Tenfold More Wicked (20 page)

This lane looks dark and noisome, hell of a place for a working girl. I slosh through puddles towards it, to look for Saucy May . . . but a flash of multi-colored waistcoat swings my head.

Upturned like a bad shilling, it's Sheridan Lightwood.

In a gin palace doorway, reflected in gleaming mirrors to infinity. Disheveled, that glossy hair loose, holding nasty palaver with stormy-faced Penny Watt. Penny's tricked out like a Covent Garden “lady,” her tight-laced ivory bodice showing acres of skin, and she's snapping at Sheridan like a shark.

I sidle into the shadows, peel my ears back.

“I didn't
ask
you to . . . I don't care!” The rest's drowned out. And then, louder. “You can't keep doing this, Sherry. Leave me be. You're not my responsibility anymore!”

Sherry snaps something back, a cruel glint in his eye. She slaps him,
pow!
He recoils, and arcs up to hit her back, but cries off at the last second. She smirks and struts away, a shimmer of auburn curls and satin-black satisfaction.

Sherry curses and kicks the mud. Grabs up his bag—a big one with a buckled top—and storms off.

In my direction.

I slip deeper into the shadows, and trip on something in the slosh. A dead bird stares up at me, his yellow plumage grot-soaked. Neck twisted backwards, like a dog snapped it. A parrot.

Heh. Chin up, Gino my lad, wherever you are. Skanky fowl had the clap anyhow, I heard.

Sheridan storms by, muttering with discontent. I wait until he's all but swallowed by the gloom, and sneak after.

He knocks at the door of a creaking two-story house. What's this place? No sign outside. Candlelight leaks from a cracked shutter above. Door opens, Sherry enters . . . and inside, I spy a hooked nose, slashing dark brows, a flurry of satiny scarlet.

Holy shitwallop. Red Cape.

A man of particular politics, Rose said. Lurking in a flophouse? I'm thinking this ain't no law-abiding Tory establishment. Money's changing hands, Sherry's pulling a dark cylindrical shape from his bag . . . I can't hear their jawing. Frustrated, I inch closer, into the finger of candlelight.

A heavy grip bruises my arm, yanks me about. “If it isn't the same nosy tart.”

Big body, squashed head, pale eyes hard like a starved dog's. Red Cape's henchman, the hulking brute what bites titties. An extra tip if you fake it.

Shit.

I struggle, ripping free. He just grabs me tighter. I kick. He dodges. I bite. He slaps me across the forehead.
Boinng!
My vision bounces, my ears ring, and when I fetch back my senses, he's dragging me into a crack between two decaying buildings.

“Let me go, you rot-crotch son of a louse!” I fight, rage, kick up mud. No one pays me mind. Another yowling dolly ain't no front-page news. I fumble for Eliza's stinger, but he
knocks it to the mud, and voltage cracks harmlessly and snaps out.

He hurls me against a wall and rummages in his trousers. “Shut it, twat. I'll teach you to spy where you're not wanted.”

“Would you, sir? I'd be ever so grateful.” I fly at him, biting, clawing, jabbing my knee for his balls. If he's hard, so much the better.

But his lips stretch into a whack-job cannibal's grin, and it ain't his cock he pulls out.

It's that jagged, rusty blade.

He slashes.
Rrrp!
My skirts tear. I scream, shock rather than pain. He covers my lips, slamming me back against the splintery wall. Not a happy place, Miss Lizzie. My heart's thumping, so fierce I can't hear a goddamn thing, not his lustful panting, not his giggles, nor that blunt notched blade hacking for my flesh . . .

Wet warmth splashes my face, blinding me.

His hulking frame jerks. His grip falters . . . and he's gone.

I stagger, gasping. Paw the wet stuff from my eyes.

The henchman flops in the mud, blood spurting from his neatly slashed throat. His fingers jiggle. The spurt dwindles to a trickle, and he's still.

Silver flashes in the dark, a crimson-licked blade. Drip, drop, you're dead. And a shifting shadow by the wall coalesces into a man.

A man with luminous eyes, green like fairyshine and just as mad.

Mr. Todd bows. “Excuse me, madam. Was this fellow bothering you?”

W
-WELL,” STAMMERS I, “THIS IS UNEXPECTED.”

