She laughed. “Your honesty is refreshing, at the very least.”
Slowly, he backed away. His expression was haunted and contrite. “Please, Eliza. Let us be friends.”
His gilded eyes looked at her as though she were everything he’d ever need, and her heart grew soft and warm. She touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. “All right. Friends.”
A lock of dark hair fell over his brow as he gave a sharp nod. “Good.” He let out a breath and captured her hand in his. “Very good.”
Together they walked down the sidewalk, the sun shining bright upon them. His sword was wrapped in a large satchel that he had strapped across his back, making him look more highwayman than gentleman. “We rest here until my strength is fully restored, and then we shall return to London and set up house.”
Eliza halted, her skirts swaying. “Set up house?”
He glanced at her, and the corner of his mouth quirked. “Steady on, Eliza. We shall need a base of operations to wage our war. And then I shall take great pleasure in cleaving Mellan and Mab’s heads from their bodies.”
“You’re very certain of yourself.”
“I’ve never been more motivated, dove.” It was not a nice look that resided in his eyes.
“How can you strike against Mab? Does she not own you?” Eliza could not refrain from asking.
But he did not frown as expected. “While we are handfasted, the only one who owns me is you, Eliza.”
She ignored the way that made her shiver and followed him once more.
“Decades ago,” he said conversationally, “I lived for a time as a clockmaker.”
Eliza made a noise of amusement. And he smiled faintly. “Yes, I know. But I really do love clocks. My clockwork hearts are created by magic, but I’d always wanted to know how to do it by hand. And so I learned my trade.”
“You enjoyed it.”
“Had I my way, I’d have lived my life out doing just that.”
Eliza found herself wishing he’d be able to one day.
It felt strange to walk once more along the quaint streets where Adam had pretended to live as a mere man for a few years. Time stood still here, houses and shops being repaired instead of pulled down for newer structures. Even the flowerpots gracing the mullioned windows looked the same to Adam, as if there would always be red geraniums decorating the bookshop or purple pansies hanging in the bakery’s window.
The area was relatively safe. Many GIM lived here, mainly because Adam had purchased the bulk of the surrounding property and given them refuge. He had similar hamlets established around the world. And while Adam and Eliza were still being hunted, they’d likely have some warning before a strike.
Mellan had some honor. Now that Adam had the greater claim on Eliza through handfasting, the fae prince would likely bide his time, looking for other ways to entice her to his side.
Not bloody likely. Adam would be damned if the bastard got near her again. He merely needed something to trade. He understood Eliza’s ire in being treated as a commodity. Nor did he want to treat her as such. But facts were facts. The fae would not leave her be until they were satisfactorily appeased.
Problem was, Adam had no idea where to find this bloody golden horn. Or if it even existed, for he had a suspicion that Mellan was toying with Mab and using the myth of the horn as his bait.
Despite Adam’s worries, a sense of peace filled him as he walked along the cobbled walkway, their stones worn smooth from centuries of use, and without thinking much about it, he caught Eliza’s slim hand up with his once more.
He felt the shock of his action run down her arm and into her fingers, turning them stiff. For a moment, he thought she might pull away. But then she relaxed, inexplicably, wonderfully. She moved closer to him, walking at his side, and let him lace his fingers with hers. “Remember,” he said out of the side of his mouth, “we are man and wife here.”
“What a lovely town this is, darling,” she said in a voice that carried.
His contentment burst like a soap bubble. Right. She was merely acting the dutiful wife. He let her hand go.
“The shop is just ahead.” He gestured with his chin to the black shop sign that had a clockwork cog and the words Gimsire’s Clocks painted in gold.
“Gimsire?” Eliza murmured in amusement, her breath warm and soft against his collar.
Adam shrugged, as much as to relieve himself of the prickling heat that her nearness caused. “What can I tell you? I’m abysmal at coming up with names.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” a smile played about her full lips. “It’s quite clever to me. Very tongue-in-cheek.”
