Chapter Three
Three
“There you are.” His tone was curt.
I offered the marquis a tight smile through my labored breathing, then glanced over to where the Devil stood, his cane tapping impatiently on the carpet.
I’d run from Saint Aloysius’s to Clarence House, but I was still ten minutes past the hour I’d been allotted. My hair had mostly fallen out of its bun, and my face was no doubt bright red from exertion.
“Yes, well, the vicar needed—” I began.
“That is not our concern,” the marquis cut off in a bored tone. “My father wishes to leave. The carriage is outside, but we were informed we cannot depart without you.”
It was clear what he thought of that.
“Yes, well, thank you for waiting,” I replied, determined not to let my devilish charges annoy me.
At least not before teatime. “Please,” I gestured, and the Devil gave a toss of his head that would not be out of place from a pettish debutante, then stalked to the exit, faint curls of smoke coming from his backside.
If I weren’t so terrified for my general existence, I would have laughed.
“Miss—” the marquis said, inclining his head toward me.
He still didn’t remember my name. No, that didn’t bother me a whit. Not a whit.
“Of course.” I followed, too aware of the marquis trailing close behind me.
He looked no less handsome today. He wore relatively modest clothing—likely because anything ostentatious would be gilding the lily—and had donned a pair of gold spectacles, which glinted in the light.
Actually, that seemed nearly human—a demon requiring assistance with his eyesight.
Perhaps he was correct, and there weren’t that many differences between our two realms.
Which was a frightening thought, to be honest.
There were no fewer than four carriages waiting outside, each bearing the Queen’s insignia. The Devil leaped into the first one, and I went instinctively toward the last, but a strong hand steered me toward the second.
“You’ll ride with me, Miss—”
“Hastings,” I said.
He grunted, then waited as one of the footmen assisted me into the carriage. I kept my index finger on the button on my cane that would release the blade hidden inside. Thus far I’d only used it to peel apples and open boxes, but its intended use was more lethal.
Not that I was idiotic enough to think a short knife would be sufficient to defend myself against a demon, but it might buy me time to do…something. Like scream for help? Or remind him just what harming the Queen’s official species ombudsman might do to their status in London?
If he was going to attack me, however, likely as not he would have thought of all that. But at least I wasn’t entirely defenseless. Not entirely.
I also had my quick wit. Perhaps I could make him laugh while he was tearing off my head.
At the very least, I could make use of my gallows humor.
“I’ve drawn up an itinerary,” the marquis said as he sat himself opposite me in the carriage. He withdrew a piece of paper from a slim folder he must’ve been hiding somewhere on his person and handed it to me. It felt vaguely warm, as though it had been left near a stove.
I glanced at it, then blanched as I saw how many items were on it. And what the items were.
I looked up at him as I returned it, trying hard to school my features into something reasonably diplomatic.
Judging by his expression, I was not very successful. He looked amused, as though he had taunted a cat with a piece of string and then yanked it away.
“Your father wants to do all this while he is here? The British Museum, Trafalgar Square, the Tower of London? And cricket matches, dance halls, scientific demonstrations? I’m surprised he doesn’t want to visit the circus while he’s at it.”
Of course I hadn’t meant to be sarcastic, and as soon as the words were out of my mouth, an image of Roasted Cora floated through my head.
Thankfully, the marquis just raised his eyebrows.
“We don’t have the same type of entertainment you do,” he said in as mild a tone as I’d heard from him. “And the circus is an excellent idea, thank you.” His beautiful mouth curled up into a smirk as he scribbled on his piece of paper.
I supposed watching people writhe in agony over hot burning coals would get tiresome. And it wasn’t as though there were likely people dancing for pleasure down there. Or perhaps there were. I had no idea.
I hoped I would never have an idea.
“I will be happy to accommodate all of these items,” I said, returning my voice to its most neutral tone.
“You will.” His voice allowed for no argument.
I opened my mouth to agree, but I’d already said I would, so I didn’t want to belabor the point.
We spent the rest of the ride in silence, him gazing steadily at me, me looking anywhere but at him.
Yes, he was remarkable looking, but he was also very demanding right away, not even twenty-four hours since I’d been assigned to this detail.
