2 Spirit of Denial by Kate Danley Page A

hallway.
    His face showed that her concerns were not unfounded.  Something was terribly wrong.
    "Wesley?" Clara said, placing her hand upon her chest to calm her breathing.
    "I do hope that I am not intruding," Wesley replied.
    Clara shook her head and steered Wesley into the parlor and shut the door behind them.  "What brings you here this early?  What has happened?"
    Wesley took a folded newspaper from his pocket and laid it upon the table so that Clara could read the headlines:  " Mass Murderer on the Loose! "
    "Oh dear," she said, and then read the story aloud. " The slaughter of five innocents in the house of Lord Horace Oroberg has been followed by the death of another of his associates: Dr. George Mallfeld.  Is this random violence?  Or a revenge-crazed lunatic hunting down Lord Oroberg's acquaintances? When asked for a comment, Marguerite Matson, who is convalescing at St. Matthew's Hospital, stated she had nothing to share and informed the News Post they were grasping at straws.  But when the safety of the population is at risk, this paper never sleeps, and you may trust our reporters will not rest until they learn the truth... "
    "And it goes on," said Wesley.
    "How kind of them to inform the lunatic where he can find Lord Oroberg's associates," she reflected as she folded it and put it down on the table.
    "You know as well as I, this is no lunatic," said Wesley.  "It is clear that a new vassal has been found for this cursed creature."
    Clara sighed.  "What shall we do?  We do not even know how to stop it besides trap it in a basement and lop off its host's head, but that seems to only slow it for a few days, not stop it."
    "Violet was allowed to go on a fifteen year rampage," said Wesley.  "This creature will do the same with whomever it has currently possessed.  We have a responsibility to stop this before it progresses any further, even if no one else will help us."
    "You are absolutely right," Clara agreed.  "Well, we know that Pauline is currently in possession of the mummy's heart."
    "I propose we go meet Phineas Stokeman's friend and inform her that her patron may have placed her life at great risk."
    "And if she is possessed," said Clara, looking at the newspaper, "let us pray that she still retains enough humanity to care that she may be killing people."

Chapter Twelve
    T he street was dark, lit only by the light spilling out of the bars and music halls.  This was not the neighborhood of Wesley's vaudeville.  A seedier clientele walked down the streets.  There were the beggars and whores expected in such an area, but also the well-dressed men who found the entertainment offerings of high society not titillating enough for their taste. The burlesque house was a beacon in the neighborhood, a glass of ale to a thirsty drunk, a lure of vices unwanted and yet desired.
    Clara clung to Wesley's arm as she sidestepped a sodden drunk vomiting in the gutter.  Wesley murmured, "This may not be a place you would like yourself to be seen."
    "I cannot stay out here unescorted," she replied as a harlot looked her over from head-to-toe.  Clara lifted her chin.  "Anyone I might know who made the unfortunate decision to frequent this establishment would be as aware of the delicateness of their own reputation.  Besides, we go inside to save, not to savor."
    Wesley squeezed her hand bracingly and then led her around to the rear of the theater.  A sleepy man sat guard, nodding off in his chair by the stage door.  From the smell of his breath, he was a friend of spirits, too, but of a different sort.
    "Excuse me," said Wesley cheerfully.  "We have been invited backstage to meet with Pauline."
    The guard gave him an uninterested look.  "She didn't say nothing to me about her havin' guests."
    "How very odd," said Wesley, taking several bills from his fold and holding them out to the guard.  "Are you sure she said nothing?"
    The guard smiled and pointedly took the money from Wesley's gloved hand.  "Well,