Stolen Petals (2 page)

He grabbed her hand and lifted it, brushing his lips over her glove. "My pleasure, Miss Embrees." His voice had a rich fluidity to it when serious that surprised her. Moments later however, the mischief returned to his eyes as he strolled away.

Viola wanted a bath. The night had been nothing but reminders of her past, leaving her feeling cheap—a tart dressed in silks. He'd made her self-conscious and thrown her off her game like no one else. All the more reason to corner Claude Brownetree and collect this bounty as fast as possible. Edward Van Clef's mere presence threatened everything she'd built, but the haunted gazes of the barmaidens at the Rusty Scupper were caution enough. She'd never return to that
life.

Chapter Three

The tap on the door resounded all through her three-floor apartment. She heaved a sigh and placed the herbs she weighed on the counter. Viola dusted the stray skullcap from her dress, a tailored gray affair, and strode to the door.

The mechanical sparrow glinted in the sunlight as it took off, wings shuttering like a hummingbird's. A more efficient mode of delivery couldn't be found. An envelope lay on her front stoop, one she had a suspicious inclination about. The contents of the letter were simple.

Tonight, the station at 6pm. Dress indecently.

—
The Fox

Viola's cheeks burned. Even though she understood his implication—petticoats thrashed about and made sneaking impossible—of course the scoundrel would word it that way. He probably snickered while he wrote the note. However, she wanted those plans from him, which meant she'd have to play, at least for now.

She hiked her skirt up and strode to the top floor. Unlike the meticulous cleanliness of her bar, her bedroom was a different story. Clothes formed piles in every direction and her scattered shoes created an obstacle course. She reached into the bottom drawer of her cherry wood dresser and pulled out leggings and a tunic, both black. While being a lady fit her everyday persona, the Brass Violet dressed for practicality.

She pulled her hair into a tight bun and slipped two chopsticks in, the sharp and pointy ends great for last resorts. While chances were this would be a quick scour, she'd be a fool if she didn't plan for an incursion. She rolled out a long black panel of cloth, checking the pockets and straps for the important things: rope, lockpicks, and climbing dust. Satisfied with the contents, she wrapped the panel around her like a short skirt, tying it closed with a brown sash. While she'd made great strides to be a lady, she took pride in her abilities as the Brass Violet too. Not just anyone could survive in her line of work.

Her cup of tea lay unfinished on the kitchen counter. The bergamot fumes wafted her way, tempting, but she hadn't the time. Not if she wanted to beat the Fox there before nightfall and indeed, she did. Better she had the first view than he.

Viola locked her front door and turned the security lock, a mess of gears which needed the right combination to open. Testament to her skills as a poisoner, if an intruder broke it or put in the wrong combination, a quick acting dosage of aconite sprayed their way. After the first couple dead men were found outside her house, the rest learned to stay away. With a relaxed stride, she made her way to the sub-bus.

London's main sub-bus's route stood out in the distance, slicing through Shantytown like a beam of light. The transport, a high-speed train, ran underneath a thick convex walling of geosynthetic resin that stretched the length of the system. Interior lights glowed through, making it contrast the darkness of night and the sallow lighting of the city, and several black doors stood out against the resin walling as the entrances and exits. The translucent barrier surrounding the entire sub-bus system traveled through sections of London and coursed past all areas of the city. Viola strode into the temperature controlled interior as she took her place by the benches.

The sub-bus thundered down the tracks, a vision of powder white and steel. As the brakes squealed to a halt, men and women shuffled off from either side, most wearing the mud-splattered boots and threadbare blouses one would expect for denizens of Shantytown.

Viola boarded and made her way to the holographic console, which outlined the map of the stops. She fed the machine credits, enough to get her to the station nearest Henrietta's manor and after grabbing her ticket, she slid into the closest open seat. The seats were leather-lined and solid—which, given the traffic of the line wouldn't keep for long. When the last of the people boarding paid up, the sub-bus set off again, the only indication being the slight sway.

