Mrs. Hartshorne wrapped her shawl around her. “You’re very welcome, Miss Dryden.”
“Please call me Genevieve.” She smiled. “Have a good night, Mrs. Hartshorne.”
“Evangeline.” The woman returned the smile. “You as well, Genevieve.”
Pleasure bloomed when Genevieve found Kendrick waiting for her in the dark street. “You’re here.”
“That I am.” He smiled, and it was as if some of the darkness rolled back when he caught her in his warm gaze.
“You didn’t have anything better to do tonight besides wait for me to finish minding children?”
“Actually, I managed quite a lot this eve. Arranged for furnishings to be delivered, looked in on the cleanup efforts, stopped an assassination attempt?—”
“Already?” she exclaimed, eyes widening.
“Not to worry,” he assured her. “It was a vampire named Damon, and all he did was ruin my coat. Joseph and I stopped him—we even tried to take him alive, but when he saw which way the wind blew…” He shrugged. “But I am safe this night, fair lady.” He bowed.
“Then why do you smell like smoke?” The scent of hot iron and burning coal hung about him in the air. Even the heat of the fire seemed to cling to him like a phantom.
“That was after I changed my coat.” He offered her his arm.
Heaven help her, she took it.
She expected him to press her on her answer to his proposal, but he didn’t, instead asking, “And how were the children tonight?”
“I read them the Christmas story—up to Bethlehem’s star. I thought to save the Magi and the Flight into Egypt for another night. I thought I remembered the words by heart, but they surprised me again.”
Kendrick lifted his face to the moon, visible this night as it waxed nearly full. “Christmas draws nigh. And what shall I give you, Miss Dryden?”
She blinked at him. “Me?”
He smiled. “For the twelve days of Christmas. What would you like?”
“I have no need of an abundance of birds,” she said, smiling a little. “I don’t even know what the original singer did with twelve days of birds.”
“And lords and ladies dancing and leaping, with a smattering of musicians thrown in for good measure.”
“They must have had a grand estate,” Genevieve said.
“I do have gold rings, however. That is what I made this eve. In days long past, a king was a giver of rings to his nobles and those with whom he made oaths. I took what you said under advisement and decided that would be as good a way as any to forge new bonds with the people.”
“I think that is?—”
Genevieve halted at the street corner, slowly turning to breathe in the cold, fetid air. Under the stink of the street and the snap of the wind, she thought she had scented something.
“What is it?” Kendrick asked, his hand twitching towards his sword.
“I thought—there’s a boy who sometimes walks me partway home. He lives on the streets. I haven’t seen him in a few days, and I’ve been worried. Never mind.” She bit her lip. She could have sworn she sensed him.
“No, trust your instincts. Which direction?”
When she would have demurred, he directed, “Close your eyes and reach out with your other senses.”
Genevieve let her eyes flutter shut as she listened to the low murmur of voices in pubs and doss-houses, breathed in the air that carried the hint of snow coming on and something that reminded her of Fletcher. She hesitantly pointed. “But I don’t?—”
Kendrick pivoted, his eyes narrowing as he followed where she indicated. “Blood.”
He swiftly made for an alley. Genevieve seized her skirts and hurried after him. They left the light. Only the moon guided them through the twisting, ramshackle passageways between buildings—Kendrick nearly had to turn sideways to fit a time or two. Finally, the narrow passage disgorged them before a building half-rotted.
