Bronze Gods (9 page)

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be in the cruiser. You can drive. You’re better with the evening traffic anyway.” She wondered what he made of her staccato delivery and the heat in her cheeks as she strode out the front door.

I knew there was a reason we never socialized outside the office.

“It’s a matter of making sure they’re more scared of you than everyone else on the road.” At the cruiser, he took the keys from her, their fingertips brushing for a moment. Mikani made his way around Big Red, unlocking the door and holding it open . . . before looking up, seemingly startled at his own gesture.

“Did you take a knock to the head?” she asked, truly wondering if he had.

Mikani had never opened a door for her that she could recall. Some women might be put off by this apparent lack of manners, but she interpreted it otherwise. To her, it meant he considered her capable of doing it herself, and that, well, that was everything.

“In the last few years? Repeatedly.”

She slid into the cruiser, half fearing he meant to hold her elbow and ask if she needed a lap rug. A teasing Mikani she could handle, but a solicitous one? It made her fear that she’d contracted a fatal illness, and he didn’t know how to break the bad news.

He shook his head, then shut the door before making his way around to the driver’s side, to sit quiet as the engine warmed up to running speed. To her mind, the silence felt layered, as if he had a secret he couldn’t share. And that was . . . strange. In the past, he’d had no qualms about telling her too much—more than she wanted to know, in fact—about past liaisons. Then he teased her about prudishness and her inability to relax. It felt as though something had shifted, and she wasn’t certain the change improved matters.

Mikani drove like a man possessed; which was to say, like his old self. But when they pulled up to the theater, he wove around the block and into the alley rather than parking at the front entrance. After easing the engine to a low, idling hum, he tapped his fingertips on the steering wheel for a moment.

“We’re still waiting for the laboratory results?”

“Mr. Higgins did confirm that the greasepaint we found on Cira’s sewing kit matched what I took from the case here.” She sighed, staring at the Royale. “But it will be several days more on the ash. He received a reprimand for willfully ignoring the assignment priority list. That will teach me to employ my wiles in the line of duty.”

“I assure you, that only makes your wiles more enticing.” He gave her a cryptic smile and slipped out of the cruiser, moving toward the back doors to the theater.

Fighting a blush, Ritsuko followed. That
sounded
almost flirtatious. It wasn’t out of character for him to tease, but not in a way that showed any awareness of her femininity. As she walked, she rubbed the grit out of her eyes; the scant sleep she’d snatched didn’t feel like enough, and it left her with a residual headache, made more trying by her partner’s enigmatic behavior.

“Right now, our only clue leads us here, and thus, to the Royale’s owner.” Mikani pushed the door open and led the way inside.

Silently, Ritsuko agreed. Between the greasepaint and the crew’s knowing Miss Aevar, they really needed to talk to Leonidas.

A startled woman with a mop looked up at their passing; Mikani flashed her a smile and tugged his forelock. Then he headed into the dark theater corridors, tilting his head this way and that, as if sniffing out a trail. The silence was complete, unlike the first time they called and interrupted rehearsal. Trickles of sunlight filtered through cracks beneath doors, swathing the great room in shadows that seethed with movement. A faint scent of burning glass lingered, along with an astringent aroma, probably from the charwoman’s bucket. She had no idea what they were searching for, as there was nobody here to question.

Except the reclusive owner . . .

Mikani paused at each junction and door, tapping his fingertips against the wall and hinges. After a few moments of the silent search, he stopped at a nondescript door, easily missed in the half-lit corridor, then opened it.

“You think he’s our man?” Ritsuko asked.

“Maybe. The usual motives could apply.”

“Sex or money,” she guessed, trailing him through the doorway. “With Cira, both are possible. He might have recognized her and demanded money for his silence. How else do you explain all the renovations?”

Mikani said, “So, a blackmail scheme? Then he killed her when she threatened to charge him with the crime . . . possible. She’s also a pretty young thing. Perhaps she found his reclusive nature fascinating.”

“But the charm would pall after a while.” They had always done this, filled in the blanks for each other. Despite outward appearances, their thoughts often marched along the same lines. “So perhaps—”

“He murdered her rather than let her leave him.”

“A terrible devotion,” she said softly. “But what about that bizarre apparatus?”