I was not the type of person to accommodate difficult behavior just because the difficult behavior came from a beautiful being.
I focused on keeping my body still, not allowing him to see how he was affecting me.
Because he was, which was entirely annoying.
But it would be even more annoying if he knew, so I tucked my skirts under my legs and kept my expression as neutral as possible.
I shouldn’t be so affected, I reminded myself.
After all, I’d interacted with more than a few vampires, and most of them were fairly good-looking as well.
I wondered if it was the blood diet or just avoiding the sun for so long.
And fairies, of course, were stunning. As were succubi and incubi; they had to be, or they wouldn’t be able to properly satisfy their urges.
But I didn’t have time to think about that—I’d have to get started straightaway accommodating all the Devil’s wishes. My orders were clear, and if I failed?
Well, I knew what would happen. Even if I weren’t spit roasted, Lord Hennawi, Mr. Connors, and the Queen would be most displeased.
I’d seen what the Queen had done when someone had displeased her. I did not want to face that, not at all. I preferred my blood inside my body, thank you very much.
The carriage slowed, and then Marcellus startled me, reaching out to grasp my gloved hand. I was so disconcerted I froze.
“Miss Hastings,” he began, “do keep an eye out for anything…untoward.”
I let out a hysterical laugh, then clamped my lips together before saying something that might—or would—be offensive.
After all, he had remembered my name.
You mean like the Devil, the real Devil, Mr. Beelzebub, Satan himself, wanting to attend a church bazaar in hopes, perhaps, of purchasing a pen wiper? Some doilies? A jar of homemade strawberry jam?
I nodded as the carriage door was flung open.
The Devil’s carriage had already arrived and had unloaded its occupants. The man—or demon—himself stood on the pavement tapping his infernal cane. His expression was peevish, and I was again reminded of a privileged debutante.
Perhaps if I just treated him as though he were a young, spoiled lady on the verge of her debut I could emerge unscathed.
The marquis leaped out of the carriage and held his arm out to me so I could disembark. His arm was solid, as though made of muscle, and also warm to the touch.
Did he just run hot, or was that a demon thing? Probably both.
“There you are,” the Devil said, directing his words to his son. “I cannot enter without an invitation, and nobody has come out yet.”
The marquis gave me a pointed look, and I hiked up the skirts of my gown and trotted up the stairs to the church.
It was an impressive building, built in the Gothic style, with long, narrow windows and solid stone.
The interior was even more impressive, with a vast open ceiling and high arches spanning across, giving the impression they were holding up the sky.
Pillars stood on either side of the room, marching down to where the service would normally be conducted.
Today, however, there were myriad tables and people plopped inside, with lots of running to and fro (the people, not the tables), and a general cacophony that frankly made it sound a little bit hellish. The devil and his minions should feel right at home, I thought.
There were a few beings already strolling through the bazaar perusing the items for sale. The event wasn’t open to the general public yet, but the church had allowed a few VIPs to gain early admittance.
I glanced around, looking for someone who might be of assistance, and spotted a capable-looking being in a black bombazine gown and an imperious manner surveying the general chaos with some measure of understanding.
When I’d been here earlier, I’d dealt only with the vicar, but by the time I’d explained my purpose in coming, it had become clear he needed to spend some time alone with a hefty serving of Communion wine.
“Excuse me,” I asked, “but I am Miss Hastings, from the Department of Supernatural Affairs, and I am here with—”
“I know who you’re with,” she said, her mouth curling down in disapproval.
Up close I could see her hands had disturbingly long claws.
I wasn’t certain, but I thought she might be a harpy.
“I can’t say I’m pleased, but the vicar said we had to accommodate him, so here we are.
” Now that she’d spoken, I was fairly certain she was a harpy.
That, or she was just grouchy all the time. Same thing, I supposed.
“The thing is,” I continued, keeping my voice neutral, “he needs to be asked in. The Devil, I mean.”
She met my gaze with a look that seemed to indicate she was thinking how she might not invite him in after all. I returned the look with one of my own, relaying to her with my eyes just what would happen if she did not acquiesce immediately.
“Fine,” she said at last in an exasperated tone as we engaged in this nonverbal battle. “I’ll go invite him.” I did not preen at my win, though I was tempted. But I was just doing my job.