The Seer's Choice: A Novella of the Golden City (14 page)

That would get Genoveva’s mother out from under her bullying husband’s thumb in a way that society would find unexceptional. Rafael was relieved when the lady, after a moment of tearful wordlessness, agreed that it would be an ideal plan.

After her mother had gone, Rafael helped Genoveva into a cab. Even though they were close to the Ferreira house, he preferred not to have her walk along a dark street. He climbed up next to her and she surprised him by taking his hand in hers. “Thank you,” she said. “My mother’s situation has been terrible.”

“It’s a solution that helps
me
as well,” he pointed out as the cab rattled on its way. “I need a replacement for my manager, and had no idea where to find one. When you mentioned your new brother-in-law, it occurred to me he must know something of farming
and
of household management. I didn’t choose him entirely for your sake, or your mother’s.”

“But we both benefited,” she said, and leaned closer to kiss him.

The inside of the cab was dark, and he doubted anyone would see them, so he set his arms around her and kept her in his embrace until the cab drew to a halt in the back court behind the Ferreira house. He let her go reluctantly, sent the cab on its way, and walked up the back steps to the kitchen with her.

“Won’t you come in?” she asked breathlessly.

Oh, that was tempting. “If I come in, I might not have the self-control to leave,” he admitted, “and I don’t want to press my aunt’s hospitality too far.”

She flushed under the dim light of the lamp on the wall. Then she pressed a final kiss to his lips and bid him a good night. Rafael waited until the door locked behind her to go on his way. He walked down the alleyway behind the Street of Flowers and up the steep streets to his own neighborhood with a smile lingering on his lips.

All in all, it had been a most satisfying evening.

Monday, 4 May 1903

G
ASPAR FROWNED DOWN
at the gaps where the floorboards were missing. “You didn’t see him do this?”

“No,” Rafael said. “Miss Jardim didn’t want me to pursue him into the hall.”

This had been their first task this morning. Rafael had gone to the Ferreira house to escort Genoveva to the police station, discussed the bizarre intrusion with Gaspar, and then the three of them returned to his apartment . . . or rather the hallway outside it.

Gaspar turned to her. “Did you see if he had anything with him? A device of some sort?”

She pursed her lips and closed her eyes as if trying to picture the man. She wore what must be her most tatty jacket today, a striped one in blue and burgundy. “I don’t think he had anything.”

“What was he wearing?” Gaspar asked.

“Brown coat,” she said, eyes still closed. “His finest, perhaps, for Sunday? Not a gentleman, though.”

Gaspar’s brows rose. “Different clothes than last time you saw him, so not a vagrant.”

Her eyes opened. “I never had that impression.”

Gaspar gently touched the truncated door latch. “A possibility that needed to be considered. His
gibberish
, as you both put it, suggests he’s not entirely sane.”

She nodded, her face grim. “I can’t explain this any other way.”

Rafael had to agree with that assessment. Some of the words he’d heard screamed through that door had been curses, but most of them hadn’t made sense at all.

“And yet your gift didn’t warn you?” Gaspar looked back to Rafael this time.

“No,” he said. “I believe it was because the man left without
directly
threatening either of us. I’d asked myself if Miss Jardim would be threatened or harmed. He was on the other side of a door, and it appears that his touch is what does the harm, so neither applied.”

“Next time ask yourself better questions,” Gaspar murmured as he gazed at the floor again.

Rafael didn’t argue that point.

“How did he find you
here
?” Gaspar asked. “Was he following you, Miss Jardim?”

Genoveva looked to him, so Rafael answered. “Not that I was aware. But I wasn’t actively watching for him, either.”

Neither of them had expected to be followed, and they’d been paying attention to each other, not the passersby. They hadn’t been on their guard.

“So last Saturday, then Thursday, then Sunday,” Gaspar said. “Five days, then three. The time between his visits is getting shorter. This most recent event occurred during daylight, so he’s not afraid of being seen.”

Rafael
had
noticed the changes. “There’s not enough information to assume a pattern.”

“True.” Gaspar rubbed his chin, his eyes still surveying the hole left by the missing flooring. “I do think, however, that we can safely assume this man is after Miss Jardim. I suggest you keep her within arm’s length until we catch him. He clearly seems to be wary of you, but not her.”

“What are you suggesting? Sit at the station and wait for him?”

“No,” Gaspar said. “I want to learn how he’s
finding
her. I need you to go somewhere she hasn’t visited before. Take Miss Jardim and find a hiding place—a building with one main exit. I’ll watch from a distance to see if I can spot him.”

“She’s been staying at the Ferreira house.”

“Not there,” Gaspar said quickly. “Somewhere new.”

“I can’t simply be gone from the office all day,” he protested.

“Yes, you can,” Gaspar said. “You can brief Anjos on the current cases, and he can handle the officers.”

Although Rafael was nominally in charge of the men, both Anjos and Gaspar were more experienced than him. They simply preferred not to
manage
. “Where would you suggest?”

“A hotel would work if it’s not one of the better ones.”

Rafael licked his lips. “It would be harmful to Miss Jardim’s reputation should I take her to a place like that.”

Gaspar shrugged. “The other officers don’t have to know you’re together, although it
would
seem strange for Miss Jardim to be facing this man alone.”

This would cause all manner of gossip. Rafael glanced over to Genoveva. She looked pale. If there was one thing that a woman familiar with society knew, it was the power of spiteful gossip.

