The youthful bartender raised his dark brows as Nessa deposited her tumbler on the countertop, surprised that such a little thing could want another. Nevertheless, without a question asked, he took her glass and turned to the shelves behind him.
Nessa’s fingers tapped impatiently on the counter, leaving faintly smudged fingerprints on the polished walnut as the bartender perused the shelves, searching the fine decanters and bottles displayed there. From the corner of her eye, Nessa watched the group as they headed down the hallway, swiftly disappearing from her line of sight. The blue-eyed stranger was a few steps behind them. For a second, Nessa thought—hoped—that he would pause, turn, and that their gazes would lock for another spellbinding moment.
Instead, without turning, without even the faintest hesitation, he followed after the others, shoulders tense and gloved hands balled into fists.
Nessa could see him no more, and she felt deflated at being ignored, dejected that she wasn’t worth a backwards glance. Her heart twisted in her chest. She needed him to look at her. She needed those breathtaking eyes of his on her.
“There’s not much down there,” someone purred, their voice a honeyed drawl. “Nothing but a few storerooms and the restrooms.”
Startled, Nessa turned.
A woman had sidled up beside her, waiting to be served. Her hair fell in ringlets to her shoulders, a deep brown that was only a shade away from being black, and her skin was a lovely caramel that made the green of her eyes sparkle.
“I wasn’t interested,” Nessa said quickly. “Just curious.”
The woman smiled, her red lips parting just a little to reveal bright, white teeth, and shrugged a slim shoulder. “I don’t particularly care who or what you’re staring after. Others might, though. This lot,” she cast a nod over to the crowded room behind them, “are a bit of a strange bunch, always jumping to conclusions, always believing one superstition or another. Many of these folks have a ‘stab first, ask questions never’ kind of approach to life. But then, what can one expect from this eclectic group of criminals, am I right? You see, most of them come from the streets, grew up in poverty and such, pickpockets and cut-throats, whores and smugglers. They’re survivors, not thinkers. Though, saying that, most of them aren’t stupid, not really. Well, maybe Clive, but he’s not involved in much, so it doesn’t really matter, now, does it?”
The woman turned to Nessa, who stood stock-still, mouth slightly agape. The woman had barely paused for breath after one sentence before launching into the next.
Nessa, unable to form a cohesive response, settled for simply nodding.
The woman appeared satisfied with the wordless response and continued with her unsolicited nattering without waiting another second.
“I heard,” she continued, a finger toying with a ringlet, “that this one time, a chap drank too much and became peculiar, staring at nothing, muttering about a girl with purple eyes and men with antlers, and many more strange things, besides. Some folks here didn’t like that, stupid and superstitious as they are. A couple of them took him outside and…” she ran her finger across her throat, stretching out the ringlet. “Seeing as you were staring a wee bit, I thought I should give you a word of warning. The poor chap couldn’t have been much older than you.”
Nessa blinked and swallowed nervously. “I…um…thank you. I think.”
“No worries.” She winked. “We girls have to look out for one another, right? Otherwise, we’ll never survive in this dog-eat-dog world. I like the disguise, by the way. It’s a good idea. Although, once someone gets up close to you, it’s easy to see through it. But I suppose, as with presents, it’s the effort that counts.”
“Umm.”
The woman, whose age Nessa guesstimated as being in the early twenties, stuck out a hand. “I’m Sissy.”
Nessa murmured a quick greeting, shaking Sissy’s hand somewhat reluctantly.
There was something about Sissy that didn’t sit well with Nessa. She couldn’t put her finger on it, though, as it wasn’t anything that stood out. Perhaps it was the things Sissy said, or the way she had sprung up out of nowhere. Maybe it wasn’t even Sissy and was Nessa’s own desire to follow after the mysterious stranger that made her want to leave the conversation. Whatever the reason, Nessa searched for a suitable excuse to make her escape.
The bartender returned, setting the refilled tumbler in front of her. Nessa fumbled for her coin pouch, eager to pay and be on her way.
“No need for that,” the bartender said quickly. “It’s on the house. Boss’ order.”
