Ring. Sister. Piano (Book 4 of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Thirty: Holiday's Over

He reeled from the closed door as if it really had hit him in the face, and then leaned his back against it, in the certain knowledge that it was not going to reopen, no matter how much he pounded on it. He knew Ellini. She would not make a scene – and the more scenic you became, the more she withdrew from you, until her eyes were the black of endless tunnels, rather than thick, warm, sound-muffling night.

Anyway, he didn't want to collapse there – not with the splinters of her reproach digging into his back – so he made it out into the corridor and sank down against the far wall, keeping her door in view. Then he drew his knees to his chest and curled up. "Oh, that hurt."

This was bad. It didn't just feel bad, it was bad. The badness would reach its tentacles into the future and curl round upcoming events. She would not ask him to help her with Myrrha now. Worse still, he would not be able to kill Myrrha – even supposing he discovered how to – and she was not the kind of enemy who could be locked up, or reformed, or reasoned with.

That was the practical bit. The personal bit was that Ellini thought he was a killer. It was a discovery he had never wanted her to make. It was the reason why he had always been sure he would lose her, in the end. She was a good woman and he was a killer. It had all been decided with Henry and Baby Jane, and his sudden inability to play the piano. The next time she saw Elliott Blake, he would be such an appealing contrast...

But there was a kind of dim acceptance of the pain, even as it set his teeth on edge. It was not as bad as the last twelve hours had been good. And he had known she was going to leave. It had just been so nice, those few hours when they'd been friends...

"She overreacted," said Elsie.

Jack did not look up. He didn't want to see her white, well-meaning face – or worse, that of John Danvers – looking down at him.

"You know that?" A hand touched his shoulder, and he clenched his teeth to keep from tearing himself away. "She'd been so happy, and then she was so shocked – to suddenly be told she was free of her curse. It was too much for her. Her emotions were running too high. She didn't know how to be calm."

Jack burrowed his palms into his eyeballs and sniffed. It hurt, but his eyes were dry – if slightly bloodshot – when he emerged. "I agree with everything except the overreaction part. You can't really overreact to murder. It's murder."

"It sounds as though she was a horrible woman, this Violet-"

"Was she a threat to me? Could she fight back?"

Elsie pressed her mouth into a delicate line. "I should imagine not."

"Well, then. Let it hurt. It should."

"She blames herself, anyway-"

"Yeah, that's worse," he snapped. "Can you understand that that's worse?"

He got up, and his knees didn't buckle under him. It turned out that they were both there, Elsie and Danvers, though the latter was keeping silent. That, too, was worse.

"Holiday's over," he said to Elsie. "Do you feel like working?"

"With you? Always."

Jack saw Danvers wince at this, but didn't comment. "Good. Tell me what you've found out about Myrrha. And then I want you to tell me everything you can about this list." He drew the piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and held it up, even though he knew she couldn't see it. In Danvers's neat, respectable handwriting, under the heading 'How to save Ellini from her past' were the words 'Ring. Sister. Piano.'