Entrapping Eleanor: Gaslight Guilds

CHAPTER 1

AN EXPLOSIVE CRESCENDO

Eleanor Price skimmed her hand along the jewel case admiring all the pretty baubles beneath the glass. Melancholy rose on a tide of things that might have been and never would be again. Her Aunt Lydia had seen to that.

They had come to Mephistopheles’ Gems for a bit of shopping and daydreaming, or so Lydia had maintained. Thus far, it had been nothing but a sad reminder of where Eleanor’s life had ended up so removed from what she’d envisioned. When her father had been living, well, things might have been rather dicey, but at least they were fun.

Nothing Lydia ever did was frivolous or for nothing more than to lift the spirits. Even her physical relationships—of which there were many—were used for gain. Familial ties came with all manner of strings attached.

So often lately, Eleanor looked for ways out of her predicament. Living and working for Lydia and her associate, Burrell, had gotten precarious. She never knew what would set them off and end in severe punishment. The last one had seen her beaten and bruised to the extent even the servants had turned away from her. Any help she received usually ended in more of the same treatment, for both her and the person rendering aid. Eleanor wanted no part of seeing another harmed for stepping in.

She wandered to the other side of the shop where a case held simple gold bands, perfect for a bride on her wedding day.

But who would want to marry Eleanor after living in the house of degradation owned by Lydia Price? Gossip traveled quickly in a city the size of London, especially when the subject of tawdry tales was a woman living alone in the home with nothing but male servants, and a live-in lover who used his heavy hand to keep those under him in line.

Eleanor glanced around the room. Lydia was nowhere to be seen, but the telltale shift of a curtain leading into the shop’s backroom spoke volumes. Eleanor’s cheeks burned in shame. No doubt her aunt had slipped in the back for a midday liaison with another of her lovers. Lord knew they covered the city as plentifully as rats.

The curtain swished open, and Lydia reappeared with a satisfied smile stretched across her painted lips. Music filtered through the room, light and airy. The tune haunting in its familiarity. Panic rose as each note plucked out on the spindle of a music box. Eleanor had written that tune for Wentworth Cross, the man who’d betrayed her in the most callous manner.

One by one, the customers began to leave the shop. Did they find offense with the music? Professional umbrage burned low in her gut, though she didn’t think that was the reason.

None of them hurried or looked as if they were distressed. No, in fact they looked as if they were in a collective trance.

Opening her magic to feel the strands of music as it moved through the shop, she noted the subtle changes. Someone had tampered with it. To what purpose, she could only guess.

This wasn’t the song as she had written it. Not at all as it had been when she had fashioned the tiny brass drum. Odd, but it hadn’t affected her at all.

Lydia turned and gave a knowing smile and coy wave before stepping out onto the street. Something about that smile left Eleanor cold. Panicked. This wasn’t right.

What did that mean? Lydia hadn’t said they were leaving. Eleanor started after her but was only halfway across the room when the music changed, became darker. Dangerous. A preternatural hint of warning shimmied down her spine.

A note struck. The wall that separated the backroom from the showroom blew out. Showers of wood and debris flew with great velocity to impale the far wall. Glass splintered. Eleanor hit the ground. A section of the wall landed on her, knocking the breath from her body. Oh, God! What had Lydia done?

Eleanor struggled for air before darkness claimed her.

Chief Inspector Tobias York of Scotland Yard’s Division of Magical Affairs walked the scene of the explosion with a careful eye. Early reports put it down to the malfunction of a gas outlet. This had none of the markings of a gas line and all the hallmarks of sabotage. For one thing, the blast radius was nowhere near any of the lamps or outlets. Secondly, no fire had ensued after the initial explosion. What he expected to find as a result of the type of explosion reported didn’t support the reality. The dead bodies and severed limbs associated with this type of event were absent.

The patrons had gotten out before the initial explosion, suggesting there had been some warning.

He braved the fallen timbers, plaster, and glass to look inside the showroom. Can the proprietor tell if anything was stolen?

Fiona Collins, a tracker and musical talent working as a bridge between the Yard and the Musicians’ Guild, stood to his right. After working with her for the past year, he knew the expression on her face meant she was scanning the scene for any magical signatures. Her eyes narrowed and a frown sat firmly in place as she concentrated her power. In this mess? He’ll be lucky if he finds the safe let alone his inventory.

