Quicksilver

FORTY-TWO

“Something has gone wrong,” Alcina said. “I can sense it.”

“Nonsense.” Welch examined his pocket watch. “I have calculated very carefully. Miss Dean is dying at this very moment. Her energy is being infused into the mirrors. You can sense the power because there is so much of it, but that is a good sign. It means that my Great Engine has begun to ignite. I have achieved what the ancients failed to accomplish, an astonishingly powerful alchemical furnace that will deliver up the secrets of the paranormal.”

They were standing together in the library of the mansion, awaiting the conclusion of the experiment that was taking place on the floor above. Welch was beside himself with excitement. He had waited so long for this moment, he thought, overcome so many obstacles. Now, at last, success was within his grasp. By dawn he would be the master of alchemical power beyond description. The arrogant Joneses of Arcane would be forced to bow to his superior talents. Royalty would be dazzled.

But the true prize was beyond measure. He was certain that the energy trapped in the mirrors could do more than bring him great wealth and power. It would do what Sylvester Jones’s formula had failed to achieve. It would enhance his paranormal senses, and if the ancients were correct, that enhancement would add decades to his normal life span.

A small, muffled explosion rumbled through the ceiling of the library. Alcina looked up, horrified.

“My artifacts,” she shrieked. “Your engine is destroying them.”

“Perhaps one or two of the relics will not survive the storm of energy in that room, but that is no great matter,” Welch said.

“No, I cannot allow that to happen. They are too precious. They enhance my talent.”

Alcina grabbed fistfuls of her skirts and ran out of the library. He heard her footsteps on the staircase.

“Alcina, wait,” he called. “Come back.”

He started after her, but the window behind him exploded inward with violent force. Glass rained down. Stunned, he whirled around.

A dark figure swept in out of the night. Welch felt a terrible force strike at him, nearly stopping his heart. Terror unlike anything he had ever known paralyzed him.

“Where is she?” Owen Sweetwater asked.

Welch’s brain seemed to be fragmenting.

“Too late,” Welch wheezed. “Experiment has started.”

“Where is she?”

“You can’t stop it.”

Another wave of terror struck Welch.

“Upstairs,” Welch managed. “She will still be alive. It will take some time to infuse her energy into the walls.”

Owen said nothing. He took a step forward and put a hand on Welch’s throat.

A shocking jolt of energy swept through Welch. There was a cold, crushing weight on his senses. He was vaguely aware that his heart was beating far too fast.

And then he was aware of nothing at all.