Amanda Lester and the Black Shadow Terror Read online

  He gathered her tenderly in his arms and bent down to kiss her. “I love you, Amanda,” he murmured. “More than anything.” He squeezed her to him and rested his head on hers. “And I would love to stand here kissing you all night but we need to get you fixed.”

  “Just do it,” she said. “Please. The vision will end eventually and then I’ll be fine—and have something wonderful to remember.”

  He kissed her again and carefully swept her off the ground and into his arms the way he always did.

  “Oooh, I like this,” she said.

  “Good,” he said. He looked at the scene around him. “Now where am I going to find a doctor’s surgery at night?”

  “You aren’t. There are no doctors on movie lots. Not real ones anyway.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said. “This isn’t a movie lot. From the look of it I’d say it’s either a very old part of London or we’ve traveled back to the Victorian era. Look at the gas streetlamps, and those horse droppings all over the road, which by the way is cobblestoned. Don’t you see? No telephone wires, no neon, no technology from the twenty-first century at all.”

  “Which is why this has to be a movie lot,” she said. “In my hallucination, of course. It’s exactly the way I’d design it. What does that tell you?”

  “I’m not going to debate this with you,” he said. “Now, if I put you down will you walk with me?”

  Her grin spread all the way across her face. “Anything your heart desires.”

  He gently placed her back on the ground and took her good hand. “Look, there are some people over there,” he said, pointing to a couple of well-dressed gentlemen. “Excuse me,” he called out.

  The two men looked in their direction, then at each other and began walking away.

  “I say,” Nick called out. “I know we look strange but we’ve been rehearsing a play. Can you please guide us to the nearest physician?”

  The men stopped walking, conferred for a moment, and then one of them said, “Dr. Watson. Two twenty-one B Baker Street.” Then they moved on.

  “Did you hear that?” said Amanda. “Dr. Watson? Give me a break.”

  “More evidence in support of my theory,” said Nick, raising her hand to his lips. “Just humor me for a moment.”

  “Sure, why not?” said Amanda, eyeing the kiss. “Although I’d say the evidence supports my theory.”

  “We were looking at Simon’s history machine when this happened. He didn’t tell us what era he was working with, but I’ll bet you ten shillings it was Sherlock Holmes’s time.”

  “Shillings? Really?”

  “Forget the shillings. My point is that somehow something Simon did not only displayed the history from that time, but transported us there.”

  “If that’s the case, where is Simon? Shouldn’t he be here too?”

  “You’d think so. I haven’t constructed a complete theory. It’s just a hunch right now.”

  “Okay, in the world of your hunch then, how did this happen?”

  “I don’t know. I just know that he was messing around with time. He must have touched something he shouldn’t.”

  “Simon the mad scientist,” she giggled. “He’s even crazier in my dreams than in real life.”

  “Tell me something,” he said, taking her chin in his hand. “What’s the longest time one of your visions has lasted?”

  “Not very long,” she said. “A few seconds at the most.”

  “And this one?”

  “I dunno. Fifteen minutes maybe?”

  “Don’t you think that’s significant?”

  Amanda chewed on that for a moment. “Maybe it’s a new phase. Like a time-release.”

  “After all this time?”

  “Who knows? I never would have believed the Moriartys could do what they’ve done to me.”

  He gazed into her eyes. Whenever he did that she melted and he knew it. “You know I’m right. This is real and we need to get you to a doctor.”

  “It really hurts,” she said, trying to break away from that gaze.

  “And has that happened before?”

  She sighed. “No.”

  “Then come on. Don’t you want to meet Dr. Watson?”

  “I do,” she said. “I really want him to fix my shoulder. It hurts like crazy.”

  Nick’s knowledge of London was so thorough that he was able to figure out where they were and how to get to Baker Street even though the city had changed dramatically over time. On the way they passed a newsstand, which was selling papers from September 30, 1890.

