“Fox-girls,” Cormac winced. “I’d still rather fight a river demon in my smalls.”
Tobias snorted. “As I recall, that didn’t end so well.”
“For the demon.”
“And nearly for you.”
He shrugged, grinning. “True.”
“Anyway, fox-girls, like all girls, will stop whatever they are doing to flirt with you.”
Cormac just grinned again. “Speaking of girls, if you’re here, who is trailing after the delectable Lovegrove cousin?”
“Some poor sod who’s being punished for falling asleep at the ball because he’d misplaced his shield charm,” Tobias replied. “Gretchen will eat him alive.” He shook his head. “I just don’t understand those girls,” he muttered.
“Girls aren’t meant to be understood,” Cormac returned. “Just appreciated.” There was a flash of something in his eyes that Tobias couldn’t read, but it was quickly replaced by Cormac’s usual lighthearted charm. “Anyway, I suspect they’d say the same about us.”
“I’m not even sure Gretchen Thorn is a girl,” Tobias returned. “I’ve seen demons with softer manners. She fights everything. All of the time.”
“Good,” he said. “You could use a little fight in your perfectly pressed life.”
Tobias narrowed his eyes. “What do you—”
“You must be talking about my sister,” Godric interrupted mildly. “She has that effect on people.” Though he looked as cheerful as ever, his wolfhound-familiar had an icy stare.
Tobias bowed politely. “You’re late.”
“Probably.” He didn’t seem too concerned about it. Tobias began to see the family resemblance between the twins. Most Ironstone students were keen to shadow Keepers for an afternoon.
Godric just glanced at Cormac and sighed. “There’s a dead girl flirting with you.”
Cormac grinned at the empty air. “Hello, lovely.”
Godric raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you find that the least bit disconcerting?”
Tobias snorted. “He’d find it more disconcerting not to have anyone flirting with him at all.”
Chapter 6
Penelope couldn’t help but admire the baskets of fruit in the stall half-curtained with strands of wooden beads. There were pomegranates, apples, pears, starfruit, pineapples, and sugar-dusted peeled grapes. She reached for a pear, gleaming like sunlight on gold. She’d never smelled anything sweeter. She could already feel the juice running down her chin. The old man behind the stall cackled. Her fingers brushed the fruit tenderly.
And then someone spun her sharply away, and she grabbed nothing but air.
The old man hissed his disappointment. Her own thirst for the fruit made her throat ache.
“You don’t want to eat those,” Cedric warned her, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist. “Goblin fruit.”
She blinked at him. “What?” She felt bewildered and unbearably sad at the loss of the pear. She fought back tears.
“Goblin fruit will leave you addicted, like the blokes in the opium dens,” he continued. “Some will even steal years off your life.”
“Oh.” She snatched back her hand. The clouds skittered over the sun. Cedric pulled her away from the stall, until she stopped stealing glances back at the baskets. She felt as though cobwebs were being pulled from her eyes. Her spider familiars raced around her, glowing irritably. She blinked up at Cedric again.
He wore his usual trousers and white shirt open slightly at the throat. No aristocrat would deign to show his throat in public; he’d wrap it up in a complicated cravat. Cedric was the coachman’s son, and he couldn’t afford cravats. He didn’t wear colognes, either, or pad the shoulders of his coat to make himself seem larger. He was strong and muscular and honest. She had to remind herself that Cedric didn’t feel the least bit romantic toward her. “What are you doing here?” she asked, coming out of her bewilderment.
“Your mother doesn’t trust the Greybeards,” he replied.
“Did he follow me here?” She peered over his shoulder. “Do you know who it is today? Ian said he had other plans, so someone else would be watching me.”
“I can’t believe you’re on a first-name basis with him.”
“I like him.”
“I’m still setting the dogs on him. Anyway, the other two are still watching the house, waiting for your cousins to emerge. They’re just students. They clearly don’t think you can get into trouble at home.” His smile was crooked and familiar. “And so they’ve just as clearly never met you before.”
