Calliope hated thenight. She shivered, pressing herself tightly against the wall of the building she hid against. Why on earth had she ever thought it a good idea to pick up her package in the dead of night? Not that she had any choice in the matter. Mr. Rollings had sent a request to meet at this location at a most ungodly hour.
Midnight.
What an unfortunate change of schedule.
And what ought to have taken ten minutes had stretched into thirty, leaving her twenty minutes late, thanks to the winding streets of the Lanes, which all looked the same at night. It had taken a while to orient herself.
Nevertheless, she ought to have known better.
This did not fit the quiet, uneventful life she had envisioned. All she wanted was peace, which begged the question, whatever prompted the man to ask this of her? She tugged her cap lower, clutching her satchel tightly over her pounding heart.
Deep breaths, Calliope.
Thank sun and stars she’d purchased a male outfit for this meeting. She might have to run. Fast.
She peeked from behind the wall to where her Mr. Rollings wasconversing with two very large men, dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief. She couldn’t see his expression clearly, but she could practically feel the tension flooding from him. Other customers, no doubt, since she’d been late. She wondered what the problem was that led him to meet with them at this hour. And how long it would take them to go away soshecould talk to Mr. Rollings.
Something about the exchange set her nerves on edge. The looming figures seemed to be one with the night. Carved from the shadows themselves. Their features were even more impossible to distinguish with their caps pulled low over their heads, nor did their statures seem even remotely familiar.
I should have brought Prince.
But then, it was probably a blessing that she hadn’t. He’d growl and perhaps even attack when threatened. No, she should have brought her pistol, but she’d completely forgotten about it!
Stars.
All this over some French oil. Very well,orange blossomoil, plus some other scents, distilled in the French manner, finer than anything she could source at home. More than that, she loved using this particular oil to create her own uniquely scented candles. It made her feel closer to her mother, who had enjoyed the art of candle-making and favored French scents. After her passing, her father had arranged lessons for Calliope. She had loved those lessons. However, she didn’t love meeting at this hour to collect her oil.
Andshe hated the dark.
Loathed nothing more.
Darkness reminded her of them. Duvessa and her daughters. Black as sin and just as merciless.
Nothing good ever happened when all the lights blew out. A sentiment once again proved right in her current predicament. But this was no attic. Every shadow here posed a potential threat.
She should never have come.
But she had placed explicit trust in Mr. Rollings even though she’d only known him for a few short months. After all, Mr. Fitz, her father’s solicitor and her guardian angel who had helped her escape, had made the acquaintance. He’d handled all the terms beforehand, and he would never put her life in danger. So when she’d received Mr. Rollings’s message, she had ignored all the “the Vikings have arrived” bells echoing through her bones.
Fie. Fie. Fie.
For the love of wax! How did I get myself into such a horrible situation?
A blistering curse rang out, followed by a dark voice filled with fury, “What the devil do you mean the shipment is missing?”
Calliope flinched.
Exactly what she feared. Nothing good happened in the dark. Ever.
“I do not know, my lord,” Mr. Rollings stuttered.
“Don’t bloody call me that,” the same man snapped, dangerous, and way too close. “I’m not a lord. I’m Death if you don’t spill the truth about my shipment.”
Case in point.
The other man just watched silently.
And what are you just standing around for, Calliope?
