With a saucy wink, she said, “Don’t I always, O Mighty Shifu?”
He was doomed.
Given the Angels’ previous case involving Mrs. Swann and what Fi had described, Glory was not going into the evening’s mission blind. Even if she were, it would not matter. She would take on any danger with Wei.
They were greeted by a female servant, who took them through the front of the shop. The place was like any other fashionable atelier, with glass-fronted cabinets displaying accessories ranging from vinaigrettes to stockings. Behind the locked door at the back of the shop, however, was another story. Glory felt Wei’s tension as the servant unlocked the door, leading them down a carpeted corridor and into a sitting room.
Their hostess was waiting for them. Seated in a black damask chair by the fire, Susanna Swann was a diminutive woman with blue-black ringlets and feline features, her violet gown contrasting with the paleness of her golden skin. Although Fi had said Mrs. Swann looked to be in her mid-twenties, the sharpness of the woman’s blue gaze made her seem older. As if there was little left in the world that could surprise her.
“Good evening, Mr. Chen,” Mrs. Swann drawled. “Bring your little friend over and have a seat.”
Wei took Glory’s hand, and together they sat on the divan facing the proprietress.
“Now, my dove, I don’t believe we have been introduced.”
Beneath Mrs. Swann’s stare, Glory felt like a butterfly pinned for inspection. While she could obviously offer an alias, Fi had warned her that the proprietress insisted upon honesty and was a bloodhound when it came to scenting lies. At the same time, Mrs. Swann prided herself on discretion and kept her patrons’ secrets.
“This has nothing to do with her.” Wei cut in, his expression hard as granite. “This is between you and me, Mrs. Swann. I am looking for a man named Leonard Kray, and Scott said you know where he is.”
Glory recognized the flicker in the proprietress’s gaze. Pain. Her heart squeezed with intuitive empathy. According to Scott, Kray was a cold-hearted bastard who had an appetite for pain. Had Kray hurt Mrs. Swann…or someone she loved?
Mrs. Swann fiddled with the lace on the high collar of her dress.
“I do not run a charity, Mr. Chen,” she said in cool tones. “My assistance comes with a price.”
“Name it.”
“We shall begin with your lover’s name.”
Wei rose, pulling Glory with him toward the door. “Our time here is done.”
“Wait.” Glory dug in her heels, turning to the proprietress. “I believe you are acquainted with my friend Fiona. She said that I could speak to you in confidence.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny an acquaintance with your friend,” Mrs. Swann replied. “However, it is my policy to safeguard the secrets of all those who visit my establishment. What I demand in return is honesty.”
“Let’s go,” Wei growled.
Glory darted a glance at him, then blurted, “My name is Glory Cavendish.”
Wei swore; Mrs. Swann smiled.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Cavendish.” She rose in an oddly soundless manner given the fullness of her skirts. Gliding over to a cabinet of spirits, she said, “May I offer you refreshment?”
Glory knew when an olive branch was being extended. “Yes, please.”
She tried to tug Wei back toward the divan, but he was immovable.
Mrs. Swann came over, and Glory took the glass of blood-red port with murmured thanks. When Wei shook his head in refusal, the proprietress shrugged and took a sip from the glass herself. She returned to her wingchair, not seeming to care that her guests remained standing.
Glory politely tasted the drink, finding it fruity and sweet.
“Will you tell us where Mr. Kray is?” she asked.
“Not until we have arrived at a price for this information.”
Wei folded his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”
Mrs. Swann sipped her beverage as she studied them.
