Chapter Thirty-Two
That night, Alora stood between them—Bash and William—in a nightmare. Bash’s eyes had grown black. So did the air. It pulsed around him, circling like a tornado, and then he was gone within it, and he took William too.
It lasted for only a heartbeat.
When the dark disappeared, William lay on the ground. His skin was blackened, bubbled with blisters, his mouth open in a scream no one could hear, and his eyes were wide and blue and tormented.
Bash stood beside him, a torch extinguished. Laughing.
Alora awoke; she breathed in nothing but smoke.
***
“Who is your friend there?” questioned Mr. Ichibald.
Alora braced herself against a wardrobe, her breath rife with relief as she was at last able to maneuver herself away from her hovering escort.
He was an Urchin she’d seen before at Potions and Peculiarities.
Middle-aged, if she were to guess, with blonde hair and slashing dark eyebrows.
He was the only one of the four who’d questioned her enchantment.
The only one to admonish Mr. Salvoy. His gaze, whenever she noticed it upon her, was uncomfortably scrutinizing.
He was an observant sort, hunting for secrets.
“Oh. That’s my driver, being as I have so much to transport. George doesn’t do well with excessive loads, and my cart is too small. Thank you for opening early for me, by the way.” She smiled at Mr. Ichibald with charm.
The proprietor promptly returned it. He was a portly fellow at age fifty and worked closer with traders and merchants than anyone she knew. Also, he dressed in a spectacular way, like one foot remained instore, but the other was halfway to a show.
He spent a moment adjusting his yellow cravat, considering the driver making for them. “It’s no problem. Not for one of my best customers. Have you chosen which you like better then?”
“Yes. I think this chaise will do perfectly.”
“You there!” Mr. Ichibald hollered to the Urchin, which earned him a flat look in return. Alora doubted he’d ever been addressed as such in his adult life. “You look like a brawny fellow. Between you and Percy, I’m sure you’ll be able to manage loading Miss Pennigrim’s purchase.”
Her assigned driver worked his jaw but eventually offered a curt nod.
When Mr. Ichibald’s assistant emerged from the back, cobwebs all in his hair, the Urchin waited for the other man to bend first. Only then did he reach down himself.
With hardly a strain, the pair made off with Door Twenty-five’s newest furniture.
“Bit uppity for a driver,” murmured Mr. Ichibald.
Alora ignored him. The man was also a horrific gossip.
“I’m also in need of four sconces, two lamps, an end table, and an ottoman.”
“Any art?”
“No, thank you.” She’d decided a while ago that nothing would hang on the walls. She didn’t want anything to distract or transport the visitor away. If they came to the Room of Desire, they should remain firmly planted in the dream that led them.
“Well enough.” Mr. Ichibald strode away. “If you’ll follow me, I’ve just gotten this lamp in yesterday. Perhaps you’ll—”
Alora followed only to be brought up short.
A tapestry hung against the wall. It was tall and wide, a statement piece to be sure, its borders stitched in silver.
She stepped closer to it, and noticed the more she studied it, the more grounded she felt.
How calm. Her heart, for the first time all morning, beat at a usual pace.
It depicted a singular cloud at the forefront, near the top. One that was gray and white and puffy without being overly so. The background had been saturated a deep blue. When she closed her eyes, she could see it still, and a small smile tugged at her lips.
It was the exact opposite of everything Marshall Merridon adored.
“Miss Pennigrim? Have you changed your mind?”
She glanced over to the store’s proprietor, to the lamp held fast in his hand. “Yes, Mister Ichibald. I’d like this tapestry.”
“Right away.”
Gone from the shop, and not long later, Alora noticed she didn’t feel well.
Not at all. If she didn’t know better, she would have guessed she’d eaten something poor for breakfast. As it were, she’d not been able to stomach breakfast at all.
She massaged at the growing discomfort pressing upon her insides with a wince, her gaze cast to the early morning routines of her fellow townsfolk.
The Urchin maneuvered the streets with ease, though the wagon took up nearly the entire thing.
He didn’t try to speak to her, same as Mr. Salvoy, but he also didn’t seem angered at his assignment as Mr. Salvoy had been.
She wanted to ask if Bash had assigned him to her, but that would be unwise.
For one, she didn’t think she’d be able to stop herself from following up with, And how is he?
All healed? Where is William? Locked up or wandering, lost?
Have any Urchins gone missing lately? Or been recently found?
No, it was best to keep quiet.
She covered her mouth against a yawn, her eyes fluttering closed.
She knew she looked a fright with her hair pulled back messily and not a stitch of color to her cheeks.
Purple crescents swelled beneath her eyes, so pronounced they mimicked bruises.
She’d not fallen asleep until near-dawn, and from there, that godawful nightmare had found her.
