The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter

Chapter Twenty-one

EXETER EYEBALLED THE WIZARD’S MEAGER STAFF. “I understand you are charged with the aid and comfort of these ladies.” He poured fresh water into a basin and splashed his face. “I would like to suggest a bit of refreshment—hot tea and something light, perhaps a few biscuits and finger sandwiches.”

He washed his hands and arms up to the elbow and toweled off. The two horrid little monsters made gurgling and hissing noises at one another—squabbling, he supposed, over who was to be sent off on the errand.

“He thinks you want fingers—actual fingers—in your sandwiches.” An amused Phaeton explained to the guards. “Dainty morsels, Tweez, made with butter and jam—with the crusts cut off.”

Exeter folded two clean cloths, and removed a bottle of chloroform from his kit. Across the room, Mia sat beside America, cooing and fussing over baby Luna. Everyone, including Phaeton, had been scrubbed clean and bundled into warm clothing. Exeter made eye contact with the new father, who shifted his gaze from the chloroform to Prospero’s minions. He acknowledged Phaeton with a nod. If they were to try for a breakout, it would be best to give it a go sooner rather than later. There was a chance the wizard might outwit Ping and return to the den. It was not an impossible idea. None of them knew exactly how clever or devious the man was. No doubt Phaeton would have some insights—but that would have to wait. For now, Prospero remained an enigma.

Exeter stole a glance at Mia, lounging happily beside America. For an instant, he allowed an uncomfortable thought creep into his mind. He wondered what insights Mia had gleaned from her brief encounter with the man. He had found the emerald collar in the man’s private chamber. Absently, she swept up a few wisps of hair and pinned them into her topknot. Sensing his attention, she smiled and nodded.

So they were ready.

And it appeared both minions were leaving—which meant the door would be locked. Exeter called after the guards. “One more thing . . .” He caught the door just as it was about to close. Before either jailer turned, he reached over both their heads and pressed the anesthesia-soaked fabric against their mouths and nostrils. Exeter summoned a bit of potent energy, hoisting the wobbly heads, and flailing appendages into the air. “Easy, lads.” He used a hushed voice, and soon enough the kicking and thrashing ceased as the frail bodies sagged and legs began to dangle. He propped both guards against the door and tossed a ring of keys to Phaeton.

“There’s a code as well.” Phaeton reached through the bars, and pointed to a blinking box attached to the cell door. “Fortunately, I have deduced the cipher.”

Exeter examined the mysterious apparatus attached to the cell door. Following Phaeton’s instructions he pressed buttons marked with letters: P–H–A–E–D–R–A. “Phaedra—the Greek Goddess who hanged herself.” As if he had uttered magic words, the blinking light turned green and the device opened, revealing the original lockbox.

“Libertas.” Exeter could not help but smile as Phaeton searched for the right key. The man was shaking from the very idea of his imminent freedom. To be able to fully embrace America. Hold his child in his arms for the first time. Exeter dragged both creatures into the cell while Phaeton kissed and embraced and kissed and cooed and coddled. “Ready yourselves, Phaeton, ladies—we are about to make a break for it.”

Exeter locked up the cell and pocketed the key ring. “Off in the land of Nod.” He turned to Mia and reached out. The feel of her hand in his was almost too much to bear. He wanted to pull her close, taste that luscious mouth again. But all of that tempting lovemaking would have to wait.

His gaze moved to America. She cradled the babe, and Phaeton carried both mother and child in his arms. “Don’t drop them.”

“Bugger off. A herd of Prospero’s banshees couldn’t loosen my grip.” The inimitable Phaeton grin had returned, a very good sign. In fact, it appeared to hearten everyone. There was something about the man’s attitude, a tour de force of wit and bravado. Exeter realized he had missed him sorely.

Even so, he narrowed his gaze. “Keep an eye out. Plenty of night dwellers lurking about.” Squinting into the darkness, he led the way out of the ancient dungeon. Brick and mortar was soon replaced by chiseled limestone, yet he resisted calling out for help. Better to wait and see if the troll was still on guard. A test of sorts.

