Before Aaron could say anything more, the coachman swung the door open and nearly threw him into the street before closing it again and taking off, wheels spinning, showering him with a fresh coat of murky rainwater.
Alone again, Aaron slumped against the bricks.
He rubbed his still-sore hands together in the now frigid night air before shoving them into his pockets and slinking back to the road. Ducking beneath an awning, he made his way through the quiet street, his boots sloshing in the puddles as he traveled north and east, not another person in sight.
A few blocks from the synagogue, a cat hissed at him from its perch on a gate and broke the silence. He placed a finger to his lips and shushed the beast, who promptly jumped down and scampered away, past a glass storefront.
Aaron strolled to the window to check what little of his reflection he could see in the panes. Oy, that was definitely a bruise coming on his cheek. And temple. Too bad his Omer beard wouldn’t cover that one.
Plink, plank, plunkrang into the air, like droplets splashing on boots.
For a moment, the temperature dropped and the shadows grew larger. Aaron froze, fisting his sore hands, readying them, as he turned to find—nothing. No man. No shadow. Not even the cat. He shook his head. His mind must be playing tricks on him. Something that was definitely not helpful at the moment.
Probably because of the guilt welling in his chest. But that was a problem for him to consider later. When he could think straight.If that’s possible, he smirked, considering his limited smarts.
Perhaps he should contact Miriam. He had promised her that he would at the first sign of trouble. And this certainly rose to that definition. Besides, if anyone could find a way out of this mess, it was her.
With a sigh, he started on his journey home again, marching forward.
Plink, plank, plunk.
The noise repeated. He glanced over his shoulder and stared once more at the empty street. As if a ghost had been there.
Except there was no such thing as ghosts. Only men. Who offered illusions dressed up as choices.
A gust of air whooshed around him, and he broke into a run, not stopping until he reached his rooms.
The second festival was halfway done. Muted music from the ballroom below trickled into the library as Aaron stuck his thumb in the Grimm brothers’ volume, skimming the story about the little girl with the red cape—the one who was devoured by a wolf while trying to take care of her sick grandmother.
Weiss’s grin flashed through his mind and he shivered. A touch too close for comfort, eh? He bit his lip. The banker wouldn’t eat the Lira family. Or if he did, Isabelle didn’t need a huntsman to get her out. She had her own knife.
No, the danger was from the Berabs. Something he needed to discuss with her. Threats or no threats.
A decision he’d made earlier that day, eased by the idea he’d had when delivering Rabbi Marcus the mail. The man had received a letter from his cousin in Boston, and he’d shared revelatory news about the Americas.
Lovely city, apparently. And they have even decided to allow our men to vote, he’d said, skimming the correspondence as Aaron cleared the remnants of the rabbi’s midday meal from his desk.With a growing community as well. A good place for young people to go and establish themselves.He’d glanced up with a small smile.Hopefully, they won’t steal too many of ours.
Aaron had given the man a thoughtful nod as he spoke more about his cousin before changing the subject and giving him another letter to deliver to the Weiss brothers. But as he’d left, his heart had pounded in his ears.
America. He’d never considered leaving London, but why not?
It wasn’t as if he had roots here. Or had ever truly belonged in the first place. No matter how much he loved the synagogue and the people.
Leaving the community before the Berabs could make good on their threats would free him to help Isabelle get what she wanted.
Even if that was Weiss. His stomach twisted at the thought.
Ridiculous. No matter their conversations or kisses, he had never been in contention. Which he’d known before every word, every glance, every touch.
Which was really another argument in favor of America—there he could more easily excise himself from any reminders of Isabelle Lira, for his own good. Allowing him to truly get on with his life and the dreams that were in his reach. Like he had always wanted to.
The concept had also made going to Miriam for help a great deal easier—she was old and vulnerable and no match for the Berabs and their power. The less she knew, the safer she was.
She had been amused with his request, however, teasing him.You, asking for something? Wonders never do cease.And she’d clucked sympathetically when he’d shamefully lied, hinting that he was in need of a fresh start.
Nodding from beneath her cloak, she’d tutted.The price of a close community. I understand. Gossip is thick and memories are long, and it is hard to change your status. I’ll look into it, see what possibilities there are in America for you.
And before he could thank her, she’d hobbled out of his alley with a flourish. Leaving him alone.
