Cora (Virtue & Vice #4)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HAWKE

“Y ou don’t have to accept the knighthood,” Violet was saying. Hawke found himself distracted by the elaborate feather and jewel poking up from her purple silk turban. Her dark skin almost faded into the extreme darkness, emphasizing the whites of her large eyes.

Before them on the table was a round glass ball nestled on a velvet pillow.

“Victoria will be personally offended if I do not.”

He did not usually confide his personal problems to anyone. The slow build toward intimacy with Bella had taken years to develop. Hints of interest that might have been only curiosity—until the night he saved her from discovery at a dinner party turned deadly, and their simmering attraction had flared. Weeks later, he’d gone to her for stitching up after a nasty encounter with one of London’s underworld lords.

That kiss.

He closed his eyes against the memory of it again, losing himself in Violet’s chanted monotone.

“Focus. You must help me channel Bella’s spirit.” She waved her long fingertips over the crystal. A faint glow came from inside. Hawke had been trying to figure out how she was faking this for the past quarter-hour. He was usually good at sussing out the source of fraud.

“Spirits from beyond the veil, we have heard you speak. Bella does not rest among you. She yet lives.”

“Tell me you don’t actually believe this nonsense.”

“You’re not helping, Hawke.” Violet cleared her throat and resumed. “We humbly ask your help. Tell us, is she safe?”

The table shook dramatically. Despite his skepticism, Hawke startled. Violet steadied the ball and continued.

“No. She is not safe. Help us find her. I beg you. Help us find her!”

A whoosh of air fluttered the curtains, then sucked them straight out the open window into the cold.

“This is absurd.” He got up, tucked the cloth back inside the house, and fastened the window. There were no footprints outside. No one else in the room. How in the devil’s name had it opened?

“I’m getting an image,” Violet said, her voice vibrating with excitement. “A dark space. Dirty. It smells bad.”

A scent like the worst parts of St. Giles known as the rookery flooded Hawke’s nose. Old urine mixed with unwashed body odor, filth and decay. He gagged and resumed his place at the now-still table.

“It’s fading,” Violet said. “Tell us more. Please! We beg you.” Her eyes darted to his. “A boon. We must have an offering.”

Hawke slapped a gold sovereign on the table. Violet considered it for a moment as if she was about to ask for more, then decided against it. The faint glow in the orb winked out.

The mood changed in an instant, signaling the performance was over. A woman clad in a flowing white gown with long auburn hair flowing freely around her shoulders carried in a candle taper in a silver holder, her expression solemn.

“The spirits were trying to tell us where Bella is.” She placed the candle on the table, dropped a quick kiss on Violet’s lips and flipped the gas lighting switch mounted to the wall. Hawke winced at the sudden brightness.

“Those were impressive parlor tricks. I don’t know how you ladies pulled them off. I admit I was rattled. Literally, when the table shook.”

“They’re not tricks, Hawke. Violet really can commune with the dead.”

Violet nodded. The feather on her turban bounced. “Always been able to speak with spirits. Since I was a child. It’s only with Daisy drying up our business and Bella being away that I have had a chance to tap into my true gift.”

She was serious.

Violet and Azalea were two of Bella’s longstanding Flowers, and the former had always had a flair for theatrics. Azalea was clearly creating effects like the moving table. He wasn’t sure how, but Hawke did not believe in messages from beyond the grave. Especially since he felt certain that Bella was still in this world.

She had to be. There was too much unfinished business between them.

“Thank you for the entertainment.” He tossed a second guinea on the table. Azalea snatched it up. The fabric tablecloth tented. Both women gasped.

“Look!” Violet exclaimed.

“The curtains!” Azalea whirled. “Which direction does that window face?”

“Southwest,” Hawke answered. Hairs pricked up the back of his neck.

“What else lies to the southwest?” Azalea’s triumph lit her eyes.

“France.” Any fool could have figured that out and chosen this room to hold a séance in. Everyone in this house knew that Bella had gone to France right before the holidays. It was nothing to go on. Less than a clue. These were things he already knew.

And yet.

Bella was missing. She was in danger. He didn’t need to commune with ghosts to know that. He had given this a try because he wanted an answer: was going after her worth the sacrifice of a knighthood? Victoria would take a rejection of her gift poorly. He did not wish to throw a well-intentioned gift back in his friend’s face.

Violet pinned him with a stare.

“Well, Hawke? What are you waiting for? Go and bring back our girl.”