Chapter 17
Analise locked herself in her room in protest, before thirst, and her bladder, drove her out.
Her new room was, frustratingly, next door to Ezra’s.
She wondered whether God had truly forsaken her when Lira led her up the narrow stairs from the front bar and opened the door to her new home, not waiting until Analise was inside before she broke the wonderful news.
So much for a place so big she wouldn't even have to see the witch-hound.
Instead of sleeping, she spent most of the night glaring at the wall that separated their rooms, not knowing if he was in there and hoping that, if he was, he could feel her rage.
He could see magic. She’d never known that, and wasn’t sure if anyone outside of the Unseen itself knew. No one ever said what made Ezra Ives such a good little witch-hound, only that he was. Once he caught your scent, that was it—it was only a matter of time before you were dangling.
Then he vanished. There were whispers of treason, of murder and sedition and all sorts of things, but no one knew anything, only that the Unseen had lost their best man. By then, though, most of the death witches had either fled the city, gone to ground somewhere, or been captured.
All except Analise. She scowled at the horrible irony of it all.
The question now, though, was what made the Unseen’s most deadly weapon pack up one day and leave? She needed to know that. Above everything, she needed to know what happened to make Ezra turn around and bite the hand that fed him.
She picked up her clothes from the floor, wrinkling her nose at a blouse she’d worn a week ago. The smell reminded her she needed a wash as well. Lira said the bathroom was down the hall, and Analise figured a quick bath was something she could do without having to ask anyone for help.
Barefoot, towel bundled under one arm and the cleanest of her clothes over the other, Analise hurried to the bathroom.
Her eyes were gritty and her stomach aching, but she wasn’t sure she could eat.
Maybe a piece of bread would be enough to fill the hole until she could rustle up something more substantial.
Lira didn’t mention anything about meal times or if anyone cooked for them.
Head down, lip between her teeth, head churning, Analise flung the bathroom door open and stepped in. The back of her neck prickled, and her chest tightened as she lifted her head to see who she’d walked in on: Ezra, towel slung low on slender hips, torso dripping, hair wet.
The breath fled her lungs.
They stared at one another. Heat settled in Analise’s cheeks, especially when he didn’t say anything, when his expression remained as resigned and blank as the last time she’d bothered to look at him.
‘Are you done?’ she asked at last.
‘I’m done,’ he said briskly. ‘The hot water—’
‘Hot water? There’s hot water?’
A smile ghosted his lips. ‘There is. I was going to say the tap is tight. Takes a bit to get it started.’
‘Are you implying my girlish arms can’t turn on a tap?’
Ezra sighed, rubbing his face. ‘No, Analise, I wasn’t. I’ll get out of your way.’
She stepped to the side, angling her body so he could slip past her, and then found to her mortification, that the doorway was narrower than she thought.
Ezra passed close enough that she could feel the heat rising from his skin, and see the droplets of water that clung to his shoulders.
She sucked in a breath; the slight pause in his movement told her he’d noticed, but he disappeared down the hall.
She closed the door firmly and rested against it.
The Canem Club wasn’t a small building, not like the safe house, but she had this horrible feeling that whenever she turned around, Ezra would be there. She couldn’t bear that.
Analise wanted to go home.
She dumped her clothes on the stool near the bath and stripped, then reached for the taps with a smile. Hot water. Rarely did she get to have a hot bath. The water in the safe house was lukewarm, which was better than freezing, but it wasn’t hot.
It took her less than ten seconds to realise Ezra was right. She couldn’t get the tap to turn. She tried until her knuckles popped, biting her lip to suppress a scream. Analise had no option but to find someone to help.
And by someone, that meant Ezra.
She marched down the hall, dressed only in her towel, trying to arrange her expression into one of calm, but her heart was thundering and her mouth was dry. He answered his door in trousers and a bare chest, towel slung around his shoulders, hair still damp and ruffled. She dropped her eyes.
‘I can’t turn the tap on,’ she mumbled.
Ezra said nothing.
‘Can you help?’ Analise ground out, still looking at the floor.
