Capturing the Devil Page 52

“Where have you been?” I asked, hints of my earlier suspicion returning. I couldn’t stop thinking about how talented career murderers were. They were friends, lovers, family members. All leading what seemed like regular lives, except for one monstrous secret. “Minnie has been looking for you.”

“She—”

“Let me guess,” I said, losing patience and cutting him off. His usual response always involved mention of his… charms. I was not in the mood for jokes. “She wouldn’t be the first woman or man to do so. Can you be serious for once?”

“What I was about to say, Miss Wadsworth,” he said, amusement in his dark eyes, “was she must not have been looking too hard. I haven’t been anywhere but my theater. In fact, I went to call on her today and her staff couldn’t find her. Maybe she couldn’t handle seeing a face this handsome again.”

He glanced over my shoulder to where Thomas now leaned against the wall looking bored. I shook a sense of foreboding from my heart. I’d seen Minnie a couple of hours ago and she seemed fine enough. If he’d visited her after, that meant he was the last person known to be at her home. Maybe she saw him arrive and asked her staff to send him away. Or maybe he’d taken her…

“I did, however, manage to gather some information you both may find interesting,” Mephistopheles continued, unaware of my growing worry.

“Oh, good. It has a purpose for crawling out from its hidey-hole at last.” Thomas smiled sweetly, his eyes flashing with delight as Mephistopheles’s jaw tightened.

“Weren’t you the groveling soul who inquired after my expertise?” he said. “What other tasks are you not measuring up to? Or”—a slick, antagonistic smile spread across his face—“might I ask Audrey Rose instead?”

“Enough!” I exclaimed. “You’re both infantile. Stop provoking each other and focus. What did you learn, Ayden?”

Perhaps it was the use of his true name, but I finally held the ringmaster’s full attention. “Very well, then.” He picked imaginary lint off his suit, his expression hurt. “There are two women and one child who were last seen in the Englewood neighborhood of 63rd and Wallace Streets. Some were known to be associated with a pharmacy there.”

Any excitement or hope I’d felt withered. This wasn’t anything new. We’d already visited the pharmacy and the police couldn’t find any signs of a crime. My shoulders slumped forward. I was suddenly exhausted. We didn’t even know for certain if Noah’s missing women were related to our case, though I still believed they were.

“Thank you for—”

“I have people—let’s call them information specialists—who also mentioned something about the World’s Fair.”

“How original.” Thomas crossed his arms. “Who isn’t talking about it?”

“The better question to ask yourselves is not who, but what. What aren’t they saying about the fair? What do they worry about when those pretty little lights dim? It couldn’t possibly be the blood they found near the docks. Or the bloody handkerchief outside the great, impressive Court of Honor.”

Mephistopheles lifted his hat from the ram’s-head mask, tumbled it down his arm, and stuck it on his head with a carnival-inspired flourish. It was hard to tell where the showman ended and the real young man underneath the sequined suits began. He might not be wearing a visible mask, but that did not mean he was without one now.

“Rumor has it… there’s a body. They’ve got it locked up tight in the morgue near Lake Michigan. The Columbian Guard stands outside the door, day and night.” He grinned at our stunned expressions. “Seems strange, doesn’t it? A police force created entirely for the fair to be guarding a body in a morgue. Especially if she’s a nobody.”

“Speaking of bodies.” I eyed him suspiciously. “Minnie mentioned her understudy is missing. What have you heard about that?”

He hopped off my bed as gracefully as a panther and stalked close. “I’ve heard that body in the morgue might be hers. Now I need you to tell me for sure.”

I frowned at him. “You wouldn’t have come here if you wouldn’t benefit from the information, would you?” His answering smirk told me everything I needed to know about his motivations. “Don’t you ever do things out of decency?”

An ancient sadness filled his gaze for a moment, stretching far beyond what his nineteen years should know. Little hairs rose along my arms.

Then Mephistopheles blinked and his eyes were once again filled with mirth. I must be in need of more rest than I thought. My nightmares were bleeding into my waking hours.

“I tried decency once.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.”

“I thought that was just defeat,” Thomas added, trying and failing to not look smug. “I’ve heard that’s not so pleasant, either. Not that I’d know.”

With a seemingly great amount of restraint, Mephistopheles turned to me, taking my hand in his. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to my knuckles, his gaze locked on mine.

