Magic Dark and Strange by Kelly Powell

Author:Kelly Powell [Powell, Kelly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781534466104
Google: WQAAEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 1534466088
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2020-10-27T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CATHERINE STOOD a little ways down the street from the print shop. After crossing the river, Sydney had headed in the direction of the lodging house, while Guy had brought Owen back to the watchmaker’s, before coming along with Catherine. He paused beside her on the sidewalk now, looking over at the dark brick building.

“What shall I do,” he asked, “if you don’t come back out?”

“I’ll be all right,” Catherine told him. “And if not, I’m sure you’ll think of something valiant, provide some distraction so that I might escape.”

Guy’s eyes flickered to hers. He glanced away just as quickly, swallowing hard. “Of course,” he said. “A distraction.”

“Fear not, Mr. Nolan.” She offered him a reassuring smile. “I’ll return directly. I only need to speak with Mr. Ainsworth for a moment.”

With that, she continued on toward the shop. The building was soot-stained like every other in Old Town, the brass sign on the door weather-worn. Catherine let herself in and started across the print floor. The workday had begun; most people were at their desks and took no notice of her. Those who did simply nodded and smiled, and Catherine did her best to keep her expression pleasant. It seemed news had not spread about her predicament. Perhaps Ainsworth hadn’t yet come to a decision. Spencer had said he’d likely be preoccupied—he’d had a meeting with Boyd yesterday.

Upstairs, she knocked on the door to his office. “Mr. Ainsworth?”

The gas lights behind her hissed in the quiet. She glanced over her shoulder at the empty hall. Bringing a hand to the doorknob, she raised her voice. “Mr. Ainsworth, it’s Miss Daly.”

She opened the door, looked in, and stepped back at once.

Jonathan Ainsworth was quite dead.

He lay on the floor, his desk chair pushed back as though he’d collapsed from it. His face was pallid, his eyes staring in the fixed, unseeing manner of the departed. There was no blood, no gaping wound from which Catherine could discern the cause of his demise. Heart pounding, she crouched down, taking his wrist in some futile attempt to find a pulse. Pieces of a broken teacup were strewn over the floorboards, dark tea splashed across the wood. Ainsworth’s skin was already cold, his body stiff, as though he’d been dead for some time, throughout the night even.

Sitting back, she cut her eyes away from his vacant expression. It was startling to stumble upon him like this, but she couldn’t find it in herself to shed any tears for her former employer. In place of grief, there was only overwhelming puzzlement, and underlying it, a sharp edge of fear. The sensation coalesced within her heart, and she scrambled to her feet.

She had to tell someone. She had to find Spencer.

In his office downstairs, Spencer sat at his desk, looking over a bit of paper. He jerked his head up when she came in, putting the paper away in a drawer. “Catherine! What—good gracious, can’t you knock?”

Catherine closed the door, pressing her back against it. “Spencer,” she said.

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