They stopped before the shop window, the faint outlines of clocks visible in the darkened store.
“So you lived as a man here?” She shook her head. “I confess, I expected you to live as a lord, taking up residence in Knightsbridge or some such place.”
It amused him to picture that. How very boring it would have been. “As king of the GIM, there were those who would see me topple, and I had no means to defend myself. Do you know, I was forbidden to raise a hand to any but my GIM?”
“So you had to hide?” Eliza said.
“When I came to London, yes. But I took the risk now and then, when the isolation of not living amongst others grew too great. And after all, few would think that a simple clockmaker was really the reviled and feared Adam of the GIM.”
“I suppose they wouldn’t.”
Slowly Adam trailed a finger over the cold glass, leaving a path in the condensation. Inside, his old worktable sat, still covered with cogs and springs, as if waiting for him to return. “I was sorry to leave this place.”
She spoke quietly, her body close to his, as though they were in their own world. “Then why did you?”
And there it was, the one thing he never thought about when he was with Eliza: the loneliness he’d felt for so many years. His voice came out in a rasp. “Time, Eliza, has never been my friend.” His reflection in the window was pale and watery. “Certain rules regarding my powers made it that I could not remain in this world for more than a few months at a time. It became tedious, keeping this shop and constantly leaving it.” Not to mention that it made him soul sick.
He turned and faced Eliza. “I paid a local to maintain the shop, keep it clean, and watch for vandals.”
Adam might have closed the shop altogether, but something inside of him could not fully let it go; he’d been happy playing the part of a respectable clockmaker, happy spending countless hours bent over his worktable, devoted to the creation of fine timepieces.
Eliza’s brown eyes deepened to purple – something that had been happening with greater frequency.
“What are you thinking?” he murmured, for she looked at him as though she’d seen into his soul.
“That you are surprisingly sentimental.” She touched his forearm, the contact sending a bolt of pleasure into his heart. “That you wear many hats. And I wonder how many have seen all of them.”
A lump rose in his throat. And he touched her with fingertips that were not quite steady. “Only you, Eliza.” And she was the only one who would, the only one he wanted to show his whole self to.
He bent his head, needing to kiss her, but just then Mrs. Wilson stepped out of her tea emporium, her back stooped and her face wizened. Though it ought not be, it was a shock, seeing her now. The woman he’d known as Mrs. Wilson had been a pretty, pink-cheeked widow with an easy smile and generous curves. Adam knew that she’d been perfectly willing to warm his bed. Had he been capable back then, he might have asked. Many a dark cold night, he’d longed for a soft body to help warm him, for a pair of willing arms to ground him to this world. He’d settled for paying her a generous stipend to clean his clock shop when he’d left town.
Through the delicate wrinkles that webbed Mrs. Wilson’s face, a pair of bright blue eyes locked onto him. Her thin mouth fell open and remained before she had the presence to close it. “Mr. Gimsire?” Then she shook h
er head. “Lord above, but you couldn’t be, you’re a young man.”
Adam stepped forward, fondness and melancholy tempering his smile. “I suspect you are thinking of my grandfather, the elder Mr. Gimsire. You are Mrs. Wilson, are you not? Grandfather spoke highly of you.”
The old woman blushed. “Sir, you are too kind.” She glanced at Eliza.
“Pardon me,” Adam said, putting his hand on the small of Eliza’s slim back. As though he had every right. Illusions. “My wife, Mrs. Gimsire.” He’d lied to humans for centuries. Still the words were hard to utter. And, if the sudden tension along Eliza’s back meant anything, they were hard for her to hear.
“A pleasure,” Mrs. Wilson said as Eliza murmured her hellos. “And how does your grandfather fare?”
“I’m afraid my grandfather has passed. Just last year.” Adam put on a frown, suddenly hating the lies he had to tell over and over. Hating that he never bonded with a community, a set life, but watched the world drift past him while he remained frozen in place.
“Oh,” Mrs. Wilson exclaimed with a small, weak breath. “Oh, dear, I’m so very sorry to hear it.”
