A Sea of Purple Ink (22 page)

Footsteps drifted into the room and Reese turned to face the remainder of her group.

“What’s going on?” Joplin asked. His voice shook. “No one will tell me.”

Lacewing flinched as he spoke. “I got all the bandages I could find,” she said, glancing at Reese and edging toward her husband, “but I don’t know if it’s enough.”

Tyrone raised an eyebrow. “Bandages for whom?”

Reese closed her eyes and let out a long breath.
Here we go.

Tyrone folded his arms and regarded her steadily.

“Niela got shot,” Reese began. “It’s a serious hit, but she’s all right for now. So I’m going to have you, Lacewing, go with Grant to find her. She’s on top of the old library. From there it should be simple enough to get to the police headquarters.”

Lacewing’s gaze traveled from her husband to Reese. “You really think we can keep them bottled up ourselves?” she asked.

The question hung in the tense air.

Reese calculated the odds. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “But we’re modifying your part. Your team’s main goal now is to keep communications down between the palace and headquarters. If you get a chance to slow up some police without giving things away, take it, but run if you have to.” Her knees felt weak. Reese stepped forward and braced against the arm of the sofa. “And, if you can, I’ll still need you at the southern exit of the palace.”

Now for it.
Reese let her breath out sharply, focusing on its warm moisture. “We still have only a slight chance of making this work,” she said. She forced herself to look at each of her followers in turn. “You’ll have to decide for yourself whether to pull out early, or see it through to the end.”

She caught the faint trace of anxiety on Joplin’s face.

“And now,” she said. “If you’re ready, move out quick. And remember what I said about scattering when the job was done.” She managed a smile. “I’ll come find you when it’s all over.”
Or I’ll be dead and you’ll be on your own.

A low thump echoed down the hall.

Reese’s grip tightened on the sofa. “What was that?”

“It sounds like the front door,” Tyrone said, starting forward. He threaded his way through the others and disappeared down the hallway.

Reese gave her followers a pointed stare.

Grant nodded. He took Joplin’s arm and back-stepped into the sitting room, pulling the king bodily with him. Lacewing vanished.

Reese pulled her gun from her pocket and tiptoed toward the hallway, listening to Tyrone’s progress down the hall.

A heavy silence fell on the interior of the house. Then the scraping of a key.

Reese checked her gun.
Primed and ready.
She settled into a half crouch behind the angle of the wall.
It had better not be any police.

The door screeched open. Tyrone gave a startled yell, then burst out laughing. “It’s just Daro,” he called. “Don’t shoot.”

Relief flooded through Reese’s veins, coupled with irritation. “Don’t yell it out onto the street.” She stood up and pocketed the gun.
One more interruption like that and the night will be half gone.
She looked over her shoulder, meeting Grant’s gaze. “Get going,” she said.

Lacewing materialized a few feet away and gave her a short nod.

“Reese!” Tyrone’s call came from the front room. “What can Daro do to help?”

For crying out loud.
Reese started down the hallway. “Keep your voice down,” she warned. She rounded the corner and found Daro still in his sailor’s clothes. “Can you shoot straight and take orders?” she asked.

The bald man drew himself up. “I can.”

Perfect.
Reese motioned over her shoulder. “Go out the back door and catch up with the two that just left. Tell them I sent you.”

Daro looked confused for a moment, then his customary flint expression took over. He gave Tyrone a slight bow and hurried away.

Reese pocketed her gun.
Time to move.
“Joplin, where are you?” she called. “We need to get going.” She turned to start back toward the kitchen and nearly bumped into Tyrone’s arm.

The merchant stood in front of her, one hand blocking her progress. “You need some clean clothes,” he said. A hint of mischief danced in his eyes. “I got you some. They’re upstairs.”

What is he talking about?
Reese stared at him, fighting to keep herself calm.
And on this night, my fine plan dissolved into chaos and I went mad.

Tyrone raised an eyebrow. “What? It’ll stop you from ruining more of mine.” He grinned. “There’s some wash water, too.”

Humor him and get out of here.
“Fine.” Reese pushed past his arm and headed for the stairs in the corner of the front room. “Get Joplin and be ready to leave.” She started up the steps, soft carpet muffling the thud of her boots.
Joplin and I will fly right from here.
“Did you order a carriage?” she called.
I hope he remembered that, or he’ll be so smeared with mist they won’t let him inside the palace.

