She pulled the keys from her pocket, thumb tracing the jagged teeth for a moment, before she slipped it into the lock. Last night, she’d dreamed of walking back into the theatre – into her mother’s dressing room – and finding it bare. Finding the last traces of her mother gone. Erased. Just like she’d been at home.
Now she was standing here the thought clawed at her, her breath thin in her chest.
And then a low voice said: ‘I thought you said you were retired, Miss Adams?’
Ava jolted as though she’d been struck, dropping the key upon the cobbles with a bright, metallicthunk.
‘Blast!’ she cursed, ducking to snatch it back up. The man did the same – two gloved hands reaching for the rusted iron key, leather brushing clumsily against wool. Ava grasped it first, and straightened, her cheeks flushing.
‘You,’ she said. ‘You scared me half to death!’
It was the man from the other night – though now his dark hair was knotted, and the rough of stubble across his jaw looked messier.
But it was his eyes that caught her. As green as sea-glass, and gleaming.
‘Did I?’ His mouth curled up at the edge. ‘Well, I’m just glad I could repay the favour.’
She glared at him, her racing heart making it hard to draw a full breath. ‘I would have your name,’ she said. ‘For then I can berate you properly.’
‘How remiss of me.’ He tipped the edge of his hat upwards just slightly. ‘Damien.’
‘Damien?’ Her eyebrows lifted. ‘I’m not sure we’re well acquainted enough for Christian names alone.’
‘Are we not?’ He was grinning now – she watched it dimple his left cheek. ‘Even after I saved your life?’
‘Which I thanked you for at the time,’ she muttered. Though her heart rate had been slowing, it quickened anew when she saw how intently he watched her.
‘Mr Carter,’ he said slowly. ‘You may call me Mr Carter.’
Ava raised one pale eyebrow. ‘Well –Mr Carter. What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I came to ask you the very same.’ He jerked a thumb towards the sleepy public house opposite. ‘I saw you skulking about the square from my window.’
‘I wasn’tskulking,’ she tutted, casting a glance towards the cab stand – though the drivers all seemed far too occupied cleaning the grit from their wheels, or unhooking the feed bags from their horses to pay the pair of them any mind. ‘I was … considering.’
‘Breaking in?’
‘Goingin. The two areverydifferent.’
‘Mmm,’ said Mr Carter, leaning nonchalantly against the brick wall. ‘One isfar more interestingthan the other.’
‘And far more illegal,’ she said, sliding the key into the lock and turning it once, twice –threetimes – before the door yawned open into the gloomy corridor.
‘Perhaps I should come with you,’ he said, peering with her into the darkness. ‘Ensure you don’t sleepwalk towards any high ledges.’
Ava shook her head. ‘I am perfectly awake, thank you.’
‘As far as I can tell,’ said Mr Carter, still standing upon the threshold. ‘You were speaking rather coherently last time too, though, so I cannot use that as a marker.’
She hesitated, turning back to him. ‘I spoke to you while I was sleepwalking? What did I say?’
‘Let me accompany you, and I’ll tell you,’ he said, elbow resting upon the doorjamb. ‘I’ve always wanted to see what a theatre looks like when it’s empty.’
Ava closed her eyes, huffing a breath through her lips. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘So long as you are quiet.’
‘As amouse,’ said Mr Carter – closing the door behind them, and plunging the pair of them into darkness.
The heat hit Ava like a wall, for the winding underbelly of the theatre was always unbearable – always either too hot or too cold – and though Bertie had promised to fix the gas lamps down here, it was still black as pitch, which made navigating the obstacle course of old costumes, props, and everything else that’d been left forgotten against the walls all the harder.
