Chapter 2
MARIETTA
He had sent me home without allowing me to answer, his parting words echoing in my mind.
“I don’t take cases like yours without probing further. You will essentially be mine once this task is complete. Do not make this deal lightly. There is no going back, once accepted. Give your answer to my messenger at noon, and I will give you mine at dark.”
I’d tossed and turned, sheets tangling around me, to the steady ticking of the clock, to the dawn seeping through the darkness, to nightmare flashes of taunting bright green eyes laden with shadows.
To perfect lips forming commands and demanding my soul.
An ink blot formed as I set pen to paper.
Dear Master Noble,
I find you outrageous and arrogant, regardless of whether your reputation demands such behavior. Still, I accept your conveniently vague terms.
I crumpled the paper into a ball and chucked it next to the other five around the wastebasket, hidden in the morning shadows.
Dear Master Noble,
You leave me little choice. My brother’s life is at stake. I accept your veiled threats couched in indistinct terms.
Crumpled ball number seven.
Dear Master Noble,
The longer the delay, the worse for my brother. I accept you are an arroga—
Number eight plopped to the bottom of the basket like a slab in a tomb. It was obvious that I had to keep the correspondence short.
Dear Master Noble,
I accept.
Awaiting your reply,
I signed my name and sealed the note.
A knock exactly at noon announced the arrival of the messenger. It struck me that Noble had never asked for my address.
Our temporary sweep-turned-doorman-turned-butler cowered as I opened the door in his stead.
“Dark scum!” An elixir bottle broke through the failing enchantments on the brick stairs, smashing against them. “Rippers! Targeting the magic of a mage itself! You are going to pollute our neighborhood’s magic! Get off our street!”
I grabbed the front of the messenger boy’s cloak, pulled him inside, and slammed the door on the shouts from the street. Tinkling glass indicated another break in the solarium’s window. Our failing wards had no defense against the crowd’s anger.
The boy bobbed his head as I handed him the note. He held one out to me in return.
I stared at his outstretched hand. “What is this?”
“Instructions. Keep the paper on you. Do not put it down.”
I retrieved the note with shaking fingers. “Thank you. You may use the back entrance, if you wish.”
“Much obliged.” He bobbed his head and disappeared in that direction.
With a sharp glance at our grossly ineffective “butler,” who had no doubt soaked in every nuance of the conversation, I retired to my room.
The note was short, with its sloping letters and elegant swirls. I was to stay inside until a carriage came at midnight. The paper would lead me to the right one. I bristled at the command even as a resounding thunk indicated what sounded like a head of cabbage hitting the front door.
I had until midnight to change my mind, but the long hours only reinforced my motivation.
The hecklers in the streets continued, flinging rotten vegetables and spells against the sides of the house, adding cracks to the glass in the drawing room.
Our house’s wards and enchantments, already weak, would soon collapse.
The walls would fall without magic to support them, and it would become obvious what everyone already knew—that the Winters of Downing Street were a fallen house.
Ferris rose in the late afternoon only to down a headache tonic and slouch back to bed pleading illness. Sick on belladonna gin and punch root. I heard one of the maids slip into his room and wasn’t surprised to find him out cold a few hours later, an empty bottle tipped against his bedside.
The soft glow from the paper on the twelfth strike of the clock was accompanied by more relief than fear.
I slipped through the halls, dodging the servants with avoidance spells—the one type of magic that came naturally to me. Making myself forgettable? Effortless. Doing anything actually useful with it? Impossible.
The sweep-turned-butler cocked his head—nothing could completely escape even a pitiful mage’s notice under the city’s anti-spy enchantment—then he continued searching through our papers. Paid for by someone looking for dirt or gossip, no doubt.
I hurried through the side entrance, and let the note tug me toward an enchanted closed carriage parked on the street. A quick glance up and down the thoroughfare showed a commotion at a distant cross section, and because of it, for once, a blessedly empty space in front of our house.
The vehicle was fine but plain, with no crests or markings to showcase who was inside. The driver wore a high-collared dark cloak, which shrouded his identity as well. The light from his rune wheel cast a thin glow. The sleek door opened as I neared, and a long-fingered, gloved hand reached out.
My own shook as I took it and allowed him to lift me inside.
