Kiss of Steel (5 page)

The doctor’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve known what was wrong with him?”

She shook her head. Then nodded. “I know what the craving virus looks like, Doctor Madison…But it’s impossible. Charlie shouldn’t be able to…” She stopped then. More words that she didn’t dare speak aloud.

“Shouldn’t be able to?” he prompted.

“I simply can’t believe this is happening.” She smiled weakly and poured him a cup of tea.

The doctor gave her a look of fatherly concern, sipping at the tea. “You’d best be on your guard. I noticed the cot in his room. I don’t think either of you should be staying in there with him in these circumstances.”

“He would never hurt us.” And yet the way Charlie had looked at her, at the blood…

“He might not be able to control himself,” the doctor replied. “The monster inside him—”

“He’s not a monster.” But was that not what a blue blood was? What she’d always believed?

“Of course not. I meant only that Charlie might not be able to stop himself.”

Honoria sank into a chair. She—more than anyone—knew what the craving virus turned a person into. She had taken her father’s notes and helped him with the gentler patients at the Institute. There was even a scar on her shoulder where a young girl named Daisy—a sweet, mild-mannered girl before Vickers infected her—had gone for Honoria’s throat with her bare teeth one day when Honoria hadn’t kept her guard up.

If Charlie lost control—if he went after Lena—Honoria would never forgive herself. The infection was growing worse. If she didn’t find some way to stop it soon, it would be too late.

“I’ll move the cot. And I’ll lock the door when we’re asleep.”

The doctor squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ll have to report this.”

“No.” She surged to her feet. “No, please. They’ll take him away. They’ll kill him if he can’t control it, or if he does, they’ll lock him up and make him into one of their slaves.” She’d seen the mindless brutes the Echelon kept chained, displaying them on leashes as though they were the latest accessory. And those were the ones who survived.

Tears burned in her eyes. “Please,” she whispered.

“You have a month. It’s the best I can do. I would advise you to stay away from him as much as possible. Perhaps sucking on some raw meat might assuage his hunger. If he becomes violent, then restrain him.” The doctor hesitated on the doorstep. “There’s no charge for today.”

Honoria dashed at her eyes. “That’s not necessary. I can pay you—”

“I won’t be coming back, Miss Pryor. God have mercy on you.” Then he slipped his bowler on and hurried down the steps into the alley.

Chapter 3

A light shone in the window. Blade stalked through the fog that clung to the ground, swirling about his thighs. He couldn’t see a blasted thing, but he knew the cobblestones beneath his feet like he knew the back of his hand. It had been fifty years since he’d staggered into the ’Chapel, bleeding from a dozen stab wounds. He had decided then that this would be his home and that nobody—not even Vickers—could take it from him.

Blade’s war with the Echelon had been short but bloody. The metaljackets hunting him had the numbers, but the terrain was perfect for the kind of guerrilla warfare that Blade excelled at. Vickers might have taken him from the gutters, but Blade had never forgotten them. In the end, he had knifed more than twenty of the elite Coldrush Guards and destroyed at least fifty of the metaljacket drones with them. The Echelon had withdrawn, ceding him the rookeries.

Running a hand over the cold iron banister, he climbed the steps to the peeling, pea-green door. She hadn’t come. Miss Honoria Todd had reneged on their bargain. A kinder man might have asked why. But his first instinct was to work out how much advantage he could take from this.

Reaching out, he rapped sharply at the door. Three streets over a dog started barking. Blade smiled. He could smell Will trailing him over the rooftops as he’d strictly forbidden him to do. Rip and Will were like a pair of bleedin’ nursemaids. The lad was good, almost invisible, in fact, but sometimes he forgot that Blade’s senses were as finely tuned as his own.

Footsteps sounded from within. And a faint mutter as someone tripped over something. He leaned his palm against the doorjamb as the three locks were slipped.

The door cracked open an inch. A pair of liquid-dark eyes stared out then widened.

