A Study in Darkness (45 page)

The glass stilled, the corners of his mouth twitching down. “There are some things that don’t change just because you eat with four different forks at a meal. It’s in our blood.” Quick
as a cat, he had her chin in his hand, his fingers rough on her skin. Inexorably, he turned her face to look across the tavern.

“Watch that man in the caped coat. The one with the silver watch chain.” Nick’s voice was furred with a pained blend of command and entreaty. “There is a world only we see, things only you and I experience. One that binds us together in ways we don’t understand.”

She wanted to argue, but couldn’t—because what she saw was all the evidence he needed. The man in the caped coat was sitting alone, his head bent to his task. As Nick spoke, he poured a small measure of bright green liquid into a glass. It sparkled like emeralds—full of fire and shimmer, even in the murky yellow light. The man balanced a cube of sugar on a slotted spoon and placed it across the lip of the glass.

“He’s drinking absinthe,” she said.

“Have you seen it before?”

“No. But what else is that color?”

“There are other drinks, but you wouldn’t find them here. Now watch.” He let his hand slip away, the grip of his fingers turning into a caress.

The man lifted a pitcher and began dribbling water through the sugar into the glass. The liquid below churned with the drops, turning a milky shade. But that was not all that happened. As the bright color disappeared from the liquor, it seeped into the air around the glass, forming an unearthly nimbus of green light.

Evelina gasped. “The drink has a deva!” she whispered.

The glow swelled, surrounding the man. As he lifted the glass to his lips, it pulsed around him like a swirling cloak. Evelina watched with fascination.

“They call absinthe the green fairy,” Nick said. “They have no idea. Once it’s swallowed, the deva stays with the one who drank it for a while.”

The implications boggled Evelina, but her thoughts snagged on something far more basic. “Why does that happen?”

“I think it’s the wormwood in it. Your Gran always said it
was a tricky plant. The spirits that tend it refuse to let it go. And that’s why poets love the drink so much. They see things not meant for mortals through the deva’s eyes.”

She reluctantly tore her gaze from the green-shrouded man and scanned the other tables. No one was paying the slightest heed. She and Nick were the only ones in the Indifference Device remotely aware of what was going on in their midst, and they saw because they both had the Blood.

And while others might belong to the Bloodlines, the gift had thinned and weakened over time, rarely reaching its full expression. As with Hyacinth’s family, too many had gone to their death with their lands and fortunes forfeit. Even in Gran’s generation, few could see devas, much less speak to them. What Evelina and Nick had was rare.

She turned to study Nick’s dark face. His air was challenging, daring her to refute his proof. She couldn’t. She and Nick shared a hidden and very dangerous world, and he’d just shown her how it bound them together. It was an obvious fact, but she wasn’t used to thinking of it that way. She’d always thought of their magic keeping them apart.

“We see alike,” she conceded.

His lips curled into a rueful smile. “Did I just score a point?”

She was trying to frame a reply when a boom resounded through the tavern. All conversation died in an instant, the patrons freezing to utter stillness. The only motion came from the flames of the tallow candles, dancing in the stifling air of the cavelike room. Evelina didn’t know what the sound meant, but fear slid through her, leaving a coppery taste on her tongue. Moving on instinct, she gathered her skirts and slowly rose from her chair. “What is it?” she whispered.

“By the Dark Mother,” Nick muttered. “It has to be the Blue Boys.”

They were the Blue King’s foot soldiers, barely more than street rats but as ruthless as fire. And if the Indifference Device was off the grid that meant it was fair game for their sport. The sound came again, and this time she recognized it as something heavy banging against the locked door. She saw one or two men tossing back drinks as if they might be
their last. She turned to Nick, who was already on his feet beside her, settling his hat back on his straight dark hair.

“How do we get out of here?” she asked, incredibly grateful that he was there.

He grabbed her hand, his face grim. “This way.”

He wound his way between the tables, working his way toward the bar. Casks of wine and ale were stacked to the ceiling behind it, and for a crazed moment Evelina wondered if he intended to hide her in a barrel, but he began veering to the right. By now the other patrons were stirring, more or less urgently depending on how much they’d drunk. The one constant was that they all tried to move as silently as they could, all too aware that there were predators outside.

