Tiki bristled at the undercurrent of superiority in his voice. She would not give him the pleasure of seeing her irritation, so she turned to walk away.
Rieker stepped into her path. “I tried to tell you to leave MacGregor alone. You barely got away.”
“But I did get away.” She veered around him and hurried up the street.
“A bit of luck, there.” He easily kept pace with her. “But you better listen now.”
“No time.” He would not intimidate her, she told herself, trying not to shiver.
He put an arm out to stop her. His voice was low and urgent. “You need to listen to me, Tiki.”
Tiki jerked around and faced him. Purple shadows colored the skin under his eyes, and for a second she wondered where Rieker slept at night. Wherever it was, it didn’t appear that he slept well. “Why? You and your gang take more risks than any of us.”
He slipped a not-so-gentle hand under her elbow and steered her down the street past shop doorways and pubs, through the growing crowd of people on the street. No one gave them a second glance. “I’m just looking out for your well-being, Teek.”
She didn’t believe him for a second. Just who did Rieker think he was, anyway?
“I don’t want your help.”
Rieker’s voice was soft in her ear. “But you’ve got something I want.”
“I can’t imagine what that would be.” Tiki spoke with a bravado she didn’t feel.
“I think maybe you can, my crafty little friend.” Was that a note of respect in his voice? “Let’s just be straight with one another. I followed you from the World’s End last night.” He left the words hanging, letting Tiki draw her own conclusions.
“And what of it?” Tiki jerked her arm free.
His lips tightened in a thin line. She could feel tension emanating from him. “I want the ring, Tiki.”
She took a step back, her jaw dropping in surprise. How did Rieker know about the ring? He must be bluffing.
She lifted her chin and asked in an innocent voice, “What ring?”
His hand lashed out and grasped her arm before she could dart away. Rieker’s tight grip slid over her small wrist, yanking her sleeve up to the elbow. His eyes locked on her mark.
“That’s what I thought.” His fingers dug into her skin.
“Let go of me.” Tiki tried to wrench her arm loose, but he held tight.
“An fáinne sí,” he said in a language she didn’t recognize.
“What did you say?” She stopped pulling, her eyes steady on him now.
“The mark of the fey,” he whispered. His intensity scared her. “I thought that’s what I saw last night.”
“The mark of the what?”
Rieker’s eyes narrowed at her. “Who are you exactly, Tiki?” His fingers tightened on her wrist. “You’re more than just a pickpocket, aren’t you?” He studied her face until it felt as though he could see her every thought. “You speak too well—you’ve been educated. What’s your secret?”
Memories flashed through her mind. Her mother and father smiling at her as they rode horses through Hyde Park on a sunny day. Their pale faces, drenched in sweat from the fever, dying within days of each other. Her aunt’s tears at the funeral, a blurry image of her mother. Later, crouched alone in the darkness of a small cupboard, her knees clutched to her chest as she prayed that her uncle wouldn’t find her.
Tiki clenched her teeth. “I’m nobody.”
His gaze traced the contours of her face. “You don’t know what you’ve done, Tiki,” he said. “They’re looking for the ring. Trust me when I tell you that you don’t want them to find you first.”
Tiki took a step back. “Then leave me alone and maybe they won’t.” She yanked her arm free and ran as fast as she could, dodging people on the sidewalk, ignoring their shocked glances. Once she was far enough that she felt safe, she glanced back over her shoulder. Rieker had disappeared.
Tiki slowed, her thoughts drawn back to his startling questions. The words he had uttered when he saw her birthmark echoed in her ears. An fáinne sí. The mark of the fey, he had said. What did he know of such things? And how could Rieker have known about the ring? Had he followed her all the way to the palace?
A sudden urgency filled her.
Tiki whirled around and raced back toward Charing Cross. She needed to change and go check on the ring. Now.
Chapter Five
“WHERE’S the ring, Leo?” Arthur frowned at Leo from across the room. “Mother is positively apoplectic about the thing being gone.”