She stalked back to the bathroom. He didn’t look at her when he came in, going straight to the tub and turning that damn tap on instantly. When he didn’t leave, she raised her eyebrows, then realised that she’d need him to turn the bloody thing off again.
Analise was suddenly extremely conscious that she was virtually naked, backed into the corner of a tiny room with a man who was much larger than she was standing in the doorway. She pulled her towel a little tighter.
He noticed. ‘I told you I’d never touch you unless you wanted me too.’
Water splashed into the tub, steam filling the room. Ezra folded his arms, fingers tapping against his forearm. Analise tried to push away the memory of what those fingers felt like, buried deep inside her, the feral gleam in his eyes as he pushed her back on the table and …
She laughed suddenly, hard and bitter. ‘I let you play me like a bloody instrument, didn’t I? I’m such an idiot. A lonely, fucked up idiot with a drinking problem, death magic in her veins, and the end of the world at her heels.’
‘You think I was trying to manipulate you?’ Ezra asked, disbelief colouring his tone.
He looked at her then, and the meagre distance between them was a chasm.
‘I touched you,’ he continued, his voice low, ‘because you wanted me to. We both wanted it, Analise, and if we hadn’t been interrupted, I’d have fucked you on that table, then the lounge, the bed, because once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
You don’t …’ He laughed, a dark and hollow sound, and dragged his hand through his damp hair.
‘I’ve been a miserable prick for well over a year. You started to change that.’
‘My mistake,’ she said coldly.
He snorted. ‘Thank you for clarifying.’
Analise wished the water would hurry up so he’d leave. ‘Why did you leave the Unseen?’
‘Now you ask?’ He pushed himself off the door frame and turned the hot water off. The bathroom was suddenly filled with a painful silence, broken only by an errant droplet falling into the tub.
‘Why did you leave?’ she asked again.
‘At this moment in time, that’s none of your fucking business,’ Ezra snapped. ‘Enjoy the bath.’ He stalked from the room before she could say anything else.
A breeze that smelled of factory smoke ran its fingers through Analise’s damp hair. From the roof of the Canem Club, the tops of buildings rose from the blanket of permanent grey smog. She could have been on top of the world.
Being up here reminded her of the bell tower at the top of the convent.
To a passerby, the convent was little more than four thick, grey stone walls, three storeys high, the bell tower perched above them like a roosting bird.
Analise always enjoyed the tower. As a child, she wasn’t physically strong enough to ring the bell on her own, so it was the view from the tower that had her hurrying up the two flights of stairs.
From there, she could see all of London, or what she’d thought was London: a panorama of smoke stacks and chimneys, the roofs of town houses, the church in the distance and beyond, the palace, spires glittering in the sunlight.
She’d thought it was beautiful, and wondered about the people of the city. Who were they? What were their names? What did they all do?
It wasn’t until she left the convent that Analise discovered the violence and despair, poverty, hunger, a segregated society where the poor stayed poor and the rich didn’t care. She learnt quickly that those without a tough shell were ripped open and left to the mercy of the street.
And now, she was left wondering how she’d ever been so naive to believe a glorious world awaited her outside the convent walls. Analise sighed, rubbing the kinks from her neck. Her bath did absolutely nothing to relax her.
She turned her gaze to the north, in the direction of the palace. What use was a king if he didn’t give a shit about his subjects? She’d never laid eyes on him, and wasn’t sure if she ever would. He could have landed on her slab and she wouldn’t have known him.
She mentally corrected herself with a curse.
It wasn’t her slab anymore.
She thought about the houses of the rich, the ones that hovered within the protective shelter of the palace.
Did they have fancy walled gardens filled with flowers and peacocks that strutted across rich, emerald grass?
Did the fog that covered the rest of the city knock on their doors and want to come in, or did even fog know to keep its dirty fingers away from those sparkling window panes?
The mansions Analise heard about supposedly had squares of gleaming black and white decorating the floors.
They had shining walls and grand rooms with chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.
Hand-painted tiles that came to London on ships from faraway places, packed securely in crates, filled those homes, while the men who carried them from ship to shore could never dream of owning such lavish things.