29th February
Brannon looked down at the young doctor. He huddled in a chair in the interrogation room, trying to maintain the remnants of his dignity, but with a frightened look around the room and the police.
"And then, son?" The commissar asked insinuatingly. "What happened then?"
"I don't remember..." he squeezed out. "Listen, I just fulfilled my medical duty! This is a patient, she was sick, she was also injured, and age, and I just gave her the help she needed!.."
"And woke her up," Brannon concluded. The doctor pulled his neck into his shoulders. "How do you explain that you were found on the outskirts of the market, rummaging in garbage heaps?"
"N-nohow," the doctor whispered. "I remember nothing..."
"Sir," Byrne coughed. The Commissar turned around. Ayrton Broyd stood at the door of the interrogation room. Nathan grunted "Finish here" at the detective and left the interrogation room. The police chief handed him a folded sheet of paper. The commissar unfolded it and sighed slightly.
"The warrant for murder during the arrest," Broyd said. "Shoot directly in the head."
"Yes, sir," Brannon tucked the unpleasant document into his bosom. "The consultant deals with the amulet. With it, we can hunt down Defoe, but we need a spell. And the pyromaniac did not share the spell with us."
"I've posted guards around the Sheridan house. I don't know if it will do any good. Who is beyond the control of this lady?"
"The one with the amulet, Raiden and..." Brannon swallowed. The chief sniffed. "Missis van Allen with her family."
"Is that why she and young van Allen are waiting for you in the waiting room?"
Nathan felt a twinge of guilt. He hasn't even visited in the last few days!..
- Why? Broyd asked.
"I don't know, sir," the Commissar answered evasively. "Perhaps the hardships experienced in Meersand..."
"Don't talk nonsense! Hardships, ha! I'll find out," Broyd promised menacingly. "Then. When we kill this creature. Where was she seen?"
"Last time near the market, sir. Then the traces were lost. She cannot return to the apartment or the pavilion. But I don't think she's going to hide. Most likely, she will try to finish what she started."
"And she will look for a suitable girl. Are you sure she won't find Miss Sheridan?"
"I'm sure."
"Do you trust this pyromaniac that much?"
"No, sir," Brannon sighed. "This is not Longsdale, he has no intention of helping us. I'm afraid now that he's got Peggy, we'll never see him again."
"And the girl?" Broyd asked quietly.
"I don't know," the commissar muttered grimly. "But for now, at least she's safe."
The van Allens were waiting in the waiting room, and Nathan at first glance realized that the discord in the family was about to turn into an insurmountable abyss. Victor stood with his face turned away from his mother, and gloomily looked out the window of the cafe; Valentina sat with her head bowed and her hands clenched tightly. Broyd gave them both suspicious eyes, snorted, and stomped up the stairs to his office.
"Good afternoon," Nathan said; Valentina went up to meet him. "Sorry, I didn't come in..."
"Is she safe?" The widow asked quickly, and the Commissar nodded.
"Yes. Peggy is fine."
Valentina took his hand, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, Nathan felt a little better.
"We came to help."
"Where is she?" young van Allen said abruptly. "Where is Miss Sheridan?"
"In the shelter. Let's go upstairs. My office is occupied by Mister Longsdale, but the meeting room is vacant."
"You don't know where she is, do you?" Valentina asked barely audibly as they got up. Brannon shook his head. "Probably better this way."
"Uh-huh," he said bitterly. "If the pyromaniac wants her back. Why would he want to?"
Victor van Allen gasped convulsively. "Aha," the commissar thought gloomily, "look at your dream, boy - this is how she is, this girl." He let them into the room and closed the door.
"Pyromaniac?!" Victor exclaimed excitedly. "What other pyromaniac?!"
"We came to help," Valentina said, glancing at him reproachfully. "We do not succumb to the influence of the maniac. You don't have to worry about us."
Brannon sat down on the edge of the table. The commissar's reflections were heavy: there was much in him rebelling against involving a woman in this. Although Valentina was not like everyone else...
"It's not a maniac," Brannon said finally.
"Then who?" Mrs. van Allen asked in surprise, and the Commissar told everything to her, from beginning to end. In a strange way, he felt better, as if all this - sacrifices, rituals, knowledge that Nathan did not want, a pyromaniac with his confessions, Longsdale with his riddles - were such a heavy burden that Brennon no longer had the strength to drag it alone. Fortunately, Victor van Allen took his revelations in silence - that is, he slumped into a chair like a bag of rags, and sat without moving, looking at one point.
"Why do you think that she will not return either to the pavilion or to the apartment?" Valentina asked. "It's easy for her walk past the guards."
