Page 41 of Grave Expectations
I spent the next little while alternating between trying to remove the gag again and untying my bonds, but it was useless. All I managed to achieve was another debilitating coughing fit followed by a flood of angry tears that made me gulp and choke on the gag.
I lay on the cold flagstone floor on my side and stared at the door at the top of the stairs. Despite willing it to open, it remained firmly shut. Where was Gordon? Why hadn't he returned yet? How much time had passed?
The only comfort was the knowledge that Drinkwater was going after the man who'd killed him. If his wife could be believed, he wasn't a danger to anyone else. As soon as he had his revenge, she would let us go and I could send him back.
I sat up and scooted across the floor to the bed where I waited. And waited. My stomach growled and I needed to use the privy. The skin on my cheeks felt raw from the chafing cloth and drool seeped from the corners of my mouth. It took effort not to choke or cough reflexively.
Finally the door opened and Reginald Drinkwater stood in his body, candelabra in hand. The flickering flames picked out his bloodless face, his soulless eyes, and the gaping hole in his chest. He descended the stairs, alone. Neither Gus nor his wife was with him.
"Good evening," he said. "The deed has been done. My murderer is dead."
I arched my brows.
"He deserved it." His grim smile was made even grimmer thanks to the deathly pall of his lips.
I arched my brows higher and tried to say, "Why did he kill you?"
"I don't know his name," he said, misunderstanding my muffled words. "I'd never met him before. I only knew where to find him because he made the mistake of talking to himself after he shot me. 'Another successful job deserves an ale at The Feathers,' he'd said. The Feathers is a rough pub in Clerkenwell. I simply bought myself an ale, bided my time and waited for my murderer to enter. I lured him into the lane out the back with the promise of a job for him."
Job. He was a hired gunman? Who would hire another to kill Drinkwater?
Someone who didn't want blood on their hands.
I twisted and wiggled my numbed fingers.
"I can't release you until you promise not to send me back," he said.
No. Oh no. Why couldn't he just return to his afterlife? I shook my head.
The muscles in his face hardened. His lips pressed together. If blood flowed through his body, a vein would have bulged in his throat or temple. "I'm not going to harm anyone. I simply want to continue with my work." He paced from wall to wall of the cellar, his booted footsteps loud on the stones. "Imagine if I can achieve my objective and transfer my magic into the limbs I create? Imagine the benefits to mankind!" He stopped pacing very close to me. I swayed back, away from the stench of decay. "My magic still works, you know. Death hasn't affected it."
He frowned at me and I suddenly felt myself lifting off the bed. He was levitating me! I continued to rise and rise until my head skimmed the ceiling. I held myself very still in case movement broke his concentration. It was terrifying and yet oddly thrilling too. I wondered how long he could keep me up here, and if there were limitations with an object's weight.
With a derisive snort, he lowered me again. "Impressive, isn't it?"
Once I felt the mattress beneath me, I scooted away from him, even though I knew it would do no good. With his power, he could pick me up and slam me against the wall.
"I would very much like to untie you, but I can't without your promise that you won't send me back," he said. "Do I have it?"
Reneging on a promise didn't sit well with me, but I saw no other choice. I nodded.
"Good girl. A wise decision. As soon as I find a way to harness my magic and transfer it into the limbs, I'll return to my afterlife. But not until then."
Harness? How could something so ethereal and wild be rounded up like a flock of sheep?
He set the candelabra down on the floor and began untying my ankles. "Once my legacy has been established, I can go in peace. I will be immortalized in the scientific community, and outside it too, I hope."
Ah, yes, immortalization. The lure of it drove many madmen.
My feet and hands now released, he removed the gag. I spat out the ball of cloth from my mouth and swallowed several times and rubbed my jaw. It ached and my tongue felt twice its size, but there seemed to be no lasting damage.
"You may go," he said.
I couldn't believe it. I was actually going to walk free. Despite my stiff limbs, I hurried up the steps and flung open the door.
"Don't forget your promise!" he called after me.
"I won't," I croaked.
