Nigel lifted a brow. Conflicting urges pulled him internally. On the one hand, he didn’t trust her. Not a bit. Not a woman whocould betray her very nature by ratting out, hunting down, and marking the families of those who were once her classmates and friends.
On the other, he hated to be ungentlemanly.
“I’ll walk you to King Kybald Row,” he said slowly. “You can catch the trolley from there.”
Her siren lips pulled in a slow smile. Nigel couldn’t remember a time when that smile had ever been turned his way fifteen years ago. In his memory, she had only ever looked at him with utter disdain. Could he still spy a reflection of that same disdain behind the gleam of lamplight in her eyes? Difficult to say.
“How about a drink first?” she suggested, tilting her head gently. “Between friends. For old time’s sake.”
Nigel’s jaw tensed. There was something wrong here. There was simply no reason he could fathom for her tobehere, tohappento bump into him. His brain might be awash in one too many gulps of Penny Pilsner. But he wasn’t stupid.
What he was, however, wasvulnerable.He felt the restrictions of the Sovereign Troth as sure as any handcuffs he’d ever worn.
He offered a rigid smile in response. “My treat, Mrs. Anguish,” he said with great formality, and waved a hand to indicate the bar across the street. A momentary flash of distaste broke through her façade, but Calista covered it quickly. With a practiced smile, she fell into step beside him, and together they crossed the road. Nigel couldn’t resist a hasty sideways glance into the alley near the bar as they passed. But the shadows in its depths did not coalesce into wafting, undulating beings of darkness. Not yet, at least.
The thaumatescent sign above the door flickered the wordsThe Ugly Mug,along with the logo of a singularly unpleasant personage holding up a frothing mug of beer. Not an enticement that would ordinarily lure Nigel in off the street, but he washappy enough to leave behind the cold and the shadows for the smoky atmosphere within. A jukebox played somewhere in the back of the crowded room, the same popular tunes favored by the band at the Rowdy House, but all much more contained and tinny-sounding.
Calista glided smoothly through the smoky atmosphere. With her furs and her jewels and her expensive hair, she could not look more out of place if she tried, but she moved with confidence, as though she walked into plebeian bars on back roads every day of the week. They took seats at the end of the bar, blessedly located as far from the jukebox as possible, and a barkeep with huge bags under his eyes asked them wearily for their order.
“Velvet Whisper, please,” Calista said, without bothering to ask if they served cocktails.
The barkeep’s eyebrows rose, but he did not protest, merely turned to Nigel and grunted.
“Have you any teas?” Nigel asked.
Those raised eyebrows sank. “Teas?”
“Yes.”
“You mean, like . . . Limpty’s?”
“Preferably anything but.”
“I think all we got is Limpty’s. Maybe.”
Nigel sighed. “Give me the Limpty’s then. Milk, no sugar.”
The barkeep turned away, muttering to himself. Nigel became aware of Calista’s cat-eyed gaze watching him narrowly. He did not look at her in return, but kept his eyes fixed on the bowl of peanuts in front of him. He was plenty aware, however, when she slid out of her expensive coat and draped it over the back of the swiveling barstool. What she wore underneath was . . . not wholly unexpected. Not after the evening he’d spent with Bryony. Nigel didn’t have to look at her directly to get a very strong impression of a lowcut front and even lower back, anda gaudy jewel positioned in just such a way as to draw the eye to the ample bosom on display. Neither did he need a close inspection to recognize that her figure was very good, as good as it had ever been back in university days.
He also knew now that she was not above seduction to get what she wanted. And he was ninety percent certain he knew what she wanted.
He cracked a peanut with his nail, breaking the shell into little bits but not eating the nut. “And, erm,” he said, “how is Mr. Anguish this evening?”
Calista smiled serenely. “Sleeping one off back in the hotel.” The barkeep set a dark red drink in a wide, shallow glass down in front of her. She picked it up delicately, her red lips a perfect match for the liquid she sipped. “I trust he’ll be feeling fairly human again by tomorrow, in time for his meeting with the Minister Supreme of the SSC.” She tilted an eyebrow Nigel’s way. “The Sorcery Suppressions Convocation, you know.”
Nigel felt his tie tighten. He selected another peanut and cracked its shell. The last time he’d looked into the face of the Minister Supreme of Sorcery Suppressions, it had been a false face worn by his own brother as a disguise. Did this mean Fabian was returned from the Phrigidos Isles so soon? Or had the real Ebenezer Prodigimus reassumed his life in Ballycastle now that his imposter was removed? None of these questions were safe to be voiced, however.
Casting Calista a sideways glance, Nigel took care not to let his gaze drop to that sparkling bosom-jewel, no matter how she angled herself. Thanks to Bryony for giving him the much-needed practice! “And you?” he queried. “You just . . . wander the streets of Lower Eastside Ballycastle. Alone. At night. For the . . . thrill of it all?”
She leaned back a little, toying with the rim of her cocktail glass. “I don’t remember you being so sarcastic back in scrying class.”
Nigel resisted the urge to pull at his tie.
Calista leaned forward again and slipped a well-manicured hand over his. “I never thanked you properly, you know. For saving my life.”
She trailed her thumb back and forth across the back of his hand. Nigel studied those languid strokes, curious how she could make such a simple gesture so sensuous. The version of himself from fifteen years ago would have ignited on the spot, but he felt strangely cold. Perhaps he was too jaded to enjoy such simple pleasures as manipulative seduction. He resisted the urge to pull away, however. He wanted to see how far she would take this and what other tactics she might employ. He could defend himself against sexual advances; he wasn’t sure what he’d do if she resorted to sorcery.
“It was nothing,” he said, lifting his gaze to hers. “Anyone would have done the same.”
