Page 70 of The Devouring Time

“Fine.” I open the door before I can start second-guessing myself and slide into the car.

Both Adrian and Helen radiate disapproval, but they join me. As the car pulls away, Mary says, “Shall I make introductions, or leave it to Helen?”

“Oh, please, allow me,” Helen says. “This is Mary King, who lost her mind and joined the Cult of the Waking God. She probably had some sort of dream vision that told her to murder you, Sterling, and of course that was good enough for her!”

I’m starting to get the feeling they have a rather complicated history between them. “I see.”

“And is this cult normally given to murder?” Adrian asks carefully.

The question seems to shock Mary. “Of course not—the Waking God loves humanity.”

Now it’s Helen’s turn to snort loudly.

Mary ignores the sound and extends her hand over the back of her seat toward Adrian. “I didn’t get your name, sir.”

He hesitates, then shakes her hand gingerly. “Adrian Evans, insurance investigator.”

“Oh, so that’s what you’re doing with Caine. Stole something under the Swarm’s influence, did he?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Mary only laughs. “I like you.” She turns back to the fore. “Helen wouldn’t be running around with fools⁠—”

“I ran around with you.”

“—so give me a chance to prove my good intentions. We’re almost there.”

We’re back in the more unsavory parts of town, though nearer the docks this time. The streets are narrow and wind more than it feels like they should. Threadbare laundry hangs from lines overhead, and faces steal furtive glimpses from behind curtains as we drive past. Many of the windows are boarded over, even when the buildings themselves appear to be inhabited.

At last, we pull over in front of an old colonial house with a sagging roof. Time and weather have stripped most of the paint from its boards, leaving them a dull gray. “You’ve come down in the world,” Helen observes to Mary.

“I’d prefer to say I’ve found my vocation. The people here need relief from the bleak reality of their lives.”

“You could just sell bootleg liquor like everyone else.”

Mary arches a brow at Helen. “Now when did either of us ever think small, Hellion?”

She and the silent driver get out and start up the stoop, apparently trusting us to follow. Adrian touches my arm as we reach the muddy sidewalk. “Is this a good idea?” he asks in a low voice.

“Probably not. But I need answers.” I meet his worried gaze. “You don’t have to come inside with us. Mary probably won’t threaten to blow up your gun.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He squeezes my arm, then lets go. I long to kiss him to show how grateful I am to have him at my back.

Helen marches up the stairs, stomping her feet angrily as she goes. We follow, and the silent driver shuts the door behind us.

The house is gloomy inside, all the drapes pulled tight over the windows, so the only light comes from the transom and a single dim bulb hanging from the ceiling. Stairs run up directly in front of us, with doors to either side. One, presumably to a parlor, is shut tight. The other stands open to a combined living room, dining room, and kitchen—what they called a “keeping room” in the era the house was built. An odd scent hangs in the air, some exotic incense, perhaps.

Mary leads us into the keeping room and lights the candles on the table. Banked coals wait within the enormous hearth, which she stokes into flame. “Are you hungry? I’ll send Dorset out for sandwiches.”

“I’d rather know why you brought us here,” Helen says.

“Then have a seat.”

We do so. Creaks come from above—someone else is here, moving around the upper floors. I’m unpleasantly reminded of the bloody drip in the Fosters’ house, and from the expression on his face, so is Adrian.

Mary takes a bottle of whiskey from a shelf near the hearth. There are already cups on the table, as if she’d prepared for our arrival, and she pours a measure for us all without asking. Satisfied, she sits down across from me.

“What is this cult you’re a part of?” I ask. “What does it have to do with the Swarm?”