Free The Moonstone and Miss Jones by Jillian Stone Page B

waters.” The good doctor nodded his way. “The Moonstone was gifted to Phaeton by an Egyptian goddess. Several months ago, he left the stone in my safekeeping—”
    “Not quite so safe, it would appear.” Gaspar narrowed his gaze and turned to Phaeton.
    “It was taken from Doctor Exeter’s laboratory by a horde of spider-legged rodents—man-made is my guess.” Phaeton related the evening’s events including the Gorgon’s message and the hooded sentries behind him. “These—whatever you call them—encouraged the Gorgons to leave and escorted us here.”
    “The rodents who took the Moonstone were mechanical—radio-controlled locally—but they also disappeared into the aether,” Exeter added.
    A number of ticks and clicks stirred behind them. Gaspar nodded to the man with the machine strapped to half his face. The sentry spoke, “Most likely RALS built by Lovecraft. It is a surety the professor has allies in the Outremer, which explains the sudden disappearance of the RALS.”
    “RALS?” Phaeton queried.
    “Rat Ass Little Spiders,” the mechanized voice answered.
    Gaspar shook his head. “Lovecraft would never undertake such a great risk—not unless he was forced to do it. It is one thing to shift an object this powerful into the Outremer—but to recover such a stone?”
    America appeared to be bursting with questions. “You speak of— a terre au delà de la mer —a land beyond the sea.”
    “I refer to an alternate London, Miss Jones. A parallel, coexistent realm much more unstable than our own. And this world goes by many names—mostly we use the term Outremer.” Gaspar paused, as if evaluating how much to reveal to her. “If the Moonstone has been hidden in this adjacent domain it must be retrieved as quickly as possible.”
    She swallowed. “May I ask why?”
    Gaspar leaned forward and raised his voice considerably. “Because we are being infected with the same instability that is tearing apart their world.”

Chapter Eight
     
    “I SEE .” America opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated.
    “Have a seat, Miss Jones.” Gaspar gestured to all of them. “Please make yourselves comfortable—sit, sit.” America was quite sure she detected an accent when Gaspar spoke. Old Spanish, perhaps Catalan or Basque?
    And the man was tenacious. “You must feel free to speak up Miss Jones—share what is on your mind.”
    Stunned for a moment, she caught her breath. When Gaspar smiled, a deep dimple ran down one side of his cheek. So much like Phaeton.
    America swallowed. “The first creature who tried to abduct me called himself Skeezick and spoke in a funny patois of rhyming Cockney. He referred to his ‘lath-n-plaster.’ ”
    “Likely means master,” Phaeton mused aloud.
    “Master or maker,” America agreed. “The creature claimed his master ‘tinkered him’ and many more like him.”
    Phaeton steered America over to a comfortable settee, while Gaspar asked about refreshments. “Tea? Whiskey? Absinthe?”
    The Shades’ leader reached for the bellpull on the wall. “The Outremer has been decimated by a pestilence twice. The unadulterated human species is rare over there—and London is becoming a rather desolate place. Someone—the maker, presumably, is popping out these strange ghouls and shifting them here.”
    Exeter had settled into a wing chair. “And how is it you’ve accumulated such knowledge?
    “We’ve caught and interrogated a few.” Gaspar’s gaze shifted to his small army. “And we’ve followed many more.”
    Phaeton asked the question they were all thinking. “You’ve all been over there?”
    Gaspar evaded Phaeton’s question. “During your absence, I recruited a small army of my own.” He nodded to his warrior specimens. “I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced.”
    “Captain Jersey Blood.” Gaspar nodded to the imposing man, who snubbed out his cigar stubb. “Captain Blood is related to General Sir Bindon Blood. Comes from a long line