Twin Speex: Time Traitors Book II (33 page)

“Lord Westchester, why were you in Professor Bradley’s hospital room the night after his attack?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly.

Charlie said nothing and schooled his features into a mask of haughty superiority, but Ettie could see that he was surprised.

So could Inspector Hamilton. He huffed through his nose and said before Charlie could deny it, “You were seen by another patient.” The inspector shook his head with baffled anger. “Funny, but the guards on duty that night were not around either. They weren’t at their post when their relief showed up the next morning. We still can’t find them. It seems we have a desertion epidemic on our hands. Know anything about that?”

“How could I?” Charlie responded with a lazy, affected drawl, “I merely came to assure myself that the father of my betrothed was receiving proper care.”

The reaction to this pronouncement couldn’t have been more dramatic if he had actually confessed to his aborted attempt to kill Arthur Bradley. Everyone in the room gasped and literally held their breaths for several seconds before trying to cover up their collective astonishment with polite little coughs. Ettie would have found it funny if she too was not struggling to maintain a serene exterior.

By announcing their betrothal, Charlie was committing a major social faux pas. She could see this reflected in Reginald’s face. Charles Drake, Earl of Westchester, was expected, nay required, to marry a woman of unimpeachable breeding and, at the very least, hypothetical virtue. Marrying one’s paramour was simply not done.

If the shifting timelines weren’t confusing enough, making sense of the complex sexual mores of the ruling class was nearly impossible. Ettie knew that they were allowed significant license even after marriage. The one presumably hard and fast rule was not legitimizing through marriage anyone of the lower classes.

Noting her initial surprise, Inspector Hamilton said, “This appears to be news to you, Miss Speex.”

Ettie cleared her throat and replied as smoothly as possible, “Certainly not, Inspector. But you are well aware, as is everyone else in this room, of my position in society. Our decision to marry will not be a popular one. I was just a little taken aback that Char—Lord Westchester would announce it so soon.”

This explanation was so obviously a credible description of their situation that no one felt compelled to interrogate them further. And since Arthur Bradley had not come to harm at the hands of Lord Westchester, Inspector Hamilton didn’t pursue it. The only one present who knew it for a lie was Clem. She was well aware of the strained nature of their relationship, but she had little doubt they were in love.

Inspector Hamilton cleared his throat and asked, “Where have you been?” He held up his hand as Charlie opened his mouth to answer. “And before you say anything, let me tell you we have all of your residences under surveillance.”

Charlie quirked his lips in an annoyingly arrogant smirk and declared, “Oh, I doubt that.”

Inspector Hamilton sighed and shook his head, well aware that he was getting nowhere. Antagonizing a powerful peer was always risky so he merely informed Ettie, “Miss Speex, your father is being moved to a secure facility attached to the prison.”

“The prison?”

“It is the only way we can guarantee his safety.”

She nodded reluctantly in agreement.

Inspector Hamilton rubbed his nose, the pencil still in his hand. He looked up and around the room, finally addressing Matron, “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to clear the room and have a private word with Miss Speex.”

Matron blinked as if surprised to be addressed and replied, “Of course, you may use my office for as long as needed. I certainly have plenty of other chores to attend to,” she concluded, exiting the room, her back ramrod straight in skirts starched and voluminous.

“Inspector, is this—?” Charlie began.

“Lord Westchester,” the inspector replied firmly, “I don’t have the authority to compel your cooperation, but I do have the right to speak privately with victims of crime, as well as their family members.”

Charlie pursed his lips in irritation. “Are you suggesting that Ettie cannot speak freely in front of me?”

The inspector’s expression was noncommittal. He replied mildly, “I make no insinuations. I’m just covering my bases.” He nodded to his two subordinates. “Guzman, take the rest here to the lobby and get their statements. Go over them at least a couple of times. Make sure we haven’t missed anything. Morgan,” he addressed the female officer, “you stay with me.”

Everyone cleared out, leaving Ettie staring awkwardly at Inspector Hamilton and Officer Morgan.

“What is it?”

“I need to know where your brother is, Miss Speex.”

She threw her hands in the air. “I’ve told you many times before. I have no idea where he is.”

“I think you do.”