"I'm not sure what she wants," Nathan said, hesitating. "She seemed to me deeply possessed. Now that we know almost everything about her, she must understand that she has much less time and opportunities than before. If only I could find out where she is!"
"Can't you get in touch with Mr. Redfern to give you a spell?" Thinking, Mrs. van Allen offered. Brannon shook his head.
"He did not leave a return address. And before we communicated through Peggy or when he condescended to us, the poor. And now it makes no sense..." the Commissar paused and listened to the noise outside the door. Valentina frowned for a moment, and then suddenly smiled so that his heart turned over, and remarked:
"But you are still wrong."
The door flew open. Victor jumped up in his chair with an indistinct cry.
"Uncle!" Margaret exclaimed and threw on the Commissar's neck. He barely had time to notice Redfern and the stunned face of the attendant over his shoulder, and then Brannon was not up to it.
"Oh, Peg, Peg!" he whispered, squeezing his niece in his arms so that he pulled her off the floor. "Peggy, how could you! Are you safe? Are you healthy? Are you okay?"
"It's all right," the hooligan breathed out gently, pressing her silk cheek to his cheek. "And you? And mom and dad? Are they... are they really worried?"
"Your mother!" Nathan caught his breath. He was finally able to lower her to the floor, but did not release his embrace. "Your mother..."
"Well, that's enough," the pyromaniac interrupted impatiently and slammed the door. "We have a case that should be dealt with immediately while it lays in the hospital under anesthesia."
"It's no longer laying," the Commissar admitted, feeling painful pricks of shame for his own lack of professionalism. "Pauline Defoe ran away."
Margaret turned pale. Angel hissed through his teeth a long, completely unprintable phrase, not in the least ashamed of women, and squeezed the girl's hand above the elbow. Margaret stepped back from the commissar and stared anxiously at Redfern's face. He pulled her to him, his gaze tense and menacing.
"You will go back immediately," Angel said. Peggy nodded, and the Commissar thought bitterly that her family would not have expected such submission from her. She didn't say a word against! "And you give me back my amulet before your damn consultant ruins it!"
"And you assured me that consultants are born professionals in this matter," Nathan said dryly. "Victor, come down to me and bring the amulet."
The young man did not move at once. He literally devoured Angel and Peg with his eyes, and the Commissar noted with annoyance that the thoughts reflected on Victor's face were quite obvious. Margaret ignored him, looked only at her mentor, and van Allen shrugged his shoulders and walked out. Finally, he tried to squeeze out a disdainful smile, but the sight was pathetic.
"What are they doing here?" The pyromaniac demanded suspiciously.
"Apart from the witch, the Van Allen family are the only ones who do not succumb to the influence of Pauline Defoe, who was able to defeat even Longsdale. Missis van Allen came to help."
"That makes sense," Redfern muttered. "But vivene cannot kill... but her witch can! How are you going to benefit from them?"
"First, we will find Defoe with the help of the amulet," the commissar said. "And we'll see. None of my people will be able to approach her, and others are in danger. Therefore, I believe that she should be smoked out of the hole and driven into some deserted place."
"And then?" Angel continued with a mockery, staring at Brannon. "What will you do next?"
"We'll see," Nathan replied grimly. The warrant for murder during the arrest burned his pocket, recalling the worst post-revolutionary times, when the police were allowed to shoot and hang marauders, murderers, robbers without trial or investigation.
"Perhaps," Valentina said, "I can temporarily limit her abilities. If I touch her."
"It's not a disease," Redfern replied sharply. "You cannot heal it. Or," he suddenly glared at Mrs. van Allen with a flashing glare, "can you?" His eyes widened and he stepped back from the widow, gripping his cane.
"I know," Valentina said calmly. "If you fear for yourself, then I will never do it by force, against your will."
The pyromaniac's face changed so much that Margaret squeezed his hand and whispered:
"Angel! They won't hurt you, really!"
"You were irradiated on this island," Nathan said, "during the outbreak of the plague and the opening of the portal due to…" He stammered, looking at Peggy. The girl pressed tightly against her mentor.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," Angel said through set teeth. He turned pale, but the commissar did not have time to develop the offensive: the door opened again, and Longsdale appeared on the threshold with the hound. Redfern staggered back. The hound snarled, bared its fangs, and leaped at him with a long leap, slamming him to the floor.
"Hey!!" the commissar howled. Screaming, Margaret rushed to the hound and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck:
"No! Let go! Let go, Red, what's wrong with you?!"
