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“Where is it?”
The constable produced it. There was no postage, no address, or any writing on it at all. Nor was there a watermark or any identifying marks whatsoever.
“Someone hand-delivered this.”
“Yes, sir, but no one was seen doing so.” Thacker cleared his throat. “And there’s more, sir. A note with the same exact message was left at the Delacourt townhome.”
“At what time?”
“Unknown, sir. This was found when the desk sergeant arrived at his post at six in the morning. The Delacourts’ servant found theirs about an hour later. Nobody saw who’d left the letter there either.”
“Go to the Delacourts now, please. Collect the note and envelope that was left for them. I’d like to see the handwriting. And there could be a watermark on that paper, even if there isn’t on this one. If there is a watermark, we need to find the stationer. If there isn’t a watermark, anything you can discover about the note that was left for them, anything at all, may prove useful.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And let the Delacourts know that I will be visiting them later. I need to go into the station, collect other reports from the constables on this case, and discover if anything else has been found.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, Thacker.”
Gideon heard her footsteps on the staircase and turned to face Electra as soon as he closed the front door.
“What is it?”
“A letter delivered to the station and to the Delacourts. If it is to be believed, then it is a letter from whoever has Iris Delacourt.”
She rushed down the last steps and approached. “Let me touch it.”
“I heard what you told Hardy. About the last person to touch an object. It’s been handled by me and Constable Thacker, at least.”
“I don’t even know if that variable is a certainty. Hardy handled Miss Fretwell’s pendant too. I think perhaps it was an erroneous supposition on my part.” She held out her bare hand. “I still need to try, Gideon.”
He nodded. “I know.”
She took the letter and sat in the chair opposite the settee, then laid the paper on her lap. With a deep exhale, she closed her eyes and laid her palms over the page.
Gideon watched her, feeling as he often did—that it was a unique privilege to be allowed to observe her. She’d let her hair down sometime in the night, and he tried not to be distracted by the black curling strands that hung over her shoulder.
A few moments later, he saw her shoulders slump slightly, and her eyes flew open.
“I can’t see anything.” Her voice broke.
“It’s all right,” he told her, and came over and knelt by the chair where she sat. “It is all right, Electra.”
“But it’s not. This is purportedly from the person who has her. If there was ever a time for my abilities to work, it should be now. We must find him.”
“We will.”
“I don’t feel certain of that anymore. Let me try again, please.”
Gideon nodded. How could he deny her? “Of course.”
She drew in a deep breath, placed her palm entirely over the paper, fingers stretched, covering as much of it as she could. Then she slipped her other hand underneath the paper, holding it between her palms. She closed her eyes.
“Show me,” she whispered.
Her jaw clenched and he could see the tendons in her neck straining. He had no notion how her powers worked, but it was astonishing that she could call upon this other sense that others did not possess.