  “This is a pretty elaborate vision you’re having,” said Nick. “Check that out.” He head-pointed toward the newsstand.

  Amanda looked at the newspapers. “OMG, you’re right. Surely the Moriartys didn’t go into this level of detail. I’m beginning to think you’re right. This isn’t like the other visions. Those were just short bursts of terror. This is leisurely, and except for that monster, and of course the pain, actually pretty interesting.”

  He circled his arm around her gently. “So you agree that this is real.”

  “I think so, but if that’s true, how can you hear?”

  “I have no idea,” he said. “But I can. It’s wonderful.”

  “Then hear this,” she said, gazing up at him. “I love you, Nick Muffet. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  Nick stopped and kissed her. “I could listen to that forever.”

  “And I could kiss you forever except that I’m in a lot of pain.”

  “Right,” he said, taking her hand.

  “What do you suppose that thing is?” she said as they continued toward Baker Street.

  “The monster? I don’t know. All I can say is that Hugh must be behind it. That smell is so him.”

  “Hugh can time travel?”

  “Not that I ever knew about,” he said. “But didn’t he deform Professor Redleaf’s laptop screen remotely one time?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I saw it happen. It was definitely Hugh, but this is different.”

  “I have to admit that it does seem beyond even him,” Nick conceded.

  “It seems beyond anyone,” she said. “You can’t travel through time. It’s impossible.”

  “And yet here we are.”

  She looked up to see that they were indeed at 221B Baker Street with its shiny black door and curved transom window, long brass knocker, garden window, and two upper windows overlooking the street. It was exactly as it appeared in all the pictures and she wished she had her camera so she could snap a pic for Scapulus. He would have loved to see how his ancestor had lived. Of course the site comprised the Sherlock Holmes Museum in the 21st century, and every effort had been made to preserve it, but it wasn’t the same.

  As she stood there appreciating the moment, two men hove into view from the opposite direction. The shorter man sported muttonchop whiskers and was wearing a derby. The taller man had a patrician face and bearing and wore a top hat. They looked rather comical together.

  “OMG,” said Amanda, squeezing Nick’s hand. “Do you know who they are?”

  “Yep,” said Nick. “You couldn’t miss, could you? Just look at Holmes. He’s Basil Rathbone to a T.”

  “I like Jeremy Brett better,” she said.

  “So do I, but he looks like Rathbone,” said Nick. He addressed the shorter man. “Are you Dr. Watson?”

  “I am,” said the man. Amanda couldn’t tell whether he was glad or annoyed at being recognized outside surgery hours.

  “We have a bit of a medical emergency, I’m afraid,” said Nick. “A dislocated shoulder. Can you help us?’’

  “Yes, of course,” said Watson, instantly adopting a professional demeanor. He took a ring of keys out of his pocket and inserted one into the lock of his downstairs surgery. “Please, come through.”

  Amanda cast a glance at the man who had to be Sherlock Holmes and crossed the threshold.

  “Thank you so much,” said Nick, following her.

  Watson
lit a lamp and ushered the pair into his old-fashioned examining room, which was lined with deep wood shelves covered from one end to the other with jars of every conceivable shape and size. Even with the light it was so dark in there. She wondered how the man could treat his patients without being able to see properly.

  “How did this happen?” he asked, motioning for her to sit on an ancient-looking cloth-covered examining table.

  Amanda and Nick exchanged a look. “Er, we had a run-in with a criminal,” said Nick.

  “A criminal, eh?” said Watson with interest. “What sort of criminal?”

  “Have you seen today’s paper?” Nick ventured.

  “You’re not speaking of one of those black shadows, are you?” said Watson, aghast.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Nick.

  “Good God, man,” said Watson. “You were lucky to get out alive.”

  “Dr. Watson, I’m in a lot of pain,” said Amanda. “Do you think you could— “

  “An American, are you?” said Watson. “And this is the hospitality we show you. How shameful. I do apologize.”

