The Mastiff. The criminal mastermind. The one behind all their troubles. A man even the police feared.
“He’s the key,” Vera said to Brogan. “Clare and Four-Finger Mike said it’s bigger than the trouble we know of. If we nab him, that stops so much more suffering.”
They moved toward him.
“I’d advise you stay put,” the Mastiff said. “For your own safety.”
“We know who you are,” Brogan said.
“Of course you do.” The Mastiff smiled like a lion spotting his prey. “The problem is, there ain’t nothing you can do about it.”
Vera took a single step closer. “We can make certain you don’t get away.”
“The Irishman’s bleeding heart will make certain I do.” He casually moved past Peter’s replacement cart. He raised his left hand and, slowly, pointed at the print shop.
He snapped his fingers.
A blast of hot orange flames burst from the shop. The front windows blew out, sending shards of glass through the air.
Pain seared through Vera.
And the world went black.
by Brogan Donnelly
Day Five
Sebastian Hines considered himself quite a paragon of gentlemanly achievement. That the keeper of the mammals at the Museum of Natural History had, in an official capacity, asked for him to call was yet another feather in his cap. He stepped inside what the uncouth locals referred to as the Dead Zoo, feeling quite pleased with himself.
The museum was not open to visitors that day, which made his presence there all the more flattering. Yes, he was sharing space with two delivery men, but he did not permit that to dampen his spirits. The men carefully set down a pane of glass beside a display case in need of mending.
Nearby, a grizzled janitor bent over a mop, applying himself with pointed and focused effort to cleaning something off the stone floor. It was not exalted company, but they were there as tradespeople. He was there as a sought-after guest.
“Do not mind Jonty,” William Sheehan said as the new arrival approached. “He is so very dedicated to his work.”
“No bother.” Sebastian pressed a lace-edged handkerchief to his nose, managing to hide his look of displeasure. “I am curious as to why you’ve sent for me.”
“I have encountered a mystery here at the Museum of Natural History that I cannot solve.”
Sebastian was taken for a tour, past a display of a missing rodent, past a disgruntled Jonty working hard to clean something from the floor, past a display case in need of new glass. Past a taxidermied polar bear looking unblinkingly at a seal.
It had all happened before.
It would happen again.
Dear Reader, should you visit Dublin, should you jaunt past Merrion Square, should you wander into the Museum of Natural History, take care.
Not everything at the Dead Zoo . . . is dead.
Brogan dropped to his knees. “Vera.” She was facedown, blood soaking the back of her dress. “Vera.”
Hollis hunched beside him. “What can I do?”
“I have to get her to Doc.” He looked up at Hollis. “Fetch Captain Shaw—the London Fire Engine Establishment agreed to protect this neighborhood.”
Hollis nodded and took off at a run.
Brogan caught sight of Peter. “The neighbors’ fire plan—put it in motion.”
Vera moaned as Brogan turned her over. The sound worried and relieved him all at the same time. Careful but quick, he slipped his arms beneath her and picked her up. The moisture against his arms sent a shiver through him. She was losing a lot of blood.
What if Doc couldn’t save her? What if Doc’s personal frustration with Brogan meant he wouldn’t help?
He had to at least try.
He carried her as far as Greek Street. The explosion had ended the street brawl, but the fire had heightened the utter chaos. He was far enough away to have some hope of hailing a hackney. The fates were smiling; he spotted one almost immediately.
Vera didn’t talk as they rushed toward Finsbury. Brogan kept up a one-sided conversation, pleading with her to stay awake, to stay with him, promising all would be well but not knowing if it was true.
The moment the hackney stopped at Doc’s door, Brogan climbed out with Vera clasped in his soaked arms. He kicked at the door, praying the doctor was home.
Mrs. Simms, a nurse who worked for Doc, answered.
“She’s dying.” Brogan’s words rushed out.
“Doc’s in the sitting room.” Mrs. Simms motioned him in.
He carried Vera directly there, having been to Doc’s home often enough to not need instructions. Doc was already on his feet and standing by the examination table in the corner of the room.
He was never shaken, Doc. Never upended no matter what was brought to him. “Lay her down and tell me what happened.”
Brogan carefully set Vera on the table.
“You’re covered in blood,” Doc said.
“It’s hers. From her back.”
Doc helped him roll her onto her stomach so he could see her wounds.
“’Twas an explosion in a building she was standing near. Knocked her off her feet. Glass and splintered wood flew everywhere.”
“Then we’re likely looking at burns and puncture wounds.” Doc pulled a pair of scissors from a drawer just as Mrs. Simms stepped inside the room. “We’ll have to cut off her clothes. I suspect the injuries are extensive.”
Mrs. Simms took action on the instant, snatching up a pair of scissors for herself. She spoke to Brogan without looking away from her work cutting through the outer layer of Vera’s dress. “Best wait elsewhere. Doc’s library’s available.”
He’d no desire to leave Vera. But he couldn’t invade her privacy without her permission, and she wasn’t in any state to give it. And he wouldn’t stand in the way of Doc’s efforts.
“We’re wasting time, Brogan,” Doc said impatiently.
Brogan bent down enough to whisper in Vera’s ear. “Stay with me, love.”
A half hour passed. Nothing.
An hour. Nothing, still.
Brogan was ready to jump out of his skin. He was no surgeon, but he felt certain Doc and Mrs. Simms would’ve completed their ministrations if Vera’s state weren’t critical.
His pacing brought him to the library door just as Móirín and Hollis stepped inside.