Bronze Gods (13 page)

Mrs. Toombs sighed and released the door. “You may as well come in. Don’t want the Drusses knowing more of our business than they need to. Our next-door neighbors. Busybodies, the lot of them,” she added as she headed into the cluttered confines of her small apartment. An elderly gentleman—Mr. Toombs senior, Ritsuko surmised—slept in an overstuffed chair near a window. “Don’t mind him. He’ll be more trouble than help, I’d reckon.” The woman headed into the kitchen. “Tea?”

“That’s very kind, but no thank you.” The décor led her to imagine that there was no money left in the budget for pretty things. That usually meant there was little food to spare as well, so she wouldn’t ask the woman to prepare a snack she didn’t really want.

Ritsuko sat on a worn blue settee, preparing pen and paper. The other woman seemed alarmed by this, as if that made the visit more official. “What are you writing?”

“I just want to make sure I get all the facts right. I wonder if you could tell me a little about your son, first. His likes, dislikes, hobbies, what he was like as a child, that sort of thing.”

Mrs. Toombs glanced at Ritsuko’s notepad, then at her sleeping husband. “Gregory is a good boy, you understand, miss.” She fidgeted as she spoke. “We were so proud when he joined the Academy, we were; his father always worked the docks, see. But our Gregory, well, he had a chance of making something of himself. So bright, my Gregory.” Mrs. Toombs smiled, her gaze far away. “So clever, fixing watches and all those complicated devices that they gave him for his classes. Such wonderfully adept hands, such a clever, clever boy. If he hadn’t fallen in with that crowd—” She looked up, bit her lip. Then she shrugged, soldiering on. “Oh, but I suppose you know, or you wouldn’t be here looking for him, would you?”

As Mrs. Toombs grew more agitated, her voice rose, until Ritsuko feared her husband might do more than stir and snore in his nest. “What crowd?”

“It’s those theater folk, I tell you! They were the ones that led him astray with their harlots, their drinking and gambling.”

Ritsuko had already known Toombs was connected to the Royale though he hadn’t been seen there lately. But the gambling and the devices? That was new information, solid gold, but she concealed her excitement beneath a professional mien.

“How much money did Gregory owe?” she asked, taking a guess. “And to whom?”

The other woman sighed, her hands trembling in her lap until she had to clasp them. “I’m not sure, but . . . I’m afraid it was a lot. The last time he was here, he wasn’t himself. I’d never seen him so . . . To be honest, miss, I feared you’d come to tell me they found his body.”

Hm. Would a desperate man kill a young girl for money?
Toombs seemed like an unlikely assassin, but one could never be sure how far another person would go when his back was to the wall.
Maybe,
she decided,
to save his own life.
She had no idea what Cira Aevar had done to earn such enmity, but perhaps it was political, a blow against one of the ruling Houses.

She shook her head. “I’m just trying to find him so I can ask some questions. It’s possible he could be in danger, so any information would help.”

“If I knew where he was hiding, I’d tell you. Maybe you can protect him from those thugs who beat him up.”

“Do you have any idea who they worked for?”

“No . . . but I bet Mrs. Drusse would. She spies on everyone.” A scowl drew her pale brows together.

Thugs always have a boss. And that’s probably who holds the marker on Toombs’s debts.
Ritsuko stifled a sigh.
Two more people I need to talk to.
This case was like a worm; the minute she thought she’d narrowed it down, it split in two more directions.
I’ll talk to the neighbor on my way out.

“Before I go, do you have anything that your son might’ve built, one of those lovely gadgets you mentioned earlier?”

Mrs. Toombs perked up. With a huge smile, she stood and walked to the mantel, nodding enthusiastically. “Oh, goodness, yes. Why here, he dropped this off the last time we saw him. It’s nice, don’t you think? It shines like the sun proper when the light hits it just right.” She turned to Ritsuko, beaming with pride as she tapped a finger against the small device.