  He took Amanda’s arm, palpated it, and said, “Hang on. This is going to hurt.” Then he wrenched the shoulder back into place while she tried not to scream. It hurt like the dickens and then suddenly it didn’t.

  “Sorry,” he said. “But it’s done. You’ll be fine now. Just put a hot water bottle on it.”

  Amanda rubbed her shoulder. “It does feel better. Thank you.”

  “Tell me about this shadow,” said Watson, placing a blanket over his patient and eyeing the two of them. “Where did the incident occur?’’ Nick told him. “Was anyone else there?”

  “No,” said Amanda, snuggling under the blanket. “Just us.”

  “You’ve obviously come from the theater,” said Watson, indicating their clothes. “Were you robbed?”

  “No, sir,” said Nick. “We had nothing to steal.”

  “Curious,” said Watson. “Usually the people who encounter these shadows are robbed. Some even die. You were lucky. You’re quite special.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Amanda blurted out. “You see I’m Amanda Lester and this is Nick, er, uh.” She glanced at Nick. He gave her a warning look. “Nick Muffet, my young man. You’re right that we’ve come from the theater. We’re actors.”

  “I can tell,” said Watson brightly. “Pray tell, what are you rehearsing? I’m a bit of a theater buff myself. Perhaps I’ve seen it, although I don’t remember you. But I suppose under all that makeup you look different, don’t you?”

  “Uh, well—” she stumbled.

  “‘Taming of the Shrew,’” said Nick, rescuing her.

  “Oh I do love the shrew,” said Watson. “I will definitely come see it. But why such odd costumes?”

  “It’s experimental,” said Nick. “An American company. You know.” He winked.

  “Of course, of course,” said Watson, smiling. “Always experimenting, you Americans,” he said looking at Amanda. “Well, as I say, you were lucky to escape with your lives. I must say, though, you should contact the police. Inspector Lestrade at Scotland Yard would be very interested to hear about your experience.”

  “What about Sher—” Amanda started. Nick put his hand over her mouth just in time.

  “What Amanda was about to say was that we were thinking exactly that. Lestrade, you say?”

  “Yes, Lestrade,” said Watson. “Perhaps I should accompany you to make sure you stay safe.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to,” said Amanda. “Nick knows karat—”

  “Thank you for your generous offer, Doctor,” said Nick. “But we will take a carriage, won’t we, Amanda? We’ll be fine.”

  Watson’s eyes went wide. “But you just said you didn’t have any—”

  “Thank you and good night, Doctor,” Nick said, extracting a five-pound note from his pocket and stuffing it into Watson’s hand. He ushered Amanda out into the night and away from the surgery.

  “But that’s twenty-first century money,” she said.

  “I had to pay him, didn’t I?” said Nick. “By the time he notices we’ll be long gone.”

  “Speaking of which,” she said. “How are we going to get back to Legatum?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” said Nick. “Now that we’re here, we have an incredible opportunity.”

  “To meet Sherlock?” she said.” You know, there was a time when that would have been the last thing I’d want to do.”

  “It is a good idea,” said Nick,” but I was thinking of something a little more productive.” The light in his eyes practically glowed.

  “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, no way.”

  “But I can fix you,” he said gently. “No more nightmares. No more monsters.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” she said. “You could be killed. And then I’d be alone in the wrong century. With G. Lestrade!”

  “Don’t you want to find out what the G stands for?” Nick teased.

  “This isn’t funny,” she said. “I can’t lose you. I’d endure a million years of Stencil’s visions if it meant I could be with you.”

  He gathered her into his arms. “Oh, I do love you, Amanda.”

  She rested her head against his chest. “Then don’t do this. There are other ways.”

  “But we have a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get to James Moriarty— the creator of the formulas. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  That got to her. No one could ever say that Amanda Lester had no sense of adventure.

  “All right, but no undue risks,” she said. “If you die I’m going to be so mad at you.”