“Of course I did,” Tyrone hollered back. His voice sounded muffled, as if he had moved deeper into the house. “It’ll be here soon.”

Good.
Reese reached the landing and surveyed the hallway. Only one door stood open. Faint candlelight shone through the old playroom door. Reese rubbed her hands against her pant legs, trying to stay focused.
Quick change, then we head out.
She stepped through the doorway and stopped mid-stride.

The little corner room was empty, except for a chair. And draped across that chair, in fold upon deep, shimmering fold, lay a red dress.

31

Reese’s calculations slowed.

Rich red silk with brown lace. Scooping neckline. An elegant train. And nestled close beside, a box of diamond-tipped hairpins.

That is the most beautiful dress I have ever seen in my entire life.
Reese stretched out one hand to touch the curve of the skirt ruffles. Then reality crashed in.
There is no way I can… Does he think I’m going to the ball?
Reese turned to face the doorway. “Tyrone?” she called. “What is this?” She took another peek at the dress.

The beaded clasps glittered in the candlelight.

I can’t shoot in that. Or run. Or fight,
Reese told herself. “Tyrone!” She heard the merchant tromping up the stairs, then he appeared in the hall.

“You like it?” he asked, grinning. “I picked it up this morning especially for you.”

Reese straightened and tried to keep from yelling. “I am flying into the palace with Joplin,” she said. “We’re meeting you at the window.”

Tyrone planted a hand on the doorframe. “And leave me to get past all those guards by myself?” He smiled, but it seemed forced.

“Joplin had a lapse of ability yesterday,” Reese countered. “I can’t just leave him to make his own way inside.”
And what if he changes his mind?
The faintest whiff of Tyrone’s aftershave caught her off guard. She took a step back.

The merchant’s smile melted into a serious stare. “That is exactly why you shouldn’t be flying around up there with him,” he said. His eyes drilled into hers, candlelight flickering in their depths. “You’re just proving my point.”

Reese’s stomach twisted. “Stop changing the plan,” she warned through clenched teeth. She stepped forward again and glared up at the taller man. “You don’t know how many times I’ve had to change it already.” She bit back her next words.
I’m near the breaking point.

Joplin appeared behind Tyrone. “Actually, I also think you shouldn’t be up there with me,” he said. The king folded his arms and regarded the two of them. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Do you know how many readers might be at a royal party?” Reese snapped. Her pulse pounded harder in her ears, and her lips felt dry. “They’ll see me coming.”
And at this point, I’m more afraid of Stryker than the police.

Tyrone rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Now Reese—”

“What if I command it?” Joplin asked. His eyes seemed to gleam in the light as he regarded Reese.

Tyrone’s mouth worked for a moment, then he turned his head to look over his shoulder. “You what?” he said. “Now see here.”

Joplin’s gaze didn’t leave Reese’s face. “If you’re really planning to put me on the throne, start now.”

A stringent retort rose to Reese’s tongue.
Is this the way it’s going to be? Pushing your weight around before you’re even king again?
She swallowed hard. With a growing sick feeling, Reese made her choice. “Fine,” she snapped. “Both of you get out while I change.” She lunged forward and slammed the door shut, nearly hitting Tyrone in the face.

She stood there a moment, one hand on the back of the door, feeling the grain of the wood.

“Besides, you’re my safety net,” Joplin said. “I’ve got to make sure you live to get me out.”

The plan is changing. Again.
Reese took a long, long breath.
I can do this. I can do this.
She moved to the chair and gently lifted the heavy, rustling dress.
I can wear the dress all right, but I haven’t done my hair in years.

Tyrone’s voice came through the door. “So how do you like it?”

“Go load up a couple pistols for me,” Reese yelled. “And get some extra magazines. Do something useful.” She laid the dress back on the chair and reached for the buttons on her vest.

“She likes it, I can tell,” Tyrone said in a stage whisper.

Reese’s hands began to sweat.
It’s okay,
she told herself.
Relax. At least it gives you something else to think about than calculations. You have a few moments to rest here. Use them.