“I ought to have written to you. I know you’ve been keeping his shop well.”
Mrs. Wilson grimaced. “Not as well as I would like, I fear. I’m getting on and there is just myself to…” Her voice drifted off as she searched her reticule for a kerchief. “He shall be sorely missed, young man. In that you can trust.”
Adam gave her a gentle nod of acknowledgment. “You were a good friend to him.”
“God be with you, Mr. Gimsire.” Mrs. Wilson sniffled into her lace handkerchief, then dabbed her eyes as she ambled back to her shop.
He watched her go and the odd feeling of time slipping through his fingers hit him square in the chest. And he was always on the outside of it.
Chapter Nineteen
An hour caught in Mab’s snare and then Sin was free to go. He stumbled out into the mews, the stench of manure and household garbage thick in the damp air. He made it to the coach house before he retched. The force of it doubled him over and lifted him to his toes. The smell of sick burned his nostrils, as his fingers dug into the loose mortar between the bricks. Surrounded by filth, and yet he was the most disgusting thing out here.
His skin crawled with the taint of Mab and the knowledge that he’d let her do those things to him. That his body had enjoyed it in some profane way. With the female responsible for destroying his family. A sob, deep and filled with rage, tore from his chest. The thick ivy that clung to the top of the mews began to crackle and grow, spreading toward his hand. Sin did not bother to rein in his power but leaned against the wall and tried to breathe through his anger.
Above him, the sky was the pasty white of spoilt milk, the light of the sun hidden behind endless layers of clouds. It hurt to look at that pale, unending sky. And he closed his eyes, trying to breathe past the heaviness invading his chest. Ivy leaves tickled his cheeks and climbed over his shoulders. Perhaps they’d entomb him. Perhaps he could dig a hole in the loamy earth and lose himself in its cool embrace.
“Death is not the only solution, you realize.”
Sin froze. That someone would come upon him in this moment and see enough to understand what he was contemplating. Self-loathing and impotent rage made his skin fire hot. He forced himself to open his eyes.
A man stood not far off, his expression placid but his dark eyes keen. Though he wore the fine wool suit of a proper English gentleman, with his bowler hat resting just so on top of his coal-black hair, everything about the man screamed foreigner. And then recognition set in.
“You were with Layla at the theatre.” The words were out of Sin’s mouth before he could think to keep them in, and he flushed in annoyance. “Miss Starling, I mean.” Not much better, that. He’d made it painfully clear that he’d been watching Layla.
But the man smiled kindly, a knowing look lighting his eyes. Smug bastard. “Yes. With Miss Starling. I was hoping you’d join us, but you did not.” One shoulder lifted. “Perhaps next time.”
Sin pushed away from the wall and glared at the man. “Who are you?”
“My name, for all intents and purposes here, is Augustus. Your sister, Poppy, knows me as Father.”
Fear ran through Sin’s tired body. Father was the enigmatic head of the SOS. As far as Sin knew, only Poppy had any real contact with the man. “What the devil are you doing with Miss Starling?” Sin would not believe for a moment that the man was actually courting her. Not from what he knew of Father – an ageless man who was gone more than he was around.
“Protecting her.”
The length of Sin’s body tightened with swift pain. “You’ll pardon me if I find that answer less than comforting.”
Augustus’s black brows rose as one. “Have you reason to believe that the founding father of the SOS would fail at this task?”
“No,” Sin said with reluctance. “It’s the fact that she needs protecting that worries me.” If Layla needed watching, he ought to be the one to do it. The memory of her bright smile hit him hard enough to hurt his heart. They’d been fast friends. Being near her had been his daily joy, his air, until she moved away.
Augustus watched as a hawk might. “You cannot protect her as you are now.”
Sin’s fists clenched. “How —”
Communication of thoughts are not limited to mere words, lad.
“Get the bloody hell out of my head,” Sin snapped, a fine sweat coating his skin.
