Chapter Seventeen
Calliope pushed open the tavern door, returning from a quick stroll for Prince to do his business.
She had half-expected to be stopped.
Yet when she’d ventured downstairs a quarter of an hour ago, no one had barred her way. In fact, the place had been empty.
Now, two heads turned as one.
Reaper had pulled two stools up to the bar and sat on one as he lounged against the counter, one elbow propped on the surface, his boots sprawled across the second stool. His coin flicked between his fingers. Knight stood behind the bar, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, expression unreadable.
Still no Maxen.
Calliope hesitated in the doorway, suddenly unsure. The last time she’d seen this man she hadn’t been at her best. He wouldn’t want revenge, would he?
Reaper offered a grin. “Well, look who didn’t run for the hills. Please alert us next time you leave our den. For safety purposes.”
Knight said nothing. Just watched her, eyes flicking briefly to the hound at her side.
“No one was here.”
“A shout will do.”
Calliope rolled her eyes. “Am I safe to enter?” she asked, voice dry. “Or will I be threatened, tied up, or interrogated?”
His grin widened. “That depends. Are you planning to tie any more of us up?”
“I make no promises.”
The man chuckled. Reaper motioned lazily to a table. “Hungry? Knight’s cooked up his famous stew.”
She ventured over, and Knight moved toward the back without a word.
“Sit. You’re not a prisoner here, little mouse.”
“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” she muttered, but complied, Prince settling at her feet.
“Why? Do women not like sweet nicknames?”
Calliope arched a brow at the man. Was that a serious question? Her gaze flicked over his scar, the man as a whole. It probably was. “Yes, nothing flatters a woman more than being compared to a rodent.”
He laughed.
Knight returned with a bowl and cutlery and set the dish before her, tossing a meaty bone at Prince. “Hot. Don’t burn your tongue.”
“Thank you,” Calliope murmured.
Reaper chuckled. “That’s as hot as he gets.”
She wasn’t complaining. Dipping the spoon into the thick broth, she took a cautious bite. Taste exploded in her mouth. “Stars, that’s good.” She looked over to Reaper. “Where’s your brother?”
The man studied her. “Which one?”
Her look turned flat. “You know which one.”
“Oh. Him. He’s busy.”
“With what?” she asked curiously.
Knight spoke from the bar. “Protecting what’s his.”
Well, then!
She returned her attention to her stew and tried not to think about where their brother was and whether he was safe.
“So, little mouse,” Reaper sidled up to her, sliding into the chair next to her, studying her. “I completely forgot to ask. What did you do to make my brother laugh?”
“He laughed?” Knight asked, one brow arching.
“Yes, the big beast laughed. I heard him with my own ears.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“He. Laughed. I’m going to win the bet.”
Calliope glanced between the brothers. “You’re wagering against your brother?”
Reaper winked at her. “Always.”
“He actually laughed?” Knight pressed. “Did you see it?”
“No.”
“Then it didn’t happen.”
Reaper scoffed. “You were there, little mouse. He laughed, didn’t he?”
Calliope thought for a moment. Had he laughed? Could it be considered a laugh? A light chuckle perhaps. Needless to say, she wasn’t going to enter this conversation, this bet, whatever it was. “I can’t recall.”
Knight snorted.
So did Reaper, his eyes narrowing on her. “Well, you’re no fun, petite souris.”
“Don’t think calling me mouse in French will endear you to me.”
He scowled, then smoothed out the lines and smiled again. “Come, little mouse. Just what did you do to make my brother laugh in a way I’ve never heard from him?”
Knight took a sip of something, watching her.
Calliope set her spoon down with a sigh. He wasn’t going to let this go. And the one with the stare was even worse. “I hit him in the nether regions with a boot.”
Knight spit out the contents in his mouth all over the bar counter, coughing.
Reaper’s mouth dropped open.
Well, they asked.
“You did what?” Reaper asked astonished. “And you haven’t been shipped off?”
“Should I have been?” she challenged.
Both men fell silent.
“Do you not own a gown?” a low voice growled from the doorway.
Maxen.
Calliope glanced over at him, her heart fluttering at the sight of him removing his cap and tossing it at Knight before striding over to her table.
Once again, she had the odd sense that the man was a storm cloud straining to split open.
However, she no longer saw that as danger. Rather, just the man.
She grinned. “Why yes, I do. Several.”