After a quick sponge bath, the dress went on without much fuss, although closing the long row of back buttons without help took more planning power than Reese had thought it would. Beneath the dress she found a pair of brown dancing shoes.
Fortunately flat,
she thought as she slipped them on.
Now just the hair.

She picked up the diamond pins and scanned the room.
No mirror.
“I need a mirror,” she called, heading for the door. The stiff satin swished against her in a cool embrace, and the train rustled behind.

“The carriage is due any minute,” Tyrone called from downstairs. “Hurry it up.”

Can’t do my hair in one of those things.
Reese yanked the door open and rustled into the hall.
There. On the other end.
A tiny looking-glass caught the pale light from the room behind her.
It’s getting darker.

Reese hitched up her skirt in front and ran across the hall.
I hope to goodness I didn’t miss any blood on my face. The lack of colored powder will be strange enough.

She pulled her hair tie loose. Dark waves of hair cascaded across her neck and shoulders, some bent by the tie, but others in graceful curves. Reese studied her face in the mirror for a long moment. Then reality set in.
Pin up anything that doesn’t look clean.
She swept two locks up toward the back and wove a pin through them, anchoring them in place.

“They’re turning onto our street,” Tyrone called.

Blast it.
Reese jabbed another pin in place. “Are the guns ready?” She licked her fingers and tried to twirl a narrow curl in front of her ear.
At least in the half light it doesn’t look too bad.

“They’re ready and under my cloak. Now get down here.”

Reese grabbed her stiff skirt and made a run for the stairs. As she reached the bottom she let the heavy folds fall. “Did Joplin get off all right?”

“He left two minutes ago, mist mask and everything,” Tyrone replied. He stood at the front window, peering out through a slit in the curtain. “And, unless I miss my guess, he’ll be able to find the waiting spot without much difficulty.” He swept a long hooded cloak from the coatrack by the door and held it toward her. “Here.”

Reese took the long mist hood and draped it around her shoulders.
Should I have given Joplin a gun?
She let the loose folds of the cloak fall in front of her and drew up the hood.
He might need it. But, then again, I don’t know if he can be trusted with a weapon.
“You have the invitation and night pass?” she asked, reaching up and adjusting her hood. “And no talking on the trip,” she added. “Any carriage man worth his salt will listen in on the conversation.”

Tyrone touched his forehead in a sly salute, then stepped to the door and pulled it open with a flourish.

The heavy smell of the mists wafted into the room. Outside stood the carriage men, their badges of office gleaming in the lantern light from the wheel posts.

Reese ducked her head and followed Tyrone into the growing dusk.

One of the attendants pulled the carriage door open and bowed.

“May I help you?” Tyrone asked, extending his hand.

Reese’s breath caught in her throat.
This is it. Here we go.
She raised her hand and placed it in his, fingers trembling.
I’m not turning back now.
She stepped up the little rung stairs and into the carriage.

A single lantern hung from the wood-paneled roof of the box on wheels, shedding a fitful light over the narrow bench and fabric-covered walls.

Reese slid onto the bench and down to the end, careful to tuck in the extra skirt.

Tyrone followed close at her heels. Then the outer door shut to keep out the mists, the porters exchanged brief commands, and the carriage rattled away.

Reese leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. The tangle of thoughts swirling through her mind had to be quieted, or it could get out of hand very quickly.
All right, we’re safe for the moment,
she told herself.
Yes, I used up more than I wanted to, but that doesn’t mean I’ll run out later.
She realized her hands were clenched on the cloak.
Relax. From now until you have an opportune moment, all you have to do is make sure you don’t get spotted by a reader. You do that every day.
The calculations began to ebb and in a few moments were no more than a dull pulsing.

“I say, m’dear,” Tyrone said in his loudest court manner. “Are you comfortable?”

Reese flipped back her hood and gave him a glare.

The merchant laid a finger across his lips, then jabbed it toward the front of the carriage. “Do you have another one of your headaches?” He tutted loudly. “Here, try some of this.” From beneath his cloak he produced a slender pistol.

Reese sat up straight with a jolt.
He’s right. I don’t have one. Why didn’t I think of that?
She snatched the gun from his hands. “Thank you.”
Now where to hide it in this dress?
She brushed her cloak out of the way and regarded the wide gathers of skirt.
There’s got to be a good hiding place somewhere.
One of the bunches of lace and beading looked about the right size.

