In Absinthia Read online

  A cyborg usher approached them, taking their tickets and scanning them with a musical buzz. “Box five,” it said with its too-pleasant voice as it scanned the Pankenthorpes’ tickets.

  “Oh nice,” Phoe exclaimed. “We’re in box five as well.” She turned to Cage. “Isn’t that wonderful, darling?”

  Cage’s smile was a little too large to be sincere.

  Eleanor continued to chatter about the opera as they were ushered into their box. Once more, Phoe was transfixed by her surroundings. Box five seemed to defy gravity as it hung from the right side of the proscenium, looking out over the stage. They would be able to see everything from their plush velvet seats, with plenty of room to spread out. There was even a small table set up on either end of the miniature row. A small screen was set into the tabletop with options so that they might order wine, champagne, or any number of hoity-toity cocktails or snacks during the performance.

  Looking around the theater, it was obvious that part of the attraction of going to the opera was being seen. Phoe and Cage, along with their companions, were dressed in traditional Victorian eveningwear, but others were anything but conservative. Among the underlings that sat in the rows below, there were shiny futuristic versions of evening gowns with intricate bustles and headgear. Men wore sparkling clockwork monocles and capes lined with changing fabric. Phoe noticed that several of the patrons were also not quite human. Cyber-eyes glowed in their sockets around the room and robotic body parts whirred and hissed.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” Professor Pankenthorpe blustered as he settled in his seat. “All of these cyborgs and hybrids. It’s like the whole world is some kind of freak show. Don’t you think, Macijah?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Cage replied. “Time and technology marches on. I suppose we’re all running to catch up.”

  “Not me,” the professor scoffed.

  “Surely you must agree,” Phoe began, “that the advancements in medicine that are possible through biomechanics and cybernetics are remarkable.”

  “We used to rely on the good Lord above to decide if we lived or died. If we’re healthy or ill.”

  Phoe smiled. “I prefer to think that the good Lord gives us the ability to think and innovate.” She caught Cage’s eye and offered a wink. Cage had no cybernetic parts but was a living, breathing scientific advancement all the same, and Phoe didn’t appreciate Pankenthorpe’s tone.

  Before the professor could respond, Eleanor interrupted. “Phoebe, dear. I was just reminded. Would you care to accompany me sometime this week on a little tour of the city?”

  “Of course,” Phoe replied, glad that the subject had been changed. Evidently, Eleanor had a talent for steering the conversation away from controversial subjects. “I was telling Macijah this morning that I wanted to see everything.”

  Eleanor beamed. “Well I can assure you that you’ll see everything. I intend to soak up the real Victoriana for my next book.”

  “The real Victoriana?”

  “Indeed,” Eleanor went on. “I don’t want to only see the museums and theaters. I want to venture into dark alleys and grimy little pubs. Get a real sense of the place.”

  “Aren’t you a little wary of venturing into the underbelly of London with all these attacks?” Cage asked.

  “I’m not suggesting we go in the dead of night,” Eleanor clarified.

  Phoe glared at Cage. “Do you think we can’t take care of ourselves?”

  “Of course not, Mrs. St. John.” Cage smiled. “I was merely reminding you both to be aware. There is a killer on the loose.”

  Before Phoe could reply, the lights went down and the orchestra began to play the overture. Immediately, she was entranced by the swell of the music. She’d heard an orchestra play before, but never in person. The cacophony of the instruments playing as one voice brought a tear to her eye. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  The curtain opened and the opera began. Phoe’s heart pounded against her breast as they began to sing. She closed her eyes, feeling the music swell around her and vibrate in her ear. She couldn’t believe that she’d never given herself the pleasure of this before. When the actors took the stage, she leaned forward on the balcony edge, watching intently. The costumes and backdrops were so vibrant. One could hardly believe it was merely paint on canvas. They began to sing in Italian. A screen above the stage with subtitles in several languages flashed in the dark, but Phoe was so engrossed in the action, that she didn’t bother.

  “I always thought I wouldn’t be able to understand,” Phoe whispered to Cage. “But watching them tells the story.”

