A Study in Darkness (35 page)

She covered her eyes, looking as if she might scream. “Tobias married his daughter yesterday.”

The tone of her voice said everything. A jolt of fury sickened him, and he took another step forward, choking back jealousy. “You wanted the golden ponce for yourself.”

She flinched. “I thought I did. I kissed him. But we were caught, and Keating used that against me. I had to go.”

“To the bloody East End?” Nick demanded.

She lifted her face from her hands, blinking at him. “There were reasons.”

“Surely Holmes didn’t agree to this.”

“It’s not your business!” she said, suddenly angry. “I have work and a place to stay. I’m fine.”

And she doesn’t need me
. Not even here, in this place. “You always like to make choices for other people. Have you thought what Holmes would say if he saw you here, like this?”

She swore under her breath. He knew she was fumbling, trying to deny that she’d made mistakes, to prove that she
still had the wits to survive, despite all the time she’d spent in silks and lace. He knew her inside and out, but that just made things harder. “Evie, you pushed me away twice. Are you sure you want to do it again?”

But all he saw in her face was confusion.
She wanted Tobias Roth, but I don’t see him here taking care of her. He threw her aside for the steam baron’s girl
. And that was a travesty Nick couldn’t fathom, adding another layer to the rage eating through his gut.
He’s dead if he ever crosses my path
. And that was the last coherent thought he had.

His mouth found Evelina’s—not angry and hard, like the last time they’d kissed, but simply like he meant business. He claimed her the way he took a merchant ship, swift and thorough—and no apologies. Her hands flew up, as if to strike him, but he caught her wrists, holding them until she surrendered.

Her lips were cool, her skin chilled by the night air. He let one of her hands go free, and it dug into the front of his coat, crushing the fabric in a fist. He cupped her cheek, warming her as he bid her to let him in, to let him taste her. She hesitated, checked by pride or fear or simple astonishment that this was happening at all—Nick couldn’t tell. But then her lips parted, sighing into him as the tension went out of her frame.
Another point to me
.

Her soft weight pressed against him, fuel to his mounting desire. He felt the tug of his Blood wanting to run free, to call wild magic from the air, but he clamped down on it, forcing it to heel like a stubborn hound. He bargained, he promised, he wrestled it with sheer strength of will until he had forced it under his control.

The feel of her against him was worth all of that and more. As his tongue found the sweetness of hers, his pulse seemed to grow fast and slow at once, too thick for his veins. His hands slid down the curve of her back, the gentle swell of her hips, and he could not silence a low rumble of pleasure deep in his chest.

But then a tendril of reason slid through his triumph.
She walked away from you last time this happened. It doesn’t mean a thing
. The same must have occurred to her, too, because
they pushed each other away almost at the same moment.

“What happened?” she demanded in a low whisper. “There is no silver light, no devas, no magic.”

“I told you I would find a way to control it. You never believed I could.” He heard the sourness in the words, but he couldn’t help it.

Astonishment flattened her expression. “How did you do it?”

“Does it matter? I wasn’t the one you wanted anyway. At least, not until the golden boy threw you over. Welcome back to the gutter, Evie. I’m as low as it gets.”

Evelina’s breath hissed in, the same gasp of pain he’d heard from men he’d stabbed. “Are you done?”

He glared at her a moment, even angrier now because he’d hurt her.
This has to end. I keep making it worse, moment by moment
. Turning to the door, he squeezed his eyes shut a moment, praying they would stop stinging before he had to face his men. “Sorry I disappointed you, Evie, but I’m making my own choices now.”

“Nick,” she called softly. The plaintive note in her voice hinted at a longing he’d always wanted to hear. But wishing like that would only hurt them both. It always did, with them.

“I’ll send Striker to talk about the parts.” With that, he went inside to deal with an easier kind of betrayal.

EVELINA HUDDLED ON
the bench outside the Saracen’s Head, every muscle suddenly too weak to stand. The weakness might have been from shock or sadness, but it felt like she had simply broken like an overwound spring. She’d endured too much, and the encounter with Nick had been the last straw.

The fiddler inside struck up another tune. It was one she knew, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember the words—a fact that suddenly seemed wildly important, because if she were singing the song, she couldn’t be thinking about what had just taken place.
How did any of this happen?

She’d asked for the captain. That was what Magnus had told her to do—he’d given her money to go buy what she needed, and suggested that she try the Saracen’s Head because there was a ship in town that had parts to sell. The doctor hadn’t named the ship, and he hadn’t mentioned Nick. And if he’d said to ask for the captain, well, that was the done thing. That’s how she would have played it anyway, had she learned of the ship on her own.

Had Magnus sent her on a fishing expedition, and was he waiting for her to come back and say she’d met an old friend that night? Or did he truly not know his would-be assassin—and Evelina’s old sweetheart—was in the neighborhood? There was no way to tell.

And what would Nick say if he knew his little Evie was working not just for Keating, but for Magnus as well? And what right did he—a pirate, of all things—have to say anything about what she did?

She closed her eyes, emotion warring with facts. There was no time to dwell on her aching emotions, because the next decisions she made carried too much weight. But no sooner had she formed that thought then those feelings swamped her.

Grief clogged her chest, too thick for mere tears. She took a gulping swallow, forcing air into her lungs.
Damn you, Nick, why did you have to kiss me?
The touch had given her a glimpse of everything they’d—she’d—let slip away. Nick had tamed the wild magic, just as he’d said he would—but she had always doubted him.