He yanked Reaper from the chair beside her and took his spot. “Smart mouth.”
“I only have one spare set of clothes with me,” she clarified, her scalp prickling at his closeness. “Besides, it’s good to maintain a form of disguise, isn’t it?”
“You are a woman dressed in men’s clothing. There is no disguise happening here. You look like a damn temptation that will lure every blackguard out of their hole.”
“No need to grumble about it,” Calliope muttered. Inside, her heart thrashed against her breast. A temptation? How? Why? “What if I put on a cap?”
“Calliope,” he leaned close, “if you wanted to resemble a boy, then you should have procured trousers that don’t wrap around your legs like that.”
Her lips parted. Closed. Parted again. “I’m seated.”
Reaper whistled, plopping in a chair across from them. “Frère.”
Maxen pulled back, a vein ticking in his jaw. She swore the tips of his ears glowed red. “Forget I said anything.”
Come to think of it, last night he’d covered her with his coat. Was that the reason?
“Yes,” Reaper chirped. “Stare at each other. We don’t exist.”
Calliope averted her gaze. Stars, now she didn’t know where to look. Vexing man.
Dagger entered through the door of the tavern, his long, heavily weaponed coat swaying, followed by Saint.
The latter disappeared though the back door while the former claimed a chair.
She hadn’t been formally introduced to any of these men, but they didn’t treat her as a stranger. She rather appreciated that.
“What did I miss?” Dagger asked.
“Trust me, frère, you do not want to know.”
Knight, still behind the bar, grunted. “Allegedly, he laughed, too.”
Dagger arched a brow.
“Why is that such a shock?” Calliope asked. The man wasn’t a statute that didn’t possess the capacity to laugh.
Reaper leaned over the table, eyes gleaming. “This one never laughs, petite souris.”
Calliope didn’t miss the look of death Maxen shot his brother. She grinned. “What a charming brood all of you are.”
Maxen’s gaze moved to her, and her lips lifted at the corners at the consternation gathering between his brows. How had he ever appeared terrifying to her before? A remarkable thing, time.
Maxen’s stare lingered on her too long, too heavy, until her grin faltered. She shoved another spoonful of stew into her mouth. “Stop staring at me as if you’re waiting for me to do something foolish.”
His voice dropped, dangerous-soft. “I am.”
She shot the man a hot look.
“For hell’s sake, one of you kiss the other before we all suffocate,” Reaper muttered.
Maxen’s snarl shut him up fast, but Calliope nearly choked on her stew, caught mid-swallow at the sudden gripe. Could these men stop saying such things?
Calliope almost groaned. Why did he have to reinforce that image in her head! Would she even get any sleep tonight?
*
Maxen couldn’t help himself. His eyes didn’t obey the curses spewing at them in his head.
They and a complete will of their own. And they wanted to stare.
Her lips were curved in a cheeky little half-smile as she pursed.
Her hair still tumbled over her shoulders like this morning—a magnificent, maddening, silken temptation.
He wished she’d pin it up so the sight was his alone.
She was a vision. Continuing to wear breeches like she hadn’t just set half his logic ablaze. Speaking to his brothers like they weren’t dangerous men.
Unbothered.
Staggeringly breathtaking.
Calliope set her spoon in her empty bowl that she’d been diligently focusing on. It was already bad enough that his brothers were staring at him staring at her, but at least he’d refrained from following the spoon to her lips, tracking the small ripple of her throat as she swallowed.
She looked over at him. “I forgot to ask, how is your brother doing?”
“He’s been through worse,” Maxen said.
“Do you believe Mr. Peregrine is doing this?”
“Uncertain.”
“We need to determine Peregrine’s whereabouts.” Maxen said to Dagger.
“What I would like to know,” Dagger said, looking at Calliope “is how you met him last night.”
Maxen hadn’t even thought about that. He’d warned that blackguard to stay off his territory time and time again.
“He happened upon me in the street.”
Reaper snorted. “Seems Maxen isn’t the only one fol—” He shoved his boot into his brother’s leg to shut him up. “Bloody hell, frère.”
“What?” Calliope asked. “What were you going to say?”
“He’s just speaking nonsense again,” Maxen muttered. “But it is suspect that Peregrine just happened to be there when you left.”
“What exactly happened?” Calliope asked. “You still haven’t told me.”
Maxen hesitated. He didn’t want her bolting in alarm again.
