She concentrated intently for a long moment.

“There are some images here,” she said at last. Her brows came together in a baffled frown. “I can see the afterimage of the victim. It is burned deeply into the mirror. But there is something else in there as well.”

“What?”

“There is raw energy trapped in the mirror. It is very odd. Like frozen fire.”

“Take your time. Describe the victim.”

“She is sitting at the table, gazing into the mirror. She is dying, and she knows it. She clutches her chest and looks to the right. She is both terrified and bewildered by whatever she sees.”

Owen glanced to the right of the dressing table. “The bed. The killer hid the device underneath it. The dragon, or whatever curiosity was used to commit the murder, emerged when it sensed the victim enter the room and sit down at her dressing table.”

“She never had a chance. She died just at the instant she began to comprehend the means of her death.”

“Is there any indication that she knew her killer?”

“No. I think all she can see is the device that is murdering her.”

“It is, nevertheless, quite possible that she did know the killer. She simply was not aware that he was the one who placed the clockwork device under the bed.”

“I think you’re right.” A visible shudder went through Virginia. In the mirror her eyes were wide and haunted.

Owen crossed the room and stopped behind her. Instinctively he put his hand on her shoulder. He could feel the heat generated by the use of her talent through the fabric of her cloak and gown. He knew that particular fever in the blood. He had experienced it often.

“That’s enough,” he said gently. “We have discovered what we came here to find, the cause of death. It is time to go home.”

They found a hired carriage two streets over. Both horse and driver were asleep. The coachman roused himself when Owen opened the door of the carriage and ushered Virginia up inside.

“Garnet Lane,” Owen said.

“Aye, sir.” The driver collected the reins.

Owen had wrapped the dragon in a quilt. He set the shrouded automaton on the floor of the carriage and sat down across from Virginia. His senses were still flaring. That was only to be expected, he thought. A close brush with danger or violence always resulted in an edgy tension that lingered, sometimes for hours or even days. But the events in the Ratford house had left him physically as well as psychically aroused. He knew that part of what he was feeling now was directly linked to Virginia’s presence. Something had happened when they had held hands to battle the clockwork dragon, something as intimate as it was inexplicable.

He was certain the experience had strengthened the growing bond between them. He longed to ask Virginia if she was aware of the connection, but he was worried that the intimate question would alarm her. She was already wary enough about their association.

He did not know how much longer he could wait for her to acknowledge the link between them. For now the bond was of a psychical nature, but the need to seal it with the hot energy of physical passion was stirring his blood.

He looked at her. In the low glow cast by the carriage lamps he could have sworn that he saw some heat in her eyes. She feels it, too, he thought. But perhaps the energy he perceived in her was simply the remnants of the fever that had resulted from the use of her talent tonight. It always took one a while to cool down after such an intense burn.

“Are you all right?” he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Yes,” she said. She pulled her cloak more snugly around herself. “But I must admit that my senses are still rattled. I have never before encountered anything like that storm of hallucinations.”

“Neither have I. If it is any consolation, my nerves are also badly frayed.”

She smiled. “It would take more than a clockwork dragon to shatter your nerves, sir.”

“Or yours. You are the one who slew the dragon tonight.”

“I could not have done it without you.” She looked down at the blanket-wrapped dragon. “It is very powerful. Unlike a human, it would not tire until it winds down. It is a machine, capable of radiating that high level of energy for a considerable length of time. No person of talent, regardless of the degree of that talent, could control such a device for long before exhausting the senses.”

“It is astonishing that someone actually possesses the ability to construct such a weapon. I talked to my cousin Nick today. Thus far he has not had any luck finding the clock maker, but he has picked up a few intriguing rumors from some rather eccentric collectors.”

The carriage halted in front of Virginia’s town house. He opened the door, vaulted down to the pavement and turned to lower the carriage steps. Virginia gave him her hand and descended to the pavement. She had put her gloves back on, he noticed.

“I believe I need a strong dose of medicinal spirits tonight,” she said.

He smiled. “I certainly plan to take the same therapeutic medicine when I get home.”

She contemplated the dark windows of the town house for a moment, and then she turned back to face him. In the shadows cast by the gas lamp and the hood of her cloak it was impossible to make out the expression on her face. But he could sense the heat in her eyes.

“Would you care to share a glass of my tonic with me, sir?” she asked. “I have some excellent brandy.”

His blood was suddenly several degrees warmer. He felt as if he had just received an invitation to enter paradise.

Virginia held her breath. She could not believe what she had just done. The invitation had been an uncharacteristically impulsive act inspired by the edgy sensation that was generating a fever deep inside her. It was surely a mistake, one she was certain she would regret. If Owen hesitated for even a heartbeat she would change her mind.

He did not give her time enough to catch her breath.

“I would like that very much,” he said.

The even, casually polite tone of his voice told her absolutely nothing. But his eyes heated a little in the darkness. She knew that he was in the grip of the aftermath of a heavy burn, just as she was. No one but another powerful talent could understand the sensation.

She pulled her cloak around her and started up the front steps. “It is not as if either of us will be getting much sleep tonight, is it?”

“No,” he agreed.

He paused long enough to pay the coachman. Then he followed her up the steps.

She dug her key out of the small chatelaine purse she wore. “And like it or not, we appear to be colleagues, at least for a while. We might as well share a drink and discuss the case.”

“It sounds like a very useful way to proceed,” he said.

She fumbled with her key and managed to drop it.

Owen snagged it in midair with no apparent effort.

“Allow me,” he said.

He inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. She moved into the dimly lit hall. Mrs. Crofton had taken herself off to bed two floors above, but she had left a wall sconce burning.

She’ll know I’m home, Virginia thought. She’ll know that I am not alone. Housekeepers always knew everything that went on in their domain.

Owen set the dragon on the floor, stripped off his leather gloves and reached out to help Virginia with the cloak. When his warm fingers brushed the sensitive nape of her neck, another flicker of awareness went through her. The feverish sensation got more intense, but she did not feel the least bit ill.

He hung her cloak on a brass wall hook and then he set his hat on the console table alongside his leather gloves.

It is as if we were two lovers coming home late after an evening at the theater, she thought.