Chapter 39
The bootleggers won’t be down for long, and neither Adrian nor I know this city well. The woman seems to be on our side, at least for the moment.
I exchange a look with Adrian; he must come to same conclusion, because he nods. “Lead the way.”
She dashes down the alley, the pleats of her skirt giving her more freedom of movement than the dress’s silhouette would suggest. A few turns, and we’re back in the tangled streets that seem typical of this older, more run-down part of town.
The woman clearly knows them well, despite being better dressed than most of the other people we’ve seen so far in the area.
She cuts through a space between buildings so narrow our shoulders brush the brick to either side, heads down a block, and crosses an unexpected courtyard almost completely walled in by old tenements.
A few minutes later, we emerge onto what looks like one of the town’s major streets, running alongside a river.
Factories line much of it, but there’s a trolley stop for the workers.
As luck would have it, the trolley is just pulling up.
We hop aboard with the other passengers, pay our fares, and find seats.
“Miss,” Adrian begins, but she holds up a hand.
“Not here.” Her voice brooks no argument. “I have somewhere we can talk without being overheard.”
The thought of following a stranger to an unknown destination gives me pause…but she didn’t have to save us. She might be on our side, or at least, not on that of the Timekeepers. The other cult keeps trying to kill me on sight, so it seems unlikely she’s with them, either.
And she used magic. A different sort than my clumsy attempts, but magic still. Maybe she can help me understand it, control it better.
Adrian’s thigh is tense against mine where we’re pressed together in the seat.
But he must be following the same logic as me, because he doesn’t argue with her.
We ride the trolley until it leaves the factory district behind and reaches an area of shops, banks, and department stores.
She beckons us off at a stop in front of a stationery store, then walks briskly down the block until pausing in front of one of the shops.
It appears to be a women’s clothing store, judging by the mannequins in the windows wearing evening dresses and what I assume must be costumes meant for upcoming Halloween parties. Gold letters on the door advise us we’re about to enter Rath’s Raiments.
“In here,” she says. The glassy eyes of the disturbingly lifelike mannequins seem to follow me inside.
The air within smells faintly of incense and more heavily of roses.
It’s a small, but very tasteful shop, its contents clearly meant for ladies interested in fashion.
A tableau of mannequins to one side consists of a bride in a lavish gown, surrounded by women and girls in pastel frocks.
The scent of roses must come from the bouquets in their waxen hands.
A woman with graying hair is talking with a small group of ladies near the bridal display; when we enter, she shoots a glance at the woman we’ve been following, presses her lips together slightly, then apparently decides to pretend she’s completely unaware of our presence.
Our rescuer leads us through a staff door into a large room filled with bolts of fabric, sewing machines, reams of lace, dress forms, and all the other things I imagine a dressmaker’s shop would need.
Another door lets onto a narrow flight of stairs. We climb two stories before she leaves the stairs for a short hallway, which ends in another door.
“Here we are,” she says, and unlocks the door. It opens onto a cluttered sitting room, the walls covered in bookshelves, the small table piled with magazines. Two tabby cats cuddle in one of the chairs; they open sleepy green eyes to take us in, then resume their nap, clearly unimpressed.
The woman sheds her overcoat and bag, into which I assume she tucked her knife, as I haven’t seen it since the alleyway.
I take a moment to observe her—she seems to be in her mid or late twenties, dark hair cut in a bob.
She wears a wool dress in tan plaid with a wide belt and pearl buttons.
Her shoes are brown leather sport Oxfords, their rubber soles worn enough to suggest she does a great deal of walking.
“It’s safe to talk here,” she says. “Now, have a seat and tell me who you are.”
I hesitate—revealing my name didn’t go over very well with Dr. Dane, though it seems unlikely the Swarm in my body went around alienating every single person in town.
She lets out a gusty sigh and perches on the edge of the table, almost knocking over the magazines in the process.
“Fine. A lot of my clients are reluctant to talk at first—not that you’re my clients, of course, unless you want me to embroider a charm in your handkerchiefs or knit you some scarves to hold the wind. ”
I desperately want to ask her about magic, but I’m not certain how much we want to give away. I look to Adrian, but his attention is focused on her.
“My name is Helen Rath,” she goes on. “I’ve lived in Widdershins all my life, so very little shocks me, if you’re concerned about that.
A friend of mine made the mistake of drinking in the wrong speakeasy and fell into a catatonic state.
I suspect magic is involved, so I’ve been tracking down the bootleggers responsible.