Mr. Todd tips his hat, that razor still dripping in his left hand. Black tailcoat, red necktie with a gold-and-diamond pin. The perfect deadly gent. “Forgive me, we've not been properly introduced—”

“I know who you are.” My sweaty fingers clench. My stinger's lost, buried in the mud. And I can't get past him. This forsaken dead-end alley's too narrow. Brilliant. The murderer what covets Eliza's blood just saved my life, and I'm cornered. Weaponless, too, but for a flirty smile and a pair of juicy thighs, and I wouldn't wager a bunch on those to distract
this
death-loving loon.

Still, I can't help but stare. He and I ain't never met in the flesh. He's a lean man, is Mr. Todd, but striking for all that, sharp chin and cheekbones and inquisitive nose. In the gloom, that candlelight seeks him out like a cheating sweetheart, abandoning all else to darkness.

“Of course you do,” he agrees. His hair's dyed blue-black, covering that improbable, tell-tale crimson. Clipped short, too, instead of bouncing all over the joint like a fey-struck
ruffian's. “There, Miss Hyde, catch your breath, I shan't kill you just yet. You and I need to talk.”

“Ain't got nothing to say to you—Oi!” I jerk like a shit-scared rabbit, ready to run.

But he's only holding out a handkerchief. Shaking, I take it. Wipe my face and neck, blot my bloodsoaked neckline. God rot him, I ain't afraid of much. Not wolf-men, not red-caped assassins.

“I do apologize for the mess. I'd never leave a lady in so disheveled a state, but the timing was somewhat awkward.” Meticulously, Todd polishes his razor with another cloth. Wrist-flicks the blade into the ivory handle,
zing!,
and slips the lot into his waistcoat pocket, tidy as you like. He frowns at a gore-specked cuff. “I say. Anyone would imagine me a common footpad.”

I toss his ruined handkerchief away. My pulse still thrums, a startled bird's. Yet I long to smile.
Eliza
longs to smile. “What do you want, Todd? Following me, is you?”

“Only taking the air, madam, a pleasant midnight jaunt. Fortunate for you that I happened by. One never knows what's lurking in the dark. Unsavory characters, boorish manners, tragic fashion sense. It's positively alarming.”

“Crack-brained weasels like you, you mean.”

“Now, that's not nice. I merely offer a gentleman's assistance.” He plucks my stinger from the mud and offers it to me, handle first. “Did you drop something?”

I grab for it.

But he whisks it away, with that indecent scarlet smile that always addles Eliza's wits. “Weren't planning to kill me
with it, by chance? It's most undignified. Electrocution, I mean. I've endured enough of it in Mr. Fairfax's revolting excuse for a hospital to know. All that tedious messing about with muscle cramps and soiling myself and blood coming out my nose, and for what? Anyone would think he was trying to drive me mad.”

He offers the stinger again, and this time I snatches it. But he don't let go, and suddenly he's inches away. So close, I can smell him, that horribly lickable scent of roses and murder. “Don't think I don't know that's Eliza's dress, by the way,” he murmurs. “You look quite peculiar. Kindly don't wear it again.” And he releases me.

I back off, eyeballing that narrow escape route between him and the wall. “Last I looked, numbskull, you ain't in charge of my wardrobe.”

He lifts regretful hands. “Forgive me. I find it incongruous. The effect is all wrong. You're much more aesthetic in rufescent shades. Try a cherry, or double-white vermilion? I confess I miss Eliza's eyes.” He smiles, starry, and damn it if he don't look like a fool in love. “Her particular shades have no name, you know. They're poorly approximated by ordinary grays. One must mix ultramarine and ivory black. The proportions are . . .” He licks his lips, and it makes me stare. “Quite astonishing.”

“Did you mistake me for someone who gives a turd? Because I really must be going—”

Swiftly, he blocks my path. “But we've only just begun.”

I sidestep. He follows. I sidestep back. He follows again. “Out of my way, nutbag.”

Todd wrinkles his nose, considering. Shakes his head.

“Eliza ain't here, all right? So sorry. Spew your loony love poetry in her ear some other time.”

“And as much as I'd like to”—a delicately hungry grin—“it's you I've come to see. We need to talk. You've been meddling in our affairs, Miss Hyde, and I won't have it.”

