“Like a clock?”

“Exactly like a clock.” Owen inspected the insides of the dragon. “And an elegantly made one, at that. Our clock maker spares no expense when it comes to materials.”

“Why on earth would anyone leave such an expensive device in an empty house?”

“It is hardly likely to be stolen,” Owen pointed out. “The average housebreaker would not survive an encounter with this toy.”

“True. Which implies that someone left it behind to guard the premises.”

Owen gave that a few seconds of close thought. “But it was not on guard when I came here the first time. That means that on one of his return visits the killer realized that someone else had been inside. He set the dragon to make certain that any future intruder would not survive.”

“He is protecting something that is very important to him.”

“I found nothing of value here on my first visit.” Owen got to his feet and looked at the closed door at the end of the hall. “I overlooked something. We must find out what there is in this house that warrants such an exotic guardian.”

Owen collected the lantern and walked to the end of the hall, very aware of Virginia beside him. His senses were still on fire from whatever had just happened between them a few minutes ago. Had she felt that compelling intimacy, too?

“If there is something of value in the last bedroom, there may be another clockwork curiosity guarding it,” Virginia warned.

He glanced at her, but it was impossible to tell if she had experienced the same surge of psychical connection. In the glare of the lantern her intelligent face appeared concerned but resolute. A casual observer would never guess that she had just faced a withering hail of nightmares. She was concentrating on the project at hand. He should be doing the same, he reminded himself.

“This time we are prepared,” he said.

He put his back against the wall and opened the door with great care, listening for the telltale clink and thud of another clockwork device. But no sound came from the room.

He pushed the door wider, moved into the opening and held the lantern aloft. The light fell on the bed, an old chest of drawers and the dressing table.

“Everything is just as it was the last time I was here,” he said.

“You’re right, there is nothing in this room that is obviously of great value.” Virginia crossed her arms, hugging herself, and surveyed the small space. “But the energy is certainly disturbing, is it not?”

“This is the room where Mrs. Ratford was murdered,” Owen said. “I am certain of it. And I am equally certain that the killer has been here a number of times since committing the crime. So, yes, there is a lot of bad energy in this room.”

He walked into the small space and heightened his senses. The hot, dark currents of violence fluoresced in the shadows, painting the room in the deepest shades of ultralight. Although he was braced for the impact, there was nothing he could do to suppress his response. The hunter in him was always aroused by such energy.

Virginia watched him. “What do you see?”

“What I perceived the last time I was here. She was murdered, but no gun or knife was used to commit the crime. It was murder by paranormal means, but it was not a swift kill. Whoever did this wanted Mrs. Ratford to suffer for a time.”

“But you are sure that psychical energy was involved?”

“There can be no doubt.” He concentrated on the residue of iridescent energy in the room. “Strong psychical currents were employed to commit murder in this room, but the killer was not present at the time. I can usually identify the precise location where he or she stood at the moment the murder took place. There is always a great deal of energy generated when one kills.”

“As the adage says, murder always leaves a stain.”

“Yes. We have made some progress this evening. We have found a means by which the killer could have committed the crime without being physically present in the room.”

“He used a clockwork curiosity,” Virginia said. “Perhaps the dragon.”

“It is a possibility.” Mentally he went through the logic and nodded once, satisfied. “He would have had to enter the room to set up the device, of course. Then he would have left and returned later when he was certain the clockwork weapon had performed the kill and had time to wind down. He retrieved the dragon but brought it back when he realized an intruder had been inside the house.”

“You said he has been here several times since the murder.”

“Yes.” Owen opened a drawer and glanced inside to make certain he had not overlooked anything on his first visit.

“Why would he do that?”

“To savor the energy of the kill,” he said absently.

There was a short, awful silence behind him. He closed the drawer and looked at Virginia.

“The killer comes here to savor the energy of death?” Virginia asked uneasily.

“In my experience it is not uncommon.”

“I see.” Virginia turned back to the mirror. “There were rumors after Mrs. Ratford died. She made her living claiming to communicate with spirits through mirrors. There are some who are convinced she really did manage to summon a malevolent entity from the Other Side. They believe it killed her.”

“We know one thing for certain: If Mrs. Ratford claimed to communicate with the dead, she was, by definition, a fraud.”

“No, not in her own mind.”

“I thought we agreed that there is no such thing as communicating with the dead,” he said flatly. “All those who claim to be mediums are, by definition, frauds of the lowest order, because they prey on the gullible and those who are made vulnerable by grief or a weak mind.”

“I was acquainted with Mrs. Ratford because she was a member of the Institute.” Virginia contemplated the mirror on the dressing table. “We were not close, but we had what you would call a professional connection. We occasionally had tea together in the Institute’s tearoom. We talked. I am convinced that she actually did have some degree of genuine glasslight talent.”

“Then why the devil would she claim to speak with spirits? Why not use her talent in an honest fashion, as you do?”

“Probably because she did not understand what she saw in the mirrors, let alone know how to interpret the visions and images. I told you, her talent was only middling at best. She did not comprehend that what she was viewing was the psychical residue that is absorbed by a looking glass. She was convinced that she really did see ghosts. One cannot blame her.”

“It’s true that most people with psychical abilities lack a scientific understanding of their talents,” he said. “I will concede that some with certain forms of clairvoyance might mistakenly believe that they are, in fact, sensing ghosts or spirits.”

“That is very broad-minded of you, sir.”

“Gabriel Jones is right. One of Arcane’s primary missions in the years ahead should be to educate the public on the physics of the paranormal.”

Virginia raised her brows. “You refer to the new Master of the Society?”

“Right. Jones is convinced that until there is a scientific understanding of psychical energy, those who possess talent will continue to be treated at best as entertainers. At worst, we will be regarded with fear and suspicion.”

“I wish Mr. Jones luck with his plans to inform and enlighten the public.”

Her dry tone caught his attention. “You don’t think it can be done?”

“I suspect it will be very long indeed before attitudes change. Meanwhile, those of us with a little talent must rely on our wits.”

“You have more than a little talent, Virginia Dean. And we are wasting time. If you would be so good as to examine the looking glass?”

“Yes, of course.” She turned her attention to the dressing-table mirror. Once again he felt currents of energy pulse in the atmosphere. He heightened his own talent so that he could watch Virginia with all of his senses.