“We could let people know,” he said to her, “if you don’t have an objection. It will soften any gossip.”

She nodded.

“Miss Jardim and I are engaged to marry,” Rafael told Gaspar. “We hope to marry as soon as Joaquim returns from Barcelona. If any of the others press the issue, telling them that might limit the gossip.”

“Hmmm . . .” Gaspar said absently. “I wondered when that would happen.”

He shouldn’t be surprised about Gaspar’s lack of shock. Gaspar had probably figured out Rafael’s intentions long ago. The inspector could be remarkably circumspect when he ran across a secret—up to the point where
he
needed that secret revealed. Genoveva cast a quizzical glance at Rafael, but he just shook his head. “So let’s get back to the station and get things in motion. If that plan’s acceptable to you, Miss Jardim?”

“I can’t think of any better. We have to file papers today,” she reminded him in a whisper.

“Well, that office is one place neither of us has been before,” Rafael said.



Genoveva sat to one side, waiting while Rafael reviewed each of the pending cases with Inspector Anjos. The inspector was Brazilian, a fact made evident every time the man spoke. It had taken Genoveva a while to become accustomed to his foreign pronunciation.

She sat wordlessly when Medeiros walked in with the news that the missing man he’d previously found had gone missing again. The man’s wife was at the station, and Medeiros planned to start hunting the man immediately.

“Why don’t you send her in here,” Rafael said, his eyes flicking toward Genoveva briefly. “I’ll talk to her.”

Genoveva didn’t know what that look meant. “Do you need me to leave?”

All their heads turned toward her. Medeiros’ eyes widened as if just noticing her there. Rafael shook his head. “No, Miss Jardim. You can stay.”

Medeiros regarded her with narrowed eyes, and then turned an appraising gaze on Rafael. Genoveva could almost see the wheels of comprehension clicking away in the man’s mind. Medeiros left to fetch the woman in question without speaking, but Genoveva had no doubt he would have something to say later.

“Is this the woman whose husband worked for the Special Police?” Anjos asked, flipping through the papers in one of the files.

“Yes,” Rafael said. “His son did as well, which is why we agreed to hunt for the father.”

“Not any longer?” Anjos asked, his eyes on the papers.

“Their son was one of the ones who died that night,” Rafael answered softly.

Anjos’ eyes lifted, and his lips pressed together in a thin line. “You didn’t tell me that.”

They didn’t have to discuss
which
night. Even Genoveva knew what that phrase meant.

It referred back to the night when
her
father had killed several members of the palace guard and a handful of officers of the Special Police in his attempt to escape. Her father, Pedro Salazar, had used his healer’s gift to steal the lives of all those men. With that stolen strength, he’d nearly killed Anjos and severely injured Gaspar as well. It had been
Mrs.
Anjos who’d stopped Salazar, drawing his life force—and that of all of his victims as well—from his body without touching him. She’d then used all that stolen power to heal Anjos.

“It wasn’t relevant,” Rafael said.

“I benefited from her son’s death,” Anjos protested softly.

“No,” Rafael said firmly. “You benefited from Salazar’s death.”

A knock came at the door, and Rafael and Anjos both rose. A moment later, Medeiros escorted in a woman of fifty or so, her face worn with worry. She wore a dark blue skirt with a white shirtwaist that spoke of respectability without excess. She clutched a photograph in a silver frame to her chest and a crumpled handkerchief in her other hand.

“Mrs. Duarte,” Rafael said gently, gesturing for her to sit in one of the empty chairs. “I’m Captain Pinheiro. I wanted to assure you that we’ll do everything we can to find your husband.”

The woman sniffled and nodded. She shifted the frame in her hand to apply the handkerchief to her nose. “I don’t know why he’s doing this. I don’t know what to think.”

He held out one hand. “May I see that?”

The woman’s eyes lifted, startled. “The photograph?”

He nodded and she placed the frame in his hands. He gazed at it for a moment. “Is this recent?”

“Last spring,” she said, “but his hair has gone white since Enrique’s death.”

Enrique
would be one of the young men her father had murdered, Genoveva guessed.

Rafael laid the photograph on his desk where Genoveva could see it. And then she knew why. She wrung her hands together, her jaw clenching tight.

The man in the photograph was her pursuer. His eyes seemed different somehow, but once she imagined the man with white hair, she had no doubt.

The captain pulled out a chair and sat a few feet from the man’s wife. “Mrs. Duarte, there are some questions I need to ask about your husband. Does he or anyone in his family have any gifts?”

“You mean a witch?” the woman asked, sounding aghast. She crossed herself. “No.”

Rafael nodded. He handed the photograph back and she folded it against her heart again. “What time yesterday did you last see your husband?”

“I lay down to nap after lunch. When I woke up, he was gone.”

“I see,” Rafael said. “Does your husband often talk about how your son died?”

The woman seemed hesitant, but eventually nodded jerkily. “He said it was unfair.”

Genoveva swallowed. She had a hollow feeling in her stomach.

“He heard that the man who killed Enrique had a daughter,” Mrs. Duarte added in her weary voice, “and he says it’s unfair that our son is dead when that man’s child is still alive. It’s God’s will, I told him, but he won’t listen to me.”

Genoveva laid her hand over her mouth, afraid that her anguish would spill out. This was one of the reasons she’d so readily accepted a position with the Special Police—to make some amends for the lives her father had taken.