“I don’t know where the bloody ring is.” Leo’s voice echoed his frustration. “How many times do I have to tell you that? I had Harrison up half the night drawing up handbills. He went out this morning and posted them around town in places where thieves might congregate. Considering the reward I’m offering, somebody will know something about the disappearance.”
“Could you possibly explain to me one more time why you felt compelled to get the blasted thing out of Mother’s lockbox?” Arthur shook his head in disgust. “Honestly, Leo, you know better.”
“I already told you. I wanted to see it. To confirm the ring was there.” Leo’s face hardened. “I don’t need to ask for your permission.”
“Surely you understand the seriousness of the situation.” Arthur’s expression was grim. “That’s the ring of Ériu. The ring which is said to be the reservoir that holds the truce that bound the faeries to peace with us.”
Leo snorted in disgust. “And have you confirmed this with the faeries, Arthur? Are they threatening war now?” He shook his head and paced to the window, his back straight and taut. The wind raged and the rain beat against the pane with a staccato rhythm, tapping against the glass like someone trying to get in.
Arthur frowned. “No, but let’s just say I’d rather not take any chances. You do remember the fire of 1809 that decimated the private apartments at St. James’ Palace when the ring disappeared for a time? And you remember the floods on the east coast? Should the ring go missing, then forces beyond our ken can wreak havoc upon us.” He strode closer to Leo. “It’s not public knowledge, but there’s talk among the family that the great fire of London in 1666 was a direct attack by the fey.” He stood next to his brother, hands clasped behind his back. “It’s not a legend to be trifled with.”
“Maybe this is a test,” Leo said. “Perhaps Mother found the ring and is testing us in some way. Measuring our devotion to the crown.”
“A test?” Arthur repeated. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated the idea. “You think Mother hid the ring herself?”
“Your mother didn’t hide the ring.” A voice, shaky with age, interrupted them. “She’s taken sick to her bed, she has.”
“Mamie.” Leo smiled at the diminutive woman. Macha Gallagher seemed as old as England herself. She’d been his mother’s lady-in-waiting since Victoria had taken the throne at age eighteen. Now near eighty, she lived in her own little house nestled among the trees and birds at the far end of St. James’s Park but still tended to Victoria upon her request. “Come for a visit, have you?”
“Your mother asked for me.” She shook a gnarled finger at them. “She knew I would understand the significance of what’s happened.”
Leo’s eyes shifted to his brother and back to the white-haired woman. “You can’t be serious. It’s a bloody ring, for God’s sake. Don’t tell me you two think the faerie curse is still real?”
“It wasn’t a curse.” Arthur raised his hands and let them fall back to his sides. “Can’t you remember anything? It was a truce. Peace, for the right of their kind to walk among us undetected. If the ring is lost or destroyed, then the truce is void and the faeries are no longer bound to peace.”
“And what does war gain them?” Leo asked. “Or walking among us undetected, for that matter.” He didn’t want to believe in faeries.
“Don’t you remember anything I told you growing up? The fey will don a glamour, a skin that makes them look human,
and cross over into this world.” Mamie took a shuffling step closer to them. “There is a battle as old as time waging for control in the Otherworld. Those in the Seelie court believe joining with mortals will give them more power. But others, the UnSeelies, they like to take things, use nature to break things, create chaos. They like to steal mortals away.” She lowered her voice. “Some even want to kill us.”
“And you believe this, Mamie?”
“Leopold.” Her bright blue eyes didn’t blink. “Can’t you feel them watching you? Haven’t you seen their shadows move out of the corner of your eye?”
Leo tried to ignore the prickly feeling crawling along the back of his neck, unwilling to acknowledge the truth of her statement. He turned to his brother. “I mean really, Arthur, maybe when we were children, but you can’t still believe these old wives’ tales.”
“Your mother’s illness is not a coincidence,” Mamie said. “Mark my words, young man, her health will continue to decline until the ring is back in her possession. This is just the beginning.” The old woman’s voice held a warning note. “Check your horses in the morning, if you don’t believe me. See if any have gone lame.” She held out a shaking hand and braced herself on the back of a chair. “The two of you must be very careful. And keep a close eye on Baby, your sister. The fey like young girls.”