And yes, she’d wanted the life that Tobias had represented—wealth, comfort, and safety. Little did she know how much danger could lurk in a drawing room, or how quickly Tobias would set aside his promises of love.
He is married!
She had no idea what to do next—none at all, and that left her helpless.

The phantom of Nick’s touch still clung to her skin, taunting her. She sprang to her feet, as if moving would let her escape the ghosts of his caress … and she nearly walked straight into Striker. She’d only met him once before, but there was no chance of forgetting him. The man’s blunt,
dark face was rumpled with disbelief. “Miss Cooper? What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Mr. Striker.”

He looked her up and down, taking in her clothes. “What’s going on, miss?”

“I can’t explain.”

He folded his arms, his voice going gruff. “Well, you’d better. The captain’s in a right mood.”

She didn’t want to answer his question, so she grabbed at one of the hundred questions swirling around her thoughts. “How did he get to be captain? He’s no pirate!”

“He’s Niccolo,” Striker replied, as if that made everything clear.

And it did, in a way. Evelina sank back down on the bench, all the strength draining out of her again. “Yes, Nick is Nick.”

“So?”

“I came here to buy parts,” she said quietly. “But I don’t think I should.”

Striker’s brow furrowed. “Eh?”

“There was a fight here. I was standing outside in this dark alley when I heard it,” she said. “I think I was frightened away, and I never learned the identity of the people selling machine parts.”

Striker slowly sat down on the other end of the bench, making it creak. “Who sent you?”

Evelina studied his face. It was hard and wary, but there wasn’t any trickery there. And Striker was on Nick’s side, and that’s what mattered right then. “Nick says he knows people are after the casket, but I doubt he knows about everyone.”

“Yeah?”

“Magnus is still alive.”

She saw the flare of surprise that widened Striker’s eyes, but he didn’t seem the kind to waste words on emotions.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know if he’s aware that Nick is here tonight, but I don’t want to take the risk.”

For a long moment, Striker regarded her. “Why are you buying parts for Magnus?”

“He has information I need.”

“Why can’t he get them himself? He seems the type who could wave his hand and make them appear.”

That was a good point. “I should go,” she said.

“You hurt him,” Striker said unexpectedly. “Last spring.”

Of course he meant Nick. Her first instinct was to retort that it was none of the streetkeeper’s business, but she was too tired. “I know, and I’m sorry, but it was the only answer I had then.”

“Do you want him?” Striker asked bluntly.

“Why?”

“Finish it with him either way, but for feckin’ sake stop going back and forth.”

The statement should have made her angry, but instead Evelina looked down at her hands in her lap. “I don’t have a right to him anymore.”

“What does that matter?” He grimaced. “I don’t want the answer. I just want peace and quiet. And until you’ve made up your mind, there’ll be neither.”

She rose, not sure what to say. A yearning filled her, not just for Nick but for the simple existence that had made their affection easy. Of course, she had been little more than a child, before the wild magic and still young enough to be awestruck by a lad who could ride like a centaur. Whatever their love would be now, it wouldn’t be that easy.

Loneliness ached like a fever, making her hug herself against the cold. She turned to Striker, putting something like a smile on her face. “Good night, Mr. Striker. Tell Nick I’m sorry, and that I was never here.”

And she went back to the Magnetorium empty-handed.

WHAT SHOULD I DO?

It was a good question. An all-purpose one, really, because there wasn’t a corner of Evelina’s life where it couldn’t apply. And the question brought with it a cottony despair that was oddly restful. She could sink into it as if it were a thick mattress and never get up.

She sat on a stool by her workbench, elbows on knees and chin in hand. If her Grandmamma Holmes saw her slouching like that, she would have delivered one sharp tap to Evelina’s ear, the lace of her gloves raspy on the skin. A straight spine was a sign of good breeding. Good posture encouraged good thinking. A lazy body was the mark of a lazy character. The Holmes creed of discipline.

Evelina pulled herself up with a sigh. She wasn’t able to honor her maternal grandmother in much else at the moment. The old woman would have fainted at the sight of Evelina’s hands, work-roughened and creased with grime and machine oil—but Whitechapel was shockingly deficient in good-quality cosmetics, not to mention ladies’ maids who knew how to give a good manicure. And there was a piece of Evelina’s soul that wanted nothing more than to crawl back to a pleasant, quiet world where such things mattered and the worst that could happen was dancing the quadrille with a carrot-brained suitor.

In that world—before she had kissed Tobias—she didn’t need to be a spy. She could sit with her books and tea and dream of college. She could toy with a thousand exciting futures, but she didn’t really need to risk herself on any of them. It wasn’t expected of her, and if she wanted to retreat there would always be a gentleman to hold the door.

But she had erred, and the Gold King was quite willing to turn her life into another Crowleyton. He had purposefully set no limits on what he might choose to do. And she had seven days to give him what he wanted, and no clue where to begin.

And he was only one corner of an unholy triangle of problems. There was also Nick—whose appearance had acted like a sudden blow, leaving her to slowly bleed inside. Every time she tried to think about their encounter last night, it felt like touching a throbbing bruise, and she’d shrink away, hot and sweating. His anger had left her sensitized, as if she could still feel it like a hot wind on her flesh.

And there was Magnus—whom she was sure knew every answer to her woes, but was as impenetrable as a Chinese puzzle box.

As if summoned, the sorcerer descended from his upstairs room and strolled into the workshop. It was still morning, so the others who came to prepare for the evening’s performance had not yet arrived. She rose as he came in, wiping her thoughts from her face. He gave her an inquiring look, but said nothing.