The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) (6 page)

“There is no such thing as
just
when you’re ‘binding in front of people who we can’t trust!” Chris yelled after her. He clenched his fists at his sides. “This isn’t about what will happen if it gets free, that is an entirely different issue and I have explained this to you a hundred times!”

“That governess you made me have is going to be here every day, you know! I can’t just never bind again!”

“It’s eight bloody hours a day, Rosemary, even
you
can manage that much restraint!” Chris growled and started up the stairs after her. “Don’t walk away from me, young lady! I’ve explained this to you before! If the wrong person finds out about you, all they need to do is go right to Hector or Avery Combs and they’ll have you ‘binding for them until you’re completely―”

She whirled on him, black ringlets flying. Her blue eyes flashed with fury, and her full lips were folded into a thin, angry line. “
Good!
” she screamed down at him, and they were so close a drop of spittle hit his face. “I hope they
do
!”

And no amount of yelling after her would slow her, not until she slammed her bedroom door behind her and he heard the
click
of the lock.

Exactly a week after he had started working for Olivia Faraday, she came into the office singing.

He’d gotten there first, as he tended to, and he looked up from his desk when he heard the door open. She fluttered into the room dressed in a sunny yellow dress with ruffles and bustle and delicate cloth roses. The colour muted the silver and highlighted the gold in her long hair, which was curled and half-piled atop her head, stray loops cascading around her shoulders. She looked like a virgin princess from a storybook, and right away he saw her mood was verging on euphoric. “Good morning,” he greeted.

“Good morning to you, as well,
Mister
Buckley!” she chirped, saluting him. She threw the daily paper onto his desk and then breezed into the back hallway. The door of her office slammed shut loud enough to make the candlesticks rattle and the flames dance. Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the paper she’d flung at him.
FIARAN BREAKS LOOSE, KILLS 3!
the headline read. He quickly turned to the Society section.

Olivia was back in the waiting room only moments later, dancing about from one spot to the next, gathering books and papers, putting some candles out, lighting some others. He couldn’t help but clear his throat and raise his voice. “You seem pleased. Did something happen?”

“Yes!” she sang. She didn’t turn to look at him, just continued about her business, steps as light as air. “I finished my case, and now I’m ready to start a new one. It’s a bright and brilliant new day, Mister Buckley! The sun is shining! The birds are singing! The spirits are flittering about!”

Chris was quite sure the sullen salamander in the hallway wasn’t doing any flittering. “I take it you found out who did it.”

She made a dismissive gesture, still barely paying attention to him. “Oh, I knew weeks ago. At least. I knew from the moment I saw the body, in fact, but I had to be sure. I always do, unfortunately. It was a good case. A little easy, thought. It really
was
obvious.”

Isn’t that a good thing?
he wanted to ask, but he didn’t.

She continued. “Since I ordered the arrest, I’ve been working on the paperwork. So much paperwork! It’s the worst part. I hate it! I’d pay someone else to do it for me, if it weren’t illegal. Maris always checks, too. Awful!” Chris didn’t have the first idea who Maris was, but he said nothing. Olivia finally straightened, arms full of paper and leather, hair spread all about her shoulders like a lady’s fan unfurled. “But now it’s done!” she declared. She finally looked him right in the eye. “Oh, happy day.”

“Well,” he said, “congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, dipping a shallow curtsey to him. The stack of books wavered, but before he was half out of his chair to help, she had it together. “I’m fine,” she said, and turned towards the door. “…hmm, but I may need your help
here
.”

“Of course,” he agreed. He got the rest of the way out of the chair and moved to the door, grasping the latch in his hand and pushing it open.

“Obviously, if someone comes, let them in, won’t you?” she asked, and disappeared again.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when he heard the front door open less than an hour later, while he was drinking his morning tea and reading theatre criticism in the paper. Olivia was ready to take a client, so obviously, one came through the door.

The woman who swept into the room looked about with eyes that judged everything she saw the moment it crossed her vision. There were two types of people who did that: those who had ideas above their station, and those who
were
above those they looked down on. Even if this woman had been naked, he would have been able to tell she was in the latter category. The way she held herself, tall and proud, with high nose and rounded shoulders, the way she’d piled her chestnut hair atop her head, the regal beauty of her smooth, elegant features—it was a potent combination. Her elaborate velvet gown was rich burgundy, off the shoulder, trimmed with gold and black, and tastefully bustled at the back. It was all the very pinnacle of style, and it had certainly cost enough to buy a small house. She wore delicate, lace black gloves, a jaunted black hat trimmed with burgundy cloth roses, and held a small black handbag. He’d only just read about lace gloves coming into fashion this morning. Impressive.

“Hello,” she greeted him. Her voice was icy and the subtle tones of her accent were quite posh. “How does the day find you?”

“Well enough.” He climbed to his feet and dipped a small bow. If his hunch was right about her station, that was the least respect she deserved. “And you?”

“Less so, I’m afraid. I’m looking for O. Faraday. The Deathsniffer. Is he present?”

“Yes—er,
she’s
in the back. Shall I get her?”

There was no reaction to the correction. “Please do.”

“And what should I tell her you’re here for?” Chris opened his notebook and focused down on the page to record her reply.

A moment of silence. Chris looked up to see the fine lady gathering herself. “My name is Duchess Evelyn val Daren, and my husband has been murdered,” she said finally, with an edge of steel proclaiming any sympathy would be the highest of offences. “I’d like to know who to blame.”

It was moments like this where he was glad for his polished geniality. It allowed him to do nothing more or less than nod once, smile graciously, and say, “I’ll see what I can do. If you could take a seat, it will be only a moment.”