He bought a small tin of lemon drops from a woman selling sweets and marzipan birds. He handed Penelope one of the candies. “Try one of these instead. They taste like sunshine.”
She popped one into her mouth while slipping her arm through his. He didn’t know it, but she’d keep the little tin in the keepsake box on her desk. She kept all of the little gifts he gave her, even though they meant nothing to him. She couldn’t help herself.
“Since you’re spying on us anyway, you can help us find this Toad Mother. Emma needs …” She paused, eyes widening. “I hear music! In my head!” She tilted her head, shaking it as though there were water in her ears.
Cedric chuckled. “It’s the lemon drop.”
“It’s brilliant!” There was a pianoforte playing music just for her. She listened carefully, trying to memorize the tune. She wondered if she could play it herself, or if it would float away once the candy had dissolved.
“What have you done to Penelope?” Gretchen asked. “She looks barmy.”
“Magic sweets,” Cedric replied. “She’s listening to music.”
Penelope closed her mouth with a snap, once she realized it had been hanging open. She swallowed the last of the lemon drop hastily, nearly choking.
“You’re not spying on us too, are you?” Gretchen asked.
“Just her.” Cedric tilted his chin in Penelope’s direction without an ounce of apology. “In case her Keeper is a prat.”
“Ian’s perfectly amiable.”
“Mine’s a prat though,” Gretchen sighed enviously. “So’s Emma’s.”
“Let’s not get distracted,” Emma suggested drily. Her antlers were covered in moths. There were more clinging to her shoulders like a fluttering shawl. People were starting to stare. A snake slithered out of a rainspout, trying to reach her. Dozens came down the bridge, spooking a Pegasus. A little girl chased them, scooping them into a wire birdcage mounted on a slender pole.
“Might I be of assistance?”
“Lord Beauregard!” Penelope exclaimed, turning to stare at Lucius. “I didn’t know you were a … that is …”
He smiled at her, the light glinting off the silver buttons of his coat. “Witchery runs in my family too, yes.” He blocked a serpent from crawling over Penelope’s foot with the end of his walking stick. “We appear to be overrun.”
“Aye,” Cedric agreed without inflection.
Lucius reluctantly tore his gaze away from Penelope. “I beg your pardon. I see you already have an escort.”
“Lord Beauregard, this is Cedric Walker.” Penelope introduced them, despite the fact that no one bothered to introduce stable hands and family servants to earls. Cedric nodded a greeting.
Lucius’s gaze went back to Penelope. He smiled shyly. “I hope you like tulips.”
“They are my favorite,” she assured him. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Well, they are very beautiful, thank you.”
“My pleasure.” An osprey landed nearby, black eyes gleaming. His beak looked wickedly sharp.
“I’m afraid we must be on our way,” Penelope said to Lucius, disappointment plain in her voice.
“Until we meet again then, my lady.” He kissed the back of her hand, winking up at her when the others couldn’t see. Her cheeks went pink. She couldn’t help but watch him until he turned a corner and disappeared from view.
“This way,” Cedric said quietly, leading t
hem in the opposite direction.
Never mind that London Bridge shouldn’t be able to host invisible markets; it certainly shouldn’t be able to contain the volume of shops, stalls, and alleyways of the goblin markets. Once off the main path, it became a warren of hidden walkways. The cousins followed Cedric down an alley with cobblestones covered in snow even though it was a warm April morning everywhere else. Frost flowers climbed up the rainspouts. Icicles dripped on their heads and the alley stretched on far longer than was logical before ending abruptly at the railing overlooking the river.
Jutting out from the ironwork was a small thatched cottage, no larger than the fruit-seller’s stall. Pink smoke curled out of the holes in the roof between a veritable legion of gargoyles. They were only the size of teacups, but they covered every inch, like grass growing on a manicured lawn. A bell hung on a post, more rust than iron. Cedric rang it but it stayed silent. “She’ll hear it,” he assured them. “It’s best not to surprise the Toad Mother.”
