Thinking of Florrie and Bert, and then of herself and Alice, Mina laughed. “Siblings, then? Our two…peoples, I mean?”
“As metaphors go, it’ll do well enough. If you’re worried over Stephen,” Colin said, looking at her with sudden clarity, “don’t be. He’s an honorable man, and I don’t mean like Brutus. Poor fool.”
“Brutus or Stephen?”
“Either, I’d think. Though I’ve only known one of them personally.”
“Good,” said Mina. “I’d hate to think you’d been keeping bad company.”
“Oh, I always do that. Except now, of course.”
A wink turned him back from an ancient and strange creature into a feckless young man, and Mina had to giggle. “Of course,” she said dryly, “and I appreciate the courtesy. Did you come in here just to compliment me?”
“Not at all. I thought I’d take a bit of a tour around the place. After all, Stephen’s left me in charge of the defenses, reluctant as he might have been. I’ll have to try very hard to live up to his example.”
“At least in some ways,” said Mina. Handsome as Colin was, she’d prefer he didn’t try to follow his brother’s lead in all things.
Twenty-eight
From a human perspective, “Mr. Green’s” home was one towering new building in a large square of them. At noon, they cast long shadows over the street, and the door that Stephen approached was a full foot taller than he was. It was ornate as well, covered with gold leaf and fanciful designs, as well as the ironwork he’d seen when he’d flown overhead.
The whole building challenged the would-be visitor. The size and the ornamentation drew the eye but asked a question at the same time:Areyougoodenoughforthisplace? What can you offer?Stephen, who’d seen the whole square from a vantage that made it look the size of a postage stamp, felt not a single moment of hesitation, but he recognized the demand nonetheless.
The butler who answered the door, dubious and remote, made the question more apparent. Taking in Stephen and his wardrobe with a single glance, he switched from suspicion to respect. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that Mr. Green isn’t at home today.”
Mina had tried the same code. Mina had, even as an obstructive stranger, possessed a great deal more in the way of personal attractions, and Stephen’s business had been somewhat less urgent.
“Then,” said Stephen, “I’ll wait until he is.”
The butler coughed. “That may be some time, sir.”
“As a matter of fact,” Stephen said, “I rather doubt that. I’ll wait in the parlor while you tell him I’m here.”
Their eyes met. The butler was an old hand and doubtlesscouldfreeze most unwelcome visitors with a glance, but Stephen was constitutionally immune to being frozen. It rather went with the heritage.
Bowing slightly, the other man stood away from the door and showed Stephen in. “In here, sir,” he said, gesturing to a doorway. “What name shall I give Mr. Green?”
“Lord Stephen MacAlasdair,” said Stephen. Then, remembering what Green was—or more accurately, what he wasnot—and the urgency of his mission, he added, “Alasdair of Loch Arach’s son and heir.”
Stephen had always had a surname. His father had gone by “MacAlasdair” as well for the last few centuries and had laughed at it occasionally—“The youth is father to the man,” he’d quoted—but he’d come of age long before a man needed more than one name. When dealing with creatures like Green, he’d always dropped the pretense.
No reaction crossed the butler’s narrow face. “Very good, sir,” he said without expression and retreated, leaving Stephen to make himself comfortable in the parlor.
Blues and browns predominated there, in a small room full of overstuffed chairs and strange crystalline carvings that demanded much less than the outside of Green’s home. Outside, Stephen thought as he toyed with a peacock-feather pen, the original owner had wanted to announce himself to the world. Inside, Green evidently didn’t care as much.
He wondered if he would have realized any such thing before he’d known Mina. He’d always had people to deal with his lodgings and his wardrobe; he’d left the details to them. Stephen couldn’t recall, now, ever thinking how the world must look to a man who was confined to one shape, or to one who didn’t have money and lineage at his back.
Frowning, Stephen put the pen down and picked up a deck of playing cards. On their backs, strange creatures wandered through unearthly woodland scenes, all obviously hand-painted with some skill. He turned one over.
A blue-eyed woman looked back up at him. Her golden hair fell from beneath an equally golden crown with heart-shaped rubies marching around the band and curled on the shoulders of her rich red dress.
The Queen of Hearts.
Stephen flipped the card back over and put the deck down. Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and paced a circle around the room, glad of the challenge that avoiding footstools and end tables posed. Where the devilwasGreen? Slipping out the back, perhaps, while his man kept Stephen waiting? Stephen had half a mind to go looking.
“Mr. Green,” said the butler, opening the parlor door.
At home, Green looked even less conventional than he had in Mrs. O’Keefe’s club. He entered with his flaming-red hair loose around his shoulders; he wore a smoking jacket in black and gold brocade, loose silk trousers, and no shoes. His bright green eyes ran over Stephen for a long, unsettling moment. The gaze might have been lecherous or it might have been knowing; it could well have been both.
