“What are you doing?” Elswyth whispered. “We need to run!”
“Actually,heis the one who should be running,” Kehinde said. He set his cane on his knee and then took the thorn and placed it within a small cavity at the bottom. Elswyth hadn’t even known it was hollow. Then Kehinde lifted the opposite side of the cane to his mouth, aiming the butt at the fleeing man. He inhaled deeply before putting his lips on the tip of the cane. There was a hollowthunksound, and in the distance, the man fell. A needle protruded from the back of his neck. Kehinde stood and placed the cap back on the bottom of his cane. The black wood that covered Kehinde’s face receded, fading to brown skin. He smiled as though nothing had happened.
“Well,” Kehinde said, exhaling, “now that that’s settled, what would you say about a cup of tea?”
Kehinde sat before her in the kitchen of Devereux Place, delicately pouring two cups of tea from a celadon pot. It was a variety she’d never tried before with condensed milk, heaps of sugar, and a spoonful of cocoa powder. It was warm and blissfully sweet, settling over her like a blanket. Outside the high kitchen windows, the aura of dawn had begun to lighten the sky by degrees, lifting inky black into serene blue. They sat in silence while Elswyth drank. When her hands—which had been shaking since the altercation in the alley—stopped trembling, Kehinde spoke.
“I apologize, Miss Elderwood. I should not have agreed to take you there tonight. What happened was my fault.”
“I practically dragged you. And if you had not been there, who knows what would have happened?”
Kehinde frowned, setting down his tea. “I had hoped it would not come to that.”
“And yet it is good to know what you are capable of. It would seem that between Percival’s rifles and your floromancy, I am in the company of dangerous men.”
“You still believe that we had a hand in your sister’s death? Even now?”
She frowned. No, she did not believe it, although she hesitated to discount any possibility completely. Kehinde had protected her from men who wanted to hurt her, or worse. She could not believe a man like Kehinde would kill Persephone.
“Secrets make any man difficult to trust. I do not know how you were able to defeat three armed men with only your bare hands. Or how your skin was able to deflect a bullet.”
Kehinde sighed. “Your uncle is not the only one in this house with a history, Miss Elderwood. Before we came to London, I was Percival’s companion on all his adventures.”
“And these adventures often required combat, did they? I know Percival is meant to be a great hunter, but I cannot imagine him doing anything more strenuous than fetching his next brandy.”
“Do not be so hasty in your assumptions. He may be growing older, but Lord Devereux is still one of the greatest marksmen alive.”
“And on these adventures… was it only animals you hunted?”
Kehinde’s smile hardened. “The world is a dangerous place, Miss Elderwood. And sometimes the men are more dangerous than the monsters.”
Elswyth paused, staring into her tea. “I fear this is a lesson I am beginning to learn.”
Kehinde considered her and then lifted the teapot to refill her cup. As he did, he winced, nearly dropping the pot. He grabbed his forearm where the bullet had grazed him.
“You’re bleeding,” Elswyth said, noting the red stain on his shirt sleeve. She extended a hand. “Here, let me see.”
“I’m fine, Miss Elderwood. I assure you, I am quite the fast healer.”
Elswyth kept her hand outstretched. Kehinde stalled for a moment before slowly offering his forearm. Elswyth unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up the sleeve, revealing the skin there.
Except it wasn’t skin at all. Beneath his sleeve, just past the wrist, was a stretch of shining black wood.
In the middle of his forearm, the wood was slightly cracked, revealing a thin line of blood. It wasn’t smooth, as she’d initially thought. She could see rows of small mounds, now cast in wood instead of skin. The same pattern of scars that he bore on his face. Elswyth looked at him, her lips parting slightly, and then back athis arm. “Dendromancy,” she whispered. Her fingers touched his scars, now made from that impossibly hard wood.
Kehinde pulled his arm back, his eyes never leaving Elswyth. “That was not meant for you to see.”
Elswyth, hand still outstretched, pulled back as well. “Apologies. I don’t mean to touch you. That was inappropriate. But wood that can stop a bullet—it should be impossible.”
Kehinde smiled at her, a glint of something in his eye. “Respectfully, Miss Elderwood—you have no idea what is possible.” He looked at the wood on his arm, concentrating for a moment. As she watched, the black wood faded, absorbing back into Kehinde’s body, leaving only brown skin behind. A bruise spread from the wound, purple-black with a red gash at its center. Even the way he manipulated the wood should have been impossible—the amount of vitæ it must have taken to summon wood of that density, over and over again…
Curiosity nagged at her, but Kehinde had made it clear that she shouldn’t pry. She would respect that.
Elswyth composed herself, finishing her cup of tea. “May I?” she asked, gesturing toward his wound. Kehinde nodded, and Elswyth crossed the room and returned with her botany kit, a leather case lined with vials of tinctures and pouches of herbs. She took a vial marked “Essence of Calendula” and began applying the viscous yellow substance onto the wound. He winced with each movement of her fingers, but they were both silent while she worked. Elswyth hesitated and then said, “I suppose I owe you an apology. Persephone would have been well protected in this house. I was wrong to imply otherwise.”
Kehinde arched an eyebrow, sipping his tea. “Am I cleared of your suspicion so easily?”
“If you are responsible for Persephone’s disappearance, you would not assist me in searching for her. And you have your own reasons for wanting to find Persephone’s killer, if you and my uncle are suspected by the police. If I can trust nothing else, I will count on your sense of self preservation.”