I edge away. “Don't know what you're on about.”

“But I think you do. There's no other explanation. She wrote me the most disturbing letter, did you know? I can hardly bear to repeat what it said. I couldn't believe my eyes, and if I may say so, my eyes are somewhat notorious for attention to detail.” His chin tightens. “Her rejection hurt me, Miss Hyde. Honestly, it did. I can only imagine her coldness to be because of
you
.”

“Ha! Hate to spoil your wedding, Romeo, but that was all Eliza. She thinks you're offing folks to get her attention.”
Thinks she can save you,
I almost add, and swallow a guffaw. Like hell. “That Zanotti, for one, what stole your painting?”

A bewildered arch of brows. “Why on earth would she imagine me responsible for
that
? The newspapers described all manner of bizarre disorder. Savaged hearts, indeed. Most displeasing. A lunatic, I daresay.” He smiles slyly. “Or a cunning fox with a desperate need. Searching for something, I'll warrant, and not only revenge. I shouldn't be surprised if all sorts of dirty secrets wash out in
that
river of blood.”

“That missing beadle, then. The fat fool what dismissed her from the workhouse.”

“Ah.” Sadly, he shakes his head. “
Mea culpa.
An accident, all the same. Shadow lost his temper.”

“Who the hell's Shadow?”

“Hardly a question I'd have expected from you.”

I can't help but laugh. “‘'Tweren't me, I swear! My imaginary friend done it!' You keep telling yourself that. Own your bleedin' sins, Todd. Renouncing what you done don't make it disappear.”

But doubt pops blisters in my blood. What if it's true? Is he hiding his own Lizzie, some chortling black-hearted rascal what pops out to dispatch the ugly and ill-mannered while his attention is elsewhere?

Aye. And it weren't me what fucked Johnny and got Becky stabbed in the guts neither.

Todd gives me a puzzled look. “You shan't distract me with feeble riddles. I must ask that you cease your interference immediately. As a gentleman to a lady, you understand. A matter of good manners.”

I cock hands on hips. “And if I says ‘go to hell'?”

“Then I'm afraid I shall have to
make
you stop, and there'll be much distasteful nonsense with screaming and sweating and bad smells, not to mention all that blood soaking the carpet. Who'll clean that up?” He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “No one wants a mess like that. Least of all I.”

“That's the shabbiest threat I ever heard. Kill me, and she dies, too. You do realize that, you piss-brained half-wit?”

Cruel glitter fires his stare. “Your ill manners make my head ache, Miss Hyde. Who said anything about
death
?”

I laugh to bolster my courage, but screw me raw, I've never longed harder for my stiletto. Stab him in the throat, send him howling back to hell. “Think you frighten me, Odysseus
Sharp, Esquire? I could grass on you to the coppers this very night and they'd hang you in a heartbeat.”

“Would they? What will you tell them?” Todd folds his arms, crosses one ankle before the other. Eyes the henchman's corpse with distaste. “Beastly fellow. Look at the abominable rat-fur shade of his coat. Deserved to die choking for his fashion sense alone. I fancy Mr. Sharp is quite the hero.”

“You want gratitude? I don't owe you a pink spit. And Inspector Griffin would know your pointy mug anywhere.” I almost guffaw. Me, taking a copper's part. Next I'll be swearing off gin.

Todd grimaces. “Ah. You have me there.
Dear
Harley. I know where he lives, you know,” he adds airily. “That desperately middle-class town house he really can't afford. I'd visit him—his pretty wife expired, did you hear, it's
such
a tear-jerker—but I'm afraid he's never been very good at listening to what I have to say. Frustrating chap. Unhinged, I should think. I'm sorry to say our next meeting could well turn violent.”

“Captain Lafayette, then,” I retort. And then I wish I hadn't.

A dark, jealous chuckle that makes me cringe. “The Royal Society lapdog? Please. You don't scare me.”

“You don't know me yet.” Christ, am I threatening a thrill killer? With what, a smart-arse smirk?

“I could say the same, Miss Hyde. Which strikes me as a shame, seeing as Eliza and I . . .” He smiles, enraptured. “Well, there's only one ending to that story, isn't there?”