“How will we know if she … oh.” Emma interrupted herself when toads emerged from the tiny fenced-off area in front of the green door. There were dozens of them, squatting on the stones and moving slowly between the pots of herbs. They had to pick their way carefully between live toads and glowing toad familiars that gave one an unpleasant shock when touched accidentally.
“Visitors,” the Toad Mother said, emerging from her house. Her voice was as earthy and dark as her magic. She wore a simple woolen gown and a shawl over her shoulders. Her hair was unbound, brown, and streaked with gray. Her eyes were a strange pale green. She was beautiful in a hypnotic, slightly sinister way, like a cobra waiting to strike. She tilted her head. “Cedric.”
The toads hopped slowly toward him. He didn’t seem concerned, but Gretchen saw the way he angled himself so that he was slightly in front of the cousins. His smile was easy and uncomplicated. “Toad Mother,” he said with a bow.
“My little ones have missed you,” she said. Her voice seemed to multiply, as though there were several of her, all whispering together. She wore a silver toad necklace crouched in the middle of her collarbone, and there were tiny toad bones braided into the fringe of her shawl.
Her gaze drifted to the moths covering Emma’s antlers, and her lips pursed. “That’s a nasty piece of business, my girl.”
“Yes.” Emma nodded, not bothering with explanations or excuses. “It is.”
“What have you brought me, then?”
Gretchen frowned, feeling for the reticule she always forgot to carry with her. “I don’t have any money,” she whispered.
“Me neither,” Penelope whispered back. She unclasped the ruby pendant on a silver chain around her neck. “Only this.”
“But that’s not what you want, is it?” Emma asked steadily. “The last time I bought a magic charm, money never changed hands.”
“Clever girl,” the Toad Mother approved, waiting.
“A lock of my hair,” Emma offered.
She laughed. “What would I want with that? I’ve got my own hair, don’t I? And I’m not One-Eyed Joe, collecting trinkets.”
“What do you want then?” Emma asked quietly.
“Let’s talk, shall we?” The Toad Mother beckoned. Her witch knot was the color of dried blood. The ospreys wheeled away from her house in a panic of feathers. When the moths drifted too near, their wings turned to flames and smoke.
Emma took a deep breath and started to follow. Penelope and Gretchen were right behind her, practically tripping on her hem.
The Toad Mother looked over her shoulder, her glance withering. “Only you.”
Emma nodded, her cheeks pale but her posture resolute.
“But …” Penelope would have kept walking if Cedric hadn’t caught her hand. His fingers twined with hers. Gretchen paused when the toads glowed a vitriolic swamp green.
“Is it safe?” Penelope whispered to Cedric.
“Aye,” he said. “Safe enough.”
• • •
“Damn it,” Tobias snapped as he caught the musky, earthy scent of the fox-girls again. “They’re leaving the bridge.”
“Fox-girls never hunt in the city,” Cormac pointed out for Godric’s benefit. “That can’t be good.”
They left London Bridge behind, following Thames Street along the river. Ships crowded the river and gulls screeched for food. “There are too many broken wards and too few Keepers,” Tobias said. “If we can’t get it sorted, it will threaten the authority of the Order. The Carnyx are already patrolling every night because we can’t cover all of London anymore.”
Tobias strode along, trying not to look as though he was sniffing the wind. There was something to be said for having the reputation of being a haughty viscount. People expected his nose to be up in the air.
“Still, you’re right,” Cormac continued. “My sister Talia is having more nightmares than usual. She keeps screaming about London being covered in ice and bones.”
“Have you taken her to the dream temple?”
“She can’t sleep when she’s there, which makes it difficult for them to truly analyze her dreams.”
“Even the ghosts seem out of sorts,” Godric admitted. “Scared, almost.”
“Makes sense,” Cormac said. “They’d feel the magic in the city more keenly than we would.”
There was a faint chorus of yips just under the general chaos of the streets as they turned off toward Fleet Street. Dust billowed out from under carriage wheels and street-sweeper boys darted back and forth between the horses. “This way.”