And he had his answer soon enough. Squeezing through the narrow opening, Exeter searched high and low for his rescuer. “His name is Archibald Dunbar Stuart—claims he’s under some sort of enchantment.”

“Trolls all want to believe that.” Phaeton turned slowly, rocking mother and baby in his arms. “Rather convenient, wouldn’t you say? Giant troll pops up in time to dig you out—leads you straight to us—ugly little minions welcome you with open arms . . .” Phaeton didn’t roll his eyes, exactly, but the expression irritated.

Exeter sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. “Let us say, for the sake of argument, that Prospero was behind all this coincidental good fortune; what might be his motive?”

Phaeton’s gaze darkened as all eyes moved to the babe in America’s arms.

Mia was the first to speak. “What if this was never about the Moonstone? I mean, it might have started out that way, and no doubt they all still want to use the Moonstone’s inexhaustible aether.”

“I’m fairly certain we could place Gaspar, Oakley, and Victor in that bunch.” Exeter offered. “But—”

“But perhaps not Prospero.” Mia rolled a bottom lip under her pearly white uppers. “We’re all thinking it. Luna is special, but what if she’s really special?”

Exeter knew what they must do. “We have to split up.”

Phaeton shook his head. “There is no safe place from him. America needs to rest—the hotel suite will have to do.”

Exeter pondered, for a moment, the whereabouts of the others. He still had no idea if Jersey Blood had survived the blast in the tunnel. Perhaps there had been additional cave-ins. Exeter shook off the grisly thought. All he really knew was that the Nightshades were missing. “There’s a communicator and a portal maker in the dining room. See if you can’t locate Oakley. Tell him to send Ruby and Cutter over.”

Phaeton nodded. “I’d feel better with a few bodyguards.”

“Mia and I will continue to act as decoys.” Exeter chose the widest, most well-trafficked tunnel and headed toward his best guess at north. Using all of his intuitive feelers, he led them in the general direction of the river. They must have covered a mile of quarry tunnel before they encountered the terrifying sound of—quiet. No more Métro trains traveling at high speed down adjacent tunnels.

“I believe we have passed through a portal.” Phaeton mused aloud. “We are returned to eighteen eighty-nine.”

“Would that be good news, or bad?” America asked.

“Good.” Phaeton mused aloud. “While in captivity, these past long months, I’ve had a chance to study the wizard. He’s not as comfortable in our world. Never stays for long and is knackered upon return.” Phaeton lifted America higher and redistributed the weight in his arms.

“Do you need a rest?” Exeter asked.

“I can go a bit longer—I was allowed a bit of gymnasium every day—confined to the cell block. Kept me from going barking mad.”

Exeter checked over the child, who had begun to fuss. “I recommend we find a defensible spot and take a rest.” A chorus of hisses and growls could be heard behind them. “What is that?”

“Something revived from the dead—ghastly creatures.” A disembodied voice answered, politely.

“Above us.” Exeter nodded upward. Perched in an alcove overhead, two large eyes blinked in the dark. A hairy face plunged forward, tilting a curious chin. Phaeton turned a shoulder to the creature, shielding mother and child, but the troll ignored the rebuff and intruded for a closer look at the infant.

“Careful.” Exeter calmed the defensive father. “He won’t hurt her.”

As if the baby could sense her father’s trepidation, Luna ceased her crying and stared.

For a moment, the hisses quieted as well. “There’s a horde of them,” the troll explained. “Made from catacomb bones, with a few masterful touches by the wizard himself.

“More wraiths?” Mia looked to Exeter.

Exeter had yet to take his eyes off the troll. “You were supposed to keep watch. What happened?”

“Those things—the drones happened. Or wraiths. Whatever you prefer to call them. Wretched creatures like most of his creations.” The troll’s brogue was gone, replaced by proper British speak.

Phaeton pivoted in place, peering down several smaller tunnels. “What’s the fastest way out of here—the closest exit?”

“There’s a passage not far from here that connects to an old drainage pipe. The storm drain leads up to a florist shop.”

