Blood Kin (2 page)

I stifled the surge of relief, focusing on projecting innocence instead. “Yes, that’s me. My mother always said not to put things off until tomorrow that I can do today.”

Actually, these days, my mother didn’t say much at all. Mostly she smiled vaguely and listened when I went to visit her. My father, on the other hand . . .

“Does your mother know you climb around on the roof so late at night?”

“My mother is away just now. Besides, I’m five and twenty. Old enough to direct my own activities.”

“So I see.” He peered up at the roof again. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

I nodded vigorously, hoping to draw his eyes down to me, rather than the roof, which could only keep rousing his suspicions. I was quite cognizant of my good fortune in not being a bloody mess on the cobblestones. “Yes. Thank you, sir. I’m very grateful to you. Don’t you have to get on with your patrol? Catch some miscreants?”

His eyes returned to mine and I resisted the urge to flutter my eyelashes. That might be pushing the innocent young damsel in distress thing a little too far. Which was a pity, because his face was just as nice as his eyes if you liked big strong males with rough-hewn angles to jaw and cheek and chin.

Which I did. But this was a Templar, I reminded myself. Fluttering eyelashes would be wasted on him.

“I seem to have already caught someone,” he said, still not loosening his grip. His mouth lifted slightly, but I didn’t dare assume it was a joke.

“I’m nobody a Templar would be interested in. You were chasing someone, I heard you call out. That’s why I fell, you startled me.” I said, trying to deflect his attention into guilt.

“My squad will be dealing with that,” he said. His expression didn’t seem at all remorseful. It stayed alert with a hint of suspicion.

“That’s a relief,” I said. “We appreciate the work you do, keeping the streets safe,” I lied. Dodging Templars made my life harder, not easier. Particularly over the last few weeks with so much unrest. They seemed to be everywhere, but I hadn’t expected them in Seven Harbors. It was technically a border borough, but it was more Night World than anything else these days. “Now, if you’d let me down,” I continued, eager to be gone, “I’ll return to my rooms.”

Or see if I could gain another vantage point to observe the meeting. It was probably too late now, but I could at least retrieve the hear-mes and, Lady willing, get some notion of what they’d talked about. “Unless I’ve broken some law by falling off the roof. I promise, I wasn’t trying to do myself an injury. The dam—I mean, cursed—weather vane broke.”

His eyebrow—the scarred one—rose at my unladylike language and I tried again for a look of girlish innocence. Not really my forte. I berated myself inwardly for mentioning the law.
Stupid, Holly girl.

He was no fool, this warrior whose shoulders practically blotted out the light of the gas lamp above us. He suspected I was up to something. But he didn’t have a hair of proof and it wasn’t as though I were covered in blood or anything else that would suggest wrongdoing.

From farther down the street, there came the sounds of a scuffle. He turned to listen but the noise died away. When he faced me again, he frowned, looking torn. “Are you sure you’re unhurt?”

“I expect I’ll be a little bruised tomorrow,” I said, trying to sound responsible. “If it’s anything more than that, I’ll take myself off to a healer.”

“See that you do. Young ladies aren’t built for flitting around the sky like owls.”

I stiffened abruptly. The Owl was one of my aliases. Did he know who I was? Or suspect? “Yes, sir,” I said, trying to sound as innocent and ladylike as I knew how, given I’m neither. “I’m quite cured of heights for the foreseeable future.” Another lie, but I would make sure to use some of the rope in the supply bag I’d stashed on my way up to the roof to secure myself once I got back up there.

“Good.”

He made no move to put me down. Indeed, his expression was reluctant as he glanced once more at the roof, then back at me.

“Are you going to put me down or inspect me all night? I assure you, I’m unworthy of study.” I spoke too quickly, heartbeat speeding as I made the stupid comment about inspecting me all night. That could be interpreted in entirely the wrong way. He was handsome, this knight, but a Templar was no one I’d be taking to my bed, no matter how solid his arms might feel around me or how distracting the firm curve of his mouth.

His eyes angled toward the roof again. “Did you fix it? Your noisy weather vane?”

