He lazily reached for the book he had earlier placed on the shelf, the firelight glittering on the embossed title:Rayner’s Guide to Medical Maladies.A section was already dog-eared, and the pages slammed open with a thud. “Ah, right here. Sweeper’s Cough. The first sign: blue-tinged nails. Peripheral cyanosis.” He swerved the textbook toward her, watching her steadily all the while.
Leena’s gaze snapped to the list of signs and symptoms labeled Sweeper’s Cough, then to her own nail beds; she staggered toward the fire to observe them over the glow.
Blue.
She pressed down on her index finger hard enough to sting, but the color didn’t diminish. She suddenly recalled that just the previous morning she had worried about the lack of blood flow to Rami’shand, his fingers cold, the outermost joints stiff and blue. She’d put a mitten on him to warm them, although his body raged with a temperature.
“Even now you look fever-touched to me,” St. Silas said, seemingly amused at her agitation. “How long have you been caring for your brother? Sharing cups and linen?”
Leena slapped a hand against her own forehead. Was she running a temperature? She could not tell, but her teeth chattered from the cold. “Then why aren’t you afraid of catching it?”
He shrugged. “While you may have…unfortunate doubts,I,however, am certain I had the illness as a child.”
Her mind reeling, Leena sat back down slowly.
Now she understood. The study suddenly felt like a cage.
“What. Do. You. Want?” she rasped.
All manner of false concern dropped from his voice. He leaned even farther forward, eyes edged in hunger, eager for the slaughter.
“Hardly anything that is not worth your life.What is your life worth, Miss Al-Sayer?”
She was all fire now, lifting herself from the chair, her palms slamming on the desk, face slanting closer to his. “Do not toy with me,Mr. St. Silas.My life wasn’t worth a farthing before you knew of my curse. The question is: What is my life worth toyou?”
They stared at each other in silence, both breathing heavily—one in anticipation and the other in turmoil.
“Consider it a trade,” he said, breaking their moment of stillness. “Come into my employment and I will give you medication that will save your life.”
She seethed. “I cannot imagine the morally depraved task you will assign to me as your employee.”
He gave a slow grin. “I tend to leave the depravity to myself.”
“To work under such a man—”
His brows rose faintly. “No one said anything about you workingunderme.”
Her face flushed at the obvious implication, but he continued smoothly, “And I am not asking you for anything that should repulse your morals. I need you to find someone. A ghost.”
Leena sat back down in the armchair. Then rose to stand by the fire.If only she wasn’t so cold, perhaps she could think straight.
“You did this on purpose,” Leena ground out. She remembered the odd expression that had crossed his face when he’d first seen her hands prior to visiting the prison; he must’ve known since then. “You ascertained I was unwell, so you manufactured a situation to use me.”
His glance was remorseless. “Of course I did.”
Her fist felt heavy with the desire to redden his cheek.
“I will not work with you, sir.” She turned her back to him, gripping the mantel to steady herself. St. Silas’s voice stopped her, starving tone underlying careful words.
“How honorable anduninspired.You will expose your secret for your brother’s sake, but to work with the likes of me is less preferable than death?”
She twisted to face him once more. “Not moral, but wise. Do you know that ghosts tremble when I speak your name?”
He looked oddly pleased by this revelation.
“We will set a new contract,” he said.
“You’ve tricked me once,” Leena countered. Her head felt foggy, her hold on the mantel tightening. “I do not want to be shackled to anyone.”
