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“Rumors. Listen, that’s not the point. None of this has happened yet, not to you, but it has to me.”
An array of conflicting emotions crossed Devere’s face, then vanished again. He lowered the pistol onto the counter beside the unopened eviction letter. “How long have you been in Minerva?” he asked.
Was he finally listening? Did he believe me? It was so good to see him again, to know he was all right. “Weeks, some months, probably. I’m not entirely sure. I was leaving, in fact, but the coach ran off the road—”
“You were leaving? Then perhaps you should get back to that?” He returned the pistol to its hiding place beneath the counter, scooped up his coat from a hatstand, and swept it on as he made for the door.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“To find either a doctor or a constable, as you clearly need help, Mr. Anzio.”
“No!” I dashed in front of him, blocked his way to the door, flicked the lock over and switched the sign to CLOSED, then turned to face his scowl again. “You have to believe me. I’m not losing my mind, I promise. It’s real. It happened. You’re not Jacapo’s son!”
The slap landed hard, burned up my face, and rattled my thoughts from their runaway tirade.
“Better?” he asked.
I gasped, cupped my hot cheek, and glared. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve done that.”
“Well then,” he huffed. “You must deserve it.”
Hush chose that moment to scurry out from under my collar and scuttle down my sleeve. I turned my hand over, and she took up residence in my palm. I lifted her up, and there, on Devere’s face, was the recognition I’d been looking for since walking back into this store. “You know her. I know you do. You perhaps even made her?”
His glare snapped to my eyes. His permanent scowl grew harsher. He snatched Hush and marched across the room to the fireplace. For a few breathless moments, I thought he meant to throw her in the fire, but he gently placed her on the mantel instead and whirled on me.
“Tell meeverything.”
So I did.
ChapterTwenty-One
Devere
I hadn’t seen Valentine Anzio in many, many years. So long, in fact, that I’d thought him lost. But here he was, stumbling into my store, claiming impossible things, his tousled brown hair wild, his blue eyes wilder. Either the man was in the midst of a spectacular mental episode, or he was in the grasp of something else entirely. The grasp of something andsomeoneI unfortunately knew well.
Magic.
As Valentine spoke, his voice grew hoarse and his manic excitement faded into exhaustion. If everything he said was true, it was a wonder he was standing at all.
It had to be real. He knew too much for his tale to be a fantasy. Although, Valentine had always been more inclined to dream than most.
“I wonder, will I find my luggage at the inn?” he asked, vacantly trailing off. “Do you mind if I sit by the fire for a while?” His fingers trembled as he raised them to his forehead. “I’m quite tired. I should be on the verge of hypothermia, but I’m not. Ha! Nothing makes any sense—”
“Very well.” I sighed, turning away from the man with the impossible tale.
The purple beetle on the mantel fluttered her wings. He was right. I had made her long ago, as a companion, of sorts. She was mine, but she also had a mind of her own and tended to attach herself to those in need.Hush, Valentine had called her. The name suited her. He also claimed she had spoken to him in his time of need when he’d been younger.
Valentine was quite mad. But one man’s madness was another’s dream. And he’d had little choice in his fate.
He slumped in the chair, and his eyes gradually closed. His chest rose and fell. I watched him sleep: the boy I’d kissed, the boy who had held my heart and crushed it.
This would not do. As much as I detested him, he did not deserve such torture.
I offered my hand to Hush. “You had better come with me for this, lest I do something regrettable.”
She hopped onto my finger and disappeared under my shirt cuff. I penned a note for Valentine, should he wake and find me gone, then hurried from the store, locking the door behind me. Mist had crawled into town, suffocating Minerva’s winding streets. I flicked my coat collar up and splashed through slush, navigating the streets toward the gentlemen’s club. There was no use trying to enter via the front door. That entrance was not for the likes of me.
Deviating around the back, I approached the club through the side door and pushed inside. Potent scents of cigar smoke, stale wine, and hot bodies enriched the corridor’s dank air. The glitz and glamor of the front of house did not exist in the back rooms. According to Valentine, he’d brought me here in his past, seeking answers, not knowing he’d been a thin veil away from the terrible truth of this place.