Arthur looked at Leo. “You can say the stories aren’t true, and I can say they’re not true, but who can really be sure? And more important, do you dare risk it?” He walked across the library and paused at the door. “Whether the truce is real or not, people believe it’s real. History tells us it’s real. We need to find the ring. And dear brother, since you lost the stone, it’s your job to find the bloody thing. Find it now.”
* * *
LEO rode hard across the field, working out the steed’s muscles as well as his own frustration. Damn the ring! Why had he even taken the cursed thing out of its velvet-lined box?
It had been that chance encounter with Isabelle Cavendish upon her return from Paris. She was the one who had started him thinking about the ring. All of her questions, her curiosity, had piqued his own interest.
Black clouds of an approaching storm gathered in the distance, and the rumble of thunder mingled with the beat of his horse’s hooves. Questions without answers ran round and round in his head, and no matter how hard or fast he rode, he couldn’t escape them. If Isabelle hadn’t looked so pretty, he would have ignored her queries. But Leo didn’t remember her eyes being quite so vivid or her skin like a porcelain doll’s when he’d seen her last summer. The Continent had agreed with her. It wasn’t until after he had left her company that he’d felt a twinge of guilt at the information he’d revealed. It had been that same guilt that had made him take the ring from the hiding place to ensure its safekeeping.
When his mother had entered the Octagon Library so unexpectedly, he’d tossed the ring under the desk. But when he’d returned later to retrieve the stone, it was gone. For a moment Leo wondered if the faeries had reclaimed it, then cursed out loud for even letting the idea sneak into his head. There had to be some logical explanation.
Leo sat up straight in the saddle as an idea occurred to him. Arthur. His brother would think it a marvelous joke to get everyone stirred up at the thought of the ring gone missing. Arthur knew he’d dropped the ring under the desk. Could his brother have sneaked back into the library later and pocketed the stone?
Leo pulled Diablo to a stop as he contemplated the idea. The horse’s sides heaved from exertion, steam rising from the beast in the crisp morning air, and Leo realized he had run the animal hard. An unusually strong blast of wind whipped his hair from his forehead, and Leo urged his mount forward at a slower pace, casting a wary eye at the black sky overhead. The storm was moving in quickly. He walked the horse along the lake within St. James’s Park to cool him down and mulled over the idea of Arthur’s involvement. The more he thought about it, the more he became certain that his brother was at the bottom of the mystery.
Damn him, anyway! Their annual trip to Balmoral was fast approaching, and he didn’t want to be delayed by this foolishness of the ring’s disappearance. At the same time, the sudden loss of the stone made him uneasy. What if there was something to the curse? Just as Mamie had predicted, one of their prized polo horses had gone lame this morning for no apparent reason. Perhaps it was a warning. Leo shook his head in exasperation. The ring needed to be found so he could leave without worry.
A sudden movement to the right caught his eye. It was a bit late for hare, but the moving shadow could have been a winter fox. He pulled Diablo up, peering into the brush. Something was amiss in the thicket at the bottom of an elm tree. With a start he saw a pair of eyes staring back at him.
“Come out of there at once,” Leo commanded. He spoke more harshly than he intended, in an attempt to disguise how unsettled he felt at someone lurking among the trees.
For a moment, the eyes didn’t move. Then, in a burst of energy, a small body came boiling out of the brush and ran in the opposite direction. Leo reacted by instinct. He kicked Diablo into a run, his eyes never leaving his prey.
The big horse broke into a gallop, and Leo leaned over in his saddle to grab the dirty vagrant by the scruff of the neck. After pulling his horse up, he slid ungracefully off the wrong side of the beast, still holding his struggling captive.
“Stop kicking and I’ll set you down.” Cautiously, he set his prisoner down, realizing as he did how small the boy was. “Now turn around and tell me what you’re doing here.”
The boy stood frozen for a moment, back stiff and straight; then, as if realizing there was no escape, the captive turned around.