You seem interested in doing the same, so I assume you have a similar story.
I propose we pool our resources, unless of course you’re a pair of scoundrels who were after Myers to rub out the competition.
If that’s the case, you’re very bad at your job, and should probably find another line of work. ”
I blink at her rapid-fire delivery. Should we trust her? She certainly seems open and honest, refreshingly so, even.
She gestures at us. “Now it’s your turn. Who are you, and am I right about our interests aligning?”
Honesty didn’t serve us well at the university…but this woman seems to know, if not everything, at least more than most of the people we’ve encountered.
Adrian gazes at her for a long moment, then turns to me and nods. “If she can help us, it’s worth the risk.”
So we launch into our tale, each of us filling in the other’s gaps. Partway through, the two tabbies wake up and come over to inspect us, and we each end up with one on our laps. I scratch the chin of the one who chose me, taking comfort from the purr vibrating through his sleek body.
“It sounds utterly mad, I know,” I finish.
Helen waves a hand at me. “Not at all.”
“I…it doesn’t?”
“Heavens, no. Not to suggest I know more about the situation than you,” she adds quickly. “I’ve never heard of this Swarm, or Bianca Giuliani. I have heard stories about body-swapping before, though only between two humans, or part-humans.” She frowns off into space, clearly thinking hard.
Unexpected relief creeps through me, and some of the tension seems to ease from my shoulders. Adrian believes me, of course, but having someone I just met, who has no interest in me one way or another, validate what happened…
I don’t know why it matters so much, only that it does.
“As for Anna Lovejoy, her name is familiar, though we don’t move in the same circles.
The Salem witches like to act like they’re the font of all magic in the New World.
” She rolls her eyes. “I could try writing to her, but I doubt she’ll just hand over one of her books to a minor sorceress from Widdershins. ”
Adrian’s eyes widen slightly. “Unleashing the wind the way you did was minor?”
“Well,” she says, looking pleased, “it’s not small potatoes, but I’m no avatar of the living magic, either. Dr. Dane, though—I had a class with her.”
I start to lean forward eagerly, remember I have a cat on my lap who won’t like being disturbed, and resist the impulse. “Can you put in a good word for us?”
“I don’t know if she’ll be patient with tales of body-swapping—she’s a very practical woman—but I can try.
” Helen swings her legs for a moment like a child, her brow furrowed with thought.
“As for this cult who’s trying to kill you…
repeat to me what he said, the one who turned into a pile of gelatinous ooze. ”
“One Who is to Come, take this flesh,” Adrian says. “And then something about waking and showing its glory? I can’t recall precisely because things got rather exciting right about then.”
“That doesn’t sound familiar. But I know a lot of people; I’ll ask around and see if anyone recognizes the words.
” She stands up, paces a few steps, then goes back to the table before turning to us.
“I didn’t think it was going to be simple, finding out what happened to Patricia.
But I didn’t imagine it would be quite this… involved.”
She looks down, and I can almost guess what she’s thinking. “That’s your friend?” I ask, as gently as I can.
“Yes.”
“And we don’t know the why behind the Chrysalis, but it’s probably worse than you hoped when you set out to help her.”
“Magic like that is never good,” she says wryly. “But in a way, yes.”
Adrian’s expression softens. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
I stroke the fur of the cat in my lap. “It sounds as if you have inquiries to make, and we should probably get a hotel room before it grows much later.”
“Of course.” Helen straightens her dress, her manner becoming more businesslike. “I suggest the Widdershins Arms—it’s not as respectable as it once was, but it is very discreet. Which we need, since Myers knows you’re in town nosing about.”
Adrian winces. “I’m usually a better investigator than this.”
“Everyone has bad luck.” She offers him a warm smile, which…
He’s a handsome man. Of course people are going to notice. Smile at him. No reason to feel that little flare of jealousy, especially since we’ve done nothing more than exchange a few kisses. He might not even be interested in women, romantically at least.
Adrian gently removes the cat from his lap, stands up, and places it on the chair. It looks offended for a moment, then settles into the spot of warmth he’s left behind. “We’ll go to the hotel you suggested.”
“And I’ll reach out to Dr. Dane and some others I know.
” She takes a notebook out of her bag and scribbles in it.
“The Lettere Segrete, you said? And the Key of Mithras. I wonder if the library…” she trails off, pondering for a moment.
“I don’t expect to learn anything more tonight.
I’ll meet you at the hotel for breakfast tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp. ”