Brannon and Longsdale grabbed the hound from both sides. Redfern managed to put his cane in front of him, but the hound, growling hoarsely and dripping with saliva, instantly gnawed at the wood and gritted its teeth on the blade. Flames fluttered in its mouths. While Angel wriggled under the hound, two men tried in vain to drag the animal away. The cane sank lower and lower under the pressure of the hound and almost touched the pyromaniac's face.
"Red, calm down!" Brennon croaked: he had no idea how strong this brute is! The fur of the beast was already beginning to burn, when suddenly a white woman's hand lay on its forehead. The hound froze. His eyes were still burning, saliva dripping onto Angel's face, leaving burns, but the beast did not move. Valentina stroked his forehead, looking into his eyes. Her eyes darkened to a deep blue; finally, the hound released the tattered cane and stepped back, sat down on the floor and hunched over.
"Oh, Angel!" Margaret gasped; the hound shuddered. She grabbed her mentor by the arm, and he sat down, resting on her shoulders. The look thrown at the hound by the pyromaniac was black with hatred. Margaret took out a handkerchief and began to gently dab the saliva from Angel's face.
"Sorry," Longsdale said. "I have several healing compounds with me..."
"Amulet," Redfern hissed through clenched teeth. The consultant gave him the case. Brennon gave Valentina his hand, turned to the door and was unpleasantly surprised at the pleasure with which the witch watched what was happening. She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest, and grinned contentedly.
"What the he... what is going on here? What's with your hound, Longsdale?"
"I don't know," the consultant muttered. "This is the first time with him."
"Oh my god..." young van Allen said. He looked like a rabbit in a cage with predators, and when there was a stomp on the stairs, he jumped into the air in surprise.
"Sir!" Gallagher burst into the room, hesitated, looking around in amazement at all those present, and blurted out: "Sir, there is a boy below! We called Kennedy and the doctor from the hospital, but you need to urgently..."
"What boy?"
"Sheridan boy, sir," the detective replied. "One of the younger ones."
***
Daniel sat in the detectives' room, disheveled and huddled like a sparrow wrapped in Byrne's frock coat. The detective carefully wiped the blood from his chest with a handkerchief.
"Danny!" Peggy screamed and darted to her brother. He jerked his whole body, rushed to meet her, and the Commissar saw the name carved on his chest: "Margaret." The girl recoiled.
"He came like that," Byrne said. Nathan put a chair next to boy and put his arm around his nephew's shoulders. Dani was shaking violently, and he was still blue with cold and his teeth chattered.
"Who did this?"
"Mom," the boy whispered. "Uncle, is Mommy crazy?"
"Jesus," Byrne whispered.
"No, sonny." Brennon took the handkerchief from the detective and dabbed the cuts. "Mom just… just…"
"It's she," Margaret breathed out dully. "She sent him for me!"
The Commissar looked up at her. The niece froze in the doorway, pale as marble, but her eyes burned like a cat's before a jump, with rage, not fear. The pyromaniac went up to her and put his hand on her shoulder; Brennon was suddenly struck by the resemblance he had for a moment when he saw them next to him... but the impression vanished as soon as Peggy dropped to the floor beside her brother.
"Danny," she whispered, "this isn't Mom. It is an evil spirit that compels her."
"It's Mom," Daniel shook his head. "She told me to come here. For you to come home."
"Have you seen anyone else at home?" Brannon asked. "Except for mom, dad, brothers and servants?"
The boy shook his head. His eyes were transparent with fear, but for some reason he did not cry, although the Commissar would feel better if he did cry. But Danny froze in his fear, like a fly in amber, and only pressed closer to Nathan. Margaret put her hand over the cuts on her brother's chest and muttered softly.
"Disinfectant first," Angel said. "Then hemostatic, then healing."
"Did you record the damage?" the Commissar asked Byrne.
"Yes, sir, I signed," the detective handed him the paper, Brennon glanced at it and suddenly, blazing like gunpowder, in a fury thought that it would be worth letting Redfern strangle this carrion while still in the hospital.
"Uncle," Danny called, "Mom will be the same as before?"
"Yes, son," the commissar managed through clenched teeth, stroking his shoulder. "Peggy is right: it was an evil spirit that compels your mother..."
"Did he compel Eddie too? Why did Eddie hold me when..." The boy hesitated. He shivered more and more, and Brannon pulled him closer to him. Margaret put her hand to Danny's forehead.
"Who else was behaving differently?"
"Dad. He told all the servants to leave, and he sent the nanny away, and Mister Shelby — everyone!"
"Shelby is the tutor," Margaret said. "There are only three adults left in the house. And three boys! Uncle!"
