Boneseeker Read online

  I bury my face in her hair, feeling the burn of stares and I hear the pop and smell of flash powder as someone takes a picture.

  She opens her eyes. “Oh, Henry. I. I.”

  The dog lays his head on her lap, and his tail gives a feeble, welcoming thump.

  I smile and nod, locking her gaze. “I know. You’re both home, Bella. Home is wherever I am, from now on.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Impossibilities

  Faculty Fund Raising Ball

  Bella

  I smooth the black and white striped dress and take a deep, steadying breath, and am dizzied by the sea of pirouetting multi-colored couples.

  I’m grateful for the elbow-length gloves which hide the myriad of bruises and lacerations, my Stygian battle-scars.

  I sigh, but it feels almost a shudder. He will be on a ship, extradited to London for a long list of previous crimes. Undoubtedly with my irate father waiting at the dock.

  I try to focus on the ball, internally rehearsing my memorized small talk, but my mind keeps straying to the singular skeleton we saved from the fire.

  It was one the giant had moved, hidden within the catacombs. The only Nephilim to survive.

  My fingers twitch, itching to reassemble it to its full height.

  The bone arrived today by post, addressed to me. Inside the envelope was a solitary line of text.

  “Go in peace, small one.”

  I wish I could’ve thanked the very large man. Henry and I both owe him and the Brethren of Large, our lives. Perhaps I’ll find him again one day.

  A bright gown of bold crimson demands my attention, standing out from the feminine gathering of pinks and whites and blues.

  I smile. It’s Violet, naturally. Her perceptive eyes are tunneled on me, her hand on John’s guiding forearm.

  He grins, his eyes dancing as speaks to each person he passes. So easy and natural. Something I’ll never master.

  I smell him before I see him and gooseflesh erupts on my arms. I turn, steeling myself for the inevitable shudder of breath which comes on viewing Henry’s handsome face.

  A reaction which doesn’t fade, no matter how often I gaze at him.

  Henry bows dramatically. “Miss Holmes.”

  My heart box clatters to my mind’s floor, leaving it completely exposed and vulnerable.

  I manage a curtsey. “Mr. Watson.”

  He eyes my black and white striped dress, which is a departure from my usual style.

  “Violet has outdone herself.”

  I shake my head. “I chose it myself. And arranged my hair.”

  His smile lights his eyes. “Really? Well, then you have truly outdone yourself. I have a surprise.”

  I feel my brows furrow. “Yes?”

  He steps aside and my stomach plummets.

  Father.

  His dark eyebrows are pulled tight, his mouth so very serious.

  He steps close, his fingers encircling my elbow as he leans to whisper in my ear. “Digger.” He sighs, and it somehow sounds sad. “I am so very glad you’re safe.”

  I pull back to regard him. His mouth opens but more words seem lodged somewhere between brain and speech. His eyes are uncharacteristically soft.

  I squeeze his arm in return. “I know, father. I’m so glad you’re here. I feel safer already.”

  And it’s true.

  He snaps his fingers and is businesslike once again. A young man bustles to his side. “Henry and I have spoken. He had the idea this might benefit you—open up your mind to…what was it, Henry?”

  “Possibilities, sir.” Henry smiles encouragingly.

  Father actually smiles back, with a slight nod. “Yes.”

  My breath stops as my heart skips a beat.

  The young man hands me a beautiful cello.

  Father puts my hand in Henry’s. His eyes are serious, but one side of his mouth pulls up in a very uncharacteristic tease.

  “Father, have you been drinking?”

  There must be an explanation for so many displays of emotion in such a short time span.

  His eyes narrow. “Despite rumors, I am not Babbage’s adding machine. And I endured the longest sail ever, in fear for your life. And I arrive to find you alive and whole.”

  John laughs, “Yes, why this is downright giddy behavior for you.”

  Father glares at him.

  John’s hand grasps father’s shoulder. “Come on old man; let the young people have their fun.”

  Henry extends his other hand. “Might I have this dance?”

  I might’ve imagined it, but I swear I hear my father swallow.

  Out of my periphery, John and Violet’s stares sear the side of my face.

  My hand trembles and Henry grasps it tighter, and pulls me close. Too close for convention.

  Henry stares down at me, his eyes crinkling in sheer delight. He pulls me into the fray. His hand on my hip guides me flawlessly through every turn.

  The lights swirl by and the perplexed faces of nearby couples.

  “Bella, look at me.”

  I only need to give myself to it. To him.

  He slides something out of his pocket, slipping it around my neck without missing a step. I look down. It’s my key, returned on a much more beautiful purple ribbon.

  “I had the same idea, by the way, to use Newton. Even before I saw your key.”

  “Is that so?”

  He nods. “And I didn’t read anything. Your journal is locked tight once again.”

  I blush and swallow and focus on his feet.

  “Have you seen your butterflies?”

  I stare above his head at a long window. Snowflakes, the first of the season, lilt and dance outside the beveled window pane.

  “No. Have you?”

  He shakes his head. “Not since the night Stygian took you. They…appeared to me.”

  I shiver. “Yes, I do wonder about them. I—”

  He quietly shushes me. “One mystery at a time, Bella.”

  “But they do signify transformation. And I think we would both agree that’s occurred. For both of us.”

  He is right. I have changed.

  “And your paper? Have you chosen your topic?” he prompts.

  I nod. It’s painful to admit. “I. I am going to discuss the possibility of the skeleton being Nephilim.”

  He straightens up and smiles over the top of my head.

  “What?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing.”

  “I decided to be open to possibilities.”

  He drops his head to stare, and his eyes are jubilant. He spins me too fast, out-of-sync with the other dancers, which results in more off-color looks.

  “Shall we review?”

  “Review what? The skeletal findings?”

