Chapter Eight #4
I spun on the spot, my Flame screeching to life in my hands at the unexpected voice right behind me.
Bursts of smoke curled from the shawl as it caught fire, and I dropped it to the ground with a shriek at the same moment that Madame Bracken screamed and stumbled back, eyes rounded with shock as she watched me stamp out the flames.
“Is that my shawl–”
I ignored her, whirling just in time to see the front door shut, a hunched figure streaking past the window, blurred by the grey light and the heavy rainfall.
Overwhelming cold stole through me, snatching at my breath, at my Flame, freezing my muscles in place as I stared out the window.
It took me a moment too long to recognise the cold for what it was; fear.
Because unless I was very much mistaken, I had just come face to face with Tanner’s murderer.
Behind me, the real Madame Bracken gave a gasp shrill enough to snap me from my horrified trance.
“It is!” She cried. “That’s my shawl! I knew someone had been sneaking about in my rooms, this is unacceptable –”
I backed up blindly, then turned and shoved the old woman back too, herding her through the inner door.
“Excuse me!”
“We need to go, now,” I hissed, still pressing her back even as she squawked and slapped at my arms.
“What is the meaning of this? Have you lost your mind, girl?”
I locked the door behind us and shoved the key into my apron, then sprinted for the stairs with Madame Bracken still shrieking after me.
Those frantic moments passed in a blur; I didn’t know whose door I opened first, only that the Kingsman leapt from his bed when I came tearing into the room and babbled frantically at him to get up, to help.
It could only have been minutes later that I stood in the tavern, staring numbly at a stern-faced Kingsman while he barked unfathomable questions at me, every word sounding like nothing more than a distant hum to my stunned senses.
The room had spun into chaos, stragglers from the evening platoon sprinting downstairs to join their fellows, overlapping shouts of both panic and excitement ringing in the air, Madame Bracken shrieking and snapping at anyone who would listen.
A blast of cold air seized me when the door flew open, and the mayhem devolved further with the return of the morning platoon filtering through the door, soaked to the skin and dripping all over the floor.
Everyone was shouting over one another, and the Kingsman questioning me was shoved aside, a familiar face taking his place.
“Miss Rosaleen, are you alright?” Brennan’s smooth brow was creased with concern. “What happened?”
I shook my head, still too numb to force my thoughts into words. The only thing I could say was; “Is Sorcha safe?”
“She’s right behind me.”
My cousin pushed through the throng of soldiers to throw her arms around me, drawing me into a very wet hug, her damp hair clinging to my cheek as she pulled away only to hold me in her worried gaze.
“Is it true what they’re saying?”
I nodded woodenly, my muscles stiff with both shock and the cold breeze still blowing through the door. Sorcha gnawed at her lip as her eyes flicked over me in assessment, then she turned to Brennan.
“She’s in no fit state. Can’t I bring her to her room?”
Brennan hesitated, perhaps battling his sense of duty against his own reluctance to deny my cousin anything.
“We have to wait for the Captain. He’ll want her questioned–”
“I’ve got her.”
My Flame was faster than my brain, rising to glow at the deep rumble of that third voice before I’d even realised who it was.
I was so detached from everything around me that I found myself driven by magic alone, turning with the rising fire that gently guided my muscles until I was pushing past Sorcha to burrow into the Captain’s broad warm chest. He stiffened for a moment before one arm curled around my back.
I realised, a little late, that this was an insanely public gesture on my part, but I couldn’t rouse the common sense to care.
I breathed him in, his scent of cold air and soap and male musk slowing my breath, the pace of my heart.
His hair splashed little droplets of cold rainwater onto my face, but he must have found time to peel off his cloak and steel armour, because his shirt was soft and dry against my cheek.
My Flame pressed against my skin, burrowing into him as tightly as I was.
“Are you alright, Rosie?”
I nodded into his shirt, finding comfort in the resonance of his every word through his chest.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
When I didn’t say anything, he curled his hands around my arms and pried me back, just a little. Just enough to peer down at me with pleading, worried eyes.
“The Serpent,” I said hoarsely.
He frowned and shook his head like he hadn’t quite heard me, then glanced past me at the chaotic cluster of Kingsmen and growled a low; “Shut the fuck up.”
The silence was instant. He leaned toward me once more and I licked my dry lips, sucked in a shuddering breath. When I spoke again, my voice wavered in the fragile air.
“The Serpent was here.”