  Cage slid closer, putting an arm around her shoulders. “The one in the red costume is Don Giovanni. He’s a man-whore and is attempting to seduce the blonde woman, Donna Anna. The duet they’re singing isn’t part of the original opera.” He paused and listened for a moment. “Don Giovanni is trying to get her to sleep with him, but she’s resistant. She says that while he’s attractive, that she could never betray her own lover, Don Ottavio.” Cage pointed to the other side of the stage where a round man wearing trousers that fell ridiculously off his backside seemed to hide in the makeshift bushes. “That’s Giovanni’s servant, Leporello. He’s supposed to be watching out for the girl’s father.” As the two illicit lovers kiss, Leporello begins to sing an aria. Cage laughs, listening to the lyrics.

  “What is he saying?”

  “Sempre una damigella d'onore, mai una sposa,” Cage answered with a chuckle. “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.”

  Something about the way the Italian phrase rolled from Cage’s tongue made Phoe’s insides melt. She edged closer in her seat and nuzzled into his shoulder. “I love when you speak in foreign tongues,” she whispered.

  “Vengono da te come una falena alla fiamma.” He repeated the words of the aria. “They come to you like a moth to the flame.”

  Phoe couldn’t help herself and nibbled at his earlobe gently, tasting his skin. “I feel their pain,” she cooed.

  “Ora sei e sarai sempre il mio più grande amore.” Cage turned and pressed his lips against hers in a fervent kiss. His tongue danced over her mouth, a not-so-subtle suggestion of things to come. Phoe could feel her breath quicken and her heart race. If the Pankenthorpes were not sitting on the other side of the table, she might be compelled to go further.

  Before they could embarrass themselves, there was a soft knock on the door of their box. A ‘borg waiter entered the tiny room and set a tray of champagne on the table between the two couples. Eleanor smiled and gestured that Cage and Phoe should join them in a glass. Phoe could feel her face turning red. It was a good thing that the auditorium was shrouded in darkness or her and Cage’s heated encounter might have been found out.

  When Arabella Postlethwaite finally took the stage as Donna Elvira, the constant din in the theater died out. She was arguably the most beautiful woman that Phoe had ever laid eyes on. Everything about her was exquisite, almost otherworldly. The prima donna was a bit of a mystery to everyone, as no one knew where she came from, only that she was seen at the gala that opened the colony two years previous and had never left. Some speculated that she was a sophisticated android, others suggested she might be a vampire. Either way, she was almost ethereal.

  Arabella began to sing and her voice was something out of a dream. The tones went from low to the highest reaches in the space of a measure. Stranger still, at times Phoe was certain that she was singing several tones at once. Up to this point, the music had been upbeat and silly to reflect the parody of the story, but the melody had changed. Though she could not understand the words, she knew that whatever Elvira was saying, it was a haunting and sad story. Phoe could almost feel the heartbreak, and by the time the aria was done, she could feel the cool wet streaks left behind by her tears.

  “Brava. Bravissima.”

  The crowd was on its feet. They applauded and shouted in thunderous ovation for nearly five minutes after the curtain fell.

&n
bsp; “I’ve never heard anything like it.” Phoe was breathless and leaned heavily on Cage. Her rapt fascination with the diva’s performance had left her exhausted. “That was…incredible.”

  Cage nodded, still clapping. “I had heard that she was extraordinary.”

  “Didn’t you love it?” Phoe peered around Cage to Eleanor who was wiping the corners of her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

  “It was divine,” Eleanor said. “Absolutely divine.”

  Phoe noticed that the professor was not by her side. “What happened to your husband? I hate that he missed that.”

  “Alfie wasn’t feeling well before. He excused himself to the restroom after the aria began. So, he was able to see a little of it.”

  An overly pleasant electronic voice sounded over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, there will be a twenty-minute intermission. Please feel free to avail yourselves of the café and concessions in the foyer.”

  Eleanor chuckled. “I think the concessions may be part of my problem,” she admitted, stumbling to her feet. “That champagne packs quite a punch.”