Nessa blinked, surprised, and abandoned her rummaging. “Oh, that’s nice of him.”
“And speaking of the boss,” the bartender continued, his gaze sliding to Sissy, “I wager he’ll be displeased to discover that you’re here.”
“On the contrary, Jem,” Sissy said, grinning smugly, leaning forwards and resting her elbows on the countertop. “I’m here on official business. My mistress sent me to have words with certain people.”
“Did she now?” Jem was less than impressed.
Sissy nodded, her ringlets bouncing. “Mmmhmm.”
Nessa’s eyes darted between the two of them, and seeing that they appeared to have momentarily forgotten her, she decided to take her leave, slipping away quietly.
With the chant of just going to the restroom repeating over and over in her head, should anyone ask what she was doing, Nessa approached the archway. With a sip of liquid courage, she turned into the hallway and promptly collided with something hard.
Her drink sloshed over the lip of her tumbler as she rebounded, stumbling back a step. Hands caught her upper arms, preventing her from falling to the floor in a humiliating heap. Realising that she had careened into someone, Nessa’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. So much for trying to go unnoticed…
“There we go,” the person murmured, releasing her and retreating to an arm’s length away. “Wouldn’t want to spill any more drink. Would be a terrible waste, no?”
“Well,” Nessa said, trying to collect her jumbled thoughts to piece together a half-decent response, “it’s a shame about the drops on the carpet.”
“Ah, that’s no more than a mouthful at the most.” Nessa looked up from the dark splodges on the carpet into a pair of amused, hazel eyes. “I doubt it’ll stain.”
“That wasn’t really what I was worried about…” Nessa’s words dwindled away as she took him in, recognising him. He was in the group she was trying to covertly follow, the one who Jerome had rushed to, seeking an explanation. Nessa was willing to bet that he was in charge of the group or, at least, was in a position of some authority.
Her irritation at being caught was replaced by curiosity.
If Nessa’s assumption was correct and he did hold a measure of influence there, then he was an intriguing choice, in her opinion, young and perhaps a little too conspicuous to be a part of a network of thieves and smugglers, and many other things, besides.
His black hair tumbled and curled to his shoulders, held back from his face by a faded, green bandanna. His red shirt was baggy and worn, missing the top few buttons and featuring a couple of badly sewn patches of mismatched fabrics. It was clinched at his waist by a wide belt that looked like it was a re-purposed, multicoloured scarf, tied in a loose knot with the twin tails hanging down to his knees. Striped trous, so voluminous that at first glance Nessa mistook them for a skirt, were tucked into a pair of scuffed boots. He was a riot of clashing colours. Nessa faintly realised that he was a gypsy.
There weren’t many gypsies in the city, most of them preferring to head east during the winter months, where the climate was milder. A small number had chosen to stay, however. Nessa had seen their colourful caravans and tents from a distance. They were camped just outside the city, their dwellings sitting between the main road into Ellor and Lake Nyma, a colourful labyrinth of greens and golds, pinks and purples, blues and every other colour imaginable.
They mostly kept to themselves, to thei
r own community, with only a few venturing into the city itself. Nessa had seen a handful of gypsies every now and again, usually at the markets or spending an evening at a tavern, enjoying a drink or two. Until now, Nessa had never really had the opportunity to talk to one by herself. The few times she had found herself by one of their market stalls, Hunter and Orm always took over the conversing and haggling during the sales. They bought fabrics, mostly, to fill Aoife’s snug cave-dwelling with comforts. Having seen it through Aoife’s eyes, Nessa knew that a thick bed of pillows covered the floor, and that the rough sides were swathed in plush drapes, warding off the chill of the mountains. It was with a bit of mirth that Nessa realised that Aoife’s cave was better decorated than her room at Jerome’s guest house.
“What are your worries then?” the gypsy asked. “That you wouldn’t get to enjoy your drink fully? Fear not, you still have plenty left, and you’re only little, so I doubt you’ll need much more. Otherwise, you won’t be able to walk in a straight line.”
“Considering that I ran into you just now,” Nessa said, eyeing her drink like it was to blame, “maybe I don’t even need this one.”
