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“Nothing?”

“Not that we didn’t already suspect. He was murdered.”

We had to find that child and my mother. He will kill both of them. That’s what Félix said to me. What if he meant my mother and the child?

“Very helpful, pellar. It’s a wonder I let you help me in my investigations.” I hurried over to the other body, opening his jaw and looking inside just in case there were any other clues to discover.

Nothing.

I stared at the baptismal record lying upon Narcisse’s chest. “He couldn’t have drowned or that paper would have been destroyed. He must have been dead before Félix found him.”

“Or Félix took him into the water for some reason, perhaps to hide the evidence,” Ruan said grimly. “The truth is, missing child or no, we still don’t know where Narcisse was killed or why.”

No. We didn’t. I drummed my fingers along the waist of my trousers. Think, Ruby, think.

“He doesn’t have any visible wounds on his front. Do you suppose…”

But before I finished the thought, Ruan rolled the dead orderly’s body onto his side. My pellar’s burnished hands were a stark contrast to the pale skin of the dead orderly. He knelt, bracing the man’s weight onto his side as he looked at the fellow’s back.

My heart seized at the kindness of it. Ruan had always been gentle to his patients, but watching his reverence with the orderly’s body underscored how close our two worlds were—the living and dead. Both teetering on the edge of a knife. And Ruan, somehow, sat impossibly balanced between the two, not quite of one, and not the other. I started to ask what he’d found when a sound echoed outside the room.

Footsteps.

A muffled voice called out a name from the other side of the door. One I could not make out. The door handle rattled then stopped, discovering it locked.

The voice called out again, low—panicked—as it disappeared into the distance.

Ruan and I remained frozen, listening as the voice continued down the hall. I blew out a breath, raking my hair back from my face. We didn’t have much time. Whoever it was, was likely to return with a key.

Ruan jerked his chin at me, indicating I come look at what he’d found. Hurrying to his side, I drew in a sharp breath, beholding the grotesque burn emblazoned across the man’s flesh. I moved to his feet and spied the black exit wound on the soles, telling the story loud and clear.

Electrocution.

Ruan gently laid the body back down on the gurney. “Lightning?”

“Wouldn’t it leave scorch marks on his clothing as well? I don’t recall seeing anything of the like when we found him at the lake.”

Ruan blew out a breath. “I didn’t see anything either.”

“We might have missed it. It was dark.” I stared at Narcisse’s feet and raked my hands over my face. “It hasn’t stormed since we arrived here…” Something about lightning tugged at a memory, of a clue I’d already uncovered but couldn’t quite remember.

“We need to go…” Ruan’s gaze flicked back to the silent door. “We can finish this conversation at home.”

And yet again, we were in full accord. Within moments, the pair of us had slipped back out the window and disappeared into the dark.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOAnother Body

MY mind was a torrent of terrible thoughts, each more horrible than the last as we returned to the boardinghouse. A possible second pellar? A missing child? Murder after murder. I’d pocketed the feather and the soiled baptismal record, unwilling to voice what these newest clues meant for the investigation. I did not want to believe someone might want to hurt a child, but it was the only thing I could think after discovering her own mother was the first victim of the crimes here. The hidden scrap of paper. The way Félix remained adamant about protecting them. Mother. Djhan. Félix. Manon. They were pearls upon a string, knotted securely together. But for the life of me, I did not understand the thread that connected them.

Mrs. Wauters had fallen asleep in an armchair by the dying fire, a knit blanket lying over her legs. We ascended the stairs silently, careful not to wake either her or Mr. Owen. However upon reaching the second floor, a faint glow emanated from our own room. The old man must already be awake and waiting upon us. Either that or Violet Devereaux had returned for tea.

I shoved open the door to reveal Mr. Owen sitting in the worn armchair drinking my wine in a brilliant blue dressing gown. He’d evidently taken a nap as the dark circles beneath his eyes had lightened and he appeared altogether in better spirits than either Ruan or I. The old man watched us both, as if we were the ones intruding on his space.

I stood in the threshold, my palm pressed flat against the doorjamb. “Mr. Owen, you really shouldn’t lurk. It’s unbecoming.”

He made an irritated snort and clicked his teeth, gesturing for us to shut the door to our own blasted room. How very Mr. Owen of him. “I will do as I please. At least I will until you start telling me where you go and when. It’s my understanding you nearly got yourself killed less than forty-eight hours ago and now you’re out again risking your neck—”

“It was only poison, besides Ruan took care of it and I’m right as rain.” I shrugged out of my jacket, laying it upon the bed, waving my hand airily at him.