"Did they tell you to send a message, Danny?" the Commissar asked. "Did they give you a message?"
"Peg must come," the boy said, barely moving his lips. "Must come home..."
"Angel, help me!" Margaret begged. "I don't know antipyretic spells!"
The pyromaniac approached Daniel apprehensively, as if afraid that a ten-year-old child would bite him, and asked:
"What caused the cuts?"
The boy, seeing him, scaredly squeezed closer to Nathan and whispered:
"Knife. The one with the carved handle that my dad gave to my mom..."
"It's a paper knife," Margaret said quickly.
"Most likely, dirt and paper dust got into the wounds. Hold he tight." The pyromaniac pushed a bottle of clear liquid out of the belt slot and took a handkerchief out of his pocket.
"I do not want!" the nephew shouted shrilly and clung to Nathan. "Get out! Uncle, drive him away!"
"Allow me."
As Valentina walked in, Brennon felt an incomparable relief. For some reason, now it seemed to him that the child would be completely safe next to her.
"Victor, bring warm blankets from the house. What's your name?" She knelt down in front of the boy and put her hands on his shoulders.
"Danny..."
"Valentina," the widow introduced herself with a smile. Brennon felt the chills that hit the boy fading. "Do you want to sleep?"
"No, I don't want..." Dani stared into Valentina's eyes, fascinated, yawned, blinked sleepily and leaned on her shoulder. Mrs. van Allen grabbed him in her arms and stood up.
"Is there a quiet place where I can lay him?"
"The sofa in my office is at your service," Broyd said. Brannon didn't even know how long the chief had been here. He entered with the noiselessness of the fog, glumly looked at all those present and asked: "Well, what actions will we take now?"
"Actions?" the Commissar asked. He glanced sideways at Redfern, who took Peg to a corner and whispered something to her, fastening the amulet around her neck; looked back at Jen, Longsdale, and the hound, who were standing in the corridor by the door; remembered the face of Pauline Defoe and said through set teeth: "Now I will explain to you about the actions."
Night of March 1
The light was burning only in one window, on the second floor, in her father's office, like a beacon demanding: "Come here!". Uncle opened the carriage door, jumped down and held out his hand to his niece. Margaret thoughtfully twisted the chain of the amulet around her finger. The boat with the ampoule warmed in her palms.
"You can still refuse," the Commissar said softly. The girl woke up from her thoughts.
"No. Never."
She got out of the carriage, wrapped the chain of the amulet around her and her uncle's wrists, and hid the boat in her hands. The commissar straightened their sleeves to cover the chain and led the girl into the house.
To house, but not home, Margaret thought. From the very second she saw Danny, she was not let go of a strange feeling like nagging pain - not only a feeling of guilt, but also a vague feeling of loss from the fact that she had lost the right to call this house hers, because if it were not for her, there was nothing wrong with her family would not have happened. Numbness seized the girl, as if all her senses had faded from nervous tension.
"It's me," Miss Sheridan climbed the steps, "it's because of me. And they don't even know! They don't even know why it happened to them! And I can't..." she stuck into her uncle's hand. "Why I cannot protect anyone! Everyone protects me, protect no one!"
"Are you scared, Peg?" the commissar bent carefully towards her.
"No," said Margaret. She was not afraid. Instead of fear, an amber of the rage smoldered in her again.
The door was unlocked. Miss Sheridan mechanically whispered "Lumia" and her uncle muttered bitterly:
"What else did he teach you?"
So far, almost nothing, Margaret thought. They crossed the dark hallway, climbed the stairs to her father's office, and the girl took the doorknob.
A fireplace and a lamp on the windowsill burned in the study, all the windows, except one, were tightly closed, and the room was unbearably stuffy. The stale air was filled with the smell of sweat and something bloody. Margaret swallowed the nausea in her throat. Mom, Dad, and Eddie sat in a semicircle on the sofa in front of the fireplace; each held one of the younger children tightly. Georgie whimpered softly in Mom's arms.
"Peggy!" his father cried muffle. "My God, why did you bring her!"
But none of them moved and released the younger ones.
"I'm here," said Margaret. "Come on, show yourself."
"She came," a disembodied voice whispered in her mind.
"Let the others go," the commissar demanded. "I brought you a girl."
"Nathan!" Mom screamed. "Persuade her to let the children go! Please!"
"Show yourself!" Margaret raised her voice; the temples pressed the hot hoop again. "I want to see you!"
"Leave the room," she heard in her head, "go down the stairs and wait for me below."
The amulet in the girl's palm was noticeably heated. However, the maniac's orders did not work... yet.