“A puzzle indeed.”

“Leonidas
did
appear troubled,” she conceded.

“And there’s the matter of the secret he’s hiding.”

She nodded. “So it can’t hurt to ask him some questions. We should have done so the other day, but I couldn’t find him. And I
did
look.”

“I know, Ritsuko.” Distracted in his reassurance, he was examining a blank wall.

Mikani knocked on it lightly, listening with a satisfied smirk before pressing on one side, then the other. She had seen that expression before, usually right before he did something that would get them in trouble should they be caught at it. Over the years, she’d learned to ignore minor infractions in favor of results.
Like the Dreamers.
She knew he used them occasionally, but never on duty.
That must’ve been some headache. Wonder how often he takes them.

And then . . . then there was the Moment.

Which never happened.

Heaving a sigh, she followed him down the staircase revealed when the panel popped open. No wonder she hadn’t been able to find Leonidas; Miss Wright hadn’t been exaggerating when she said the theater was built on a labyrinth. There was no light down below, just an endless darkness, that of no stars, no breath; it whispered of the grave and of small, creeping things with too many legs and claws that skittered across damp stone.

“Perhaps we ought to get a lamp,” she said.

“He might see us coming, then. And that would ruin the surprise.”

With a resigned glare at the back of his head, she dogged his heels, then she smothered a gasp of surprise when his warm fingers wrapped around hers. It was probably to lead her, or ensure she didn’t get lost. But it felt profoundly affectionate for him to serve as her only tie to the living world in this sea of shadows.

They descended for eternal moments, the soft rasp of leather on stone the only sound other than their breathing. Then the darkness gradually lightened: she glimpsed his outline before her, growing darker as the passage below grew lighter. He squeezed her hand lightly before releasing it, casually swinging his walking stick over his shoulder and turning enough not to block her view when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

At irregular intervals along the wall, gaslight flickered in smoky glass sconces. Ritsuko could tell these tunnels were very old; the mortar had crumbled in places, so that crevices puffed out stale air from somewhere deeper in the earth. The stone itself was dry and clean but dark with age. She found no signs of vermin or the creatures she had feared while they descended that endless staircase. Mikani cocked his head, visibly drawn, and he moved off down the hall at a quickened pace, clever enough to keep his cane off the stone floor. She tried to step lightly, not allowing her boots to click, as Leonidas doubtless knew this warren like the back of his hand and could slip away if he heard them coming. As if he shared her fear, Mikani led her through breakneck turns, winding left and right, seemingly at random, but she was sure he’d sensed their target.

Up ahead, the dimness kindled with a faint glow that grew brighter, the closer they got. At last, they reached a chamber memorable only in its despair. The amenities might’ve been chosen by an ascetic seeking to do penance: a simple bed and a pile of books. A lavish velvet throw draped across the thin mattress comprised the only concession to comfort, but that was practicality as well, for as they’d gone down, the temperature dropped as well. Leonidas was sprawled against the headboard, reading, when they stepped in.

“Good evening, Mr. Leonidas. I’m Inspector Mikani, this is my partner, Ritsuko . . . and we have a few questions for you.”

The theater owner glanced up from his book, a weighty tome entitled
Cults of Winter
. The mass of scars that twisted his mouth into a grimace made his blossoming rage impressive to behold. “How in the blazing hells did you get in here?”

Ritsuko produced her notebook, and said politely, “We have a number of questions . . . somehow, you eluded an interview last time. It won’t take long.”

“You enter my private quarters uninvited, and you expect me to cooperate?” The Royale’s owner fumbled with cloak and mask, desperate to conceal his disfigurement. Only once he was covered did he look at Ritsuko directly, his eyes shaded. “Is there some reason you couldn’t make an appointment?”

“You’ve given us no reason to imagine you would keep it,” Mikani said coldly. “If a man hides in a burrow like an animal, one must presume he is guilty of
something
.”

She caught an unmistakable flinch and saw the moment when pain edged toward anger. If Mikani continued in this vein, Leonidas would become overtly hostile. So she said quickly, “If this isn’t a good time, sir, please direct us when to return.”

