“This is Ernest Norman and his wife Rita. They’re interested in talking to you about the business.”
Sibyl raised an eyebrow. “We don’t need anyone else.”
Byron stepped closer to her and she flinched back.
“Please, Miss,” he spoke with a prominent lisp. “We’ve tried working on our own, but we don’t have no one to sell to.” He pulled out the pearl necklace and held it out. “Here’s proof of what we can do.”
Sibyl took it, running her hands over each pearl. “And?”
Byron took it back. “I’m a jeweler by trade. Least, I want to be. I ended my apprenticeship rather badly, so I’m hard up to get a supply of jewels to work with. I can steal or help takepieces apart and put them together again. Once we have enough money to buy a shop, then I can be your fence.”
Sibyl looked him up and down, then over to Mira. “And what exactly do you do?”
A brief panic overtook her. They’d discussed the plan and she was prepared to have a false name, but she wasn’t entirely prepared to improvise.
“I’m nimble and quiet, and handy with a lockpick,” she said, not putting on too much of an accent for fear of losing it.
Sibyl moved over to her, her eyes narrowing. “You’re educated. What’re you doing with this sort of fellow?” She gestured to Byron.
She straightened her shoulders. Byron said that a good persona started from a place of truth. He didn’t say whose truth it needed to be. “My parents didn’t approve of him, but...” she looked over at him and let her real feelings show through. “We eloped. And I’ll do what it takes to stay with him, even if it means stealing.”
Sibyl’s expression softened and she stepped away. “We have enough thieves. You’ll do well to forget about this place and go find dealings elsewhere.”
Byron clenched his fists. “That’s a lie. Mr. Fitzwilliam here says that you just lost one of your thieves. Mr. Treadway. We can help you.”
Sibyl turned to Monty. “How do you know about that?”
Monty fidgeted with his sleeves. “When I was cleaning out his room I found his pin.”
Byron pulled it out, handing it to her. “This one. He says it’s a symbol of your group.”
Sibyl scowled. “Not our group, no. One we’re obliged to work with.” She gritted her teeth and threw the pin on the ground. “And that man weren’t one of ours. Not anymore.”
“But he was, once?” Mira asked.
“Before he joined up with Circe,” Sibyl said. “And brought the rest of us under their eye. We’d heard of them, stayed out of their way, and he goes and brings them to our doorstep.” She turned away from them, wincing. “If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from them. Otherwise, you’ll always be at their beck and call.”
Byron’s gaze flicked to Mira. “You don’t want to work under them?”
Selene’s letter came to Mira’s mind. Most gangs had no desire to work with the Crescent, but were forced to for one reason or another.
Sibyl whirled towards them, gaze narrowing further. “You’re asking an awful lot of questions.” Her hand rested on the knife at her belt. “I’d suggest you leave before I’m tempted to ask some of my own.”
Byron stepped in front of Mira. “Just one more. If you could be free of Circe, would you?”
Sibyl froze for a moment before moving over to the other two women. She pushed in front of the man examining the wares and closed up the stands. “Shop’s closed. Get out.”
The man protested as she escorted him to the archway before turning towards them again.
“You’re from the Crescent, aren’t you?” She sent a glare Monty’s way, tightening her hold on her knife. “Well, what do you want from us? You already got one of us killed for those documents. You going to kill us too?”
Mira’s heart raced. There was a crazed look in Sibyl’s eyes.
“I think you’ve misunderstood,” Byron said, stepping between her and Mira with hands out in front of him in a placating gesture.
Sibyl pulled the knife, brandishing it in front of her. “Not another step. Not until you tell me who you really are and why you are here.”
One of the other women pulled out a gun. “Sibyl, you need to sit down,” she said, inching towards the archway. The second woman pulled out a knife and nodded in agreement.