Her no-nonsense American attitude had cut through societal manure on every level once she hit London. A russet-haired cyclone who stormed the gates of the London Guilds and was proving to be one hell of an investigator.

Tobias made a circuit of the room, picking his way over the remains of what had once been the back room of the store. In his mind, he reconstructed the moments before the explosion. Seeing the blast zone and spray as it moved through the shop as if the events unfolded in front of him. He didn’t need any magical talent to do that, only the knowledge he’d acquired over the years of his career. The device was set over here. Judging from the height of the scorch marks, it sat on the counter.

As he started to move to what had once been the back room, a moan came from under a piece of the wall. His heart rate accelerated as he moved into action.

A survivor or the culprit caught in their own mischief. He had no way to know until he uncovered them.

Hold on. I’ve got you.

He raised his head and called to one of the constables. I need help in here.

A man he knew as Langston hurried into the shop and stood opposite Tobias. Ready on three.

Tobias counted down and they lifted as one. The woman lay on her belly. Blood matted her hair. Her breath was barely detectable. After a moment she took a big gasp. Winded, that was all.

She stirred.

Tobias placed his hand on the middle of her back. Don’t move. Let me check you for injuries first. Can you tell me if you hurt anywhere?

She coughed. I…I don’t think so.

Wiggle your fingers.

She did as told. Her gloved fingers fluttered, however slowly.

Now move your feet.

Both of her feet flexed up and down a few times.

I think your back is fine, though I’m no physician.

She started to roll over and Tobias assisted her. His fingers brushed against her breast, and he mumbled an apology. He hadn’t meant to touch her in so inappropriate a manner.

Take care with your head. He supported her neck as she sat up. Color leached from her already pale face.

The room is spinning. She swallowed and squeezed her eyelids tightly.

Tobias placed his hand on her face. Open your eyes again.

She did so and his breath fled. His heart stuttered then beat double time.

Thunderstruck. That’s the word used for such a reaction when looking deeply into the eyes of a stranger and feeling an instant bond of desire.

She really was quite lovely. The pale-violet color of her eyes snared him. The unusual color made it hard to look away.

He cleared his throat. I can have a physician called to look at you.

She lifted a pale, delicate hand and touched her head. Blood painted the fingertips of her gloves. I only need a moment.

He held her hand and looked at the evidence of injury. This is going to take more than a moment.

She shook her head, wincing with the action. It’s only a surface injury.

Doubt filled his mind, but despite his better judgement, he’d let her decide if she wanted seen or not.

Can you stand if I help you?

She nodded. I can try.

Her gaze still hadn’t met his and he doubted she even knew her own name at the moment. She’d been through a horrible ordeal and left trapped under rubble. Anyone would be out of sorts. The fact she hadn’t broken down into hysterics spoke of either the thin line she treaded toward a swoon or shock. Possibly both.

Tobias helped her to her feet and then escorted her out to the walk. She turned to give him a nod of thanks.

What is your name? He spoke gently even as his voice had a hoarse edge. He needed to get a statement from her. So far, she was the only person inside the building to witness the explosion.

She frowned and looked away. Guilt or shame, he wasn’t sure. Jane. Jane Hill.

Not her real name, he’d bet. Tobias York, Scotland Yard.

Her gaze darted to meet his for a second. A visible tremor moved through her. His name was not unknown to her then.

Do you remember what happened, Miss Hill?

No. I’m sorry. Her gaze darted from person to person, searching the gathered crowd. I have to get home.

If you will wait a moment, I’ll have one of the constables escort you. He reached into his pocket and handed her one of his calling cards. If you do remember anything, please contact me.

She took the card and looked at it, then ran her thumb over the name. A shudder went through Tobias at the action.

Thank you. She stared across the street, then started to move away from him. Her gait was steady—just.

Tobias waited for a moment to see if she’d flee or stay until a constable escorted her home. He’d hate for her to get partway there and fall unconscious because of an unseen injury. She glanced over her shoulder as she crossed the street to an adjacent corner from the shop.

Collins stood on the walkway speaking with witnesses. She tapped a pencil against a pad of paper. A look of annoyance planted firmly on her face.

Tobias attempted to rescue her from her current situation. What seems to be the problem?

Not even those walking by the shop at the time of the blast remember anything. She shook her head. It’s not as if they’re concealing anything. I believe they’re all telling the truth.

They may not remember anything, nor have seen anything of note.