He was as devastating in the open ray of full moonlight as he had been under the glow of enchanted lamps.
I arranged my skirts on the bench across from his, not wanting to be caught staring again. The interior of the beast-free vehicle enveloped me in navy velvet and leather luxury. Drawn shades forced a fairy spice-lamp to spread light across the corner and crevice shadows.
And him.
“Where are we going?”
“For a drive.”
“You fancy a ride through the park at midnight?”
He rapped lightly, rocking the carriage into motion. “I fancy not having every sentence of our conversation dissected by your servants.”
“You doubt my household, but not yours?”
“Absolutely.” He peeled off his gloves, a languid, sensual motion where each finger was caressed from root to tip.
I swallowed at the revelation of skin—so few mages went without gloves in the company of strangers. Many forms of contract magic required touch. Only the powerful or poor went without that protection. “You think your judgment sound?”
“You had better hope it is.”
The carriage rocked lightly as we rounded a corner—a sensory addition for wary travelers who might worry about targeted direction spells.
“You said that you would decide whether to help my brother.” I gripped the seat. “Have you?”
“Have you accepted my terms?”
Two gleaming eyes reflected the spiced light beneath dark lashes and locks—a demon lord making a bargain. Perspiration beaded my brow and moistened my upper lip. “I have little choice, have I?”
“Why not let your brother take on the debt?”
I knew it was not Kennen of whom he spoke. “Ferris is indisposed.”
He lazily pulled his gloves through his fingers. “Pity.”
“I would not have sought you if I were unwilling,” I said carefully. “Even though you have given little enough explanation about what you might want from me.”
“Dangerous wording, Lady Second Winters.”
“Choice wording, then, Master First Noble, as I find dealing with you far from safe.”
He settled farther into the plush velvet seat. “You may as well call me Gabriel.” The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he knew I would do no such thing.
“I prefer Master Noble.” I would fight until my dying breath to retain some semblance of control when everything else about this situation left me powerless.
“And I prefer you call me Gabriel.” His taunting tone curled into silk-covered iron. “If we find ourselves in a tavern or back alley, it’s hardly going to do our investigation much good for you to give away the game.”
Tavern? Back alley? Me? We? I bit my lower lip. “As if everyone in town knows your surname?”
“It is not unknown to certain elements. It is why you are hiring me, is it not?”
“And your face? Hardly a visage to be forgotten,” I said, surprised at my own vitriol—relief at having someone offering help turning into unnecessary combativeness.
“Are you calling me handsome? Why, Marietta Winters, I do believe I’m blushing.” His voice deepened as he pulled his leather gloves through his fingers in slow motions.
My cheeks roasted. “I stand by my statement.”
“I usually travel in disguise. Much easier for everyone that way.”
He maintained his indolent posture leaning back against the squabs, but a new thread of tension laced through the latticework in the carriage. The gloves dangled, momentarily forgotten. I made note of the tension, though I wasn’t sure what it signified. Perhaps I could use it to my advantage later.
“And what are my brother and I to do while you are off masquerading in the shadows?” Surely, he had been kidding about—
“Your older brother is of no concern. But you will be with me.” The sides of his mouth curled as he watched me. “Perhaps at my feet, or on my lap. This case becomes more interesting by the second.”
Terrible man, baiting the oxygen-starved fish. “How could a lady possibly refuse?”
“You will accompany me wherever I go and whatever I say. And if it’s to kneel at my feet, you will kneel.” He smirked, but there was no amusement in his eyes. They were ice, watchful—gauging my reaction.
Panic flared. “You are serious.”
“You want your brother absolved, and evidence produced. And you’re not paying a sliver of gold?”
“I’m paying you in favors—favors you say could entail anything you desire. I think you will be compensated quite well.” Fear and desperation were poor companions.
“Those who pay me ten thousand gold have to do nothing more than rest upon their gloved hands. You, my dear penniless gilded one, must be an active participant. When your favors come due, I need to make sure you’re prepared to pay.” Emerald eyes turned dark and dangerous.
I wasn’t opposed to actively participating in freeing Kennen—I wanted to—but what he was implying...
“Skulking, thieving, kneeling Master Noble?”
Prickly, defensive, prideful. Along with my paltry magical abilities, when I opened my mouth, my unmarried state always became less of a mystery.