptian Hall with its walls adorned with painted hieroglyphics, everything felt possible and her father’s illusions had come alive. It was a place of absolute marvels. A place she hadn’t been able to step foot in since her mother’s death.
“Given its significance with what happened in the past, especially for Thomas’s father too, I imagine he’ll probably want to use it for his finale,” Jack said.
Though perhaps she could make it on her terms, rather than Thomas Clorren’s.
“Possibly,” Tobias agreed. “However, we still should canvass it just in case he’s planning to enact his fifth performance at that venue.
Give me a moment and I’ll arrange for some officers to attend and conduct some inquires there, and if he’s got the theater under surveillance, then it might not be a bad idea if he sees police around the area.
” Tobias spun on his heel and quickly headed out the front door, presumably to talk to one of the constables and arrange all of that.
“What are we going to do to find and rescue Mrs. Thompson?” Sera asked as soon as the door had shut behind Tobias. “Because surely we’re not going to leave this to the police, even if your inspector actually seems competent.”
“He’s not my inspector. And of course we’re not leaving it to the police.
His officers will just make a mess of it,” Jack replied, feeling oddly guilty to be planning things behind Tobias’s back, but she knew he wouldn’t take any risks when it came to placing anyone in danger, and risks would need to be taken to save Mrs. Thompson, if she even was still alive.
But no, she couldn’t think like that. Mrs. Thompson had to be alive.
“We need to take matters into our own hands, sooner rather than later.”
“How do we do that?” Cordy asked.
“If the Conjurer intends for me to be his Burning Lady, then I’m going to have to do something that will gain his attention and make him want to delay his own murderous performance of Mrs. Thompson.”
“And how will you gain his attention?” Sera asked, her brow raised at such an angle that Jack knew meant her friend was skeptical.
So was Jack, but she didn’t know what else to do.
“I’m going to beat him to it. I shall take to the stage at the Egyptian Hall tomorrow night and perform both illusions myself.
He won’t be able to resist being in attendance.
I’m sure of it.” At least she sounded sure, even if she didn’t really feel it.
“An interesting plan,” Sera began, folding her arms across her chest. “With a few issues, however. Firstly, how are you even going to get the owner of the Egyptian Hall to agree to you performing there tomorrow night? You’ve told us often enough it’s considered the world’s home of magic.
Surely, another magical performance is already planned. ”
“I know who the new owner of the Egyptian theater is, and when I explain to him who I am and why I wish to use the theater tomorrow night only for a short time before whoever’s already booked is to perform, he’ll happily agree.”
Sera raised a brow. “Why would he agree?”
“Because no true magician wants to see the illusions of magic debased as the Conjurer is doing to them. Not to mention the press and all of London will be abuzz when they hear that the Magnificent Maguire’s daughter is alive and has taken issue with the Conjurer desecrating her father’s illusions.
That very fact, along with me performing in the very place my mother was killed, is sure to garner attention. ”
“And how will the press hear about that?” Cordy asked.
“I intend to tell them, placing an advertisement on the front page of every major newspaper in London, before they go to press this morning. Once the papers hit the stands, news of my challenge to the Conjurer will spread like wildfire across the city. Then, when Thomas Clorren hears of it, he won’t be able to resist attending.
Which, hopefully, might disrupt whatever he has planned for Mrs. Thompson. ”
“Yes, news will spread,” Sera said, slightly hesitantly. “And you’re right, he’s likely to hear about it, but he’s also likely to be infuriated with your plans. Do you really want a ruthless, cold-blooded killer infuriated with you, Jack?”
“He will be infuriated, but he’s already targeting me.
” There was no point in denying that. “And besides, I cannot sit idly by and do nothing if he has Mrs. Thompson. The only way I can think to take back a measure of control is to act and draw him to us, instead of being a continual pawn in his game.”
“Surely, performing any illusion requires hours of practice, not to mention a set and a stage built for it, Jack?” Cordy asked. “Can you even perform the two illusions, let alone in front of an audience of hundreds, on the very stage of the Egyptian Hall where your mother was killed?”
“I will, if it means saving Mrs. Thompson.” She could do it—she knew she could—despite not wanting to have a thing to do with stage magic again.
“I’ve had thousands of hours of practice in my life, Cordy.
About fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, for nearly six years after my mother died, to be exact.
A routine I practiced until I was as good as my father.
And though I might not actively partake in staging illusions any longer, I keep up my skills by waking at five most mornings and running through my hand, leg, and finger dexterity until about seven, when I come down for breakfast,” Jack replied, “So yes, I have the skills. And as for the stage? It makes sense that that would be the venue he would choose for his finale, so I intend to take to the stage on my own terms, not his.”