Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
“ W hat exactly do you think you’ll accomplish by heading blindly into the pouring rain in the middle of the night?” Standing in the drawing-room doorway, Crow had his arms crossed and wore his most severe glower, looking as if he might try to block Simeon from leaving.
“I don’t know! More than I’ll accomplish here.”
They glared at each other. Although Crow was a little taller, Simeon was more muscular, and neither of them wanted to come to blows over this. Crow was still occasionally apologetic over having pushed Simeon during their second meeting, and Simeon still had a tiny bump on his scalp as a souvenir.
Finally, Simeon slumped. “Fine. Morning then. Even if it’s bloody raining.”
“Deal.” Crow let his frown relax. “How about if we get some sleep?”
“Don’t think I could. My head….” Simeon made a swirly motion beside his skull.
“Cozy in bed with books? ”
Simeon managed a small smile. “Yeah, all right.”
With no sign of the Frugises or the maids, and therefore nobody to give permission, Simeon and Crow went to the library anyway. Simeon glanced at the paper with the bird flying through time but didn’t touch it. Instead he chose a random volume from the shelf. Crow perused for a few minutes before making a pleased noise and pulling a book for himself. “Mark Twain!”
“Pardon?”
“He’s a really famous author. Well, in the US, anyway. He wrote Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn ?” Crow paused as if Simeon might recognize these titles, but when he didn’t, Crow shrugged and continued. “My fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Shilton, read to us from this book.”
Simeon peered at the title. “ A Yankee at the Court of King Arthur ?”
“I remember it having a slightly different title, but maybe that’s an America–England thing. It’s about this guy from nineteenth-century Connecticut who time travels to King Arthur’s court.”
“And how does he manage that?”
“He got bashed on the head.”
With a snort, Simeon hefted his book. “I’ll stick to this one.”
“Ah. Dracula . A classic. I vant to suck your blood!” Crow made this puzzling last statement in a weird accent and then chuckled at Simeon’s confusion. “It’s about a vampire.”
“I don’t want to read about a vampire. Here.” Simeon grabbed the Twain book from Crow’s hands and replaced it with Dracula .
They went to their room, where glowing coals were all that remained of an earlier fire. The rain had increased and now battered the window, and when Simeon looked out he could see nothing but water. This brought back memories of being torn away from Crow during the demon-triggered tidal wave and then, after losing consciousness, waking up to find himself alone, naked and shivering violently on a tiny islet, nothing in sight except a few seagulls and the blue-gray vastness of the Pacific.
Here in a Mayfair house a hundred years earlier, he smelled the sea and heard the gulls calling. And felt, as he had then, the conviction deep in his gut that he could simply stretch his wings and fly away.
While Simeon mused, Crow stripped off his clothes and washed up. And as Simeon did his nighttime routine, Crow got into bed. They propped themselves on pillows and began to read, not quite touching but nearly, Crow’s body heat settling on Simeon’s skin like a balm. Crow was almost always warm, as if he had a fever, although he never got sick. It made him a pleasant bedmate on cold nights.
Contrary to his earlier prediction, Simeon soon grew sleepy. He was drooping, half asleep over his book, when Crow made a dismissive snort. “Idiot.”
“Me?” asked Simeon.
“Jonathan Harker. He’s visiting this spooky castle in Transylvania, and he’s locked inside, and everyone in the countryside is all freaked out, and his host is extra creepy, but Jonathan hasn’t figured out yet that Drac is a vampire.”
“Would you?” Simeon raised an eyebrow.
“Of course!”
“But you’ve the advantage of having read the book, yeah? Unless your Mr. Harker can foretell the future, how would he know?” He frowned as a thought struck him. “Are there really vampires, do you reckon?”
“Dunno. I mean, there’s angels and demons and rooks…. Jeez, maybe monsters could explain certain murders. Like Jack the Ripper.”
Simeon was going to ask who that was, but an image flashed through his head of a dead woman lying in a pool of blood, and he shuddered. He didn’t want to hear about murders. He set his book on the side table, then plucked away Crow’s and put it atop his own. They each doused their light.
Although they didn’t make love, Crow gathered Simeon into his arms and held him tight, and that was lovely. Prior to meeting Crow, Simeon had fucked quite a few men and a handful of women, but those had been quick shags, usually nothing more than a grope and a poke in an alley or back room. Nobody had held him.
Crow kissed the tender skin below Simeon’s ear. “Tell me what it feels like to fly,” he whispered.
Simeon didn’t have to think before answering. “Free. Wide. Open. It feels like hope, yeah? I wish I could take you along.”
“Me too. You know, Walt Whitman wrote a poem about a bird flying up above a storm at sea. It’s short. Want to know my favorite part?”
Simeon squirmed around so they were nose to nose. “We’re memorizing poetry now?”
“On occasion. ‘In them, in thy experiences, had’st thou my soul. What joys! What joys were thine!’”
