“Don’t worry yourself over it. Nobody likes books that heavy; it’s been gathering dust for a decade.”
Alora crouched enough to see that Mr. Salvoy breathed still and drew a breath of her own in relief. Her hand met the snake’s head absently, where she brushed her fingers along it before they came away, carrying a piece of string. She tucked it into her satchel.
“What should we do with him?” she said, pulling back his hood. His hair was left in disarray from the cowl, the skin on his forehead red and promising to blister. Otherwise, he appeared as if he could be sleeping.
“Send for the captain is what we should do. I know for fact that he wouldn’t agree with what this boy attempted. Attacking a second person without order, and that person, specifically, being you.”
“There will be no more of these ruffians in my shop,” said Ellie, her voice quaking but final. She returned the empty kettle to the stove, where she gripped another. With a practiced hand, she poured three cups of tea.
Alora took hers without comment, her mind far away. When it returned to the kitchen, she said in a flat voice, “The captain is dead anyway.”
Mortimer gasped. “No. Surely not.”
“He was brought down by specter wolves.”
“Specter wolves! Where?”
“Renwick. Not far from the mansion’s gate.” Her voice was toneless and quiet. Still, it sounded loud in the kitchen.
“I’ve not seen a specter wolf in… Why, it must be six or seven years, at least. Even then, it wasn’t a large one. It only came out at night.” When no one else spoke, Mortimer stepped over theunconscious Urchin until he stood before Alora. His voice grew soft with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Miss Pennigrim.”
“Whatever for? I hardly knew him.”
“Sometimes that doesn’t matter.” He said it as if he understood firsthand, and the grip on her shoulder told her she had a friend to come to, should she need him.
She found it hard to breathe.
“Leave the Urchin with me,” said Ellie.
“With you?” questioned Mortimer, his brow raised. “But what about when he wakes?”
“I’ve not read thousands of stories for nothing. And I know a lot of people, specifically merchants. If one leaves tomorrow with a trussed-up sack of grain after making his deliveries, no one will suspect a thing. Even if it is squawking.” Taking a long sip of tea, she studied Alora over the rim. The steam wafted around the old woman’s nose, iridescent tendrils in the shape of moth wings. “I’m not sure how you managed to get so mixed up in all this, my dear, but be certain that your humors are not at all thrilled with what you’ve put yourself through. Go home this minute and leave these young men to me.”
Mortimer turned a finger on himself, looking one way then the other.
“Yes, you. I’ll have your help. Your humors, at least, appear quite fine.”
“Oh. Well. Thank you, madam.”
Ellie Turkens nodded as curtly as a king. When Alora handed over her teacup, the old woman took it and Alora’s hand all in one grasp. Quietly, so as not to be overheard, she said, “I’m not some cracked mug. I’ve played with the dangers of handsome devils, too, back in my day. But be assured, darling, though he might smile like one, Marshall Merridon is no devil. He’s pond scum. He should be lying belly up in a swamp. I don’t know what sort of contract you have with him, but find a way out of it fastas you can. That mansion is like quicksand.” She planted a kiss on Alora’s forehead, swift and soft. “Trust your instincts. They’re good ones.”
Chapter Thirty
Mrs. Flops was not at all thrilled to have been left alone for the entire day. Alora attempted to appease the disgruntled rabbit with an enormous salad, but she could tell from the reproachful stare it would be some days yet before she was forgiven.
“Maybe Mister Zanfold will take pity on me, and you. I’ve another long day tomorrow. I’m not sure when I’ll return. Perhaps he’ll come up and visit. I’ll ask him in the morning.”
Alora said all this while she combed her hair. The air was cool outside, blowing through the open doors of her terrace and finding its way into her bedroom. She’d changed into a nightgown, but one that hardly brushed her knees. She didn’t enjoy being over warm, and she’d felt feverish for nearly the entire day. Ever since—
Her wrist paused at her shoulder. She dreaded what the following morning would bring. Of being subjected to the scrutiny of yet another Urchin or guard or whatever else Madam Feebledire deemed to send her way. Of using prancing horsesover George. She dreaded seeing Opulence again. Of all the memories it would bring that she’d rather not have.
Another bout of sweats came upon her. She sank to the edge of the bed and took in the room—the color of the walls. Thatgreen.She couldn’t bear it. She’d never be able to look at the shade again; it would have to go. Only, what if she never found it again? What if she forgot it forever? Was that better? Would it be better to accept Merridon’s membership for a single night? To take advantage of Door One and allow just a trickle of that enchanted water to coat her skin, seep inside and steal all of what transpired between her and Bash—both versions of him—away? The pain was horrid, but it was also hers.
She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes with a sigh. It was too soon to decide. About all of it. She would leave the walls alone—for now.
Her palms lowered to cup her cheeks. “Enough of this nonsense, Alora. Go fix your goddamned drink.”
It’d taken her entirely too long still, but at last Alora had made it into the kitchen. A sprinkle of cayenne settled atop her tea in a red flurry, and she watched it drift and sink, dreading the moment when she’d be forced to choke it down. But she trusted Ellie Turkens. If the old woman said it would restore her to a semblance of her former self, well, it was worth a sip at least.