Augustus bowed his head. “My apologies, Master Evernight.” He did not look at all contrite. “However I do believe it important that you fully understand with whom you are dealing when you speak to me.”
“Oh, and why is that?” Sin would take great pleasure in making sure this prat knew how capable Sin was in dealing with others.
A thin smile curled the man’s lips. “Because I am going to make you an offer you’ll want to refuse.” Before Sin’s eyes, Augustus’s olive skin leached of color, more and more until the man before Sin appeared to be made entirely of translucent flesh.
The living crystal Augustus grinned at Sin’s stupefied expression. “I’d show you my wings as well, but I fear you aren’t yet ready for that display.”
“I… uh… you…” Sin’s brilliant contribution to the conversation.
“Young St. John, you’ll hear my offer.” Silver eyes bore into him. “And if you have an ounce of sense left in your head, you shall take it. For I am about to give you everything you deserve.”
A twist of fear went through his heart, because he was not so certain what he “deserved” was anything good.
Chapter Twenty
Sin did not quite know what to expect of Augustus’s home, but it was not this. He glanced around at the sedate yet finely appointed study in which he sat alone, a glass of brandy in one hand, the crackling warmth of a fire heating his trouser leg. It felt almost normal, as if he’d been plucked out of a nightmare and set down into another dream. It left him unsettled. His hand shook only a little as he took a deep, burning drink of his brandy.
Augustus strolled into the room in graceful ease. “Apologies for making you wait, Mr. Evernight. Cook was in a state over tonight’s dinner and Layla is off somewhere, unable to provide her assistance.”
Sin shoved up from his slouch, his mouth suddenly dry. “She lives here?” God. He did not want to see her. He couldn’t bear it.
As if Augustus knew Sin’s discomfort perfectly well – which the bastard likely did – the corners of his eyes crinkled, as he took the seat opposite Sin. “Yes. She is my ward at the moment.” He looked down at his hands, the backs of them hatch-marked with fine scars that shone white in the firelight. “However, I shall soon be leaving, and she shall need a new protector.”
The arm of the chair creaked beneath Sin’s grip. “If you dare suggest that I —”
“Come now, young St. John. You know perfectly well that I am suggesting it.” Augustus’s gaze was hard
and direct. “Do not deceive yourself in thinking that you do not want the position.”
A flush heated Sin’s cheeks. “Doesn’t matter what I want, only what is right. Even if I were in the position to watch over…” He swallowed past his dry throat. “I’m bound.” To the bitch. The fine taste of brandy turned acid on his tongue.
A log upon the grate snapped, sending sparks up the flue. And Augustus sat back in his leather chair. “Yes. You are.” Black eyes bore into Sin as Augustus’s mellow voice flowed into him. “And what would you do to be free? Anything?”
Sin snorted without humor. “Enter another form of bondage, you mean?” He shook his head. “You can go to bloody hell if you think I’ll do so again.”
“Hell is a state of mind. And you’re already there, are you not?”
Sin lurched out of his seat, his heart pounding. The fire in the hearth flared high. “Fuck you, Mr. Augustus.”
The man bloody laughed. A soft, rolling laugh. A fucking mockery. And then his expression fell to deadly serious. “Sit. Down.”
When Sin did not move, Augustus waved his hand in a lazy fashion. Sin became a puppet on strings, his limbs no longer his own. Down he flopped into the chair, and there he stayed, not able to use his powers or move from his seat.
“Now,” said Augustus. “Give your rage a rest for a moment.” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his bent knees. “The fact is that Mab has never been weaker than at this moment.”
Sin didn’t know what to make of that knowledge. He was blood bound to serve her. It wasn’t as though he could destroy her. No matter how much he yearned to.
Smiling a bit, Augustus continued. “She used up much of her power to hold Aodh’s in check. Yes, I know all about Aodh,” he added. “And for the first time in centuries, several kin of her direct bloodline live.”
“Eliza.”
“Not merely Eliza, but you, Holly, the Ellis sisters.”
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