  Phoe stood and steadied her. “A walk will do you some good to clear your head. Besides, I need the facilities and women never go alone.”

  “Don’t be long,” Cage called after them, tipping his hat.

  Eleanor clutched Phoe’s arm tightly as they made their way down the grand staircase toward the foyer. Throngs of theatergoers rushed here and there, trying to run to the restrooms or concessions stand before the lights flashed, signaling that the show was about to begin again. Naturally, there was a long line for the ladies’ room that stretched into the lobby.

  “That Macijah is a sweetheart,” Eleanor mused. “If only I were ten years younger.”

  Phoe giggled. “Not that I’m ready to put him on the market, but I hardly think age would be a factor. After all, you’re the exciting author of the Agnes Shrewsbury mystery series.”

  “Hardly,” Eleanor stated. “Writing a book is solitary business. Not much time for adventure while you’re putting your pen to page.”

  “Still. As an avid reader, I must tell you, I admire your talent. Those books helped me escape during a time when I so desperately wanted to.”

  “Oh?”

  Phoe nodded. “My mother died of cancer a couple of years ago and I spent many days in a waiting room. Agnes Shrewsbury was the only company I had. I think my favorite was the one where Agnes ended up joining the circus to catch the killer.”

  Eleanor laughed. “Ah, yes. The Little Man with the Big Secret. I particularly enjoyed researching that one. Alfie and I actually travelled with the circus for a few weeks.”

  They stood a while longer, smiling to women as they filed out of the restroom, still smoothing their skirts and adjusting their hair. “This place is unbelievable,” Phoe observed. “Everyone looks like they stepped out of a book.”

  “Indeed. I think that perhaps Agnes will have to go to the opera.”

  “That would be fantastic.” Phoe paused, glancing down at her watch. They didn’t have much more time before the second act began. “This line needs to hurry.”

  “They’ll give us a two-minute warning, I’m sure.” Eleanor patted her hair.

  “I hope so,” Phoe said. She didn’t want to miss hearing another aria. “By the way, do you think we should check on your husband?”

  “Alfie? Oh, I’m sure he’s fine. He has a delicate stomach. It’s plagued him all his life. He’ll be back before the end.”

  Sure enough, by the time Phoe and Eleanor arrived back at the box, Alfie and Cage were talking like old friends over glasses of whiskey. The lights blinked a final time and the orchestra began to play the introduction to Act Two.

  The curtain didn’t open immediately. Don Giovanni came out and gave a musical monologue about how he didn’t care about saving his soul as long as there were beautiful women in Hell. The lights on the velvet curtain looked like flames and shadowed demons writhing on the surface. Phoe had seen something like it before in Sugoi before she was sold off by the snarling Emcee. It was enough to make her shudder.

  When the curtain finally opened, the audience didn’t begin to scream immediately. For a few, blessed moments, they were certain that the grotesque art stretched across the proscenium was part of the show. It wasn’t until the ropes of Arabella Postlethwaite’s intestines fell from her split belly and hit the shiny planks below with a thump that the horror dawned on them.

  Clearly, Arabella had been getting dressed for the second act when her attacker struck. She was wearing a set of lacy bloomers and a thin chemise that showed her breasts clearly through the material. What was left of them anyway. Her body had been hung like a grotesque crucifix. Blood was streaked across her face and extremities in an almost artful design, and her underclothes were saturated with it.

  “Oh my God.”

  “That’s Arabella Postlethwaite.”

  “It’s the Ripper.”

  Chaos erupted in the theater as screaming ensued. The cyborg ushers were quickly overwhelmed as people began rushing toward the back doors.

  “Get her down. Close the curtain.”

  The backstage crew pulled the rope that would let the curtain down. Unfortunately, the beam from which Arabella hung shifted, and the heavy velvet curtain crashed into the body, which then swung to one side and into the back of a ballerina dressed in white. When the girl realized what had happened, she screamed and fainted. The panicked theater manager ran up on the stage and began shouting for everyone to stay calm. A man that Phoe recognized as the actor playing Leperello ran to the stage, screaming and weeping at the feet of the swinging corpse. Two stagehands tried to pull him away, but he broke away and wrapped his arms around Arabella’s legs, desperately trying to pull her down.

