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Brendan tossed a coin on the table, casting a swift glance at the corner table, but the strange man with the black and silver hair was gone. No sign of him in the shop anywhere. He must have slipped out during the commotion.
Brendan joined Rogan outside. They trailed behind the foursome as they made their way down Bridgefoot Street and away from the river.
“You’re lucky they didn’t beat the hell out of you. The leveryas is a dicey thing to control.”
Rogan laughed. “If they’d been sober, I’d say you were right to be nervous. But the stench of whiskey rising off them was enough to drop a bull in his traces. No fears they’d have broken free.”
“You must care for the woman to risk mob dismemberment.”
“Lyddy’s a good girl, Douglas. She doesn’t like working there, but she’s not had much choice. She ran away from home when she was a wee thing. The first time she worked the mage energy.”
Brendan sucked in a quick breath. “She’s Other?”
“Aye, mind ya, she’s no master-mage, but she carries the blood of the Fey, no doubt of it. Her family sought to drive the devil from her.” His voice hardened. “Bolloxy Duinedon sons of bitches damn near killed her.”
“They don’t understand.”
“And that gives them a right to go about murdering young girls? Burning out whole families? Driving people from their homes just because they’re Other?” Rogan spat in the gutter. “It might not be such a bad thing to have Arthur back. Show those ignorant bastards we’re not a bunch of demon spawn.”
Brendan grabbed his arm, spinning him roughly around. “That’s dangerous talk. It could get you into trouble.”
Rogan pulled free. “And what’s doing nothing got me?” He looked past Brendan to where Lyddy stood in the doorway, a hand shading her eyes. “Or any of us?” He raked a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, defeat in his rounded shoulders. “Here, now, I’m sorry for gabbling on at you like that and I know you’re right, Douglas. It’s just”—he sighed—“sometimes I wonder: Can the world get any worse for us than it is now?”
Brendan gave a harsh bark of laughter. “That’s a question to bring down Armageddon if ever I heard one.”
“Yet you don’t answer me.”
“You want an answer? Then yes, Rogan.” Brendan kneaded the throbbing muscles in his hand. “Take the word of one who knows: Should Máelodor succeed, hell will be the refuge.”
“More pigeon pie? Cold mutton?” Madame Arana asked.
Elisabeth allowed the platter to pass her by. Not that she couldn’t have eaten another helping, but already her stays bit into her sides and the borrowed gown she wore clamped around her middle. One more piece of bread and she’d be relegated to a sheet and a smile.
“Grand-mère!” Helena snapped.
Madame Arana jerked her head up, a guilty smile quirking her lips.
“I’ve allowed that walking flea hotel the freedom of the house. The least you can do is not feed him from the table.”
“He’s hungry, ma minette,” she replied, unmoved by Helena’s scolding.
Killer, obviously realizing he was the topic of conversation, moved to Helena with a soulful look and a wagging rear end before dropping to the rug to roll over in a love-me pose of abject patheticness.
“Don’t even try your canine wiles on me. If you’re not careful, I’ll use your bony carcass for a throw rug,” she warned.
The dog knew when it had met its match. It slunk under the table to lie like a hot, furry lump across Elisabeth’s feet. He’d been missing since last night with none to say when or how he’d gotten out. And now here he was, as if he’d never left. Did he have a girlfriend? Was he hunting rats in the mews? Taking in the city’s sights? Impossible to say with Killer. Sometimes he almost seemed human.
As dinner progressed around her, she sank into a pensive silence. She’d risen this morning to an empty bed. Brendan gone. She’d have almost doubted her own memories had she not smelled the musky foreign spice of him in her sheets and on her skin. Seen the marks of their marriage upon the flesh of her breasts, her stomach. A love bruise high upon her thigh. She hid her blush behind her wineglass, sipping slowly of the fine French claret.
“You look like a woman in love, ma puce. Marriage with young Douglas agrees with you.”
Madame Arana’s knowing grin deepened Elisabeth’s flush. Heat flamed her face.
“You’ve been waiting for him many years, I’m thinking.”
“Since I was ten and put a toad down his shirt,” Elisabeth admitted. From the corner of her eye, she caught Helena shaking her head, mouth pulled into a disgusted frown.
She’d been this way ever since the wedding. Locked in her own thoughts. Surlier than usual.