True. Collins pursed her lips and turned to study the alleyway across from the ruined business. I can see a magic flow through. It’s the same signature as inside the shop.

Our perpetrator? Not for the first time, Tobias wished he had the ability to at least see magical signatures. When it came to magic, he was completely without senses.

I can’t tell. The lines are fragmented. She narrowed her gaze again. It might be one person, or many from the same family with similar talents. It’s hard to tell.

In your expert opinion, what do you think it is?

Collins’ dark-green eyes glittered in challenge for a moment. I think it’s a new kind of spell that obliterates the maker’s signature to make it harder to trace.

Tobias’ spirits hit a new low. He rubbed his forehead and walked in a circle before coming back to her. I didn’t need to hear that.

You wanted my expert opinion. That’s it.

He didn’t like it, but if that was the assessment, he had to go with it. But with magical criminals in the city getting smarter, how were they ever going to bring them to heel?

Ramsfield was still at large and had gone to ground in the worst possible way. No one had seen him in months, causing speculation that the spell had taken him down or he’d taken his life. Nothing was for certain. The execution of Penelope Chambers, Lady Farnsworth, loomed in the near future. After her imprisonment, all her conspirators had spread out, making it impossible to follow the trail.

'Cuse, sir.

Tobias turned at the sound of a young voice to his left. Can I help you?

The blast. You lookin’ for them that was ‘round here before it went off, right?

The boy couldn’t have been more than ten. Judging from the amount of dirt and the threadbare condition of his clothing, he was a street urchin and had been for a while.

That’s correct.

I reckon I sees ‘em.

Tobias reached into his pocket and showed the boy a coin. What did you see?

A lady. Runnin’. The boy looked around. Well, she were movin’ fast. Got into a toff’s carriage. Only he weren’t no toff. He’s a street tough like meself.

Tobias stifled a grin. You recognized him?

Sure did. Used to work these streets before he took up with the fancy skirt. Burrell. Real mean bloke.

Tobias’ heart rate increased. The first sniff on the wind of a break in the case. Burrell was, indeed, a nasty piece of work. Tobias had followed his trail before to no avail. Rumors abounded that he’d been in with Lady Penelope’s crew.

And the lady? What does she look like?

The kid scrunched up his face as if considering the question. She’s got spikes coming off her, but they ain’t shiny gold like her kin. They’s more like black glass.

Surprised, Tobias studied the boy closer. Can you read auras?

Some. Me main talent’s light. He pointed a grubby thumb to his chest. They calls me Lumy. Like the French word.

It took Tobias a moment, but he worked it out. The kid—Lumy—meant lumière.

Calling light was a rare talent. Tobias had never heard of a Guild dedicated solely to that gift; there were so few with the talent. Not that a street urchin would ever be welcome into those rarefied halls. Collins might know of a place the child might get better training than the street provided.

Tobias reached into his pocket and pulled out a calling card. If you see them around again, you come to the Yard and have one of the men find me.

Lumy raised a tawny brow. Will there be more of the blunt in it?

Yes.

I reckon I can manage.

Tobias gave a decisive nod and the boy blended back into the crowd. He’d have to keep an eye on him. No ten-year-old deserved that hardened street-wary look around the eyes. However, he was smart enough to know where to earn honest coin.

Thoughts churned and simmered. He needed to bring Lady Camille in on the case, without upsetting his partner. Collins might be excellent at her craft, but she hadn’t run across Burrell and his employer before, whereas Lady Camille already knew their signatures. It made sense to send for her to see if the magical patterns matched.

He took out a pad of paper and wrote a quick note he handed to a constable. Take this to Lady Camille at the Musicians’ Guild.

The constable tugged on his hat brim and left the scene.

Now to break the news to Collins.

CHAPTER 2

AN UNWILLING ACCOMPLICE

Eleanor stole into her aunt’s house through the servant’s entrance. No staff stood in the kitchen. Not surprising. The servants, no doubt, were all up in her aunt’s room having a private celebration.

Eleanor stayed to the edge of the steps as she moved up to her rooms via the back stairs. If her aunt had meant for her to make it out of that shop alive today, she would have warned Eleanor of the plans. Since there had been no warning forthcoming, she had to assume her talents were no longer wanted nor required.

Freedom from her aunt and Burrell sounded a lovely notion, but the reality remained neither could afford for her to remain alive. Not when she knew their secrets.

