The Alchemist in the Attic by Antonio Urias

Author:Antonio Urias [Urias, Antonio]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Thriller & Suspense, Fantasy, Supernatural, Historical, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense
Amazon: B0194D3LOA
Goodreads: 28164557
Published: 2015-12-08T11:00:00+00:00

17

THE SÉANCE

Atwood and Walter were encamped in their office. Outside they could hear the rumble of the printer, the stifled shouts of conversation, and the clattering of typewriters. Atwood was feverishly typing up a report for the afternoon edition. The Valencourt investigation might be making only stuttering progress, but as Maguire was quick to remind them, there were still murders to write about. The words weren’t coming, though, not quickly enough. Madame Valli’s incense still lingered even days later and the dreams had returned stranger and darker than ever. Walter’s carping wasn’t helping any.

“Why are you involving that woman?” Walter demanded.

Atwood glanced up and swallowed back a sigh. “I didn’t involve her,” Atwood said. “She involved herself.”

“Then get rid of her. I’m not sharing this case with some two-bit opera singer.”

“I’m not sure we have a choice. She knows my name.” He exhaled slightly. “Don’t worry. It’s not as though Maguire will give her a byline.”

Walter grumbled noncommittally. “I suppose.”

“Besides,” said Atwood, “she knows more than she’s saying, and at this point, we need all the help we can get.”

Walter couldn’t disagree with that. “I wish you’d consulted me first,” he said. “That’s all.”

Atwood frowned at him. That had been pure petulance. Madame Valli had ambushed him. There had been no time to consult anyone, barely any time to consult himself, and Walter knew that. The story was getting away from them. Every time Atwood thought he had a firm grip, it slithered away and took an unexpected turn. No one had heard from Swifty in days. Atwood was trying not to worry. The newsboy was a resourceful little tyke, but Atwood still felt like he was three steps behind and it was not a familiar feeling.

It was even worse with Madame Valli. She made him feel five steps behind at best. She clearly had a tighter grasp on events than he did, or at least thought she did. That was dangerous. Atwood could understand Walter’s concerns, but there was something else behind Walter’s unease, something Atwood couldn’t quite place.

“I’ll do my best to dissuade her,” he said. “I promise. As soon as I find out what she knows.”

“And when will that be?”

“Well,” said Atwood pulling out his notebook. “She said she had information for me, and I’ve been invited to meet her at the parlor of a Professor B.W. Stokes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Atwood said with a wry smile, “that I’m going to a séance.”

*

Professor Stokes’ parlor turned out to be a three-story walk-up in an unexpectedly fashionable neighborhood. Only a small brass plaque on the side of the door hinted at the resident’s peculiar vocation. San Francisco was filled with innumerable mystics, mediums, mesmerists, conjurors, and planet-readers. Some catered to the masses—the servants and workers—while others such as the so-called Professor Stokes clearly specialized in a far more discrete and lucrative clientele.

A maid opened the door and peered out at Atwood. Behind her, the house was in shadows.

“Yes, sir?” she asked.

“Atwood,” he said. “Theodore Atwood. I’m expected.” He handed over his card.

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