  He kissed her softly. “No one is going to die.”

  “I’m holding you to that,” she said. “Just as long as you hold me.”

  He tightened his arms around her. “Forever.”

  She sighed a long, contented sigh and nestled her head under his chin.

  “So I would say our next task is to find some period clothing and a place to sleep,” she said.

  “It isn’t period to them. You filmmakers.”

  She laughed. “Fortunately costume is something I’m good at.”

  He grinned at her in that way he had. As always it hit her in the chest. “Lead on,” he said.

  “I’m thinking we could find some clothes at a theater,” she mused. “It’s too late for the shops to be open.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “Shaftsbury Avenue it is.”

  Baker Street wasn’t far from the theater district, and they were there in a flash. Amanda did a quick reconnoiter and picked an establishment with an unobtrusive side door, which just happened to be unlocked.

  They crept inside and looked around. The play was in progress so they would have an obstacle course to run—people flitting about here and there as they entered and exited the stage area and generally supported the production. But she had a trick up her sleeve. She’d used it before and it had worked beautifully. Simply act as if you belong, and most people won’t notice that you’re not supposed to be there,

  “Follow my lead,” she whispered to Nick, grateful that he could hear. He gave her the OK sign and they charged ahead. They took a couple of wrong turns and ended up at the dressing rooms, but they soon found themselves standing in front of a rack of clothing. Amanda eyeballed the garments, chose a long purple and black lace-trimmed walking suit for herself and a man’s black three-piece suit with blue waistcoat and long frock coat, and handed them to Nick. But when they turned around a slim bald man with round, rimless glasses and startling green eyes was standing there tapping his toe.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he said.

  Amanda stuck her hand out.

  “Muffet Laundry and Dry Cleaners,” she improvised. “We understand you have a cleaning emergency.”

  “We most certainly do not,” said the man, eyeing her with disdain. “Who told you that?”

  “Stage manager,” Amanda said. “
I forget the name.”

  The man looked over his shoulder at the nonexistent stage manager.

  “Mister Garrett and Miss Heartburn require those costumes for Act Three. How much time do you need?”

  “We’ll have them back in a jiffy,” said Amanda. “Half an hour tops.”

  “Tops?” said the man.

  “Guaranteed,” said Amanda.

  “Then off you go,” said the man. “Make haste.”

  Amanda and Nick turned and scurried out of the theater. When they got out onto the sidewalk they burst into laughter.

  “Muffet Laundry and Dry Cleaners?” Nick said between guffaws. “That’s priceless.”

  “It was the first thing that popped into my head,” said Amanda.

  “What does that say about you?” said Nick. “And me, for that matter.”

  Amanda was laughing so hard tears were running down her face.

  “I hate to think what’s going to happen when they get to the part of the play where they need these,” Nick said.

  “They’ll be fine,” said Amanda. “Professionals are used to ad-libbing. Come on, let’s put these on.”

  They found a dark corner outside one of the other theaters and dressed in the stolen clothes. The fit wasn’t perfect but it would do.

  “How do I look?” she said.

  He swept her into his arms. “Gorgeous as always. How about me?”

  She stood back and took a good look. He was stunning. “You’ll do.” She grinned. You didn’t tell a man how attractive he was, no matter what. It would be too weird.

  “We need a base of operations,” said Nick, smoothing out his suit. It was too short on him and his blue socks were visible. Amanda tried to keep from cracking up.

  “Hey, your clothes don’t fit either,” he said. “They look like they were made for an elephant.”

  “I guess Miss Heartburn is a big girl,” she giggled. She patted herself all over. “No money.”

  “Easily solved,” said Nick. “Come on.”

  They took off and within a moment arrived at Picadilly Circus. As usual it was full of activity, but without all those garish neon signs it just wasn’t the same. Amanda noticed at once that it lacked the trademark red buses too. Still she decided she preferred it this way. It was more aesthetically pleasing.