Was he offering help or still testing me? “It snapped,” I said, hoping to deter him from either option. “Neatly solving the problem. Please put me down.” I was starting to feel a little too comfortable in his arms, breathing in his odd scent of horse and man and leather and iron. Luckily iron doesn’t bother me as it does some half-breeds. I don’t have as strong magic as some of them, but that was traded for increased tolerance. In my line of work, being comfortable around iron comes in handy.

The Templar finally complied, setting me on my feet on the dampened cobbles. My back throbbed as I straightened, but I concealed the resulting wince. I didn’t want him dragging me off to St. Giles or Merciful James or some other hospital. That would take far too much time. I needed to get to the charms before their power faded.

Behind us the horse snorted softly and the Templar turned and clucked a half-soothing, half-stern sound at it. The horse—a massive gray thing—flicked its ears irritably but quieted. My rescuer returned his attention to me. “Let me escort you to your lodgings. The streets are dangerous nowadays.”

I shook my head. “It’s a matter of feet to the front door.” I pointed at the door in question. Not my front door as it happens, but I would be able to get inside, having buggered the lock earlier. Hopefully my hairpins and the lock picks they concealed hadn’t come loose in the fall. I could hardly reach up to check. If the Templar insisted on escorting me, then I’d have trouble explaining why I lacked a key to any of the apartments within. “I’ll be perfectly all right,” I said, trying for that innocent tone again. “Perhaps you could wait here until I get inside? That would make me feel safer.”

Playing to his protective streak—I was assuming that someone who’d chosen Templar as a profession had a protective streak—would hopefully get me off the hook.

The Templar looked skeptical. I realized, a little too late, that my clothing was hardly that of a young lady safely tucked up in bed for the night. Most young ladies don’t wear trousers, for a start, or hooded tunics. Most young ladies don’t wear mottled dark green and gray, though I was hoping that the gaslight would make it difficult for him to determine the color of my clothing.

I’d glamoured my hair before I’d come out so it would look plain old dark brown. When I remove the glamour, it’s a richer reddish brown with lighter streaks that sometimes seem copper and sometimes bronze. Almost truly metallic. Not human. Another legacy of my not-so-dear father. I would’ve preferred a modicum more talent and less distinctive hair. Distinctive features are a drawback in my trade. Which is why I spend a lot of time making charms to alter my appearance and renewing glamours. A full Fae can hold a glamour effortlessly, but for me, it takes work.

The Templar’s eyebrow lifted as his eyes traveled down my body to my trousers and boots.

“I didn’t think it wise to climb on the roof in a skirt,” I said before he could question me. “So I borrowed my brother’s trousers.” Now I was inventing siblings. Unwise. The more complicated the lie, the harder it is to sell convincingly. I needed to stop babbling and get inside. Something about this man made me nervous.

“Why didn’t you send your brother up on the roof to fix the weather vane himself?”

“Oh, he’s out gaming,” I said, trying to sound disapproving. “I try to stop him but he doesn’t listen.”

“Young men can be difficult,” he said.

So could older ones. He wasn’t
old
, this knight, but no one looking at his face would call him young. The scar bisecting his eyebrow had the look of having been there for some years, and there were lines at the edges of his eyes and grooving the corners of his mouth. But it was mostly the weight of his gaze that gave the impression of experience, of survival and solidity. Those eyes had seen things. The sorts of things that make you older than you are.

I shivered suddenly, the night’s chill registering again now that the adrenaline rush was finally starting to die away. “I really must go,” I said. “Thank you again for, um, rescuing me.”

He looked from me to the door. “I’ll stay and watch until you’re safe inside.”

Damn.

“That’s very kind of you,” I said. I could wait until he’d left before sneaking out again. It would delay my evening slightly, but better than being caught by the Templar for a second time. I had the feeling he wouldn’t let me go so easily if I gave him reason not to.

Still, I found myself hesitating, not entirely certain I was ready to leave him behind. Heaven knew I didn’t need a man to protect me, but there was something undeniably attractive about him. Not just the physical but something about the man himself.

But the likes of him were not for the likes of me, so the sooner I was on my way, the better. I ducked a quick curtsey at him and headed across the street, hoping he wouldn’t come after me.

