Page 4 of Reap & Sow

“I’ve nothing to sign with.”

Mr. Night drew a small bone-white knife from somewhere Eda could not see. He was practically embracing the man from behind, blade and contract patiently proffered in each hand. A serpent twined about its prey, neither crushing the creature nor letting it flee. “Your blood is all the signature I need. Just a little cut, and it shall be done.”

Run, Eda wanted to shout. Run now, you fool, and don’t look back. Whatever he gives you, it won’t be worth what you lose.

But she did not have the luxury of doing the right thing. If she did, she’d never have brought Bartholomew to the mirror in the first place. Eda could only bite her lip and watch.

Bartholomew exhaled. He offered up a shaking hand to the blade—

The doorbell chimed.

Eda reeled and fell on her arse. The cellar door drifted shut.

Shit!

She scrambled to her feet and brushed down her skirts. Checked her plait and hurried back through the shelves. Curly as her hair was, it never suffered containment for long. Already she felt it coming loose around her ears in little wisps.

She rounded the hulking armoire that served as a backdrop to the shop foyer, and her frizz was the first thing Lawrie commented on—Eda knew he would. “That thicket of yours is fighting for its freedom,” he sniggered.

“And you look like a drowned rat.”

“Still prettier than you.”

Lawrie was tall and gangly, all elbows and legs. The rain only served to make him look thinner, wool cape clinging to his shoulders. His curls lay plastered against his head.

Ben shut the drapes behind him and shook water from his hood. Where Lawrie was lithe, Ben was stocky and muscular. Square-jawed and rugged in looks, his mop of hair alone lent him some measure of softness. Eda liked to think he scared it straight in the womb, refusing to tolerate the unruly curls inherent among his siblings.

“Eda.” Ben looked at her properly. “What’s wrong?”

How does he always do that? Keeping anything from Ben was a fool’s errand; he had the nose of a bloodhound and the eyes of a hawk. “I don’t know why you always assume there’s something wrong—”

“There’s a draft.” He looked pointedly at the chandelier’s sputtering candles. His tone dropped. “Is the cellar door open?”

Lawrie had been shrugging off his cape, but now he froze.

No point denying it. “A man came asking after the mirror.”

Ben hung up his cloak in silence.

Eda scowled. “He knew the pass phrase, was ready to make a Pact. No one else was around. I checked. I wasn’t sure when you’d be home, and I didn’t want to lose him.”

“You complain that I worry needlessly, yet you always give me cause! How many times have I told you to never—”

“Never take someone to the mirror alone, yes. But despite what you tell yourself, Ben, I’m quite capable of handling these things properly. Or would you rather extend our debt as long as possible? We can’t afford to turn down Pacts for no good reason.”

“Your safety is a good reason.” Ben took two quick steps toward her; she backpedaled. “I won’t have you alone with that demon more than strictly necessary.”

“Mr. Night won’t hurt me. He won’t hurt any of us. He can’t; it’s in—”

“In our Pact, yes. I know the clause.”

Eda bristled. “Not ours. Father was the one who got us into this mess.”

Ben’s hazel eyes flashed. “Eda…”

Bartholomew came hurtling into the foyer. He sent a bookend flying as he skidded past the shelves but stopped dead at the sight of them. His eyes were as round as a spooked horse’s.

Startled, Ben positioned himself in front of the door. At first Eda feared he was right to do so: that Bartholomew’s terror had overwhelmed him at last. That he’d changed his mind, was trying to flee. They would have to threaten him. Beat him, if necessary, to keep his mouth shut. Her skin prickled.