The gypsy laughed and went to say something. Before any words could leave his lips, both Nessa and the gypsy were startled by a loud shriek.
“Heimaey!”
The gypsy—Heimaey—winced as he turned towards the source. Nessa didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“Unholy hells,” Heimaey muttered under his breath. “What is she doing here?”
Sissy swiftly descended upon them, a whirlwind of bouncing ringlets and twirling skirts. Nessa barely managed to step to the side before Sissy leaped into Heimaey’s less than eager arms, her own twining around his neck, elbows almost catching Nessa in the face. Heimaey staggered, taken by surprise, and his hands rose to Sissy’s waist, trying earnestly to peel her off.
Nessa watched in bemusement as Heimaey was met with limited success. Contrary to her willowy figure, Sissy was a lot stronger than she appeared, and she clung to Heimaey like a limpet. Other than viciously shoving her away, something which Heimaey seemed reluctant to do, he was forced to put up with Sissy’s attentions.
“I thought I told you,” Heimaey growled in her ear, “that under no uncertain terms, were you to ever come here again.”
“Come now, cousin,” Sissy groaned. “Don’t be like that.”
“Why are you here?”
“My mistress sent me.”
“I don’t care if the Creator herself sent you,” Heimaey said. “When I tell you that you’re not welcome here, that means you’re not to come here. It’s really quite simple.”
Nessa began to slowly edge away, sensing that an argument was about to ensue, abandoning her intentions of stalking after the blue-eyed stranger.
“But Heimaey,” Sissy whined, “my mistress had a vision. She sent me here to tell you about it. She said that the gods of old are awakening, donning their antler crowns once again, their monsters lurking in the mists and shadows, called forth from their slumbers by she whose blood can command us all, the girl with the amethyst eyes—”
Heimaey jerked his head angrily, cutting Sissy off, and muttered something under his breath. Nessa frowned, the mention of antler crowns striking a chord. Trying to figure out why that was, and wanting to hear more, she paused, listening hungrily.
“I don’t want to know,” Heimaey hissed, his eyes flashing. “Not now. Not ever.” His hands grasped Sissy’s wrists firmly, and he pried himself free from her hold, taking a cautionary step back. “That woman is a snake, a liar and a fraud. I— we— don’t want anything more to do with her. Or with you, to be honest. Not whilst she has you under her thumb.”
Sissy pouted playfully, not at all fazed by Heimaey’s words. “She’s only trying to help.”
“Yeah,” Heimaey snorted. “Herself.”
“You have it all wrong.”
“I don’t think so. She had her chance to prove her worth. She failed. We won’t fall for her games and tricks a second time.”
“They weren’t tricks.”
“No? What were they then?” Heimaey raised his brows. “Thinly veiled lies? Tall tales? A twisted version of a number of small truths?”
“Deciphering visions is a difficult thing to do,” Sissy argued. “Sometimes things aren’t always what they seem, or the images are blurred or jumbled.”
Heimaey rolled his eyes. “Of course they are.”
“Stubborn as ever, I see,” Sissy sighed.
“You need to leave.”
“Heimaey. Listen. Please.”
“No.” Heimaey folded his arms across his chest, looking both frustrated and weary. “I don’t have time for this. Not today and certainly not while your loyalties lie with your mistress.” He spat the word with disgust. “I’ve made myself clear on this: whilst you’re sided with her, I want nothing to do with you.”
“Fine,” Sissy said stiffly. “Be that way. Reject our help if you wish. But I warn you, cousin. You will regret it. Change is coming to this land. If you are not ready for it, then you will be swept away, lost to the shifting tide of war.”
“I’ll take that under consideration.” Heimaey nodded to the room behind her. “Now, if you would be so kind as to show yourself out, it would be most appreciated.”
“Don’t you want to escort me out?” Sissy asked with a playful smirk.
“Not particularly.”
“But it’s dark out, and the streets are no place for a lady to be walking around alone. Who knows what kind of souls might be skulking out there, or what their intentions might be.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Heimaey said dryly, nonplussed by her plea. “Besides, if you were in any danger, I'm sure your skilled mistress would have seen it in a vision and warned you prior to sending you out to do her dirty work.”
