“I’ve got her,” Fierce-eyes said, leaping to block her path.
Samantha stepped forward to meet him, her fist closing around his lapels and pulling him to her in order to bring him off balance.Surprise showed on his face.He’d likely thought she’d attempt to run.Instead, she swept one leg behind him and shifted her weight, then followed him down to the ground.
They hit it hard, with a jarring thud that caused fierce-eyes to yelp and sputter.
“What the hell?”one of the other men shouted.
Aware that they, too, would soon be upon her, she wasted no time in snapping her opponent’s wrists.An accompanying howl of pain spliced the air while glass shattered behind her.
One down, four to go.
Abandoning Fierce-eyes, Samantha leapt forward and barely managed to turn before the ugliest one of the bunch brought his blade down over the spot where her head had been seconds before.She grabbed his wrist to control the blade, then jammed her fingers into his throat as hard as she could before bringing her knee up to meet his groin.
His legs buckled, and he fell to the ground with a whimper.
“Pathetic,” muttered the stocky man.He gestured toward the blonde boy who held the sharp remains of the bottle.“Take her down, will ya?”
Settling into a combative stance, Blondie eyed her with apprehension while shifting his gaze to his black-haired friend.They shared a nod of agreement, then approached her together – one moving left while the other moved right.
Samantha remained where she was, watching and waiting until they looked ready to pounce.Only then did she choose to remove her blades from her sleeves and slide them into the palms of her hands.
Blondie and Black-hair froze, their eyes filling with apprehension and fear as she swung her weapons.They’d seen what she was capable of without them.Did they really wish to stay and find out how deadly she’d be if she wished it?
As expected, the pair valued their lives and fled, clattering along the narrow street as though Satan himself were giving chase.
Allowing a smug smile of victory, Samantha returned her attention to the stocky man who’d started the altercation.He backed up a step, his brow sweating despite the loathing she saw in his eyes.He hated her, but he was also very afraid.
So she stepped forward, pressed the tip of one blade to his chest.“I want no more trouble.Understood?”
Rather than answer, he tossed the cheroot he’d been smoking and bent to help his companions stand.Both men cursed her fiercely, but Samantha ignored them.She had more pressing matters to consider, like her meeting with Wycliffe.
She returned her blades to her sleeves, then stepped up to the black door and gave it a few solid knocks.A boy roughly fourteen years old answered her call.He was only slightly shorter than she, his clothes as scruffy as one might expect from a St.Giles resident.
“I’m here to see Wycliffe,” she said, her gaze already taking note of the shabby interior behind the boy.Dark and dismal, the walls were cracked and the plank flooring covered in dirt.
The boy raised his chin, pointing his nose in the air.“Got an appointment?”
Samantha almost laughed.As if the man she’d come to see were in need of a make-shift butler.“No.You may tell him Mr.Harlowe suggested I see him.”
The boy gave her a dubious look but decided to grant her entry.“Wait here.”
He left her in the grimy foyer where water stains marked the ceiling while black splotches tainted the walls.Damp and cold with a humid smell, it felt like the sort of place from which one would only emerge with a number of ailments.
Samantha stiffened her posture and kept her gaze on the door through which the boy had vanished.Voices engaged in hushed chatter filtered down from somewhere overhead while footsteps pitter-pattered about.
“Come on,” said the boy when he returned.“Wycliffe will see you.”
Samantha expelled a deep breath and followed the boy through a hallway so crooked she feared the ceiling might cave in and bury her alive.It opened up into a larger room where the floors had been covered in mismatched rugs and the grubby windows hung with faded red curtains.Smoke from a fireplace to the right of the doorway clouded the air, and had no doubt lent to the gray shade adorning the walls.
Furniture was sparse, consisting of no more than two red velvet armchairs with a low table between, and a cabinet leaning against one wall.
A man, roughly thirty years of age in Samantha’s estimation, stood in the middle of the room, watching her with interest as she arrived.His dark hair was longer than what was deemed fashionable, curling loosely around his shoulders.Equally unfashionable was his beard which, if removed, would likely allow him to change his appearance completely.
“Mr.Wycliffe?”Despite the hard gleam in his eyes, she took a step forward while holding his gaze.Unlike the men she’d met outside in the street – the sort who tried to seem tougher than what they actually were – this man reeked of ruthless danger.
It made her wonder at Harlowe’s association with him.
Wycliffe tilted his head, allowing the edge of his mouth to draw upward into a slick smile that caused shivers to dart down her spine.With that expression, he might as well have said, welcome to my lair and your upcoming disembowelment.