Nick had just steered her around the long bar when the door gave way with a resounding crack. Splinters of wood flew down the stairs, then there was another boom as the door left its hinges. And then came the sound of running feet and the bellows and whoops of the intruders.

Evelina caught a glimpse of them—big men, some in cloth caps, others in the hard-topped hats worn by the fishmongers on the docks. Their only uniform was the long blue scarf slung over the shoulder like a baldric—and their many-barreled weapons.

The first two down the stairs fired into the crowd, clusters of bullets tearing through flesh. Nick dragged Evelina behind the bar, sheltering her with his own body from the explosion of glass, lead, and spilling wine. Bullets flew over their heads, crashing into the casks against the wall behind them. Ale fountained out in a torrent. There was a momentary silence, broken only by a wail. Whether it was a man or a woman, Evelina could not tell. With a trembling hand, she reached into her pocket, through the slash she had opened in the seam, and drew the Webley from the makeshift holster she had strapped to her thigh. Nick gave a quick nod of approval, drawing his own revolver and looking around. She could feel the heat of his body as they crouched together, her breathing quick and light, his barely faster than it had been when they’d been sitting drinking wine. She felt tears on her
cheeks, though she bit her lips together to keep from making a sound.

Then shots fired again, and it was pandemonium—shrieks and the sound of rending wood as furniture shattered on the other side of the bar. Evelina peeked over the edge to see patrons flying up the stairs, their panicked numbers making up for the fact that most weren’t armed. Nick nudged her and pointed to a narrow path between the barrels. Then he rose up and fired a volley of shots, hitting one of the invaders. He pulled Evelina down again, ducking a thunder of gunfire. Nick repeated his pointing gesture, more urgently this time. Her gun in one hand, her skirts in the other, Evelina darted forward in a crouch, turning sideways to wriggle through the gap between the stacks of casks, her scalp prickling as she imagined bullets flying at her back.

Nick was right behind her, catching up as she squeezed through the narrow passage and into a small room lined with crates of empty bottles. “There’s a door at the back,” he said.

It was dark, lit only by light leaking from the other room, but Evelina could see enough. A black ring of cast iron served as the door handle, but it was no higher than her knee. She lifted it and tugged, but the door barely budged. She cursed, too scared to act the lady. Then Nick shouldered her out of the way, pulling hard. It opened with a groan of old wood, opening a space only a few feet high and stinking with mold. There wasn’t much to see in the square of darkness, but there was a ladder leading downward.

Nick flashed a grin. “You don’t think I’d go anywhere without a secret escape route do you?”

She wanted to make a clever retort, but her mind was frozen. She just turned to start backing down the ladder. A raucous laugh sounded far too close, and she jerked with fear. Nick put a gentle hand to her cheek, the brush of his thumb a quick, silent comfort.

Evelina started at a motion behind him. Reflexively, she raised her gun. Nick spun, firing before Evelina had even figured out what she was looking at.

She made a terrified moan as the man who had been about
to shoot Nick dropped his own weapon, his legs gradually buckling. He hit the floor twitching, the top of his skull shot off. Face grim, Nick fired again, this time into the chest, and the man was still. It was over in a matter of seconds. Evelina stared in shock.

He shoved her toward the door. “Go!”

The single word snapped her back into the moment. Evelina dove for the opening, relieved to find that the ladder dropped only about twenty feet before reaching the ground. It was dark as only a place with no access to the sky can be. Nick pulled the door shut behind them, plunging them into utter dark. She heard him start to climb, following the sounds until he let go, jumping the rest of the way. His boots hit the earth with a soft thud.

“Wait,” said Evelina in a shaky voice. “What about the others upstairs? Why isn’t anyone else coming?”

“All the regulars know about the door. They’ll come if they can.”

Now that they were out of the worst of it, her head swam with a rush of spent terror. She gripped the ladder, grateful for the cold metal against her palm. The darkness pressed down as she took in a long breath, the musty air choking her. She tried not to think of that man’s head flying to pieces, or that there were still people dying. She thought of Tess, the saucy girl who’d brought their wine. For a moment, her chest ached so hard she thought she couldn’t stand. She wanted to have helped the others—the absinthe drinker, the barkeep, Tess—but there had been no chance. It had just been good luck that had seen them through.