They turned onto Rune Street. Alora tried to remain rigid, but her stomach was too heavy and sick, and her mind too tired. Not even the fresh flower scents and the wafting bread smells were enough to entice her upright. She slumped in her seat.
Books and Nibbles neared. She could see the closed shutters and shifting sign. She pressed her lips tight, her arms encircling her waist. Please be all right, she thought out into the universe. Then the door opened.
A pink slipper preceded a stockinged ankle, which was then followed by a skirt patterned with owls and a violet top. Ellie Turkens stepped onto the porch with a broom only to turn her back to them. The sign flipped from End to Begin.
Alora lurched to sitting before she could think better of it, staring intently at the back of Ellie’s gray head—at the stark bandage wrapped around it.
Surely it can’t be. Alora didn’t dare look at the Urchin beside her, the one who had issued the names, and thus the order, to have Ellie Turken’s memories removed, but she could feel his attention shift toward the bookshop’s owner all the same.
Ellie spotted them herself a heartbeat later. At first, Alora thought perhaps her eyes narrowed, but then she winced, her hand coming up to the side of her skull as if it pained her. As if there really were sutures hidden under there, tethering a new wound closed.
“Such a frail state, isn’t it? Being old,” said the Urchin. “You’d think the people of Enver would retire at a respectable age.”
Alora’s fingers dug into the fabric of her Opulence-gold cloak.
She didn’t know if Ellie knew who she was beneath it.
Her voice came out harder than she meant, the material pinching between her hands.
She wanted to shred it. “She makes the strongest tea and the best tomato and cheese sandwiches. Also, I think she knows every book ever written.”
Ellie continued to watch them as they ambled by, her lips pursed all the while.
“I hate tomato and cheese sandwiches.”
Alora could only shake her head, sick to death over these people with whom she was forced to keep company. They’d only caused her heartache, illness, and injury. Truly, there was nothing she could be thankful for.
Her hand came up to press over her heart.
Maybe if she squeezed hard enough, she’d purge herself of whatever anchoring barbs the Urchin captain had implanted there.
They must be poisonous, whatever they were.
That must be the only plausible explanation for how one moment she felt she’d die if she didn’t feel the jolt of his touch again, and the next she wished to draw inspiration from his name and bash his head apart for the harm he’d caused.
She refused to acknowledge that it was much more the former rather than the latter now—a matter of self preservation.
Hearts were fickle things. She’d read that once. One more day and the contract would be over. She’d let Bash go then. She’d have to, being as how she planned to destroy them all.
“Let us hope our journey is less adventuresome than your last, Miss Pennigrim.”
Alora glanced at the Urchin out of the corner of her eye before shifting her attention forward again.
“Yes, well, so long as specter wolves aren’t vengeful creatures.
” Her words were clipped clean from her teeth.
She wanted no part in any conversation. Her stomach twisted, and she gripped it harder.
They left town by means of the little-used western road. Another fork, and they’d turn onto Opulence Mansion’s enchanted lane. Go home, pulsed her stomach. Drink something warm, cuddle your rabbit. Lock your door and soak in the bath for hours.
She wished she could listen.
“I wouldn’t know,” continued the Urchin, oblivious to her discomfort. “Though I’m relieved to think that should we encounter them again, I am in your company. I heard you saved the day.”
Alora clenched her jaw. Because she knew exactly what he’d heard, and it wasn’t that. “I hardly saved anything.”
“You didn’t manage to open the gate?”
“No.”
The Urchin hummed beside her. Annoyed or amused, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t look at him. “I also heard you assigned quite the title to your driver that day.”
At this, Alora swung to him, confused. Her body protested the sudden movement with a bout of nausea. She breathed it away. “What in the devil are you talking about?”
His eyebrows slashed even further. It was an impressive effect. She felt almost frightened. “You called him an Urchin. Now, I wonder, why would you do that?”
Alora swallowed, drumming up what time she could to think of a reply. “Maybe I called him an urchin. As in a wretch, a miscreant. He wouldn’t listen to me about the specter wolves.”
“Don’t you realize that’s an unfortunate choice of word, especially here in Enver?” The present Urchin worked his hand beneath his coat, grasping at something she couldn’t see, though she could guess at what it was.
“You’re about to hear a slew of unfortunate words if you don’t get me to Opulence quickly.
I’ve a heap of work to do for Master Merridon, and he’s made it crystal clear he’s counting on me to see it through.
” The stare she angled at the driver was pure venom, daring him to intervene in his master’s plans.
She smiled, triumphant, when he backed down, his eyebrows easing to their normal position.
“I would be wary if I were you, Miss Pennigrim.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, though it pained her immensely to do so. She looped her arms tight about her middle. Threats on threats. Is that all men are good for? But no, not all men. Mr. Whitters was a notable exception.
The Urchin, bewildered by her response, flicked the reins. Their pace quickened until the sound of the horses’ shoes clipping on the lane eclipsed everything else.