She closed her eyes, listening to the hum of the machinery and inhaling the smell of eucalyptus and bleach. Better that than the dirt and grease odor most of the Shantytown citizens tended to drag along with them. One of the positives about taking public transportatio
n
—
she wouldn't run into any of the regulars at her bar. High-class customers didn't stoop to low transportation, something that often worked in her favor.

The sub-bus slid to a halt, with a metallic voice announcing the same stop flashing across the rolling header above the end of every car. No one else stood but Viola and a couple stares flicked her way. Posh neighborhood like this, the stop was more of a courtesy than anything. She stepped out onto the paved streets and followed the signs in the direction of the mansion. From her bag, she tugged out a black feathered fascinator with a sheer veil. Eccentric stood out less than low class.

As she walked along the sparse streets, she straightened her skirt, making sure all her equipment stayed in place. When a uniformed officer came strolling by, she placed a hand to her face and let out a coy chuckle, her fingers brushing against the mesh veil. The officer nodded and kept along his path. Manipulation was her favorite sort of game, much preferred to brute force.

This stretch of the road, the houses were few and the grounds plentiful. After all, old blood lived in this part of town, and with old blood came older money. Even when she pulled in large bounties, and though she'd amassed quite a bit for herself, the upper crust lived in a different world. She put on the mask, enjoyed the small talk and the importance of minutiae regarding appearance, but at the end of the day, her gears clicked to a different time.

Wild rose and ivy grew freely along stone walls that had withstood the weather for countless years. After passing several estates, Viola approached the Brownetree grounds.

Even in the far distance, the manor was breathtaking, huge, and red-bricked with sprawling ivy stretching over half of it. Embellished spheres capped miniature turrets, catching the sunlight and casting rainbows on the asphalt. Landscaped lawns of an almost neon green stretched out, interspersed by gardens of every color and included a section of metallic lilies which glittered under the sun.

However, for Viola, the cast iron gates created a more pressing matter since they stretched higher than she would've liked. She strolled by, casting an idle glance as she played the passersby. Guards, about six of them, stood there in their pressed maroon and cream uniforms. Unfortunately for her, the wall surrounding the place had no end in the distance.

Birdcalls trilled from high above, drawing her eyes to the smattering of trees fringing the manor from behind. With the tree line in the back, they'd have no need of further walls, which meant that would be the best place to scope out fast entry and exit points for their escape.

Viola tucked a curl behind her ear while she strolled back. Men's gazes seared her as she passed by. The leggings defined her muscled legs well and her tight shirt revealed her sloping curves. This meant a leer here and a gawk there, all of which served as a reminder of cheap perfume, tawdry makeup, and the lingering odor of sex. A past she'd rather forget. She exhaled long and low as she neared the translucent hull on the sub-bus station.

The horizon darkened to dusk, a palette of smeared grays and purples. Waiting by the gaslamp was the familiar figure of the Fox, otherwise known as Edward Van Clef.

He'd dressed to investigate as well in a black turtleneck and black slacks of a more form-
fitting fabric. The man hid his muscle well under surcoats but in that outfit, his toned physique was undeniable. Dusky hues of sunset colored his skin bronze. He hadn't bothered doing anything to his hair, so scraggly strands drifted over his forehead. While he appeared just as disheveled as he had at the bar, here, the certain edge of his almost made her believe he was the Fox she'd run circles around for years.

The way his eyes traveled down her body made her flush. Viola thrust her chin up and marched to him, wielding her pride like a shield.

"Again, I'm surprised you showed." He grinned, offering a slight bow.

"While you might not know the meaning, I'm a woman of my honor. If I make an agreement, I'll go through with it." She tugged off her fascinator and netting, folding them inside her pouch.

"Right." He snorted. "Honor amongst bounty hunters. You tell the loveliest tales."

"Let's get moving." She tilted her head toward the road. "We'll need to cut a path through the woods."

***

By some miracle once they reached the forest, Edward's chattiness died down. Turns out the man could get serious. As they walked along, the molten hues of sunset peaked until they were swallowed up by a particularly dark night.