I needn’t have worried. There was a clatter of hooves from down the street and someone called, “Sir? Are you still down here? Someone raised the alarm over in Mickleskin.”

The Templar swore and strode to his horse, swinging himself up with one easy move. As he wheeled the horse around, our eyes met for a moment and something strange crossed his face before he nodded at me and then looked away. He didn’t look back as he rode off.

And I tried to ignore the fact that I stood there for too long wishing that maybe, just maybe, he would.

* * *

By the time I regained my perch on the roof, having triggered my second invisibility charm—and that was a costly waste—Henri and Ignatius were gone. I swore to myself, a steady stream of curses aimed at my clumsiness, the weather vane, Templars, and the capricious whims of the Lady, as I climbed down, crossed to the other building, and snuck into the room they’d used to collect my hear-mes.

Hopefully they had stayed and talked rather than being spooked by the Templars in the street. Hopefully they hadn’t noticed me falling off the roof. The charms would tell me either way once I got home to the Swallow and triggered them.

As I stepped into the street again, the sounds of a fight—metal clashing and men yelling and one sharp shrieking squeal from an angered horse—drifted from the west. Several streets over if I were any judge.

Luckily it was in the opposite direction to the Swallow, but still I found myself glancing over my shoulder, hoping my rescuer was not in danger. Then I came to my senses and headed for home at a rapid pace, glad for the charm keeping me safely unseen in the streets.

When I reached the alley behind the Swallow twenty minutes or so later, I paused to let my breath steady. My back ached, two solid bars of pain reminding me what had happened. I wondered if they’d show the imprint of chain mail if I looked.

Bloody hell, a
Templar
.

Close call indeed, Holly girl
.

I shook off the unsettling memory of searching blue eyes. I’m not adverse to taking a lover and I hadn’t taken up with anyone new since my last gentleman caller had been inconsiderate enough to fall in love with somebody else and excuse himself from our arrangement two months ago, but a Templar was hardly a good candidate for his replacement.

I took another deep breath, ignoring my aching back. Time to forget the knight and focus on the work at hand. I had a client to meet, provided I had information to give her. I touched the invisibility charm to turn it off, still unhappy I’d had to use two in one night. I’d have to spend time and money working new ones, and I was short on the former lately.

The door creaked as it always did, but between the clatter of the kitchen and the sheer volume of the patrons in the rooms beyond, I knew no one would notice me. Not that anyone frequenting the rear halls of the Swallow cared much as to my hours or the company I kept. That was a large part of the reason I roomed here.

It took a few minutes to change my clothes, but soon enough I was descending the stairs, dressed in black with my hair glamoured to match. The dress—women don’t wear trousers to a Blood Assembly—felt restrictive as it always did after a job, the skirts and petticoats too heavy, the bodice too tight. The cloak I carried was heavy and awkward and I longed to be tucked up in my room with a hot brick, tea, and a good book.

But my work wasn’t yet done and the Swallow wasn’t the sort of place my client frequented. So I would go to her.

The sounds of the assembled drinkers hit me with a roar as I emerged into the main bar. The Swallow, being attached as it is to the rear of the Dove’s Rest, one of Brightown’s swankier brothels, is a level or two above the standard drinking hell around here. Which meant nicer furnishings, a somewhat wealthier clientele, and gin and beer not quite so likely to send you blind at first swallow as some of the rotgut served in lesser places.

Madame Figg, who, with her husband, runs both the Dove and the Swallow, thinks she has superior taste in decorating. Granted, she resisted repeating the Dove’s extravagant red, gold, and black theme, but the Swallow still runs to swooping drapes and swirling paper on the walls and gilt-edged mirrors. All in shades of deep blue and green and bronze. To my mind it looks as though a peacock met with an unfortunate accident, but the clients never seem to mind.

Across the room, I spotted Fen, holding court at his usual table, grinning at some tartily dressed blonde in pink. He caught my eye and raised a hand to beckon me over. The sleeve of his velvet frock coat fell back, revealing the fine iron chain doubled around his wrist. I winced. The chain meant the visions were bad tonight.

I made my way through the crowd, murmuring hellos to regulars. When I arrived at Fen’s table, he shooed the blonde away. She looked disappointed, deep red lips pouting, as she departed.