Beside her, Mikani huffed out an impatient breath. He preferred to charge at problems head-on, but sometimes it was best to use a more tactical approach. She noted that Leonidas didn’t care to dignify their inquiry with a moment of his time; and he was ferociously angry at the invasion of his privacy. It would require some finesse not to get banned from the theater entirely.

So she added, “Please, sir. We can’t cross you off our list until you’ve answered our questions.” That angle sometimes worked; people wanted the matter done and buried. Some criminals thought they were so much cleverer than the people paid to catch them.

Finally, Leonidas bit out, “Day after tomorrow, six in the evening.”

“We’ll show ourselves out.” Mikani set a brisk pace, retracing their steps. “Did you see how angry he was?”

She sighed. “Yes, but people who come from money expect to be handled with kid gloves. Tact’s . . . not your greatest strength. Did you
learn
something, at least?”

“One thing. You . . . disappeared when he was close by. That means, somehow, he erases the emotional echoes I normally pick up . . . but which were gone entirely from the device that killed our victim.”

“You’re saying he felt . . . dead? Empty? Like the machine.”

“Precisely. There’s . . . too much about him that doesn’t track. We should keep digging to see what surfaces.”

CHAPTER 8

“I
WILL HAVE THEIR BADGES,”
L
EONIDAS SNARLED.

Since he was in the main part of the theater, he wore his full black regalia. It seemed excessive to Aurelia, as other men had been scarred without resorting to such measures. But she suspected his behavior was his method of dealing with heavy guilt for surviving where his parents had not. Possibly, he was also this vain, as before the accident, he had been a handsome man. There was no doubt that he’d suffered, however; burns were incredibly painful and slow to heal even with the aid of magic.

“You disappeared without permitting them to interview you the first time. Did you think they’d just let it go?” Aurelia puffed out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.

Her genuine concern seemed to penetrate his anger. “I’m sorry. I just . . . they came upon me unaware. I wasn’t . . . ready for visitors.”

“Why don’t you simply tell them?” It wasn’t such a shameful thing, nor as uncommon as Leo wished to believe.

A low growl escaped him. “That I’m paying one of the dancers for companionship?”

“She can verify that you’ve been here, all night long, for the past month. And I can vouch for your days. Which means you’ve nothing to do with any missing girl.”

“No, it only means I’m a monster.”

Aurelia gave him an exasperated stare, wishing he would dispense with the affectation of cowl and mask, at least in her presence. But he wouldn’t during the day. They had been friends for a long time, and he’d stood by her after she made the decision to step outside the parameters of her life as a House scion. So she was trying to help him now; unfortunately, he was stubborn and difficult.

“Other men keep mistresses.”

“Because they choose to, not because they can’t attract women on their own.”

“You don’t know you can’t,” she pointed out. “You haven’t tried.”

“Enough of this. I’m
not
going to the CID.”

“So your pride is more important than clearing yourself of a crime?” She shook her head. “If you don’t come forward with the information, Leo, I will. I thought the show was a good idea . . . that you’d rejoin the world a bit, but so far—”

“I’ve let you down.”

“Stop already. Please. I have to get back to rehearsal now.”

For a little while, she lost herself in the music, watching the dancers execute their steps with more precision today. It had been long enough for them to forget the excitement of the CID visit, and they were performing beautifully. Now and then, she corrected someone’s form or demonstrated the proper step. The drills continued for two more hours, and by the end, she was as tired as her troupe. Such tireless preparation would be rewarded with the first standing ovation and when the newssheets printed what a phenomenal production she’d staged.

“Much better today,” she called. “That’s all.”

One dancer lingered—Elaine Day, who would creep downstairs to find Leonidas once the others left. Aurelia raised a brow, knowing the girl harbored the wrong ideas about the long-standing friendship between Leonidas and her. “What’s troubling you?”

“I was just thinking. Shouldn’t I play a larger role in the finale?”

Really, Leo? This one?
She didn’t begrudge him the companionship, but it seemed to Aurelia he could’ve done better, chosen a less grasping female to share his bed. Outwardly, she didn’t give any sign of her thoughts.

“On what grounds? Your skills are adequate, not exceptional. Not star material.”

“That’s not what Leonidas says,” the girl said nastily.

A few other performers hovered, drinking in the conflict. She had to nip this in the bud. “He isn’t the director of this show, either. If you can’t play your part as requested, I’ll find someone who can. Do you understand, Miss Day?”

