Constance spun around. Miss Frost was standing beside her, one hand over her mouth, horror-struck.
“I imagine this is your work,” she said coldly. “Yours and Ellerby’s.”
“No—”
“Ellerby pushed the machine too far, didn’t he?”
The old woman stared.
“You went into the basement. You confronted him. You knew he’d built a new machine. And you knew what it might do.”
“I didn’t know—” Frost said breathlessly, backing up against the French doors.
“But you guessed.” Constance advanced on her. “You could have stopped him. You could have destroyed the machine.”
“He threatened me—”
“You didn’t stop him because you loved him.”
Frost had no answer.
“When Ellerby was killed, you could have said something. Maybe this”—she flung back an arm—“could have been prevented. But you were in denial. You stayed up here, playing the piano and drinking absinthe, while that demon out of the Old Testament killed, and killed again. And now those deaths, and this destruction, are on you.”
“No, no,” the old woman croaked. “Please, I didn’t know. I’ll do anything—”
“Maybe you can redeem yourself,” said Constance.
The old lady gulped for air. “How—？”
“Help me kill it. You said you had a collection of weapons. Show me.”
After another shuddering breath, Frost took tight hold of her cane and stepped inside from the balcony. She led the way into the library. One wall held display cases of objects of unusual industrial design. Frost hurried up to the adjacent wall and touched the plate of a light switch, which opened to reveal a large brass drawer pull, fastened vertically.
“You do it,” Frost said, stepping aside. “It takes strength I no longer have.”
Constance grasped the handle and pulled. With a creak, a large section of the wall swung away on hidden hinges. Beyond she could see a row of narrow metal doors, all closed, spaced perhaps four feet apart, marked with labels.
Frost pointed with her cane. “Third door on the left.”
Constance opened the door and turned on the light. Arranged on shelves she saw a veritable museum of weaponry. Along the left wall were derringers, dueling pistols, ancient six-guns, and—ironically—a Les Baer 1911 Heavyweight. And on the wall to her right were two long guns, including an ancient Henry .44 rimfire lever-action. Beside these rifles was an automatic weapon with a drum magazine and—beneath it—a worn wooden case with black stenciling on one end.
“I helped bring that thing to life,” Frost said. “I have a duty to destroy it.”
“What about ammunition?”
She pointed to the weapon with a drum magazine, resting on two rubber-covered hooks. “This Thompson tommy gun has a full magazine.” She glanced back at Constance. “I suppose you’ve never handled a machine gun?”
“Not one that small.”
Frost began to laugh, then faltered when Constance did not smile.
“And that?” Constance pointed to the wooden crate.
“A recoilless M1 ‘stovepipe’ bazooka.”
Removing the wooden lid and flinging away a covering of straw, Constance saw a metal tube, about the length of a bassoon but with a wider mouth, painted in camouflage. A handgrip was attached to its belly. Nestled against it were shells with fins. Constance lifted it out.
“No,” Frost said. “That one is suicide. Those old solid-propellant rockets become unstable over time. The ones in that crate are only ten years younger than I am.”
“Very well.” Putting it back, Constance picked up the tommy gun and swiftly examined it. There were two lollipop-style toggle switches set just above the left side of the wooden grip. Constance swiveled the rear switch from “safe” to “fire” and the front switch from “single” to “full.” Then she reached for the charging handle on the right side of the receiver and, with a firm yank, pulled it all the way back.
“I guess you weren’t kidding,” Frost said.
At that moment, the lights flickered, then went out.
Carrying the gun, Constance ran out of the storage vault, through the library, and to the balcony. It was brighter outside, the city painted with flames from a dozen fires. She paused, shocked anew at the sight of the creature and the destruction and death it was wreaking. It was closer than where she’d first seen it, gliding over the park, approaching the hotel.