“I do apologize, sir. I thought I was on the grounds of St. James’ Park. Tell me, have I mistakenly traveled onto Queen’s property here?” The boy spoke with surprisingly good diction.
“No, you’re correct. You’re in St. James’ Park. But why were you hiding in the brush?” Leo’s eyes narrowed as a flash of red caught his eye. “What’ve you got there?” He dropped Diablo’s reins and took a cautious step closer.
The boy clapped his hands together and held his palms up, his scrawny wrists exposed from his oversize jacket as he wiggled his fingers. “Nothing, sir.”
A strange black mark encircled the boy’s wrist, reminding Leo of new leaves on a vine, just waiting to unfurl. “What is that mark on your arm?” He grabbed the boy’s wrist and held it up to see better. “Are you a Gypsy?”
Quick as a wink, the boy jerked his slim arm free and stepped back, yanking his sleeve down. “Why do you ask?”
Leo eyed the dirty face shadowed by a battered cap. He tried to put his finger on what it was that bothered him beyond the tattered clothing and worn boots. A wild idea crossed his mind, and he gestured at the boy. “Empty out your pockets.”
For a second the boy stood frozen, surprise etched on his face. Then, without warning, he sprang toward Diablo with a wild cry, waving his arms and yelling. Leo jumped, as surprised as his horse. He jerked around and watched as his frightened beast shied, then bolted.
Outraged, Leo spun back around, but the boy had disappeared.
Chapter Six
TIKI’S lungs burned as she neared Mr. Lloyd’s shop, the ring heavy in her pocket. That had been a narrow escape. What would the prince have done if he’d found the ring in her possession? An image of a dank cell complete with the sound of rats scurrying underfoot clouded her vision, causing her to stumble.
Why had she felt compelled to check on the ring? She needed to focus on helping Clara get well. It was painful to listen to the little girl’s hacking cough.
Tiki wiped her wet hair out of her face as she pushed her way into the shop, her boots loud on the wooden floor. Overhead, drying herbs hung in clumps from the wooden beams in the ceiling, casting a rich fragrance through the room. The combined scent of herbs and medicines that filled the air made her want to sneeze.
Mr. Lloyd, the apothecary, stood behind a wo
oden counter with glass panes that displayed a dizzying array of bottles. He was a thin, angular man with short, greasy black hair. His black mustache was just as thin as he was, little more than a black line painted above his lips. A pair of silver glasses perched on his hooked nose gave him the appearance of an emaciated owl.
At the sound of the door opening, he turned from where he was arranging herbs on a rack and looked Tiki up and down. “What’s your business?”
Tiki stepped up to the counter, pulling several coins from her pocket and jingling them in her hand. His eyes stopped on the coins long enough to see their color.
“I need something for a cough.” Tiki’s sides still heaved from her exertion. “For a child.”
On the wall behind the druggist, shelf upon shelf held bottles of different colors. The blue green glass marked the poison, while the brown and clear glass bottles held liquids of different colors. Other items were lined up on the shelves: tins, jars, pitchers, bowls, and a multitude of canisters.
“A cough, you say?” Mr. Lloyd adjusted his glasses to peer over the counter at her. “How old is the child?”
“She’s four.” Tiki adjusted her cap. “And small for her age.”
“Any red bumps or blisters?”
She shook her head, thankful Clara hadn’t shown any signs of the pox.
“Hmmm. Sounds like croup.” Mr. Lloyd rolled up his sleeves before plucking several bottles from the shelf. He slid them into the pockets of the great white apron he wore. “Does she have a fever?” he asked over his shoulder. He moved over to another counter, where he pulled the bottles from his apron and lined them up.
“No.” Tiki watched as he mixed yellow leaves with a white powder and ground the mixture together in a small bowl. Then he poured in a red liquid that had a rich, pungent odor, reminding Tiki of fruit that had gone bad. After a moment, he poured the now orange concoction into a small brown jar and pushed a cork into the top.
“That’ll be one shilling.”
The Faerie Ring Page 4