  “Oh my God,” Phoe cried, covering her eyes. She grabbed Cage’s hand and started dragging him toward the door to their box, but he wasn’t moving. “Come on. Maybe he’s still here.”

  Eleanor gasped from behind her handkerchief. She was cowering under Alfie’s arm. “You don’t think the Ripper is still in the theater?”

  Cage shook his head. “No. He’ll be long gone by now. He got what he came for.”

  Ten

  Phoe’s hands were shaking so that her teacup was clanking around against the saucer. Since meeting Cage and becoming involved with B.E.A.S.T., she had seen some strange, even terrifying things, but she didn’t think she’d ever forget the sight of that poor girl strung up from the rafters. Or the sound of the actor’s anguished wailing.

  She and Cage sat silently in a cafe across the street from the theater. The police had questioned everyone, and it was well after two in the morning. Though she was tired, Phoe knew she wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. Cage had suggested that they come for a cup of tea.

  He reached across the table and put his hands over hers. “It’s all right, love. It’s over.”

  “I know,” Her voice still shuddering. “I—I can’t stop thinking about it.” She raised the cup to her lips again and nearly spilled hot tea down her front. “You and I have seen so much, but I still can’t fathom how someone could do that to another human being.”

  “There are an awful lot of sick people in this world, mouse. You and I do our best to stop them.”

  “But they’re always there. You cut one head off and there’s another, more frightening one growing back.”

  Cage grinned. “So, all we can do is keep hacking away.”

  “Is that enough?”

  He shrugged. “It’s all we’ve got.” Cage raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back gently.

  Phoe gazed over his shoulder and out the window to the theater across the street. Police and onlookers were still milling about on the sidewalk. She and Cage had seen the professor and Eleanor come out an hour before and tried to wave them over, but they rushed away. Phoe supposed that Eleanor was as horrified as Phoe and wanted to get away as soon as possible.

  Before she could suggest tha
t they do the same thing, a group of IU police came into the café to order coffee. All of them looked exhausted, and perhaps a little green around the gills. The criminal activity on the colonies was never so heinous. Theft, organized gang activity, prostitution, and drug use were more their speed. Even the murders that the IU had been called in to investigate were garden-variety shootings. But every day there was more evidence that the Ripper was a serial murderer, not the typical criminal. And given what they’d witnessed tonight, it was most definitely not elaborate theatre constructed for the tourists.

  “I’ve been a police detective for damn near twenty years and I’ve never seen anything like that,” one of the officers said to the others.

  The older cop shrugged and scooped sugar cubes into his coffee. “The world got bigger, Scanlon.”

  “Weirder,” Scanlon replied.

  “Nah, I think these sickos were always around, but they’re bored now.”

  “What do you mean?” a young blonde cop asked.

  “Think about it,” the old cop said. “We got eSlates and prowlers. Holofilms and VR that are so goddamn real you can touch the actors. You can hop on a shuttle in Canaveral and be on Mars in a couple of days. With everything you could ever possibly want at your fingertips, the thrills get harder. Not to mention that Jasper Wittrock is a minor celebrity who can do whatever he wants. Wittrock was fucking bored.”

  Phoe’s eyes met Cage’s. “Who is Wittrock?” Phoe whispered.

  “He played the lover, Don Ottavio,” Cage replied.

  “They think he’s the killer?” Phoe asked, raising her voice.

  Cage shook his head pressed a finger to his lips.

  “I don’t know,” Scanlon started. “I don’t think it’s even that interesting. Everyone in the cast knew that the girl was having an affair with Wittrock and that they ended their relationship abruptly last week. I say it was your regular crime of passion.”

  “Would an affair gone bad make someone do what he did?” The blond cop looked pale and for a moment Phoe was afraid that they were going to have to witness him losing his cookies right there in the café.