Colleen Gleason - The Clockwork Scarab

“More’s the pity,” said the Ankh from her position behind the table. She looked purposefully at Hathor, who moved off the dais to stand over my companion. “I dislike being rushed. But we can’t have her dying before I’m finished, so let us hurry with the preparations.”

“Lilly Corteville escaped from you,” I said. I could use my attempts to distract the Ankh by getting confirmation for my deductions. “She was meant to be attached to the cuff, wasn’t she? But she got away before you could do it.”

The Ankh looked at me, her shadowed, black-ringed eyes shining with dark pleasure. Even now that I knew she was Lady Cosgrove-Pitt, I still couldn’t see it in her eyes.

“You are a clever one,” she said. “Perhaps worthy of the Holmes name after all. Yes indeed, each of the instruments must be given the power of a life force in order to become reanimated. And it occurs to me that the stronger and more worthy the life force of the animator is, the more powerful Sekhmet will be. That is why I find it serendipitous to have two excellent candidates for the diadem. You and your companion.”

“You took the life force from Mayellen and Allison the same way you did from Della Exington,” I said as the Ankh made her preparations at the table. “Why did you leave their bodies where they could be found?”

“Surely you can deduce that, Miss Holmes.”

“One can only assume it was to make it look as if they’d taken their own lives. If bodies were found murdered, then there would be a crime to investigate, and you could be discovered. If they were found to have taken their own lives, there would be no investigation. And even if the bodies were simply disposed of, there would still be an investigation into their disappearance. Mayellen Hodgeworth was the one who was attached to the scepter. You were witnessed leaving the museum with it—and the statue of Sekhmet—on the night she was killed. After she was killed. You did it there, didn’t you?”

“Apparently my confidence in you wasn’t misplaced after all,” our hostess commented as she added some dried substance that smelled musty and old to the bowl. “There’d surely be a place for one like you in Sekhmet’s court, once she’s resurrected.”

“I’m afraid I must decline.”

“That wasn’t an invitation, Miss Holmes. I was merely making idle conversation.”

The Ankh picked up the crown, presumably the final of the four instruments. Except . . . according to the message I’d received from Dylan, he’d located the diadem. The real one, if his information from the future was correct. The one the Ankh held resembled the drawings I’d seen, but it wasn’t identical. My mind began to click through the possible ways to utilize this information. I continued my interrogation. “And you left the scarabs near the bodies for what reason? Surely not to lead us here, to you?”

“No, not at all. The scarabs were meant to be a warning to the other members of my Society. Some of them were becoming unsettled and uncomfortable.”

“Like Lilly Corteville.”

“Lilly was a mistake. She was to be the first, and she escaped just as we were beginning the process. I couldn’t find her after that.”

“Until today.” I looked toward her, trying to imagine what that face would look like without the heavy fringe of hair over the forehead, and the thick, obstructing facial hair. Her face was angled so that I still couldn’t get a clear view of her eyes as I made this pronouncement. But I knew anyway. I was certain.

“I know who you are.”

The Ankh stilled, then laughed low and deep. “Even if you did, which I’m more than assured is not the case, it won’t matter now. You won’t be able to tell anyone.”

“Your plan isn’t going to work. You must have all four of the instruments for Sekhmet to rise. All four of the correct instruments, or Sekhmet won’t be resurrected after all, regardless of whose life force you use.”

“What are you saying?”

“That isn’t Sekhmet’s diadem.”

The Ankh had ceased her preparations and stood unmoving. I read the struggle in the stance of her body: she didn’t want to believe, she didn’t want to have erred . . . but nor did she want to take the chance of failing at such an important moment.

I decided to assist her along the path of uncertainty. “The real one is at the British Museum.”

She gave me a chill smile. “You’re mistaken, Miss Holmes. I’ve commissioned or searched every part of the building myself. This is the Holy Diadem of Sekhmet.”

I forced myself to keep from looking at Evaline. What was taking her so long? If she didn’t act, I’d run out of things to say—and I’d find myself attached to the statue.

Keeping my attention on my adversary, acutely aware of the proximity of my personal guard and his gun, I replied, “The fact that the crown you’re holding looks nothing like any of the drawings doesn’t lead you to question your certainty? A woman like you wouldn’t want to take the chance of being wrong. After all your plans. If you were wrong . . . they’d all come to naught. And you would have lost your chance.”

Silence reigned for a long moment. What was Evaline waiting for?

“And I happen to be the only one who knows where the real diadem is,” I said.

At Miss Holmes’s announcement, I did three things at once: surged to my feet, discharged the Steam-Stream gun, and yanked on a string I’d looped around the leg of the Ankh’s table.

The guard who’d been halfheartedly watching me howled when I slammed into his chin with the top of my head. The table shifted and fell off the dais. Its contents tumbled everywhere. And the blast of steam from my gun seared into the guard next to Miss Holmes.

I met her eyes. “Go!”

She darted toward the double doors as I whirled to blast the gun at the Ankh. He ducked, reaching for a weapon in his pocket as I discharged the gun again. This time it caught Bastet, and the woman screamed as the steam burned through her tunic and into her arm.

Boom! Something had fallen off the preparation table and combined with an element it shouldn’t have. Flames erupted, catching on the edge of a tablecloth, and jumped quickly to an upholstered chair. Soon the space would be engulfed.

I ran toward the door in Miss Holmes’s wake, flinging a heavy table behind me. The guard whose jaw I broke wasn’t fast enough, and the table caught him in the torso. He stumbled back and fell into the man I’d Steam-Streamed. In the midst of the chaos, someone’s pistol discharged with a loud crack.

The flames spread near the front of the chamber, and as I turned back to blast one more wide stream of steam around the room, I heard a loud mechanical grinding. But I didn’t wait to find out what it was; I shot steam at my pursuers and burst through the double doors into the opium room.

To my relief, the chamber was empty except for Miss Holmes, who’d paused at the opposite side. Why was she waiting for me?

“Go!” I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t allow myself to think. If I did, everything would catch up to me: the pain, the loss of blood, my cowardice.

I should have stopped them. I should have saved her.

My partner went through the double doors, and I was only seconds behind her. We bolted down the corridor, and just as we rounded the corner, a figure appeared.

Miss Holmes hesitated, but I recognized him. “Keep going!” I pushed her between the shoulder blades as I met Pix’s eyes. “There’s a fire!”

My partner was panting, not used to the sort of physical activity that came naturally to me. Pix seemed to understand, for he grabbed her arm and helped me tow her along. She didn’t argue, but she was probably so out of breath she simply couldn’t. When she stumbled again, he slung her over his shoulder just as he’d done with Lilly Corteville. And he continued to run, outpacing even me.