Sissy scowled and muttered, “It’s not like that, you blind fool,” and turned on her heel. Her gaze settled on Nessa with an almost fevered intensity.
Nessa blanched, immediately wishing that she had taken the opportunity to retreat when she could have. Unfortunately, she had missed her chance and was now acutely aware that she was an interloper in a conversation between two strangers. Nessa looked away, staring down at her drink as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, and wished that she had the power to vanish from sight.
“I’ll leave you be,” Sissy murmured in defeat. “At least until you see the sense in my mistress’ warnings. But first things first.” She frowned. “Or maybe it’s lastly? Anyhoo, whichever one it is, I was assigned another task that I must fulfil before I go.”
Sissy plucked something from her skirt’s pocket and placed it in Nessa’s free hand, curling Nessa’s fingers around it.
“My mistress,” Sissy said in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in close, her green eyes bright, “wishes for you to have this.” Her hands were clamped around Nessa’s fist, cupping it tightly, making the object dig into the flesh of her palm. “She says to keep it close to your heart and it will lead you to what you have lost.”
Nessa could only blink in way of an answer, dismayed, all other responses forgotten. Over Sissy’s shoulder, Nessa spied Heimaey shaking his head, his patience wearing thin, his fingers tapping against his biceps.
“Sissy,” he warned, voice low and dangerous.
Sissy shot him a venomous glare, her back straightening, her jaw clenching as she bit back a sharp retort. Without another word, an explanation, she spun on her heel and stormed away. Nessa watched Sissy go with a pent-up breath, her fist still held out in front of her, the other clutching her tumbler, the whisky rippling as she trembled.
What Sissy said echoed in Nessa’s head, and she had to wonder, could Sissy have been referring to her lost memories? If that were so, how did Sissy’s mistress, whoever she was, know about that? No one, not even Jerome, was privy to that knowledge. Only Aoife, Hunter and Orm were. Chaos, of course, had known, but seeing as he had been slaughtered by the k
ing, Nessa felt that it was safe to say that he wasn't the one spilling her secrets.
“What has she given you?” Heimaey asked quietly, softly, the anger leaching from him ever so slowly.
Sucking in a breath, trying to settle her rattled nerves, Nessa unfurled her fingers and peered at her palm. Heimaey stepped closer, inspecting the object in her outstretched hand with an air of suspicion.
Nessa’s eyebrows pulled together in puzzlement “It’s a brooch?”
“So it is,” Heimaey murmured, his fingers neatly plucking at it, turning the brooch over so they could have a better look at it.
The brooch was small, dainty and made from silver. A bundle of fine, interwoven stems formed the main body of the piece, with a scattering of tiny leaves and flowers dotted throughout. Set into each of the flowers’ carpels was a single gemstone that flashed a vivid blue as it caught the light.
“It’s a brooch of forget-me-nots,” Heimaey said. “If I’m correct.”
“Forget-me-nots?”
Heimaey made a sound of confirmation. “A pretty weed that’s commonly associated with aiding those who suffer memory loss…in certain arcane circles, of course.”
“Of course,” Nessa murmured, her thoughts running a million miles an hour. She closed her fingers around the brooch, hiding it from sight, more than a little tempted to cast it aside, unsettled behind its potential meaning. She didn’t, though, deciding that it may be of some value. The craftsmanship was respectable: the gemstones neatly set, the tiny petals and leaves having a charming amount of detail. Perhaps she could sell it later?
The thought of having her own money, even if it was only a small amount, was a pleasant one.
So far, any money Nessa had was from Hunter and Orm and their gambling exploits. To start with, she had been happy with the arrangement, having someone else deal with the finances, earning and managing everything. Her feelings had quickly changed, however, and she slowly began to feel useless, little more than a burden, someone who wasn’t pulling her weight. No matter how many times Nessa protested against her less than active role in their group, she was met with the same response: just because she wasn't sat at the tables with them didn't mean that she was doing anything less important.
House of Blood and Bone Page 24
