The carter, a man with a square face and a square body under his warm layers, frowned and moved past her. “Where?”
Genevieve didn’t bother to answer. She seized him from behind and bit his neck, hand over his mouth to stop any cry. The man tried to fight her at first, but his strength was no match for hers. Then the bite’s effect took over and he slumped against the wall.
She drank her fill; he would not miss it. And the horse that pulled his cart would appreciate a lighter hand at the reins and whip.
She let him slide to the ground, groaning, and set his cap over his eyes. He wouldn’t remember this. Wiping her mouth, she walked to the end of the alley, emerging onto the street. Genevieve adjusted her bonnet, waiting for a horse-drawn omnibus to go by.
A boy appeared at her elbow. “Miss Dryden!”
“Fletcher!” Had she managed to wipe all the blood away? Had he seen her? “What are you doing here?”
“Walkin’ you to your job,” he said, squinting up at her.
“How thoughtful,” she said. There was a smear of blood on her glove. She balled that hand into a fist. “How are you this evening?”
“Bloomin’ marvelous, mum,” he said. A bold claim for a street urchin, but he was Cockney.
“Have you eaten?”
It was a fair question. Fletcher was, as far as she could ascertain, an orphan of perhaps ten who did a variety of things to feed himself—street sweeping, begging, pickpocketing. Possibly even housebreaking. She did not ask. She did not know if he was under control of a gang and thus had access to shelter or if he slept rough. But he had attached himself to her a year or so ago, and she saw him most nights.
“Ain’t takin’ your money, mum,” he said firmly.
She had been too blunt. For a street orphan, Fletcher had a lot of pride and was extremely canny. Inspiration struck. “I only ask because I thought I would stop for a twist of roasted chestnuts, and I know you know the best vendors. In return, you could have a few, as a finder’s fee.”Thank you, Sparrow.
His suspicious eyes peered at her from under a thatch of hair of an undetermined color and a grimy cap that had once been a sort of brown. “Long Tom’s got the ones with the most flavor,” he allowed grudgingly.
“Wonderful, but I’m not familiar with Long Tom,” Genevieve said briskly. “Which is why I need your assistance. Is he on the way to Sally’s?”
Fletcher nodded. “This way.”
“Lead on, then, good sir.”
What would you think of me, Father? Genevieve followed the boy through the throng of people still out in the early winter dark. She would give Fletcher a portion of the roasted chestnuts, but not so much he would think she was being overly charitable, and the rest to the children at Sally’s—a small Christmas gift.
She lifted her face to the black sky above, most stars obscured from the smog and smoke. How could it be a Christmas without the hope to which she had clung for so long? How could it be Christmas when nothing was changing in the Ossuary?
As much as she hated to admit it, Winnie was correct—their new master hadn’t changed anything yet. And what good was a new ruler without change?
ChapterFive
Kendrick stared up at the innocuous house. It looked the same as every other house on the street—except for the black fabric wrapped around the door knocker. He checked the direction Etienne had scrawled on a card with the name on the house. Fernside. He slipped the card in his pocket and ascended the steps.
The knocker thudded against the door, muffled by the fabric. Kendrick waited.
An aged human butler carefully opened the door.
“I’m here to see Mr. Dominic Penrose,” Kendrick said.
“The family is not receiving visitors, sir,” the butler said in an apologetic whisper.
Kendrick caught his eye and smiled. “Tell him it is Kendrick.”
The butler blinked and opened the door. “Will you wait in the blue salon, sir?”
Kendrick glanced around the home as the butler ensconced him in the salon before disappearing. It was just as innocuous as the outside, except that all the mirrored surfaces were covered, and all the drapes tightly closed.
Except for the butler’s footsteps, the house was silent. Not even the ticking of a clock disturbed the air. They had probably been stopped as part of this era’s mourning practices. But Kendrick could smell the house’s inhabitants. Several humans lived here. Even one who was nursing.