It looked like an intricately carved hemisphere at first. When Mrs. Toombs touched it, though, it slid open with the tinkling of little gears and levers. It blossomed like a polished brass flower; Ritsuko had to agree it looked lovely.
Oh, bronze gods. It also looks familiar.
When the mirrored surfaces clicked into their final positions, Gregory Toombs’s parting gift to his parents was also a miniature replica of the murder machine.

CHAPTER 12

B
UTTERFLIES FLUTTERED IN
A
URELIA’S STOMACH.
A
T LENGTH
she rifled through her closet to locate a dream of a dress, all gossamer silk and deceptive lace. It was a misleading blend of bridal innocence, whereas any society matron could elaborate on how inappropriate such a choice was for Aurelia Wright. Deciding it was perfect, she slid into it.

Pearly powder and lipstick completed the picture. She paused in the doorway of her flat before steeling her nerve and locking the door. Outside, she found the hansom waiting as he’d promised, and she clambered into it, settling for a fair ride.

Through gray privacy screens, she watched the city come to life for the night. Softening the old facades, a gentle ocean breeze soothed the day’s heat. The dark stone seemed warm in the approaching twilight; columns and patterns of lights previewed the stars yet to appear. They drove along the park to Main before turning toward the city center. House scions and pedestrians were starting to appear as the night shift of vendors and hawkers came to their posts. Bondsmen slouched along the streets, in no hurry to complete their work, as most of them were working off prison sentences. For the most part, it was an efficient system, putting criminals to work instead of incarcerating them. The worst offenders were banished outside the city and eventually made their way to outlaw settlements in the far west.

They left the city limits, passing through the northern gate, cleared land giving way to sparse brush, then forest, as the road wound up a gentle slope. Cleaning the window with her palm, she saw how the silver crescent moon draped the heavy woods in a curtain of ethereal light, and in the distance, she glimpsed her destination: white marble and red tiled roof amid primeval forest. She had been riding nearly two hours by that time, which placed his home on the slopes of the foothills. Outside Dorstaad, the Summer Clan owned the roads, but they didn’t bother her.

Soon, the vehicle hissed to a stop in front of the house, and Aurelia disembarked. The air was sweet with oleander, honeysuckle, wild strawberries, and mowed grass, all borne by a soft wind. All around her, the night sang quietly, noises unfamiliar to her. Aurelia had rarely left the city, and even when she traveled, she tended to visit other metropolitan locales. When she tried to pay the driver, he flashed her a cocky grin and followed the circular drive behind the lodge.

“Theron has style,” she said aloud.

For a long moment, she simply stood, listening to the crickets and frogs, the whirring wings of insects she’d never heard. The rustle of bats and crackle of nocturnal creatures in the undergrowth nearby stirred Aurelia from her appreciative trance. Certain beasts she preferred to encounter only from afar. In motion once more, her heels clicked against the stones as she crossed to the door, lifting the knocker on a deep breath.

As brass met brass, the opening of the door softened the sharp sound. Before her stood a man of middle height and nondescript features. He was average in every way, but his smile was friendly, a complement to his uniform. The servant beckoned her in.

No coat to surrender, she waited only a moment before the chamberlain led her into the white marble atrium, austere in line and adornment. Only the play of reflections broke the initially sterile impression. As they passed through the far doors, however, that perception was soon dispelled. Tiled in elaborate patterns, the open walkway surrounded a garden. White pillars held lights, the frosty shimmer of the globes the only concession given to modernization that she had seen so far, and they served to frame what must be the pride of the villa. The style was different from what she saw in the city, probably the influence of some early settlers during one crossing or another.

Blooms of all shades flourished against a lush background of plant life. Trees and bushes Aurelia was certain she’d seen nowhere else fought for space against the central fountain. The weather was different from the city as well, and from the tingle on her skin, magic must go into maintaining this unseasonal warmth. A soft spray misting about the fountain, the liquid sound of splashing water reached her as she stood, gazing around. Amazed, she would have continued to do so if the steward had not gestured.