Ettie’s frustration morphed into disorientation as she again experienced the dizzying sensation of two separate filmstrips meshing together. Her vision blurred at the edges, and she saw with astonishment that Inspector Hamilton and Officer Morgan were no longer dressed in the pseudo-Edwardian wackiness that characterized this dimension. Instead, they wore buckskin breeches, fringed and decorated with beads. Officer Morgan topped hers off with a fitted long-sleeved vest-like garment, embroidered with geometrical designs. On her feet were knee-high moccasin boots, secured to her legs with large intricately wrought buttons.

Inspector Hamilton wore a buttoned down wool jacket with a high collar, cinched around the waist by a leather belt with a large silver buckle. On his feet were black lace-up work boots.

Both wore their hair long, the inspector’s in one braid down his back and Officer Morgan’s in two plaits, one on each side of her face. They each held what looked like a small palm-sized computer.

Ettie stepped back and sat down heavily on the sofa. She felt a wave of nausea and closed her eyes.

Inspector Hamilton and Officer Morgan exchanged concerned looks.

“Miss Speex, are you all right?” he asked.

Ettie rested her forehead in her hands and tried to think. This attack on her father was a clear warning that their enemy was still very close at hand. The overlapping dimensions signaled trouble. She was sure of this, but had little real understanding of their significance. She felt overwhelmed.

Ettie took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Inspector Hamilton and Officer Morgan stood in their respective uniforms looking at her with some apprehension.

“I’m fine, really. Just… just worried about my father,” she finally replied.

It was certainly a reasonable explanation for her reaction. Inspector Hamilton had seen her exhibit something similar the night of her father’s first attack, but these dizzy spells didn’t feel right. Actually, nothing about this case felt right, he thought.

Yet, he would wait for another day to interrogate her regarding her brother.

“Okay, I’ll take you to Matron. You can see your father before we move him.”

Ettie looked at him gratefully and rose carefully from the sofa. “Thank you, Inspector.”

“Morgan,” he ordered, “bring the cruiser round to the front entrance.”

Officer Morgan left and Ettie stood. She gathered up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She made a show of adjusting the strap and asked with studied casualness, “Have you ever heard of the Feralon, Inspector?”

He had been walking toward the door but turned to look at her in surprise. “They are rumored to roam the rooftops, but are considered mythical creatures that steal children from their beds at night. I assume everyone has heard of the Feralon. The thought of them terrifies most kids, mine included.”

“Of course.” Ettie laughed self-consciously and cleared her throat. “I guess… I mean, when did the stories begin? Do you know?”

He furrowed his brow. “Long before I was born. They’re legends, fairytales.”

She nodded and followed him out the door.

He stopped in the hallway and turned to look at her again. “Among my people, they are thought to derive from the Ungawen. Although I suspect there are many such folktales from different cultures that could claim the same.”

“The Ungawen?”

“Roughly translated, it means ‘Guardians of the In between.’ ”

“In between what?”

He shrugged his shoulders and continued walking. “Elements, perhaps, air, water, fire.”

“So they guard in between the elements?” she probed.

“I think it means mostly that they are unseen. They are not of any element and therefore invisible to the human eye.”

“But guardian seems so safe, so benign. How have they evolved into creatures that hunt children while they sleep?”

Waiting for the lift, Inspector Hamilton stared down at his shoes contemplatively. “The Ungawen were never benign. Their guardianship always came at a cost. In the stories, requesting their protection meant giving up something.”

The lift had arrived, and they walked in pulling the gate closed behind them.

“Like what?” Ettie asked.

“Something or someone you love.” He looked down at her. “Love is their currency. They feed on it, but they can’t hold onto it. It slips out into the void, the space between the elements, leaving them always hungry.”

She swallowed, an unexpected chill running up her spine. “Yes. I can see how the Ungawen might become the Feralon.”

They had arrived at the lobby. Ettie saw Charlie, Clem, and Reginald near the entrance still in a huddle with Officer Guzman. Outside the rain-splattered glass doors, Officer Morgan sat patiently in the police cruiser.

Ettie detained Inspector Hamilton with a hand on his arm. “Who are your people?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows and thrusting his hands in his pockets, answered, “The East Coast tribes.”

