“A favor.” The way Miss Shinagh’s amber eyes lit up, Sam knew she’d been right. Miss Shinagh wasn’t seeking recompense?—she was seeking a good story. She was seeking an open door. “Whatever I want?”
“Within my conditions,” Sam said evenly. “And any of those you choose to set.”
“Very well, a favor.” Miss Shinagh stepped so close Sam blushed, looking up into her gleaming eyes, thinking of the stories she’d heard, of magical contracts sealed with a kiss. But Miss Shinagh only pressed the Kodak Brownie into Sam’s hands. “Don’t forget.” Her fingers lingered on Sam’s like a promise.
“Sam!” The voice was coming from behind her.
“Hel!” Sam cried. She turned to see Hel emerging from the fog, the rusty iron chain wrapped around her shoulder like an epaulette. Heathcliff was on her head, the only dry thing about her, her shirt clinging to her in ways that made Samfeelthings she was determined not to let on about.
“Are you all right?” Hel murmured, uncommonly close, as she took in the disheveled state of Sam’s clothing, the pink in her cheeks. Heathcliff squeaked and abandoned his drenched ship for Sam’s warmer vestments, nestling in the hook of her scarf. “You’re not hurt?”
“Yes?—I mean no, I’m not hurt.” Sam glanced over her shoulder, but Miss Shinagh was gone. “Isaw?—”
A warning flashed in Hel’s eyes as she stepped back, and the words died in Sam’s throat. A familiar jingle sounded in the fog.
She lifted her gaze to see Van Helsing striding toward them, dripping, his scowl fixed on Hel. “You were supposed to be keeping an eye on her.”
Hel shrugged. “I told you she couldn’t have gotten far.”
“And you. Why aren’t you wet?” Van Helsing eyed Sam narrowly, as if her visions somehow allowed her to fly, and it occurred to Sam that if she started to go monstrous, theymight.
“I was caught in a bit of stray sod,” Sam said, lifting her chin. It could have happened to anyone. “By the time I escaped, I was here.”
“Stray sod.” Hel cursed. “We’re lucky she wasn’t halfway to County Clare.”
“I met Róisín Shinagh,” Sam said, though she carefully avoided mentioning the ravens. She didn’t think they were Moriarty ravens. Didn’t want to know what Hel would do if she suspected they were.
“The revolutionary?” Van Helsing frowned.
“The unnaturalist,” Sam corrected. “She gave me this.” She held out the camera, eliding the bit where she owed the woman a favor. Something told her Van Helsing would not approve. “Said she found it near the sycamore yesterday morning. Do you think it might have belonged to the Viscount and the Duke?”
“Doubtful,” Van Helsing scoffed. “Miss Shinagh is a known radical. Why would she help you? Most likely, she’s playing a trick on you. Whatever’s on that camera, you can be sure it will lead you in the opposite direction of the Viscount and the Duke.”
It was possible, but Sam didn’t think so. It was more of a test. Agame. The woman had been in the Otherworld a long time. Besides, she got the impression Miss Shinaghlikedher.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Hel said, a gleam in her eye. “Trinity College will have the means to develop the film.”
“If you are determined to waste your time, it will have to be tomorrow.” Van Helsing tilted his head back, the tall collar of his coat brushing his stubbled jaw as he took in the darkening sky. The crescent moon cut through the tumbling clouds like a scythe. “The Crown has instituted a curfew.”
Chapter Five
The Shelbourne Hotel, Dublin (Baile Átha Cliath)
Five Days Before Samhain
The hotel had been built in the Victorian style, all red brick and Portland stone, crossbanded with reliefs in cream and dripping with ivy. Four bronze torchères of Egyptian and Nubian princesses stood before it, holding flames aloft as if in offering to the gods, and a glass canopy overhung the entrance, crowned with iron scrollwork picking out the name: Shelbourne Hotel.
Looking out from the hotel steps, Sam could just make out the glitter of lights in the reflected waters of Saint Stephen’s Green, like fallen stars.
“Are you coming?” Hel said as she and Van Helsing pushed past horse-drawn carriages jostling for position and strode into the hotel, dripping water and smelling of the lake. Sam hurried after, ducking the incredulous stares of Dublin’s gilded set, wishing that just once, she might visit a nice hotel looking less than an utter mess.
Her feelings were not helped once she made it inside. They squelched between columns of mossy Connemara marble crowned with gold flourishes, leaving tiny puddles on the floor that gleamed with the light of a crystal chandelier. At the far end stood an exquisite teak desk, from which the concierge watched them, a pained smile stretched across his face.
“A curfew,” Hel scoffed, as Van Helsing went about securing their rooms. Heathcliff’s pink nose poked out of Hel’s coat pocket, and Sam apologetically nudged him back down. The hotel was unlikely to be as delighted with the rat’s presence as he deserved.
“It’s not the worst idea,” Sam offered. “It might keep people from being taken. So long as they stay away from windows.”
“Tell that to the men enforcing the curfew,” Hel said dryly, looking into the night. “We should be out there.”