  He laughs, briefly closing his eyes and lips, shaking his head. “No.”

  Our hands are joined, outstretched in dance. He lessens his grip and flicks up one finger.

  “First impossibility—seeing you again. The right place at the right time. Many years later. Too many.”

  Heat flushes my face, but I flick up my second finger. “My butterflies.”

  He nods encouragingly.

  He flicks up my third finger. “The gold tooth, how improbable that it survived the fire.”

  I shudder and nod, adding the fourth. “The Nephilim bone. How impossible it survived.”

  He pulls me close and desire rages. I wish to be out of this wretched room. Alone with him. To do whatever necessary to hide from chaperones.

  Violet and John spin close by. “Arabella, your father’s already at home.” I glance around and see father chatting amiably with the police inspector.

  John spins Violet close once again. He opens his mouth and blurts, “Don’t forget her other present, Henry.”

  Henry’s eyebrows pull together. “That was supposed to be a surprise.”

  Violet and he both laug
h.

  Violet adds, “You know your father cannot hold his tongue when it comes to Arabella.”

  I smile as they spin away.

  “What is it?”

  His face is tentative. “Cello lessons. Remember; open your mind, Bella. I’m betting it’s as natural as bones.”

  I sigh. “Perhaps. Thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

  The song ends. Partners part and reassemble. Henry doesn’t relinquish his hold; he slowly spins me in a circle, though no music plays.

  With the jerky start of a Ferris wheel, my mind spins, erupting in a whirlwind of pictures. Henry’s face, the sesamoid bone, the giant’s feet and a myriad of others explode in a visual tornado in my mind.

  Like the cogs on a faulty film roll, unstuck.

  “Henry?”

  He pales looking at my expression. “Yes?”

  “My mind-pictures. They have returned.”

  “My darling, I am ever-so-glad.” He then jokes, trying to lessen my severity. “I am unaccustomed to beating you at anything. So I must admit, it is a relief.”

  I playfully hit his arm.

  The music restarts and he alters our swaying tempo. I forget to be afraid of falling. To be afraid of the stares that bore into us like some sideshow attraction.

  Henry demands my attention.

  “Five?” he prompts.

  I swallow as a plethora of unpleasant images skate through my head. “The giant. And his saving you, which would’ve been the end of me. At least in spirit.”

  A dark cloud passes over his face, but quickly lifts. He laughs quietly. “Definitely.”

  His voice drops an octave, “But do you know what six is, my darling?”

  His voice is warm and tantalizing, coating my mind and heart like smooth bourbon.

  My skin erupts in violent gooseflesh. I want to hear him say it again.

  “Arabella? Six?”

  I shake my head.

  “Six is that, you love me.” His eyes shine, and his mouth sets seriously. “As I’ve loved you. Since the very first time I saw you.”

  I nod. One tear trickles. “I do. I love you, Henry.”

  And that was how I gave my heart to Henry Watson.

  This account being the first of many, many adventures.

  I believe that life with Henry will mean endless impossibilities.

  Arabella Holmes

  Author’s Notes

  * Phrenology and L’uomo Delinquente

  Were very real disciplines in their respective times. They eventually fell out of favor as knowledge of the brain progressed and the technique of fingerprinting grew. My use and application of L’uomo Deliquente is completely fictitious, however.

  * The Mutter Museum

  Is located in Philadelphia and is wonderfully unique and strange place to visit. If you’ve any interest in science or oddities or medicine, it’s well worth the visit. It has no connection with Sherlock Holmes, at least to my knowledge.

  * Information about the Sausage Murder

  Derived from history from the case of Adolph Luetgert, 1897. The account is detailed in the book, Forensic Anthropology by Peggy Thomas.

  * Si-Te-Cahs

  Sarah Winnemucca Hopkins did record legends of the Piutes and Lovelock Cave exists. Some have claimed the giants of the legends, were indeed, Nephilim. Giant skeletons have been unearthed all over the globe.

  * John Watson

  If one has read the original Sherlock Holmes stories, one quickly realizes Watson was not the bumbling, plump counterpart he was portrayed in many films. Indeed, Watson was an ex-soldier, a crack shot, an excellent physician and surgeon and able to deduce minor mysteries on his own. I stand by the screenwriter’s version of the American film remakes, which portray him as a necessary catalyst for Holmes to interact with society, and while not the genius-deductive mastermind of Holmes, a force to be reckoned with in his own right.

  I also contend that Sherlock Holmes had Asperger’s Syndrome. One familiar with this genetic phenotype could quickly recognize his difficulty relating to people, his extreme, all-consuming passions and obsessive behavior and routines.

  Holmes and Watson’s relationship was symbiotic, which is consequently the case with many with Asperger’s; despite their oft-great talents, they often rely on a loved one to assist them with deciphering societal cues and navigating the world of relationships.

  Precisely like Watson and Holmes.

  Case closed.

  Acknowledgements

  Firstly, to Victoria Lea of Aponte Literary. There could be no greater editorial partner, cheerleader, shrink and fellow lover of the written word. I am so very lucky to have you. To my fabulous writer friends, MV Freeman, Dan Krippene, Marlo Berliner, for reading, critiquing, and having my back. Love you guys.

  Brynn Chapman

  Born and raised in western Pennsylvania, Brynn Chapman is the daughter of two teachers. Her writing reflects her passions: science, history and love—not necessarily in that order. In real life, the geek gene runs strong in her family, as does the Asperger’s syndrome. Her writing reflects her experience as a pediatric therapist and her interactions with society’s downtrodden. In fiction, she’s a strong believer in underdogs and happily-ever-afters. She also writes non-fiction and lectures on the subjects of autism and sensory integration and is a medical contributor to online journal The Age of Autism. You can find her on the web at www.brynnchapmanauthor.com

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Author’s Notes

  Acknowledgements