“I understand perfectly.” Her mutinous expression said she believed Aurelia was jealous of her youth, beauty, talent, and her relationship with Leonidas.

“Then you shouldn’t keep your patron waiting.”

Once the girl flounced away, presumably to seek out Leo and fill his ears with venom, Aurelia muttered, “I wouldn’t mind if
she
fell down a dark hole.”

“That was unpleasant.” A man stepped out of the wings, a member of the technical crew, she thought.

She’d seen him before; he was tall and slender, with dusky skin and dark hair, not handsome, but he worked hard. Come to think of it, he was always the last to leave, always tidying up and putting things away.
Mr. Gideon,
she remembered.
Lighting.

In silence, they negotiated the wings, passing through grotesque shadows thrown by milliner’s dummies half-costumed for the show, metal stage hooks and dangling pulleys, sandbags and piles of newspaper from forgotten reviews.

In parting, she said, “One of the hazards of the business. Have a good evening.”

“I’m leaving as well.” He fell into step with her as they moved toward the exit, and she wondered with a touch of cynicism what favor he meant to ask.

Perhaps he thinks he’s wasted behind the scenes, a natural performer. Or his dear auntie is ill, and he needs time off to tend her . . .

Waiting for Mr. Gideon to frame his request, Aurelia stepped into the cool night air. Though it was still warm during the day, the long summer was wending its way to an end. To her surprise, the tech turned the other way, going about his business. With a philosophical shrug, she strode down the alley until he disappeared from sight. She felt pleasantly surprised at being wrong.

The shortcut navigated, Aurelia emerged on a main thoroughfare, five blocks from the underground. Tonight, she didn’t sense the presence that had hunted her for the past months.
Perhaps it was your imagination. Or madness.
With effort, she set aside her worries. It was a lovely night, and after she returned to the club to change, she meant to lose herself at a Summer Clan revel. In a pretty dress and a colorful mask, she could pretend to be someone else for a while.

But first, an errand.
Feeling vaguely guilty, she stopped at the post office and sent an anonymous message to the CID.
Ask Elaine Day what she knows about Leonidas.
Her friend would be furious, but better his pride took a hit than the CID wasted days investigating him to no avail. Surely, that would be counterproductive.

As she stepped out of the building, the clouds broke, drenching her in sheets of rain. She’d be washed away before reaching the station at this rate. Her budget would stretch to a hansom, so she ran, hailing one with both arms. Gaslight shimmered in the puddles, and as she ran, her feet left patterns wavering in their wake. The carriage stopped with a metallic screech; the driver gestured for her to climb in.

She did.

To her astonishment, the carriage was occupied. Theron pulled her inside, dry and elegant in black evening wear. After he spoke the club’s address, the vehicle shuddered into motion. She herself was breathless, cold, and a trifle worried. This wasn’t like their initial encounter. It was too premeditated, too private.

“Am I being abducted?” she asked.

“Do you wish to be?” He didn’t await a reply. “It would be odd of me to kidnap you by transporting you to your residence.”

“True. How do you know that’s where I was going?” She listened to him with all her senses, including the one that registered deception.

“Weren’t you?”

Fleetingly, Aurelia wondered if he ever lost his icy detachment. “I wish you’d cease this game. You have some purpose in mind, so it would be to our mutual advantage if you would stop trying to beguile me. I’m not susceptible to such tricks, no matter how skilled you are with them.”

He laughed quietly, seeming amused. “You appear to reckon me some master seducer. I assure you, I’ve spent the last century in seclusion, quietly working on various botanical projects.”

Truth.
No doubt, shades, or prevarications. She stared at him, bewildered. “Are you some blandishment of my father’s, meant to tempt me back to House life?”

Dark eyes peered at her, incredulous. “Do I appear as one who could be . . . purchased, like a sweet?”

His dismay is real.
Her frustration mounted.

“And yet,” he went on. “I’m flattered that you think me charming enough to enjoy a measure of success in that role. Perhaps I was merely passing and saw you stranded in the rain.”

False.

“You were
not
,” she said with conviction.

His brows went up. “You know this? Fascinating. As I told you the other night, I’d like to make your acquaintance, Aurelia Wright.”

