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I chance one last look behind me. Tucked away under a rafter is the fairy creature from the Borderlands, teeth bared in an ugly sneer. The creature gleams as brightly as a burning coal, then quickly fades to black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE EGYPTIAN HALL IN PICCADILLY IS A MAGNIFICENT building. From the front, it looks as if we are about to walk into an ancient tomb resurrected from the sands of the Nile itself. The entrance is adorned by giant statues of Isis and Osiris. A large placard above advertises the Wolfson brothers’ exhibit, at three and eight o’clock. There is another for the Dudley Gallery, where many an artist has exhibited his work.
Inside, it seems a perfect replica of those far-off temples. There is a great room supported by rows of columns fashioned in the Egyptian style, complete with hieroglyphs. I should not be surprised to see Cleopatra walking among us.
We’ve received our souvenir program for tonight’s spectacle. The Wolfson brothers appear on either side of the cover, and in the center are drawings of a strange metal box on three legs, a levitating table, a fearsome specter, and a skeleton kicking his bony head about. The first page promises an evening we’ll not soon forget.
The Wolfson Brothers Present:
THE RITES OF SPRING
A Phantasmagoria Conjuring Spirits Before Your Very Eyes!
“How exciting!” Mademoiselle LeFarge exclaims. “I’m so grateful Mrs. Nightwing allowed us to come. I hear it isn’t at all like looking at photographs. The pictures move as if they were real as you and I!”
“I should like to see that,” Ann says.
“Soon, we shall,” Miss McCleethy grumbles, fanning through her own program with little interest.
Felicity holds fast to my arm. “How shall we find Dr. Van Ripple with her here?” she asks irritably.
“I don’t know—yet,” I answer.
Several exhibitors have taken the opportunity to promote themselves within the hall. They have set up tables—some elaborate, some small—to show their wares. They call to us like barkers, and we are not certain where to look first.
“I’d have them all before the magistrate on Bow Street,” Inspector Kent mutters, mentioning London’s famous court.
“Oh, Mr. Kent,” Mademoiselle LeFarge chides.
“Mr. Kent, sir. I hear congratulations are in order.” A policeman offers his hand to the inspector, who introduces his soon-to-be wife. Now is the perfect time to slip away—if I can distract McCleethy. If I make use of the magic, will she truly know it? If I cast an illusion, will she see through it? Do I dare chance it?
“Gemma, what shall we do?” Felicity whispers.
“I’m thinking,” I whisper back.
McCleethy eyes us suspiciously. “What are you girls whispering about back there?”
“We’d like to see the exhibits,” I say. “May we?”
“Certainly. I should like to see them as well.”
“Well done,” Felicity growls. “She’ll not leave our sides.”
“I said I was thinking, didn’t I?”
“I’ve seen many exhibitions here,” an older woman says to her companion. “When I was a girl, my father brought me to see the famous Tom Thumb. He stood no taller than my waist, and I was but a child.”
“Tom Thumb!” Ann exclaims. “How marvelous!”
“This hall has housed many an extraordinary exhibition,” McCleethy lectures. “In 1816, Napoleon’s carriage was on display, and later, the wonders of the tomb of Seti the First were shown.”
“Oh, what else?” Ann draws McCleethy into a conversation like a clever girl, and I’ve a moment to think. What would draw McCleethy from our sides? A raging lion with canines bared? No, they’d probably greet each other as fellow predators. Blast! What would threaten the unthreatenable McCleethy?
My lips twist into a wicked grin. An old friend, that’s what we need. I start to summon my power, and stop. What if I am too overcome by the magic? It is so unpredictable. And she said she would know if I employed it.
There is only one way to find out, I suppose.
