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I rummaged through the leather satchel, which contained page after page of reports of missing women. My blood chilled. There were nearly a dozen families begging Chicago to help find their daughters and wives.
“The police haven’t investigated any of these?” I asked, flipping through more documents.
“Not a one of them.” Noah shook his head. “Mr. Cigrande, mad as he may seem, marched himself into our agency, demanding we find his daughter. Then he started in with the demon-snatching nonsense, but with a little poking around, it doesn’t seem so far-fetched.”
A demon might not be truly stalking the Chicago streets for prey, but a different sort of monster was.
“Radu.” Thomas abruptly faced us, his jaw set.
Noah and I exchanged worried glances. Perhaps Thomas needed to get some rest—he’d been under severe stress and it was obviously affecting his senses.
“He was an interesting man,” I said. It was a kindness, really. Professor Radu had been our folklore instructor back at the forensics academy in Romania. He’d filled our heads with stories of vampires and werewolves—legends and myths he claimed weren’t strictly fantasy. Why in the name of the queen Thomas was thinking of him at a time such as this was beyond me. Though, knowing him, he had his reasons. “I thought you were considering the missing women. How does Radu fit in?”
“Fantastical stories about horrific events take a person out of their terror—they’re removed from it—therefore, we must pay close attention to the monsters he describes. They aren’t fantasy at all.” Thomas picked his cloak up from the back of his chair and addressed Noah. “I need to speak with Mr. Cigrande myself. Will you take us to him?”
Mr. Cigrande was hunched against the wind, his ungloved hands raw and cracked as he shook his bell at young women exiting the train depot. “Go back to your homes, heathens! The devil is coming for you! Run! Run while you’re still able!”
The constant clanging of the bell was bringing on a massive headache and the icy wind whipping down the avenue wasn’t helping to alleviate my growing discomfort. I held on to Thomas with one hand and my cane with the other while Noah walked along beside us.
“Let’s inquire about a demon, shall we?” I asked.
Thomas’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t entertain me or Noah with any of his usual wit. His mind was now fully engaged in solving this new mystery. I could only hope it would unlock another clue for us as well. There had to be a connection to these cases.
Noah made his way to Mr. Cigrande first, waving as we all gathered around him. “Mr. Cigrande, I’d like to introduce you to—”
“Heathens!” The poor man shivered in place. “I won’t talk to wicked souls.”
“These wicked souls are good with locating impossible clues. If you’d like a better shot at finding your daughter, you’ll reconsider,” Noah said, his tone sharpening. “It might behoove you to speak with them.”
Mr. Cigrande cast a suspicious look our way. I mentally counted to five; poking him with my cane wouldn’t solve my problem of being deemed a heathen. I looked about for a way to get us all off the street, away from distractions. A sign fashioned to look like a teapot hung from the awning of one business. I pulled my shoulders back, adopting my best posture for my best attempt at soothing him.
“Would you like to speak someplace warm? There’s a little tearoom just over there.” I nodded two doors down, saying prayers of thanks for the establishment being so close. “They advertise melted chocolate and milk. Might be fortifying if you’ve planned a long afternoon of…”
I bit my lip, at a loss for how to describe his screaming at young women. Blessedly, Mother Nature aided our endeavor by opening up the skies, shaking snow and bits of ice out of the clouds. Cold, miserable, and now wet, Mr. Cigrande grudgingly followed us into the warm tearoom. Freshly baked scones and buttery scents welcomed us in from the cold. I had no sooner inhaled the aroma when Thomas marched over to a glass display filled with tarts and tea cakes.
“Once you’ve finished your unholy flirtation with the dessert, you can join us at our table, Cresswell.”
“Don’t be jealous, my love. I assure you, nothing tastes as sweet as you.”
His eyes flashed with amusement while I did my best imitation of Mr. Cigrande and cursed him under my breath. I quickly ushered Noah and Mr. Cigrande to a table in the corner, hoping we’d be far enough away from any poor, unsuspecting patrons who’d be harassed by either a religious zealot or my fiendish Thomas.
A few servers came to our table and offered choices of hot and cold breakfast items along with cake and biscuits and all manner of curds and puddings. I snagged a few pieces of bacon, an orange, and a soda scone. It truly was a treat to enjoy an orange during this season. I didn’t know how they’d managed to get such fruit but was immensely grateful for their magic. Another server presented a chocolate pot for the table and I quickly nodded, my mouth watering for the richness of melted chocolate and frothy milk. Thomas wasn’t the only one who enjoyed sweets.
“I’d like to know about the demons,” Thomas said bluntly once he’d sat down. He popped a berry into his mouth, then poured some hot chocolate into his cup. “What do you recall of them?”
“Them?” Mr. Cigrande stared at Thomas as if he’d escaped from an asylum. “What them? I only saw one demon. And seeing one demon is enough for anyone.”
“Apologies,” Thomas said. “Describe the demon to me. Try and recall every detail, even the smallest.”
Mr. Cigrande held fast to his mug of hot chocolate, his expression wary. “He looked like a regular man. A young man. Handsome, like you, but not in the way Lucifer is usually described in scripture. His eyes, though. They was something. That’s how I knew he was a demon.”
Noah drew in a breath but remained silent as Thomas subtly shook his head. “What about his eyes let you know his true self?”
Mr. Cigrande stared into his drink, mouth drawn into a frown. Without his bell and anger, he appeared to be a man who had as many wrinkles as gray hairs. He was worn and frail, his face covered in white whiskers. Much less imposing than he seemed while hollering at passersby.
“When he looked at me?” he said, meeting each of our gazes. “It was like staring into the eyes of a dead man. It’s cold out, but those eyes…” He huddled into his coat. “They sent shivers down my back. They were like blades. Like he could see every thought in my head and knew exactly how to cut them outta me.”
“Hmm. I bet his eyes were as pale as the ocean,” Thomas said, doing that unnerving thing where he was now half in the mind of the so-called demon and half reading the impossible clues no one else bothered seeing.