“Native American?”

He looked at her again with a furrowed brow. “That’s interesting. I’ve never heard us called that before. Typically, we are referred to as Indians. Inaccurate, but it seems to have stuck. I’m guessing history wasn’t your best subject.”

Ettie smiled and brought her arm out in a graceful, sweeping gesture. “Ballet, Inspector Hamilton, has consumed me.”

He laughed politely and then explained, “The eastern tribes were consolidated in the Indian Assimilation Act of 1799. From the Iroquois in the Mid-Atlantic and Northeast to the Choctaw and Creek in the Southeast we all became one tribe. We lost much of our individuality in a forced incorporation. So I would be hard pressed to tell you exactly which tribe my people came from and where the Ungawen originated.”

She nodded and thanked him, then asked, “And Officer Morgan?”

“My niece.”

*

Inspector Hamilton sat in the passenger seat of the police cruiser flipping through his small notebook. Officer Morgan drove and occasionally cut her eyes furtively over at him. At last, he closed the notebook and, looking out the window, asked, “What is it?”

They had stopped to let a long line of cumbersome hackneys pass.

“Why didn’t we bring her in for questioning?” The young woman turned to look at him, one hand still resting on the steering wheel. “Other than Lord Westchester’s word, she has no alibi.” Her voice gained in intensity as she spoke, “Something’s not right. Professor Bradley is afraid of her. I saw it with my own eyes when I was on guard duty. She’s involved in this somehow.”

“How, Nina?”

She drove on as the last of the ponderous horseless coaches moved past the intersection. “I think she and her brother are in it together. They planned the murders of their parents.” Speaking quickly and with growing confidence, she added, “Maybe there is no other woman, the lookalike, I mean. It could very well be Odette Speex made up to look older.”

He raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised. “What is her, uh, their, motive?”

“Money… hate.” She seemed less certain of herself. “Maybe they’re just twisted that way.”

“What way?”

She looked uncomfortably over at him. “You know… too close…”

He smiled, amused, but addressed her assertions in a serious tone, “It is good you are developing theories, but we have to go where the facts lead us. Odette Speex has an airtight alibi for the murder of her mother and the attack—”

“
First
attack,” Officer Morgan corrected.

He nodded. “Yes, the first attack on her father. But unlike you, I believe Lord Westchester to be an excellent alibi.” He held up his hand to stop her interrupting him. “All accounts describe this woman as driven, almost unhinged. I don’t get that vibe from Miss Speex.”

She shook her head and scoffed under her breath, “Vibe? Where are
your
facts?”

He raised his eyebrows again, but this time his face was stern. “I may be your uncle, Officer Morgan, but you will remember that I am also your boss.”

She blushed and pressed her lips together. “Sorry, Chief,” she said tightly.

They drove on in silence for a few more blocks before he relented and said, “There is indeed much strange about this case, and the siblings Speex are definitely up to something. Maybe even something big.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The Feralon,” he replied, musingly, “She asked about the Feralon.”

Officer Morgan looked at him questioningly. “So? Like all of her kind, she must believe them to be mythical creatures made up to scare children.”

He didn’t explain that Ettie had known nothing about them. He just nodded and replied absently, “Perhaps.”

Twenty-Four

SHE LEANED OVER the inert figure and caressed the smooth waxen cheek.

“Are you ready yet?” she asked without looking up from the small, still form. The oval face was like a child’s. Long, dark eyelashes lay against the pale skin, and damp tendrils of hair clung to its forehead. Its breathing was labored, but otherwise stable.

“I’m hooking the last one up now,” he answered in a clinical monotone. “It should only be a few more minutes.”

The octagonal chamber was well-lit. Gigantic arched windows looked out over the nighttime skyline. Book-laden shelves lined the walls. A highly polished mahogany staircase led up to a cozy domed-roof office loft crowded with telescopes of varying sizes and hung with celestial maps. White marble pillars buttressed the ceiling and were carved with mythical beasts and starry constellations. It was a beautiful room, open and designed to explore the night sky. Strangely, the beauty and wholesomeness of these surrounding made the actions taking place within its walls even more grotesque than if they had been conducted within a dungeon.