A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow by Liesel Schwarz Page B

higher as they consumed him. Acrid smoke swirled all around. Elle coughed and stumbled out of bed. She dragged one of the blankets along with her, to throw over the man in order to put the flames out, but the poet howled and, with the crash of breaking glass, threw himself out of the window. She heard an awful bone-crunching thump and then everything went silent.
    Elle buried her face in the blanket and stumbled toward the door.
    “Eleanor—Miss Chance!” Marsh burst into the room, nearly knocking her over.
    “Here, take this. Help me put out the flames,” she said, shoving the blanket at him.
    She grabbed the water jug from the nightstand and poured it over the flames, stamping and patting the fabric with the base of the jug as she went.
    “Are you hurt? What on earth happened?” Marsh said between coughs as they put out the last smoldering patches on the bed.
    “I’m fine. I hit him with the lamp … and then … fire … he fell through the window,” she managed to croak.
    He went over to the window, cursing as his toe nudged some of the broken glass on the floorboards. In her daze, she realized he wasn’t wearing shoes.
    “Oh, my darling!” Mrs. Hinges said from the doorway. She started coughing.
    “Careful, Mrs. Hinges. There is broken glass everywhere. Would you be kind enough to wake Patrice for us?” Marsh commanded.
    “I am here,” Patrice said, peeking out from behind Mrs. Hinges.
    “Patrice. Good, you’re up. Mrs. Hinges, please take Miss Chance downstairs. Perhaps a cup of tea with lots of sugar might help. Patrice, come with me,” Marsh said. “But first I think I need to find a pair of shoes.” He bundled them out of the room.
    Downstairs, Mrs. Hinges wrapped an old paisley shawl around Elle. She set about stoking the range cooker back to life, from where it had been banked down for the night. “Let’s get a pot of tea brewing, shall we?”
    “I need to see what happened,” Elle said.
    “Let the gentlemen sort it out,” Mrs. Hinges said, but she was speaking to an empty kitchen. Elle had already disappeared out the door.
    “What happened?” Elle said as she walked up behind Marsh and Patrice. Both looked up at her in surprise. In front of them, in a crumpled heap was what had once been her attacker.
    “You shouldn’t be outside like this,” Marsh said.
    “I’m quite all right, thank you very much. See, I have a shawl.” She lifted the fringed edge and stepped closer. “Let’s have a look, shall we?” Her voice was raspy and her throat ached from the smoke, and from the poet’s death grip.
    Marsh shook his head in resignation and they turned to the body on the ground before them. Patrice held the lamp aloft. Horrible wisps of smoke and steam rose up from the center of the smoldering mass.
    “Hmm, not much left of him, is there?” Marsh muttered. He lifted a strip of charred cloth off the body with the back of his pencil. The charred scrap of fabric fluttered to the ground.
    “It’s him. The same man from Aleix’s Café in Paris.” Elle said.
    They both looked at her.
    “He was in my room. I don’t know how he got in, but there he was. Something woke me. It was like something was whispering to me in the dark. It was all very confusing. He was choking me. I reached out for something I could use to fend him off. And the lamp smashed … ” Her hand went to her throat and she rubbed her bruises. “ … then he went up in flames. I couldn’t do anything. He just leapt out of the window.”
    “Good thing your father didn’t install spark lights across the whole house,” Marsh said drily.
    “Now he’s dead.” She stared at the body before her. Small wisps of smoke still rose up from the bits that had been on fire. The smell was overwhelming. Elle turned her head to the side to stop herself from retching.
    “Patrice, please keep an eye on things out here while I see Miss Chance inside. We need to clear this mess away. I don’t want the police poking