The salamander flicked a long, forked tongue at him as he passed, a threat or a warning.

“Interesting,” Olivia murmured pleasantly around a mouthful of hairpins, barely looking up from her page. Her dauntless white-blonde hair, arranged so nicely an hour before, was now flowing all around her shoulders again. “A noble, you say? Brilliant! I love working with the upper class, they kill each other for the most needlessly dramatic reasons.”

She was cheerful, pleased as punch. Murders were for her entertainment, scripted in advance, and she might have been a noble herself, a delighted patron in a box seat, hands clasped in curiosity. He forced himself to continue smiling. “She’s waiting in the front.”

“Right, yes, I know! I’ll be out in just a moment. Let me finish this.” Olivia waved him off as if he were a pesky fly.

It wasn’t as if he could protest, and so he left, shuffling back to the waiting room. “She’ll be with you in a moment,” he told the woman, who nodded briskly. She’d taken her gloves off and was studying them closely. For ticks in the lace, which were common to come by and could easily ruin them. He felt sorry for Darrington’s ladies with this new fashion.

He slid into the chair at his desk, studying her discreetly out of the corner of his eye. Her meticulously applied cosmetics, the way not a wisp of hair escaped her arrangement, how her skin appeared so smooth as to be ageless…she was flawless. A noble. From the Old Blood, who never had their children categorized, who lived off ridiculous old fortunes, who rarely interacted with common society, and who sat in the best box seats at the best theatres, swathed by black velvet to shield them from view.

He knew the wealthy. Upper society was comprised mostly of families who produced especially powerful spiritbinders. They were immeasurably valuable to Tarland and their bloodlines were treated as sacred as long as they remained so. There was a time when those high, respected names had been Buckley peers. He’d nearly been one himself, and might one day be one in truth, when Rosemary was an adult and could use her abilities without being abused for them.

But the Old Blood were not merely wealthy, not merely high society. They were something else, something so much greater. They were a living relic of a time before Richard Lowry, before the Assembly, before categorization laws. They were Tarland’s oldest surviving piece of history aside from the Monarchy itself.

The door banged against the wall. Chris didn’t jump. He’d expected it. “Good morning, prospective client!” Olivia chirped, and he sensed her breeze into the room. “I’m
so
sorry I kept you waiting.
Very
important business. I’m sure my assistant told you.”

Duchess val Daren sized Olivia up with one glance, but it was impossible to tell what she saw there from her expression. “Well,” she pronounced with deliberate care, “you arrived eventually. I can forgive the first offence.”

Olivia swept across the room. She laid a gentle hand on the Duchess’s shoulder as she moved past her. The gesture could have been presumptuous and disrespectful considering their gap in station, but Olivia managed to make it welcoming. She dropped into the closest chair. Chris watched, mesmerized by the silent exchange. It was, he realized, the first time he’d seen Olivia interact with someone other than himself, and there was a change about her, a flimsy mask of empathy and
correctness
she had never bothered to maintain with him. He didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered.

“Duchess val Daren,” the Duchess introduced herself without pomp.

“Olivia Faraday,” Olivia said. “I hear there’s been a death in the family. My condolences.”

“It’s been a very…trying day,” the Duchess replied. There was barely a hint of emotion in her voice. Chris admired her restraint. “I only just found him. He and I have tea together with our daughter every morning at the same time, and when Viktor didn’t―”

Olivia held up a finger at the Duchess and turned her gaze to Chris. “I hope you’re getting this down,” she said, her gaze accusing. As if it weren’t obvious he wasn’t.

Quickly, he grabbed his book, flipping it open to the first empty page. He weaved.

tea every morning with daughter wasn’t there wife found him

“Please, continue,” Olivia said, and then, conspiratorially. “He’s new.”

Chris’s ears burned.

“He’s never missed a morning before. Not ever,” the Duchess continued. “Until then, I’d assumed he was busy in his study, doing
whatever
it is he does, but it was then I knew something must be wrong. Of course, I never expected…”

“No one does,” Olivia supplied helpfully.

…found in study never expected…

“He was dead when I went in,” the Duchess said with a sad flourish of her voice. “For some time, I believe, because he was quite cold. I quickly consulted a listing and the fact that you were so frank about your unique specialization…well, it gave me hope you could afford that sort of audacity. I’ve personally found the incompetent don’t try to call attention to themselves.”

Chris looked up, waiting for Olivia’s reaction. She smiled her cheerful, wicked smile and tossed her loose coils of hair over one shoulder. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

If the Duchess noticed anything strange about the response, she was as good at politely saying nothing as Chris was. She nodded once and dragged the black lace gloves back onto her hands, one dainty finger at a time. “I made haste here immediately, pausing for nothing. As I’ve never required the services of an investigative truthsniffer before,” she continued, as collected as if she were ordering breakfast, “you may instruct me on how to proceed from here.”

One corner of Olivia’s mouth pulled up slightly at being given permission, as though it were the most audacious thing she’d ever heard, as though this wasn’t a member of the Old Blood. “We both sign a contract and then I poke around in your life until I discover who killed him. The contract promises you can’t go get a new ‘sniffer unless you lodge a formal complaint with the police. It’ll be investigated by my supervisor who’ll assign you a new ‘sniffer. As for me, well,
I
can’t throw my hands in the air and be done with you!” She laid an elegant hand on the Duchess’s wrist. “Not that I would, of course, I’m sure we’re going to be birds of a feather.”

The Duchess nodded, considering in silence. “I don’t like the idea of you involving yourself in my personal business,” she murmured. “There are, of course, private matters of some delicacy in my family, none of which have to do with why Viktor was murdered. I would rather you not―”