Blade examined his watch with exaggerated theater. “I coulda sworn I said ten.”

Honoria clapped a hand to her mouth. Dark circles swam under her eyes, and the shawl around her shoulders barely disguised the indentation of her collarbone. She opened the door just enough to slip out, shutting it behind her. “I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.”

Blade didn’t back away. Honoria was forced to look up at him, her back pressed against the door, with just an inch between them. She cleared her throat a little and tugged the shawl tighter. The movement drew attention to her slim hands. It softened what he’d been about to say.

“You forgot?”

“My brother isn’t well. We’ve had the doctor in. My visit with you completely slipped my mind.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off her wrists. Or the fine bones of her face and the gauntness of her cheeks. Honoria was slowly starving herself. He’d seen enough of it to think himself unaffected. But somehow he found himself stepping back, giving her space. “Come. Walk with me.”

Her face paled. “I can’t.”

“That weren’t an invitation.”

“I can’t leave my sister alone.”

Blade rapped on the door—with the pair of crossed daggers carved into it that morning. The mark of the Reapers gang and a sign of his protection. “Ain’t nobody crossin’ this threshold.”

That was the benefit of his protection for those who accepted his price. Slasher gangs, murderers, thieves, or just the odd drunken lout, it didn’t matter. He had a reputation to uphold. Cross him, or his, and Blade would come knocking.

Because of Blade, some said Whitechapel was as safe as the city proper these days.

Honoria chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ll just tell Lena where I’m going.” She had a hand on the door when she paused. “Where are we going? What time will I be back?”

“For a walk,” he replied, reining in his frustration. Honoria had been gently reared. A brief stint in the rookery hadn’t yet taught her that he was master here. He could afford to be patient. “’Bout an hour. Mebbe.”

She slipped inside and shut the door in his face. Blade splayed a hand over the coarse bricks of the doorjamb. Bloody woman, shutting the door on him. Anyone would think she was ashamed of having him here at her home. With his eyes narrowing, he leaned closer to listen.

“…where? Walking out with whom?” a young girl hissed.

“No one. Just…a man,” Honoria replied. “I’ve locked Charlie’s door. Don’t open it. I’ll be back as soon as I can get rid of…as soon as I can.”

“I see. Well, at least make sure he pays for it.”

Silence descended. Then the familiar, icy-cold whiplash of Honoria’s voice. “Don’t you
ever
speak to me like that again.” A chair squealed. “I’ll be back.”

Blade jerked back as he heard Honoria’s footsteps stalk toward him. He caught a glimpse of the room beyond as she opened the door: a table with three mismatched chairs, a pair of hideous brown curtains at the kitchen window, and a young girl with a pile of mending in front of her. She looked up, and he immediately saw the resemblance. Their dark eyes were the same, though the girl was marginally prettier, with plumper cheeks. Maybe eighteen. He couldn’t tell with her small frame.

Honoria shut the door firmly. “Don’t even think about it. You go anywhere near her and I’ll kill you. I swear it.”

He looked down and met her indignant eyes. She might be exhausted and malnourished, but she was prepared to protect her family with her life. In that way he saw a little bit of Emily in her. “Does she know you’re starvin’ yourself to keep her fed?”

Color blossomed in her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Shall we? I have an hour, and I don’t believe you wish to waste it.”

She marched down the steps, shivering with the cold. Blade sauntered after her. He’d had vague plans of parading her through the gin shops just to show the world and “Miss Independent” who her master was. Instead he shrugged out of his leather coat and slipped it over her shoulders.

Honoria started, blinking up at him.

“I don’t feel it,” he said with a shrug. “And your shiverin’s gettin’ on me nerves.”

Her fingers clutched at the edges of the coat. Blade thought for a moment that she would reject it. But then she drew it closer. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Honoria gave him an odd look. “Where do you wish to go?”