“Two fires were set on our properties,” Reaper answered. “Burned to rubble.”
Damn it.
Her eyes flew wide. “Are they connected to the intruder in my shop?”
Maxen sighed. “Seems that way, unfortunately.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How can I help you catch this enemy?”
His whole body went cold. His eyes locked on hers. “No.”
“But—”
“No.”
Her brow furrowed. “You didn’t even let me finish!”
“I don’t need to.”
Dagger sighed and lounged back in his chair. “Just let her help, Max. She’s in this whether you like it or not.”
“She can help by staying put.”
Calliope turned to glare at him. “In that case, I can just stay put in my shop.”
Maxen cursed. “And how exactly do you plan to help us? This is dangerous, Calliope.”
“However I need to.”
“By that description, you only need to hold your position here.”
“But I can be of value. And before you question my value, I do have value. You believe Mr. Peregrine has something to do with this, right? I can confront him.”
“Absolutely not.” Did the woman want to shave ten years from his life? “It would be too coincidental. We need a plan.”
“Not much we can do but wait for now,” Dagger said. “We have positioned scouts all over.”
“Well, I might not be big and scary,” Calliope pointed out. “But I am quite clever.”
Reaper barked out a laugh. “Well, then let’s hear this cleverness, petite souris.”
“Well, whoever plots against you has resorted to using me as well.” Her eyes met Maxen’s. “So to catch them, let’s set a trap.”
She sounded a touch too eager for his liking. “Like my brother said, we already have scouts. Nobody moves without us knowing.”
“But you can still set a up a thing of sorts and lure the enemy to you.”
Reaper chuckled. “Set up a thing of sorts. I like this plan.”
“I don’t like it.” Maxen held her gaze. Of course, this had crossed his mind, but no trap came without great risk, and after what happened to Serpent, he wasn’t prepared to expose any more of his family. “We don’t know who we are up against and already we have a man injured.”
“I’m not saying we do something elaborate,” she offered. “But we can try to use me to catch whoever sent that note to meet them here. Think about it, they might even already know I’m back at the tavern. What if we make them believe I’m being moved somewhere else?”
“Might work,” Dagger said thoughtfully.
Maxen wanted to argue. “I don’t like it.”
“Hate to say it, frère, but it’s not a bad idea. We might catch the enemy’s messenger. Perhaps even who betrayed us.”
Maxen dragged a hand down his face. “It’s not a bad idea,” he admitted reluctantly, “but this plan relies on too much luck. What if no one takes the bait?”
“Then we lose nothing,” Calliope pointed out. “Except, perhaps, your patience.”
Knight snorted behind the bar.
Reaper gave a lazy nod. “She’s not wrong, frère. And no one’s saying she walks out the front door with a bloody sign around her neck. We can make it look like she’s being moved—carriage, decoy trunk, a bag or two—while the real mouse stays put.”
Dagger scratched his jaw, thoughtful. “We’ve got that carriage Drake bought gathering dust.”
Maxen looked at each of them, irritation a constant burn beneath his skin, jaw flexing. He hated that they were right. “And who exactly is meant to be in this decoy carriage?”
“I vote to do away with the decoy and just use me,” Calliope said.
“When hell is cast in ice.”
“Tighten the ship, remember?” she challenged.
That fire in her eyes—he didn’t know if it made him want to pull her closer or lock her in her bloody chamber.
Knight cleared his throat. “We could use Ben.”
Maxen turned. “The boy?”
“They’re about the same size. No one would know the difference unless they got close.”
Calliope stiffened beside him. “No.”
“It’s safer,” Dagger said. “Cleaner. We draw them out without risking her.”
“No,” she repeated. “What if they see past the ruse?”
Maxen’s gaze drifted back to her, noted at once the stubborn tilt of her chin, the tension in her shoulders, the quiet tremor in her fingers that she probably thought no one noticed.
She was shaken. But she was also determined.
Brave. He didn’t have the heart to bluntly refuse. “I’ll think about it.”
Calliope’s gaze narrowed. “That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a yes either.”
She shrugged with a smile. “But it’s something.”
Maxen had the distinct impression she would make sure his consideration would become more than a mere something.
She winked at him.
God. Winked.
Something deep in his chest crumbled.
Even here, she wasn’t as safe as he wanted her to be. But damned if she wasn’t braver than most men he knew. And he was starting to think he might be the one in most danger.