They passed redbrick coffeehouses and chocolate houses, the pavements outside teeming with passersby. Burning sugar and roasted coffee trailed from the open doorways, momentarily sweetening the competing smells of runoff, horses, and fox-girls. Still, a gang of fox-girls shouldn’t be difficult to track, even without scent markers.
Before they could pass through the Temple bar gateway, where Fleet Street turned into the Strand, Tobias stopped. “They’re in the Inner Temple,” he said, pushing through the wooden arched doorway of a Tudor-style house. Beyond lay the long brick buildings where barristers did their work, and extensive gardens. He vaulted over the decorative railings with their pegasi and griffins and into a moat of roses. Petals stuck to his shoes as he made his way to the orchards.
Among the quince and walnut trees were five fox-girls in their customary red cloaks. They were tall, with dark flashing eyes and pupils too oval to be strictly human. They yipped and taunted a shadow hiding in an upper branch. Tobias had a sense of quivering but not much else. His wolf stirred, sensing both prey and predator. The fox-girls felt him before they heard him.
They turned their heads slowly, all smiles and snarls. They wore mostly brown or white dresses under their red cloaks, leather belts bristling with daggers, even though in Tobias’s experience, they preferred running their prey to ground until they were too exhausted to fight back.
“She stole from us,” the fox-girl with the auburn braid said defensively, before anyone else could speak. Godric bowed, ingrained politeness stronger even than wild girls. Come to think of it, he was likely well used to wild girls, being Gretchen’s brother.
Tobias peered up the walnut tree, finally catching a glimpse of a girl in a gray dress. She was barely twelve years old, with dirt on her nose and her hem. Tobias the wolf instantly knew her for a rabbit-girl. But she reminded Tobias the gentleman of his little sister Posy. Worse yet, rabbit-girls rarely traveled alone. If the rest of her family came searching for her, it would be next to impossible to hide the altercation from cowans. Especially barristers and solicitors, trained to look keenly. Magic already shimmered around them, glittering in the bright afternoon.
“You can come down,” he said softly. “They won’t hurt you.”
She shook her head mutely.
“Oi, she’s ours,” the redheaded fox-girl snapped. “We’ve a right to hunt her, by witch rules and shifter rules both.” Unlike Tobias, fox-girls never hid their s
hifter blood.
“What did she steal?” Cormac asked lightly, as if they were discussing how she took her tea.
“A moonstone,” a fox-girl with skin like sweet chocolate answered. She nodded to the redhead. “Kitsu saw her.”
Tobias bit back a sigh. Rabbit-shifters never could resist anything to do with the moon, and fox-shifters were notorious for dealing savagely with thieves. They were territorial and fearless.
“I didn’t steal anything,” the rabbit-girl whispered, voice trembling. “Honest.”
“I saw you,” Kitsu insisted hotly. Tobias had to hold her back and was nearly bitten for his trouble.
“Anyway, didn’t think the Order had the time to bother with us,” one of the girls said. “Shouldn’t you be out there dealing with warlocks and uncontrolled magic?”
“We always have the time,” Tobias said sharply, exchanging a grim glance with Cormac. “Especially when you take your hunt out into London. You know it’s forbidden.”
Kitsu shrugged out of his grip. “It was one of you Greybeards who told us to take it off the bridge.”
His eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Said we’d have more sport if we took to the streets.”
“You’re lying.”
She bared her teeth. The others shifted to stand behind her, bristling. Cormac stepped forward with his lazy, charming smile. “Ladies,” he said. “I think we can agree there’s no sport to a girl up a tree.” They scowled at him. He spread his hands, unconcerned. “Chasing a viscount”—he winked—“now that’s a proper sport.”
The redhead snorted but her stance softened slightly, despite herself. “Not everyone wants a lordling,” she said.
“True,” he agreed. He bowed, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, which were scratched and bruised from digging through brambles. “But you can’t blame me for trying.” He straightened. “Let us hunt more pleasurable pursuits. There’s a bounty on a herd of piskies running loose and stealing horses. I reckon fox-girls could hunt them down before anyone else.”
They glanced at one another, intrigued. “How much?” Kitsu demanded.
Whisper the Dead Page 10