Stirring, Aurelia glimpsed a table beyond the fountain, and upon it, twin candles flickered like captive fireflies. With a parting smile, she picked her way across the courtyard, her heart thundering in her ears.
He’s wearing white linen.
Aurelia felt strangely startled, as she’d never seen him in anything but dark suits.

Apparently on his home ground, he unbent a bit, and as she stopped beside the table, set with china, crystal, and white roses, her sense of the surreal intensified. All about her, the courtyard gleamed with the shimmering lights, shadows beyond. It was a perfect foil, his darkness contrasting with the white silk and linen he wore. She took a deep breath, rich with exotic fragrance, and waited for him to speak.

“Good evening, Aurelia. Come . . . sit.” His eyes lingered on her face, on the way her dress clung and fell. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“Wine?” He lifted the bottle as he spoke, something that drank the light and kissed it with color.

“Please,” she murmured, extending her hand for the glass. “It’s beautiful out here. I’m surprised you ever come into the city.”

“I have not, in many years.” Theron poured for her, then himself. “I have all I need, and only rare circumstances bring me forth. The peace keeps me here.”

So that makes me . . . a rare circumstance? Or did he meet me by chance on the way to deal with some business at the club?
She hadn’t given up on winkling out his secrets, but his attraction had other layers as well now.

“You never told me why you came to the club that night.”

He smiled. “I did not.”

I’ll keep trying.

Aurelia lifted her glass and tasted the wine. “The quiet here unnerves me. I’ve been so long surrounded by humanity that I’ve grown accustomed to its noises. Omnibuses and the chug of carriages . . . sometimes, I open my window and just listen. The city seems to breathe, as if it were a creature with a heartbeat and a mind of its own.”

“She is. A living thing, that is. Untamed, untapped, no matter what some might think. But be that as it may, I cannot bear living within it.”

Her father, the Architect, pulled many strings in Dorstaad. She had no such ambitions, which created some of the conflict. Her sire wanted someone to take over his empire, once he was no longer fit to run it. And she’d only ever wanted to dance.
Poor little rich girl,
she thought with silent self-mockery. But her father had been generous in the end, leaving her an independence that kept her from abject poverty, and he’d provided rooms at the club, too. More than many would’ve done, given her complete defiance. She had not seen him or spoken to him—or to anyone in the family but her mother—in almost forty years.

“The city affects some people that way,” she said.

“So I have noticed. Others, it drives to madness, it would seem.”

She wondered if he’d noticed something about her, if the age decay she feared had grown perceptible to others. To cover her concern, she sipped at her wine.

Theron indicated the romantic table for two. “Shall we eat?”

They started with cheese and fruit, both commonplace and rarities brought from the north in the Winter Isle, followed by salmon and bread. Simple fare prepared with delicate care and accompanied by sauces sweet and sharp. By the time she tasted everything, she felt satiated, a little dreamy from the wine. With a dark and slivered glance, he caught her licking her fingers, and she offered a guilty grin.

“That was wonderful,” she said.

He nodded. Folding the napkin, time and again, he finally deposited it on the table, neatly squared. “It’s been a long time since I cooked for anyone else.”

Astonishment registered first, melting into pleasure. “Thank you. No one’s ever cooked for me who was not paid to do so.”

“It’s an old habit. To trust none with my meals.”

“Is that because you have enemies who wish you ill?” She could easily picture him engaged in labyrinthine intrigues that resulted in an adversary poisoning his soup.

“Doesn’t everyone? Some people make insipid foes, as they can’t be bothered to take action. They content themselves with wishing ill rather than working toward it.”

“You sound as if you admire the schemers.”

“Do I?” His habit of answering with a question made it impossible to read him. There was no statement in an inquiry; therefore, her senses quivered with confusion.