“I'm disappointed in you, Todd. Thought you had higher concerns.” I sigh. “Fine. You want to bed her, go right ahead. Just warn me out, so I won't be there when it happens.”

His mouth twists in faint disgust. “You mistake me, madam. Honestly, do you take me for a common man?”

And the truth I only suspected until now punches me in the face.

I'm safe as a rug bunny with this loon. Because it ain't
me
he wants to hurt.

My flesh crawls. Get rid of him, Lizzie. Now. Before he seduces Eliza with his tragic bleeding-heart fakement and slices her apart to bathe in our blood.

I'm sweating. I'm shaking. My heartbeat's rattling like a runaway diligence. Deep in my pocket, Eliza's stinger beckons. Shove it in his ear and shock him to death, before he twigs what I'm at and lunges in for the cut—but I'll need to get close enough to touch.

Bloody Christ, I don't want to. Not his murdering skin, not his hair, not even his clothes, warmed by that vile Todd-flavored fever.

But I must. Or he'll kill her, the second he lays hands.

Or will he dishonor her, despite his high-minded talk? Does he play with his prey, when the fancy takes?

Jesus, I don't
want
to know.

I smile, sultry-like. “Look, I were hasty. We oughta try to get along.”

“Are we not? I was so enjoying our chat. One meets so few truly interesting people in my line of work.”

“This Shadow thing . . . It's a lonely life, aye?” I toy with my hair. Step over the corpse, closing in. “We ain't so different. So rare to find a man what understands.”

Mr. Todd backs away, a glitter-green warning. His fingers twitch, an edgy razor gunslinger's. “Don't touch me.”

Aha! A weakness, no less. Steeling myself, I touch his hand. My pulse skitters. He's warm, fragrant, terrifyingly human. “Don't be shy, sweetheart. You might like it—Ow!”

He grabs a fistful of my hair, and
twists
. “Don't be disgusting,” he hisses, holding me at arm's length. “Do you imagine me such an easy mark? Think your
flesh
is something I
covet
?”

He flings me away, and fastidiously tidies his cuffs. His red mouth is tight. Dismayed, as if he never touched a woman that sordid way, and never wants to, and fears what might happen if he does.

My palms itch. Jump him while he's distracted and vulnerable. Shove that stinger into his throat and fry him like a fish . . . but I can't.

Eliza won't let me move.

Her paralyzing venom oozes into my veins. Stupidly, I long to comfort him. She's dreaming of his touch, the sting of steel under her chin, and that awful pink remedy makes me weak. It's as if our places is reversed.
She's
the breath on the back of
my
neck, the ghostly shiver beneath
my
skin, imploring me,
no, please, don't hurt him . . .

God rot her. I don't GET it. Does she want him, is it that simple, the aching thirst of any woman for a man? God knows, we don't get to choose who lights our fire.

Or is it a darker, more unspeakable craving? Eliza's memories addle my senses. I can't think. Like this, he swindled her into helping him, one stormy evening in his solitary cell at Bethlem. Befuddling her wits with his strange charm, secretly slipping a pin from her hair, the same pin he'll later use to pick his cuffs and escape.
Kill me,
she whispers, drenched in wild lightning. And he says,
thank you . . .

My nerves snarl like a cornered beast. Get out of my way, woman. How can I protect us if
YOU WON'T LET ME
?

Todd gives me that mad, tragic smile, same as he gave Eliza in that wintry courtroom when he tricked her into letting him live . . . and he beckons me closer. Imperious, just the way she wants it. Clever Eliza, begging at a madman's whim.

I edge nearer. Powerless in her grip. An automaton with a broken, bleeding heart.

But he's quite calm. “Do you see my difficulty, Miss Hyde? I'm a rational man. But Shadow doesn't think before he acts. If you attempt to thwart me again, I can't answer for what might befall you.” His whisper kisses my ear. “And then at least two of the four of us”—he licks his lips, that tiny hypnotic sound—
“will be very disappointed.”

His rosy scent drenches me, a half-remembered nightmare of beauty. I burn to act, flee, kill. But I can't move.

I've failed her. Failed us both.

“You're a monster,” I croak. When what she wants me to say is
kill me now. Take me. Show me how you love me.

Trembling, I close our eyes, and wait for the end.

In a breath of poison-sweet roses, he's gone.