The trouble was, some vampires simply stopped looking and went on their own way, into the dark. And because of it, a necessary part of them died.
Kendrick kept walking, unbothered as the wind picked up and cut through his layers of clothing like a knife. He had never been able to resist the lure of a good fire and a story told around it.
ChapterEleven
Genevieve took special care leaving the Ossuary, though she remained as unseen as ever. Kendrick had given her a scare. She dropped off Sparrow’s piece work with the shopkeepers and received the meager wage in return. After, even shrouded in her talent, she walked carefully up to a man sleeping rough in an alley. He never realized she was there, even when she sank her teeth into his wrist, above the line of grime around his cuffs. She only took a little blood from him because he tasted strongly of drink, and it was just early evening.
At Sally’s, there was no Justin or Mary to watch, but Peter and Hannah squabbled all night. A very fractious and contentious assemblage. Genevieve forwent most of the alphabet lessons and instead asked what sort of story they would like to hear.
“Exciting, with battles. And not a girly story, neither,” Peter said in a sullen voice.
“Not a girly story.” Genevieve sighed. He had not been as enthralled with Wynnflaed as she and Hannah, then. “Hmm. Shall I tell you of a monster called Grendel, who haunted a lord’s hall in years long past, and the hero who did battle with him?”
“Yes.”
Genevieve raised an eyebrow.
Peter ducked his head. “Yes, please, mum.”
“All right. Now, Grendel…” The words transformed the small room into a lord’s hall that smelled of peat smoke and ale, of a night full of monsters, but among the hall’s inhabitants: heroes.
Partway into describing the battle against Grendel, an insistent knock sounded on the door.
Peter and Hannah stilled.
Unforeseen knocks were never good. Genevieve stood, smoothing her skirts. “I’ll see who it is,” she said, gliding to the door on silent feet. The back of her neck tingled, and she flexed her hand. She could deal with any human threat. When her hand rested on the knob, the scents on the other side of the door registered. Blood. Blood and?—
She drew back the bolt. “Fletcher? What’s happened?”
The urchin swiped his hand under his running nose and gestured to the small boy beside him and the hiccupping baby he carried. “The baby’s bashed her head in, miss.”
Genevieve crouched to look at the baby, who was bleeding from a cut on her head. “Oh, poor darling,” she murmured. The baby twisted away from her to hide against her brother’s neck. They must have been siblings; they had the same green eyes and towheaded hair. “What’s your name?” she asked the boy. He could not have been older than seven.
He shot her a look and swallowed.
“He’s the tyke what lives up the second floor,” Fletcher said. “Augie and June.”
“August,” the boy whispered.
Genevieve’s gaze widened. “I think Sally—Mrs. Blevins—spoke to your mother about me. My name is Miss Dryden. I look after Peter and Hannah at night. Would you like to come in, August? I can help you bandage up June’s head. She’s not too heavy for you?”
“See, I told you she was a good ’un. Go on,” Fletcher said, backing away from the door.
Genevieve straightened. “Fletcher, won’t you come in?”
“Naw,” he said, swiping his sleeve over his nose again and sniffing.
“Just to warm yourself by the fire? You can wait and escort me home,” Genevieve coaxed.
“Got something to do, miss. I’ll be back.” He disappeared down the stairs.
Genevieve sighed, her shoulders slumping. “That boy.” She motioned August inside. “Would you like to give June to me? Let’s see what we can do about her head. You banged it hard, didn’t you, dear?” she murmured, taking the girl’s weight and settling her on her hip. She was big enough to crawl but perhaps not walking yet.
June howled at the transfer to a stranger, twisting towards her brother.
“Shh. It’s all right. Look, August is right here.” Genevieve patted her small back, checking her over quickly. She was small but clean, in a neat flannel gown, and the blood had slowed to a trickle, though the drying blood was all over her head and she’d certainly come out in florid bruise colors soon. The children’s names were decidedly not Cockney. Hadn’t Sally said something about their mother coming down in the world? How far she must have fallen for her family to land in the East End. “Hannah, there’s a bit of supper left. Bring me that bowl and let’s see if June is interested in a bite to eat.”
The girl did as she’d asked. Peter looked on silently, arms crossed.