She felt Nick’s hand on her arm, steadying her. “We have to move.”

Evelina wiped away the perspiration that ran into her eyes, then gave a single nod. And then she realized he couldn’t see her. “Do you have any matches?”

She heard the rustle of clothing and the scrape of something on brick. A match flared, a firefly of light. Nick pointed to a dark tunnel ahead. “If we follow this, we’ll come out almost by Commercial Street.”

They hurried forward, covering as much distance as they
could before that match went out, too. Evelina had a brief impression of arching brickwork as the area beneath the tavern narrowed into a tight passage. “What is this tunnel for?”

“It was part of a sewer once, before someone dug so deep the waterways changed,” Nick said. “Now it’s a way to move things without being seen.” He took her hand, finding it at once despite the dark. “We should save the matches.”

“Won’t we get lost?”

“Don’t worry,” he squeezed her hand. “I’m used to this.”

He pulled her close, slipping an arm around her waist. It reminded her of when they had been children together, him helping her learn to ride a horse, or to walk the tight rope they strung for children but a few feet from the ground. She had trusted him utterly.

But now it was so dark, and they were underground without even the faded light of stars. She held out her hand, summoning a faint glow of witchlight into her palm. It cast a weak light, barely enough to see their feet, but at least they could move with more confidence.

“Evelina,” Nick said in a tight voice, “that’s not a deva.”

“It’s witchlight. I know Gran wouldn’t approve, but I’m being practical.”

After a beat, Nick gave a quick nod. “You’re right, but be ready to put that out in an instant. There’s no telling what that light might attract.”

They moved forward, Nick keeping her within the circle of his arm. Evelina closed her eyes, her ears gathering information her sight could not. Small creatures moved in the dark, scurrying away as they approached. Voices carried from somewhere, sometimes laughing, more often murmuring low. Once, she heard an out-of-tune piano. There had to be other tunnels, because occasionally she felt a cross draft and sudden space around her, but Nick kept walking in a straight line, silent as a shadow. He held her close, never letting her stumble, but she could feel the tension in his muscles. They might have escaped the deadly raid, but his body told her that they were far from safe in that strange underground world.

All at once, he stopped. It only took her a moment to
guess why. The ground had been rising, and a few yards ahead was a short stairway leading to an ironwork gate. Beyond the gate was open air—and more Blue Boys. Evelina was snug in the crook of Nick’s arm, pressed close enough that she could feel the throb of his heart quicken when he saw them.

She dulled the witchlight until there was just enough to see Nick’s face. He jerked his chin in the direction they had come from. Wordlessly, Evelina complied, doing her best to move as quietly as he did. They retraced their steps about forty paces, and she felt the currents of air change.

Suddenly, he pushed her deep into the shadows, blocking her with his body until she could just see over his shoulder into the tunnel beyond. “Put out the light,” he mouthed, his lips so close to her ear it was barely a whisper.

She did and saw at once there was another light ahead. Shadows crawled over the brickwork, flickering in a way that suggested flame. Nick saw it, too—she could tell by the way his muscles tensed. Then, some distance down the tunnel, a torch appeared, the light throwing all else into darkness. Evelina strained to see who bore it. Fear kept her alert, but even so burning the witchlight had tired her, and her eyes blurred with the effort of peering through the thick shadows.

The torch was coming their way, and soon she saw it was held by one of four figures in ragged dark clothing. She thought they were all men, but it was impossible to be certain, for they all wore something—a hat or a hood—that obscured their face.

They carried with them an aura of something fearful, a sensation that hovered between the physical and emotional. It reminded Evelina of the aftermath of a horrifying tale, or the moment one is sure to receive devastating news. It surrounded the figures like a fog. Distress bubbled inside her, pushing up her throat like an irresistible pressure. Her breathing quickened with the urge to whimper or cry out. Nick shifted, holding her closer. She was about to bury her face in his sleeve, hiding her eyes like a child, but then the
group with the torch turned away, taking another tunnel, and leaving them alone in the dark.