Free Deadly Violet - 04 by Tony Richards Page B

barely any impression on it. I swiveled around, and could make out the vague outlines of huge family portraits. But nothing resembling a living human being, if Raine even answered that description anymore.
    “No one home. Wasted visit. May as well leave,” suggested Willets, by my shoulder.
    “So soon?” came a flabbergasted, high-class voice, apparently from thin air. “But I haven’t even offered you a seat.”
    There were no chairs in here, and so that didn’t make the slightest bit of sense. But when you considered the source of the outburst …
    A massive pair of golden eyes, catlike in shape and with slitted pupils, came open in front of us, and we both flinched back.
    Woodard Raine – the last descendant of the man who had founded this town, and a magician of incomparable strength – came a pace closer, not realizing that he had startled us. I could hear the motion, but could not see it. He doesn’t like too many lights on in his home. And has taken to dressing entirely in black these days, which makes him about as easy to catch sight of as a half Rice Krispie in a sandstorm.
    He’d altered himself physically several times the last few years, which explained the eyes. And had been out dancing with the fairies as well during that period, which told you why the doctor was uncomfortable.
    Me? I tightened my face, stood my ground. It’s always been that way with me and Woody. I’ve got better things to do with my time than go around being intimidated by an airy, self-important, never-worked-a-day-in-his life screwball.
    “What are you fellows doing here?” he asked us.
    He’d been aware of that, by the reception we’d received. But then, he had gone and forgotten it again. Which was pretty typical of him. He has a mind like a colander with an extra set of holes.
    With Willets adding details in, I explained the situation to him all over again, making sure that he got the important facts. He took them in, and then blinked nervously.
    “So … you want to look into the past?”
    “That’s right, Woods. The Victorian Age.”
    “But what exactly are you looking for? And where?”
    He had a point. This was a whole big town, larger than it ought to be, since none of its inhabitants could ever leave.
    There was a subtle cough from the open double doorway. Hampton was still standing there, a massive, rotund outline in the dimness. He wasn’t trying to be impolite, but he had obviously been listening.
    “If I may, sir?” he put in. “We’re talking about an infant of the very lowest class. And if she stole a powerful device, then she would almost certainly have snatched it from an adept.”
    He faltered, conscious of our gazes on him. Hampton never was what you’d call the most confident of types. But then he reminded himself how urgent our situation was, and he pressed on.
    “A child th at age would not be able to rob anyone by force, and would find it difficult to burgle a house. So she was most likely a pickpocket. Which means that she’d have had to do the deed in a place where society’s highest and society’s lowest mingled freely. And back in Victorian times, venues of that kind were rare. The rich kept themselves at a good arm’s length from those in need. But might I suggest Union Square?”
    When he saw how blank our gazes had become, he practically choked up once more. But then he managed to continue, his thin voice trembling a little
    “I like to read history books, when I’m not on duty. Yes, I do,” he told us. “And I know for a fact that there used to be a market there, attended by most people in the town. Adepts would have been there. Little beggar girls as well. Merely a suggestion, sir. I hope that you don’t mind me saying.”
    Woody’s bright gaze disappeared from view a second time. But on this occasion, it was because he’d turned away from me and Willets. I could hear soft footfalls on the parquet floor. And then, part of Hampton’s outline was eclipsed by a far narrower