That might also be because of the moonlit garden and the man currently offering his hand. Helping her to her feet, Theron slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, warm and muscular beneath the well-worn linen. She felt honored that he had discarded formality, showing her a more private version of himself. There might be calculation in the gesture, but it was effective nonetheless.

With the euphoric glow of the wine, Aurelia felt oddly content inside his private paradise. Her heels clicked in a cadence that complemented the other nocturnal noise, the song of their passage. Tropical hints reached her, clearly not native to the isle, but somehow, he coaxed their cooperation on an alien shore. The magical resonance she’d sensed earlier echoed stronger here, convincing her such a place wasn’t natural. Tipping her head back as they walked, she breathed the perfumed air, bougainvillea and climbing roses, jasmine and orchids that twined about the trees.

“You must be very old,” she said quietly.

“That is . . . offensive.” He was smiling.

“Is it?

You’re not the only one who can do that.

“Among those like us, perhaps not. What are you asking, Aurelia?”

“How do you create such a place?”

He glanced around, inhaling the perfumed air. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? My greatest and most enduring work. What would you say if I told you that once, our ancestors had the ability to command the land itself? Those with the most power could rearrange the world to suit their tastes and whims?”

“That sounds like legends of the old Courts.”

“Some of them, my dear Aurelia, are true.”

He believes what he’s saying. It’s not a lie.
Shock reverberated through her, but she managed not to reveal it. “Are you claiming to be a pureblood?”

Bronze gods, he’d be thousands of years old, and assuredly, not even a little human. His mind would be utterly alien, his goals incomprehensible. She should flee, presented with this as even a remote possibility. Provided that she believed him. It seemed a worthy gambit, a move guaranteed to fascinate her.

“I’m not claiming anything. I’m merely entertaining a beautiful woman.”

“You’re so clever. Or maddening. I haven’t decided which yet.”

“Can’t I be both? Maddeningly clever, perhaps.”

She gazed up at him, furrowing her brow. “Your lineage aside, do you allege you possess the capacity to shape this patch of ground to your will? And mark me, I’ll have a plain yes or no from you, or we are finished, now and forever.”

“An ultimatum already?” He inclined his head then, sweeping a gesture to indicate the lush beauty around them. “Yes, Aurelia. This garden grows to please me because I will it so and because I tend it.”

Truth.

He went on, “My power wanes outside these walls, however, and I prefer to remain where I’m at my strongest.”

“Will you ever tell me what drew you out?”

“In time. When I know you well enough to trust that you’ll believe me.”

That sounded as if he had a tale, and Aurelia had never been able to resist one. “Very well. I can be patient. I’ll bide my time.”

She leaned over to bury her nose in a pale flower with darkness at its center. Like a rose, it bore thorns, but it also had delicately flared petals, and the most luxurious scent she’d ever experienced. “I’ve never seen this one before. What is it?”

“The Sangreal. She took some time.” His tone was soft, fond, even.

Theron stepped closer, running a fingertip along the bloom as one might caress a lover. He released the silken petal with quiet reluctance, and everything about the touch and his manner told her this flower mattered to him. It might even be the key to his heart, should he possess such a thing.

“You created it? It doesn’t smell entirely like a rose . . .” Aurelia trailed off, thinking. “Almost a cross with jasmine or honeysuckle. Or both.”

“Both. I needed to strengthen the fragrance.” He stood, looking at the bush. “This was my last strain.” He swept his arm in a gesture that encompassed the entire garden. “But far from my only attempt. Half these came from my hand.”

“They’re not all magical?” she teased. “Impossible flowers sprung from nowhere?”

“No. Some came from decades of dedication, and they could grow in any hothouse, given proper conditions and care.”

“That’s incredible. You have a gift.” Longingly, her gaze lingered on the Sangreal, then she turned. “I won’t interrogate you more tonight though I don’t promise to stop trying to learn what you want from me.”