A creak on one of the stairs stopped her cold. Eleanor waited to see if any footsteps came from overhead. She needed to ensure her aunt and staff were indisposed for a lengthy session. If they were in the midst of one of their orgies, she’d have plenty of time to break into her aunt’s study and search for evidence that perhaps they might have hired another composer.

As silently as possible, she opened the door onto the floor where her aunt’s suite was located. Even from down the hall, moans of pleasure floated to her. Immediately her heart began to pound and breath to hitch. Behind the confines of her very proper clothes, her nipples pebbled into hard, little points.

Damn her for a hedonist, but the thought of witnessing the scene in her aunt’s bedroom sent spirals of excitement shooting down to her sex, making her clench those muscles. She closed her eyes and gripped her hands into fists. No. She would only make sure they were well engaged and not stay to watch.

Eleanor cut through the room reserved for an in-suite servant. Here a small hole in the wall allowed her to see into the bedroom without being detected. Quietly, she pushed the lewd painting that hung there to the side and stuck her eye to the hole, bracing herself for the carnal display.

Two of the footmen and Burrell were engaged in various acts with Lydia. She straddled Langdon’s hips, moving back and forth in a sensuous rhythm as Burrell stood behind her, thrusting as he held her to him. The third man, Astin, lay positioned in such a way Lydia had her face over his genitals, sucking his cock into her mouth with every forward movement.

Heat scored Eleanor all the way to her toes. Arousal clenched her insides. An image of Chief Inspector Tobias York filled her mind. What would that proper example of British order and decency think if he knew what depravity filled this house? That she stood there staring as her heart raced and bloomers grew wet.

Never mind that—when Inspector York discovered the pieces of that music box, he’d be able to trace the composition back to her. At least the base spell. Another practitioner had gone behind her and altered the intent.

She swallowed.

Sounds of pleasure bled through the wall from the bedroom. They’d be at it for a while yet.

Eleanor hurried back down the servants’ stairs and to the study, careful to close and lock the door behind her. Three of the footmen were still unaccounted for and she didn’t mean for them to stumble on her while she snooped.

The writing desk sat in the corner of the room. She tiptoed over and started to pull the top open only to find it locked. Her heart sank. Chances were the answers had been locked away among the many correspondences Lydia enjoyed with numerous magical practitioners around the country.

None of them Guild members. All of them subversives.

Her aunt, like many of those who worked for the Triumvirate, hated the Guilds.

Their main goals in organizing were to supplant the Guilds with their own form of magical control. She’d overheard one too many discussions that involved gutting the Guild Council. Both figuratively and literally.

Unfortunately, she’d never picked a lock in her life, but there was also no time like the present to try. Eleanor took a pin from her hair and straightened it out. She shoved it into the lock and jiggled it around to no effect.

What are you doing?

Shocked, she straightened and held her hand with the makeshift lock pick to her breast. Carlson. You startled me.

The fact she hadn’t heard him enter the room brought her up short. The man had dogged her heels since he’d come to work for Lydia a few months before.

So, I see. What are you doing?

Carlson was another of her aunt’s footmen-cum-lovers. He raked a gaze up her body to stop at her eyes. A predatory gleam lit his gaze to a smoldering gold. Ever since landing in her aunt’s employ, he’d looked as if he’d rather taste Eleanor’s charms over Lydia’s.

I’ve lost some sheet music with a spell I’ve been working. I thought maybe it got gathered up with some of my aunt’s papers. She shrugged. Never hurts to look.

His eyes narrowed. In some cases, it does.

Eleanor swallowed. Of all the impertinence. Carlson would tell on her, and she’d be in even worse trouble, though how that was possible she couldn’t rightly imagine. Death was death.

I didn’t want to disturb the…celebration.

His nostrils flared ever so slightly, and Eleanor’s gaze flicked to his groin. No amount of fabric in the world had the slightest hope of containing his erection.

He took a step toward her. I think you better wait for your aunt to finish and ask her to search.

As he grabbed her arm, his knuckles grazed the side of her breast. Fear crept along her nerve endings. Burrell might give her pause because of his temper, but Carlson presented a whole different kind of menace.

He stopped then pulled her around to face him. You have blood all over your hair and neck.

She touched the area that had been bleeding. An accident.

Genuine concern filled his eyes for only a second before the emotion shifted away. "Do you require a