“I do hope you’re happy, Miss Wadsworth. And while I’d love to stay and be entertained by your court fool”—he flashed his teeth in what was supposed to be a smile at Thomas—“it’s time for me to go.”

I had a strange premonition that once he waltzed out that door, it would be the last time I set eyes on him. “You’re leaving for good, aren’t you? I thought the Moonlight Carnival only just arrived.”

“Have we, though… only just arrived?” A secret danced in his eyes, one he had no intention of sharing. His expression turned serious again. “Once blood starts flowing, even the most angelic of places loses its appeal, Miss Wadsworth.” His focus darted behind me. “Beware of trusting beautiful creatures. They hide the most wicked surprises.”

Thomas stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me as I shivered in place. I tried to ignore the effect Mephistopheles’s words had on my growingly superstitious mind, but I couldn’t help but feel as if he spoke of the future. One he’d seen as clear as a cloudless day when the rest of us were stumbling in the fog.

“What about Trudy?” I asked, desperately casting about for a reason to make him stay. “Don’t you wish to discover if she’s the body in the morgue?”

“I trust you’ll sort it out the way you do best.”

He tipped his bullion-trimmed top hat, then vanished one last time. I could only hope we hadn’t just allowed a murderer to roam free once more.

Vintage Post Mortem Tools

FORTY-TWO

WHITE CITY STAINED RED

WORLD’S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

16 FEBRUARY 1889

One would never guess while walking through the heavenly city above that underneath it lay labyrinthine tunnels used by workers and laborers servicing the fair. It made sense, though. In order to keep the illusion alive and well, fairgoers couldn’t be bothered with mundane things such as rubbish being carted and loos cleaned.

As we followed members of the Columbian Guard deeper underground, we passed rooms filled with props and excess items for the fair. A riot of flowers was in one, buckets of creamy white paint and an odd-looking spray contraption in another. Electrical devices and popped-corn machines and things to delight—all polished and ready to go. There were boxes of Cracker Jack, which everyone had been eating the last time we were here. A scent of caramel mixed with salt followed us as we wound down and through another corridor.

Even being in the bowels of the grand city above, I felt awed by the majesty of it all. Then there was the secret chamber we were headed to. The one not mentioned in any pamphlet or newspaper. Beneath the beating heart of the Court of Honor was a command station larger than an army’s. Within its well-fortified walls, there was a morgue.

The lead guard paused outside a door with no name etched onto it. Unlike the others, it was closed, the lights out within. I knew where we were before he set his key in the lock and ushered us into the cool space. He flicked a light on, the slight buzz the only sound in the room. I scrunched my nose at the sharp scent. It smelled of bleach. My eyes watered and my throat burned. I wondered if they’d spilled a ten-liter jug or if they’d purposely used so much.

Whatever their reasoning, it was strange. Almost as if they were trying to scrub any stains from the glistening streets, even this far below.

Thomas blinked but, other than that, showed no discomfort. He was alert, his attention sweeping the room from ceiling to floor to the large drawers set into the far wall. The ones that held bodies, no doubt. I moved my own focus around, absorbing as much as I could of the sterile space. Everything here was white as well. The tiles that extended from the floor to the top of the walls. Everything was built of cool, smooth stone except for the ceiling.

A hose mounted on one wall featured an ornate crank, the only bit of beauty in an otherwise blank canvas. I caught a glimpse of familiar medical tools and aprons peeking out from an open closet door. Three silver tables were evenly spaced, the holes on top of them indicating they were meant for postmortems. A silver pail sat positioned under each and I fought my revulsion as I pieced together its purpose. I didn’t see any sawdust, and the stench of bleach made sense. Bodily fluids would funnel into the holes and get collected in the pails.

The guard who’d unlocked the door cleared his throat. “Dr. Rosen will be here shortly to answer your questions.”

With that, he stepped back toward the door, nodding to someone on the other side. Thomas and I both flinched as he shut the door behind him, locking it with a click that seemed to thrum in my chest.

I slowly inhaled and exhaled, ignoring the burning in my throat. I hated cages. “Why would they lock us in here?”

Thomas was quiet a moment, considering. Finally, he said, “I wonder if it’s not us they’re concerned with keeping in, but keeping others out.”