Exeter nodded. “Archie, I need you to get these good people up top. Find the Hôtel Claude, on Île de la Cité.” He searched in his pocket and passed the room key over to the only one with a free hand—the troll.

Phaeton’s stare traveled from the key up the lumbering hairy-faced creature and over to Exeter. “Hard to sneak him in, but I like the size of him.”

“Lock yourselves in the sixth-floor suite. Order room service and a bottle of stout for America.” When Phaeton raised a brow, he explained, “Encourages the secretion of milk by the mammary glands.”

Mia followed close behind Exeter, who set a blistering pace through a passage that veered off to the east, along the Seine. They did not speak, but concentrated on putting as much distance between themselves and the troll family as they could safely manage. This section of tunnel was older—and piled high with bones. They were headed back into the catacombs. A cold shiver vibrated through her body.

Mia grabbed hold of Exeter’s arm, slowing the pace. “What if Prospero knows about the trap?”

Exeter shortened his stride, pulling her up beside him. “You think he suspects something?”

Her nod quickly turned into a confusing shake. “I’m not sure—it’s more of a feeling than anything he said. There was something odd about the way he spoke of his appointment—as though he wanted me to know where he was going. He mentioned Ping and an address. Eight rue de Talleyrand.”

Exeter stared. “The address of the Contessa Castiglione?”

“Ping and Tim could be in trouble. I say we pay her a visit. We’re invited, are we not?” There was something comforting about his wary gaze. She’d seen it hundreds of times over the years. Ordinarily it meant he was on to her—some bit of mischief she was plotting. But not tonight. Tonight his shaded squint felt reassuring.

Emboldened by his interest, she continued. “If I’m right—we might be able to help Tim and Ping capture him. Prospero can’t fight us all off.”

“We’ll make our way to the Contessa’s home . . . however . . .”

A caveat was coming. “Yes, Exeter?”

“We will not be announced. We’ll find another way in—have a look about. If I deem the situation too dangerous, you will leave immediately.”

“And what about you?” she protested. Exeter laid a finger to his lips. The hissing sounds and low moans were drawing closer. She brightened. “A good sign, is it not?” The wraiths had followed her and Exeter.

“How are you feeling?” She sensed his struggle to read the signs of an impending shift in the dark. The telltale wrinkle in her brow and pain in her eyes. The band of headache radiating from temple to temple. He placed a thumb to her racing pulse, so he could feel the elevation in temperature. No use hiding her symptoms any longer. “She wants out.”

Exeter massaged her temples. Gentle hands, the hands of a healer. “Better?”

Mia closed her eyes and nodded. “A bit.”

“Hold her back, until we arrive at the soiree. We’ll find a spare room—or closet. I’ll take care of you.” She imagined his mouth on a nipple—his fingers slipping inside her. Arousal shuddered pleasantly through her body.

Mia grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him back. She kissed him hard, drawing blood. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

He licked his bottom lip. “We must go.”

The hissing noises had grown steadily louder—by the time they found an exit, the wraiths were nearly upon them. Rounding a corner, a bony hand stretched out and grasped at her shoulder. Exeter turned and leveled a blast of energy at the wraith and pushed her up a ladder. “Wait for me topside.”

The wraith hordes had reached the level of a howling storm. “Do not try to fight them off by yourself.” She turned back to see a large round ball of energy grow in his palm. A squadron of skeletons dressed in rags hissed at the sight and retreated.

“Topside, young lady. I’ll just be a moment.” Exeter glanced up at her. “Promise.”

Mia climbed the ladder and turned the wheel of the hatch. Nothing—no release, just a few creaks and groans. She put her shoulder to the stubborn barrier and pushed. Finally, the door swung open. Mia stepped out into the cold night air and marveled briefly at the unlikely spot. The hidden entrance was situated just below the foot of the Pont Neuf.

Exeter climbed out of the small opening. “Shall we make our way to eight rue de Talleyrand?”

Mia picked up her skirts and jumped over a puddle. “The sooner the better.”

Exeter hailed a hansom on the left bank and they were at the Contessa’s palatial maison in minutes. Parting the canvas curtain to have a look ahead, he spoke softly. “There’s a line of carriages at the gate waiting to enter the grounds.” He tapped on the roof and passed the driver a few coins. “We’ll be getting out here.”