Truth. Perhaps nobody put him up to it.

“Are you an aficionado of my work?”

“You’re very gifted.” That wasn’t what she’d asked, but the words rang true.

She was tired of asking the wrong questions. “I wish I knew what you want.”

“The same thing as other men, I expect.” The small bulb in the coach flickered, casting long shadows. His gaze lingered on her face, but whatever he saw remained unspoken. “You seem determined to read me, as you would a beloved book. What, then, intrigues you so? Or do you treat all thus?”

“Most are easily read, apparent to those with an eye for such things.”

“There is truth in that.” He sounded almost weary. “And yet, most of those writings are not worth the time to read them. There is something you cannot see in me, though. Or such I gather.”

“True enough,” she said, studying the deep of his eyes. Something more than darkness hid there. He possessed some secret agenda, involving her, but she had no idea what it might be.

“When you learn something, do not shout it for the world to hear. At least, not if you intend to unearth aught else.” He touched her cheek with cool fingertips. “And I am not one to be read, I think. My secrets are best left alone.”

“And I would find that a tragedy.”

“Tragedies are some of the more memorable tales. But if it pleases you to interpret whatsoever glyphs you can within me, so be it.” His gesture was baffling. “The attentions of a young woman are never to be scorned.”

Sometimes he spoke like an old man, as if inside, he had silver hair and wrinkled skin. He carried the weight of more years than her father, if such a thing were possible. It made her uneasy, even as he lured her with his half-truths and demon-dark eyes.

The hansom stopped before she realized they’d traveled so far. “I think you’re past being flattered by a woman’s interest. And your silence on the questions I pose offers its own answer.”

“Perhaps.”

Declining his aid, she alit onto wet pavement. The rain had abated, and everything shimmered. “Will you walk? I won’t be able to sleep so early. I love nights when the moon hangs like a ripe yellow apple in the sky.”

He paid the driver and joined her. “Luna. She’s a fickle lady. As are all ladies, in my experience.”

“You must have been frequently disappointed to feel so.”

“Disappointment is not something I feel oft, and when I do, the remedy’s rapidly undertaken.” His tone was almost curt. “Or have you something particular in mind?”

“Only the pleasure of your company.”

It was impossible to determine what he wanted. Possibly, he hoped to win her affections and thus ensure an alliance with her family. Safely wed and removed from undesirable associates, it was possible for a House scion to climb back into society’s good graces. Her return to respectability would endear Theron to her father, guaranteeing the Architect’s support in whatever scheme he had in mind, but there was only one way to be sure of his intentions. Therefore, she’d keep the man close until she puzzled them out.

Aurelia plucked a branch of evergreen and drew deep of its scent. This man’s secrets would be wooed from him in quiet moments; she could not read him if he was unwilling. Or take what he would not give.

He spoke after a long silence. “No one has asked that of me in a long time.” Beside her, he was dark upon dark, olive skin hued to shadows broken only by the jet of his eyes.

“I am sorry to hear that.” In that moment, Aurelia felt very gentle toward him.

It didn’t matter what his agenda was; she didn’t think he meant to harm her. More likely, he had some plan to
use
her, and she was accustomed to that. Being the Architect’s only living child had its drawbacks.

As a small girl, she’d had no notion of his power or importance. She simply ran to him with scraped knees or for a sweet. That changed the day a maid mustered up the courage to ask, “Did your father truly close the Veil? There will be no more crossings?”

Aurelia had no idea what that meant, so she’d gone to her father to pose the same question. He’d gazed down at her, explained the world beyond Hy Breasil, then offered a simple, somber nod. Everything changed that day.

Theron was saying, “No need. Had I required company, it could have been arranged, but I found other matters more crucial.” He gazed into her face, traced its lines in a complex look. “Come.”

It cannot, actually. Sincerity is one thing that cannot be bought.
His reply struck her as strangely sad, as he did not see any incongruity in it. Unlike Leonidas, he apparently didn’t see any shame in paying for companionship. But then, Theron was an appealing male, not a disfigured one. So perhaps therein lay the difference; if he cared to bother, Theron could woo and win a woman whereas Leonidas feared discovering that the damage to his face rendered him unlovable for all time.