Viola stepped in first, her burnished copper compass out with the interior light glowing in the dark. She crept through the woods with the loping ease of a stag—after all, the woods had been her training grounds. Barely a twig crunched underfoot as she dodged past the spidery limbs of blackened trees. To her surprise, Edward kept just as quiet.

Even though the man had a foot on her height-wise, he didn't tramp through the woods like she'd expected. Realization settled in the back of her mind like cold steel. Underestimating someone could get her killed. Let's say his flippancy and rudeness was all a gambit—the more she believed it, the bigger fool she'd be.

The further into the forest they wandered, the more comfort sank in. From the low scatter of squirrels running around the underbrush to the hum of crickets and other insects, all of the sounds were familiar. Years ago, when life at the Green Fairy's Den overwhelmed her, she'd duck out and lose herself in the forest bordering Shantytown. Even Edward close on her heels couldn't deter her from the sanctuary of the trees and their copse of leaves above her.

In the distance through the throngs of oaks, globes of glass lights stood out, illuminating the house like a hearth fire.

"They paint such pretty targets," she murmured.

Edward stepped beside her, radiating heat like a furnace fire. "The picture of consideration."

"You brought the plans?" she asked, turning to face him.

He shook his head. "Do you think I'm a halfwit? We'll have the plans on the night of the event. I'll even hand them to you once we're through the gates."

Her eyes narrowed. So much for snagging the plans while she could.

"As you were keen to point out," he continued, "while you believe in honor amongst thieves, I do not."

She shrugged. Not like she could blame him—she would've done the same thing. They approached, all the while keeping to the tree cover. Viola took care to note any movement, but apart from swaying branches and woodland critters, the forest remained still. A large oak near the manicured lawns made for the perfect spot to scope out the place.

The manor up close made the estates along the way look like hovels, with five floors and countless glowing windows. She couldn't fathom the level of money dropped into building a masterpiece like this. Something told her even if she hit huge bounties her entire life, her money was a drop in the pond compared to the old wealth.

"Guards," Edward whispered in her ear. She bit her tongue to keep from jumping in surprise. How had he crept up so quietly?

The guards stood watch over the back exit. More had been stationed by the front door. If they escaped with their bounty, the back would be the safest route.

"Two versus three. We've got this in the bag," Viola leaned over to say.

"They may station more guards the night of the ball." Edward leaned against the tree, with his arms crossed over his chest.

"And there'll be even more around Claude Brownetree. However, if we catch him in the bathroom, he'd have minimal watch. If need be, I'll play bait."

Edward arched a brow. "Miss Embrees, you saucy minx. Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

She fixed him with a hard stare. "Mr. Van Clef, I am a professional. I'll do what is needed to get the job done."

"Right." He winked. "Well, Miss Professional Bounty Hunter, what would you recommend next?"

Without the blueprints, Viola had planned to sneak in and scope out the inside—bathrooms, private rooms. However, Edward's contribution eliminated the need for that risk.

"I'd recommend we head out. It's getting cold and I left a cup of tea on my counter at home." She flashed him a smile. "Why slum around here if we have your blueprints of the house? Since we've scoped out the woods and know our getaway, we may as well simplify."

"So anxious to leave my company?" Edward asked. In the distance, the guards shifted. Viola swept her gaze their way.
Had they been sighted?

"I think we'd better get out of the woods," she whispered in his ear. One tree at a time, she slunk away from the house until the forest cover thickened to the point no one would spot them. Along the way, Viola reached under her skirt. To her chagrin, Edward's eyes followed the movement.

Before he could make some smartass comment, she cut him off. "Markers. So on the day of, we can escape quickly and quietly."

She began tagging the trees with the red pennants as they made their way through the woods. The night had darkened to the murky sort where the air hung like descending clouds and the overhead branches made the liquid darkness even more impenetrable. Once they made it back to the road, Viola came to a stop. Her chest heaved with exertion and she was glad for once she left the corset at home.