“I promise you’ll always think of me when you look at it,” Mr. Sterling said shrewdly, once again reading my thoughts easily.
It unnerved me that I was unable to hide my feelings from him.
When they were done, the men carried everything out of the house in multiple trips. Then it was just the three of us in the bare room—even the furniture and rugs had been taken. Mr. Sterling and his companions aimed their pistols at us.
Whit took a half step in front of me, covering as much of me as he could. But it didn’t matter—the bullets would find the three of us no matter where we stood. There was nowhere to hide. Mr. Sterling had said he wouldn’t harm me, but I didn’t trust a word of what he said. If he had been telling the truth, I wouldn’t let him shoot Whit or Isadora—I’d scream and carry on as if it were the end of the world.
To me, it might as well have been.
Mr. Sterling pulled out a slim silver case from within his jacket pocket. He opened it to reveal one calling card, printed on thick speckled paper. “Please take one.”
He held out the case to me.
I eyed it warily. “The last time I took something from you, things didn’t end well for me.”
Mr. Sterling smiled, his lips twitching beneath his mustache. “When you change your mind, you only need to rub your thumb across my name. I have a matching calling card, made from the same magic-touched paper, and my name will glow from your call. I will come to the hotel as soon as possible.”
“I won’t use it,” I said.
He took the card and slipped it into the pocket of my skirt. “Possibly, but I will make you a promise, Señorita Olivera. If I find your mother, I will use the card to let you know. I don’t think you’ll be able to resist coming to me then.”
With a dip of his chin, he and his companions walked out, as if leaving an elegant soiree. I turned to Whit and Isadora, reeling from the day’s events, but Whit abruptly went to the window. He unlocked it, yanked it open, and swung one leg over, then the other.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Meet me back at the hotel,” he said hurriedly. Then he walked out of sight without a look in my direction.
“How rude,” Isadora said disgustedly. “Would it kill him to have said please?”
I walked to the window and leaned out as far as I could. He was long gone, and I frowned into the darkness. He wouldn’t have left us here if he didn’t have good reason. Shrugging, I faced my sister.
Her expression was grim. “That was the man Mother betrayed, wasn’t it? Mr. Sterling?”
I nodded. “Yes, it was.”
“Pity I couldn’t shoot him,” she said with real regret.
I stared at her, her bloodthirsty comment at odds with her delicate features, softly rounded cheeks, wide blue eyes. “How many people have you killed, Isadora?”
“A few, along with that crocodile,” she said.
The memory of those obsidian eyes stalking me made me shiver, goose bumps flaring up and down my arms. Suddenly, I wanted to run from thisdark, bare room. I wanted warmth and sunlight and to never look down the barrel of a pistol again. We had done a thorough search before Mr. Sterling’s arrival and with him taking everything of note, it was unlikely we’d find anything else.
“Shall we head back?” I patted the collar of my dress. “I have some things we need to go over.”
Isadora smiled, raising the hem of her skirt. She bent and retrieved folded-up pieces of paper tucked inside her shoe. “Excellent. So do I.”
We linked arms and together went out into the night. Isadora vented her frustration at losing so much material to parse through, and she comforted herself by coming up with a variety of insults aimed at Mr. Sterling. He was a vile toad in one breath, and an infected wart in another. But the whole way back, I barely listened, my mind dwelling on one disturbing question.
How did Mr. Sterling follow me all the way from Cairo without any of us noticing?
WHIT
I peered around the corner of the house, squinting in the dim light provided by the two gas lanterns illumining the street. The bastard traveled in style. He had come in a black-paneled, enclosed carriage outfitted with brass door handles, two lamps, and folded seating available in the back for extra passengers. His transportation could hold up to ten people easily. The horses fidgeted, restless. Even they looked expensive. The driver matched the transport—elegant dark clothing, polished shoes, long leather whip. Sterling climbed inside, saying something to his companions, but I was too far to hear whatever it was. They loaded all of the boxes they’d taken from Lourdes’s house, oblivious that they were being watched.
How do you like being followed, asshole?
It grated that I’d somehow missed his goons dogging our steps since Cairo. Except—there hadn’t been anyone suspicious on the train, nor at the train station when we’d first arrived in Alexandria.