Inside the gate, they meandered past low shrubs and through flower beds. The garden path led to an open door under a sign that read LIVRAISONS. A swath of gaslight poured out the entrance, illuminating several cases of champagne. Exeter grabbed a bottle and nudged Mia through the delivery door, startling a scullery maid. “We seem to have taken a wrong turn. Might you point us toward the salon?”

Following the girl’s directions, he opened the door on the right and found the servants’ stairs. On the second floor, he turned the knob. Mia wriggled between Exeter and the crack in the door.

“What do you see?” His words breezed past her ear and tingled through her body. Mia caught her breath. “A gathering of rather smart-looking nobs swilling champagne and—”

“And?”

The scene was not unlike any soiree one might attend in London, with an exception. “Not a soul in costume, but some are wearing demi masks—or donning them.” Mia shifted to one side, so Exeter could see. “What do you make of it?”

Exeter squinted through the crack. “It appears there is yet another level to this party—on the third floor.” He opened the door as a servant walked by, and scooped two black feathered masks off a tray.

“My word, you are a stealthy one this evening,” she teased.

He fit the mask over her eyes, and turned her around. “We shall be ravens in the night.” His softly spoken words sent a shiver through her. She held the mask in place while he looped the satin ribbons in a bow behind her topknot.

Mia tied Exeter’s mask on, but was not prepared for the lurch in her stomach when he turned around. The mask shaded the top half of his eyes, and a glimmer of gaslight played across his face—dark pupils with a glint of emerald in his gaze. Another tremble quaked inside her. The devilish kind of quiver that caused naughty thoughts and made her ache for intimacy with him. “Do you think we’re presentable enough?”

A half smile toyed at the edges of his mouth. “Just a guess, but clothing might be optional here.”

Mia blinked. “Whatever do you mean—?”

He grabbed her hand and slipped into the crowd. Exeter lifted a chilled bottle out of an iced chiller and replaced it with the bottle he had stolen. “This bottle, a decidedly better vintage, could use a chill, but while we wait . . .” He moved to another table, and procured two empty glasses. “Guzzle a few of these, darling.” As soon as she downed the champagne, he poured another.

Halfway through her third glass, she hiccupped. “Exeter, I’m afraid I’m . . .”

“Yes, I believe you’re about ready for the third floor.” While they finished their bubbly, they both watched the ups and downs, the comings and goings of the guests. “The Contessa has not shown her face. Not a sign of Ping or Tim Noggy.” His gaze returned to her. “You haven’t seen anything that might resemble Prospero?”

Mia arched a brow. “Might he be a shape-shifter? I didn’t get that impression.” He emptied the last of the bottle into her glass. “Are you trying to get me sloshed?”

“I am.” Exeter took hold of her hand, and angled his mouth for a kiss, but instead spoke in a whisper. “Do you know what a sexual fetish is?”

Mia shook her head. “I don’t believe so.” She leaned closer. “What is it?”

“Exotic sexual preferences, you might call them. Sodomy of all varieties, the ménage à trois—three usually, though there can be more.”

Mia snorted a soft laugh. “Ménage à quatre ou cinq?”

Exeter sighed. “There is a subset of the beau mode who enjoy sex orgies—incorporating a variety of different fetishes. The Earl of Shrewsbury is fond of spanking. During the hunting season he hires a number of courtesans out to his country estate, for entertainment.”

Mia placed the back of her hand to her burning cheek. All this talk of fetishes and orgies nearly had her wet with perspiration. “One would think his backside would be sore enough after a hard day in the saddle.”

His mouth twitched. With his eyes and nose covered, she found herself staring at his mouth. Slightly wide, with a full lower lip and well-formed upper. A girl might lose control of herself. “You’re taking this awfully well.” Exeter remarked.

“The cat is curious.”

“And Mia?”

“She would like to see for herself—what goes on at these orgies.”

He reached for the glass in her hand and set it down on a passing tray of empties. “I had no idea you were a voyeur.”