"No," Miss Sheridan said through clenched teeth, "you'll come to me."
"Peggy, don't be silly," Edwin said tensely. "Run away! Now!"
"Doesn't work... " Margaret heard the maniac's voice. "Why doesn't it work? Earlier..."
She caught a faint surprise and a deep, almost infinite weariness.
"I'm special, almost the same as you," Miss Sheridan said through set teeth. "I can endure what other girls could not stand. Have you forgotten about it?"
"Peggy!" Dad exclaimed.
"Let the hostages go," Brennon repeated, and nudged Margaret slightly forward with his elbow. "I fulfilled your conditions. You have to keep your word."
"The word... I did not give any word," the voice became muffler, as if she was addressing her uncle, moving away from Margaret. "Go away and leave her to me. Or I will order the woman to strangle the child."
"Nathan, do something!" the mother begged.
"Come on," Margaret said smoothly. "Try it. I remember that pain frees from your spell. In ignis!"
Lights flashed along the back and armrests of the sofa and danced in a chaotic dance.
"Peggy!" the father gasped. His face glistened, beaded with sweat. Mom stared at her like she was a ghost. Eddie turned so pale that freckles appeared in bulk on his cheeks and forehead.
"You don't have the heart," it sounded with a sneer in the girl's head.
"Dare to check."
"Oh my God," Mom whispered. "Oh my God!"
"Peggy!" his brother hissed. The fire crept closer to them, enclosed them in a fluttering wreath. Uncle squeezed Margaret's hand.
"Drop this thing!" The voice suddenly demanded. "Drop the amulet!"
"No way!"
Brannon coughed.
"Be so kind as to release the hostages and come out to us," he said firmly. "Otherwise, we'll leave."
"Nathan!" mom shouted.
"We'll leave," the uncle continued calmly, "and you'll hardly be able to find Miss Sheridan. Whereas I can find you any minute. And this minute will be your last."
Margaret flinched at the threat made in such a casual, calm tone, without any pressure or anger.
"Uncle, she will run away!"
"No," said the Commissar. He tilted his head slightly to one side, listening, and pulled a revolver from his holster. There were shuffling footsteps in the silence, coming closer. Margaret turned to the door that led from the study to the library.
"Will you kill her?"
"Let's see," the commissar said and cocked the trigger. The doorknob creaked softly as it turned, and a small fragile woman appeared in the dark opening. With a severe limp, she stepped out of the shadows, squinted at the light from the lamp, and stopped by the window. She looked at the revolver, raised her eyes to her uncle and smiled wearily.
"Are you still thinking of taking me alive?"
Margaret reached into her pocket; her fingers touched the cold silver round. Angel gave it to her and told her when to use it. Suddenly, a ring of fire flashed around Pauline Dafoe, and Margaret recoiled in surprise. The amulet chain dug painfully into her wrist. Mrs. Defoe darted about in the circle of fire.
"Release the hostages, or I shoot. One..."
"God, Nathan, kill her!" mom screamed. With a groan, her father clasped both hands around Joseph Jr.'s neck.
"Nathan!" her mother squealed.
"Motus!" Margaret growled ferociously. Pauline Defoe was thrown out of the circle; she flew through the fire, causing her clothes to flare up, hit the wall and collapse to the floor. Dad let go of Joseph with a scream and fell to the floor like a sack. Her brother, coughing convulsively, crawled to the side. Eddie shoved Robbie at the Mom and rushed to his father; Mom convulsively hugged both younger ones. Georgie filled the office with a high-pitched roar.
"Peg!" Brennon snapped. "What the heck..."
Margaret snatched a medallion from her pocket, threw it at the maniac and loudly shouted a spell. The medallion lit up the room with a transparent, silvery glow.
"What are you..." Uncle rushed to Pauline Dafoe, and Margaret hung on him, holding him in place and at the same time - pulling the chain of the amulet from his wrist. "What are you doing, you crazy girl?!"
Mrs. Defoe disappeared. Angel burst into the office.
"Amulet!" He shouted. Margaret threw the boat with the ampoule into his hands. Angel caught and grabbed a silver medallion from the floor.
"Oh, you rubbish!" Brennon growled, pushed his niece and rushed towards Redfern like a hawk.
"Uncle, stop!" the girl howled, but the glow collapsed, and the commissar disappeared along with the mentor. On the floor, where Pauline Defoe lay, there was some piece of paper. Margaret managed to grab it and shove up it her sleeve before the witch rushed into the room and grabbed the girl by the collar:
"You, juvenile idiot! Where are they both?!"
"At Edmoor," Miss Sheridan replied. Jen swore furiously.