“This way.” He gestured with his head.

“The docks?”

“I’ve a mind to share a pint.”

Her head swiveled toward him.

“Of ale,” he clarified dryly. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode forward into the fog. If he lingered, he just might be tempted to take her up on what she’d thought he referred to.

Honoria scurried after him. Blade listened for a moment, slowing his stride to match hers. She was puffing as she caught up, her cheeks rosy with exertion. He eyed her darkly. How she managed to walk to work each day was beyond him. The bloody woman was on the verge of collapse.

He paused at the intersection of Old Castle Street and Wentworth but then changed his mind. “This way.”

“But the docks are that way,” she protested.

He ducked through an alley leading out of the rookeries. An odd odor caught his nose and he stiffened. Honoria bumped into him.

“What are you doing?”

“Catchin’ me breath,” he muttered, looking around. It must have been his imagination. There was more than enough moldy food scraps and offal dumped in the gutters to account for the rancid, rotting smell that had wafted past. “Come on.”

They came to the end of the alley, passing through the tiny improvised gate of Hoargate and coming out at Petticoat Lane. Some of the late-night vendors of the market were still hawking their wares. A couple of whores eyed him. One smoothed her skirts, then caught a glimpse of Honoria. The woman deflated and started looking around for another mark.

“You,” he said, pointing at a vendor. “’Ow much for that pie?”

The man paled, then stammered, “For you? Ah, why, nothin’ at all, sir.”

Blade flipped him a coin anyway. The man snatched it out of the air, then hastened to wrap up one of his cold pork pies. Blade offered it to Honoria.

She stared at the package. “I couldn’t. Thank you for the offer, but—”

He glared at her. “Just take the damn thing and eat it. This is the rookery, luv. Ain’t no rules ’bout what you can and can’t accept from a man. Your stomach rumblin’s fit to drive a man barmy.”

“I can’t pay you back. I have to pay the doctor—”

“This one’s free.”

He gave her his back and started walking. Behind him the sound of waxed paper rippled, and then came the swish of her skirts as she followed. Gravy and pig fat flavored the air. His lips curved in a smile.

He knew better than to turn around and watch her eating. Instead he led her across the street to a pneumatic rickshaw. The young Han Chinese boy nodded to him, then hopped up onto the cycle seat. “Where to?”

“The White Hart,” Blade said, offering Honoria a hand. “Aldgate.”

Honoria dashed pastry from her lips, then eyed his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she slid her warm fingers over his. Her eyes widened and he knew she felt how cold his skin was. Taking her by the waist, he lifted her into the seat and then jumped up beside her. The narrow seat pressed them together, thigh against thigh, and when she shot him a nervous look, he stretched his arm out casually and rested it behind her on the seat back.

“I’ve never ridden in one of these before,” she said as the rickshaw gave a jerk and ducked out into the lane. It wove its way between market stalls and people with an ease he’d never gotten used to.

“They come out o’ Limey when the Chinese moved in. Good way to get ’round the East End. Ain’t no steam cabs or omnibuses ’ere, luv.”

The young driver hurled them into the corner onto Whitechapel High. Honoria sucked in a breath, tumbling into Blade. He caught her close, tucking her protectively under an arm. Her palm was on his thigh. She realized it the same moment he did and jerked it away.

Blade’s hand tightened on her shoulder, reluctant to let go. But then he felt her body tense and forced himself to release her. No point scaring her off. He’d have to move slowly, let her get used to him. For he intended to have her. It was just a matter of when.

Honoria cleared her throat and righted herself, patting an errant curl back into place. “Your accent. It isn’t entirely cockney.”

“Ain’t it?”

Honoria gave him a sidelong glance. Whatever goodwill he’d won with the pie was gone with the enforced intimacy of the rickshaw. Her shoulders were squared like a woman facing the gallows. “You sound horrendous most of the time, but sometimes I find a trace of…of…proper speech in your words.”