“Could use more joy, you and I.” Simeon snuggled in closer, just to feel Crow’s heartbeat against his own.
“Hmm. But you take my soul with you when you fly. Wherever you go.”
It was a pretty sentiment for a farmer’s grandson, and Simeon smiled as he slipped into sleep.
It was still raining in the morning, the sun obscured by leaden skies. Although Crow and Simeon woke early, the Frugises beat them to the breakfast table. Simeon drank coffee and ate whatever was set in front of him.
“Why haven’t you murdered me, if I might do so much harm?” he asked conversationally when he was done eating.
Lydia pursed her lips. “We don’t know that you will.”
“But you’ve helped me, even. Given me food and lodging and answers.”
“Yes.” Lydia exchanged glances with her husband and sat very straight. “It’s a conundrum, you see. Assuming that it’s you rather than your brother who’s to bring doom, which of our acts will be a catalyst? Sheltering and informing you? Or perhaps our interactions with you here will avert whatever calamity you were foreseen to cause. Perhaps the prophecy referred only to the destruction of your immediate family, in which case we need no longer worry. It is impossible to know the correct course of action, and quite frankly, I regret being put in this position.”
The first time he’d met Crow, Simeon had received a terrible vision of all the deaths that would surround Crow for the next decade—and he hadn’t known whether giving a warning would do any good or just make things worse. So he’d made what he hoped was the best decision, remaining silent about what he’d seen and instructing Crow to go home and love his family.
“I understand that,” Simeon told Lydia. “It’s not my fault, though.” Not any more than it had been Crow’s.
“Edwin and I have discussed this extensively for years—since before we found you as a young boy and then after you ran away from us. In the end, we decided on the course of action we would have taken if we’d been unaware of the prophecy. What we believe to be the most moral path.”
“And that is? ”
“To provide what assistance we can to a kinsman in need.”
Simeon and Crow packed their little bags of belongings. Lydia and Edwin had told them they were welcome back at any time, but Simeon had the feeling he wouldn’t be returning soon, if ever. The four of them stood awkwardly in the foyer until Edwin finally made a small sound. “I’m sorry we left you on your own when you were young. We could have tried to find you again and we didn’t.”
“Didn’t need you, did I?” Simeon said proudly. “Did fine on my own.”
This was… not quite the truth. He’d spent a lot of time cold, hungry, and dirty. He’d engaged in a variety of legally or morally questionable acts and had suffered more than one beating, more than one time in jail. He’d been sick with consumption when he found the carnival—or more accurately, when the carnival found him—and without that rescue, he would have imminently died from it.
If Edwin suspected any of this, he let it go and simply nodded in acknowledgment.
Simeon felt a little guilty. “I do thank you, from both of us, for the hospitality. And for answering my questions. I think…. Well, Crow learned that to escape fate, he needs to steer his own ship. Perhaps that’s true for me as well.”
Crow seemed in agreement with this, and he also shared a few words of thanks with the Frugises.
Simeon hesitated a moment, debating whether to ask the Frugises if they knew anything about the box he’d found. They might very well know what it was. Perhaps it even had some connection to them. But in the end, he just didn’t trust them enough and so remained silent.
After another few moments of awkwardness, he and Crow left the house.
It was more a misty drizzle than a pelting rain right now, but it was still wet enough to soak them both, considering their coats and hats weren’t waterproof. They walked quickly to Berkeley Square, avoiding horses, carriages, and other pedestrians, and then stood there.
“I’ve no idea where to start the search,” Simeon admitted.
“What about the foundling home? Maybe they’d have some information.”
Simeon shuddered at the idea of stepping into that building again. “I don’t think my brother was ever there. I don’t remember him, and nobody mentioned him to me. Anyway, they closed the place, erm, a few years ago. A few nobs got it in their heads that the conditions were too disgraceful.”
“What happened to the kids who were there?”
Simeon smiled at Crow’s concern for children he’d never met. “Dunno. Workhouses, I expect. Or perhaps they were sent to a different foundling home. There’s a larger one in Bloomsbury.” He turned and looked gravely at Crow. “You realize there’s an excellent chance that my brother died long ago? Children do. Cholera, typhoid, smallpox, influenza, measles, fevers, fires, falls, hunger, cold….”
“But some survive,” Crow replied placidly.
The thing about Crow was that he had a mystifying but unshakable faith in Simeon—a belief that Simeon was a man of worth. Crow was, in fact, a bit like that island on which Simeon had been stranded. Surrounded by and battered by damaging forces, he nonetheless steadfastly offered support. A rook could fly, but he needed a solid base to launch from and a safe place to land, and for Simeon, that was Crow.
It was both humbling and empowering to have been given this gift .
“Standing in the rain won’t do us any good,” Simeon said, wishing he could kiss Crow. “And we’ve still plenty of dosh. Let’s take a cab to Bethnal Green and begin there.”
Crow gave a small smile and gestured for Simeon to lead the way.