Tyrone held out two loaded magazines, watching with interest.

Reese worked her fingers into the wad of lace and satin. It hung to the side, about halfway down the skirt, and seemed loose enough to conceal the gun.
A little far down for an easy draw, but I’m not going to be able to count on much of anything being easy.
Reese snapped one of the attaching threads and stuffed the gun down into the hole.

It felt heavy, and the gather skewed to the side a bit, but it was the best she could do. She took the two magazines from Tyrone and hid them in the trim on the opposite side.

There.
Reese smoothed the rumpled lace back into place.
All ready if I need it.

The dull, rumbling lull of the carriage wheels ground on beneath them, combining with the footsteps of the men up ahead. The effect was almost soothing.

Reese folded her arms and took a deep breath.
It smells like cake in here,
her mind registered.
The very sweet kind.
Slowly she began to feel the smooth bench beneath her. The rocking sway of the carriage. Tyrone’s easy presence. The gentle weight of the mist hood on her shoulders and arms.

Tyrone leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “The friend you visited today,” he said softly. “Is she well?”

“She will be,” Reese replied, with more certainty than she felt. She glanced at the thin wood paneling in front of them.
How much can they hear through there?

The merchant turned his head and peered up at her. “And you?” he asked. The twinkling sarcasm smoothed out of his face, leaving it, for once, serious.

Reese’s heart fluttered. “I’ve been trying not to think about it,” she said quietly. She drew her cloak across her lap. The fabric swished and whispered, then settled into place.

“Is it working?” Tyrone asked. He turned to face her, propping his foot on the low front-board, and leaned his elbow against the seat back. His weight tugged at the seat cushion.

Reese shivered and clasped her hands beneath the cloak. She glanced at his intent expression, then had to look away.
Say that I’m fine. Say that we’re going to be late. Say anything, but don’t start thinking through it again.
Her face tingled and she felt her lips begin to tremble.
Blast.
Reese fixed her gaze on the front of the carriage. “Not very well,” she said. Her voice broke a little in the middle of her words. Niela’s face. Blood. A plan that kept falling to bits. She bit her tongue.

“Reese,” Tyrone whispered.

A gentle hand stirred her hair. Reese jumped, trembling. Then slowly turned her head.

Tyrone’s green eyes met hers, strong and bold and clear. “We’re going to make it,” he breathed. He reached out with his other hand and ran one finger along Reese’s jaw line.

A tiny thrill ran through Reese’s body. She sat, still trembling, staring into those hypnotic eyes.

Tyrone’s hand smoothed her cheek and slowly, he leaned forward.

Calculations skyrocketed through Reese’s mind. She put up a hand to push his away, then stopped.

Tyrone halted, suddenly wary.

She could feel his hand in her hair, his touch on her face, and sitting there in the half light, she could almost feel his heartbeat.
This is what I want,
she realized. The thought left her speechless.
I want him. His love.
Inch by inch, Reese laid her hand on top of his, holding it to her face.

Tyrone’s eyes brightened with sudden understanding, and a deep, intense light shone in their depths.

Their lips met.

Reese plunged through a flood of calculations and felt them scatter like so many shooting stars. Nothing remained except the reality of that moment. Tyrone holding her close. Happiness fighting with tears.

Tyrone pulled back for a moment, his forehead against hers. “Did you predict that?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

A shaky laugh bubbled up through Reese’s defense. She felt hot and cold at the same time. “Does it matter?” she replied.

Tyrone grinned and leaned in again.

With a jolt, the carriage stopped.

“Blast it,” Tyrone said, straightening. He scooted back on the bench and struck a casual pose, jauntily leaning one elbow against the seat.

The side door opened and a liveried footman peered in at them. “May I see your invitation, sir?” he asked. His gaze traveled to Reese. “Madam.”

“Absolutely,” Tyrone said. He delved into the pocket of his green doublet.

Reese pulled herself together. She could feel the excitement of the moment building.
In just a few minutes I will be inside the royal palace. On my way to help the king break into his own rooms. With a gun, Tyrone, and not much else.

Tyrone produced the precious piece of paper and dangled it in front of the footman’s nose. “There you are,” he said.