Page 132 of Immortal Rose

There was a sharp inhalation beside me, and I turned to find Vernon suddenly beside me, his eyes widening with a sparkling delight. “My God, if it isn’t the Tremont Terrors—Willie Tremont, that can’t be you! It’s as if I’ve stepped back into the Coffin!”

Silence settled over us like frost. The brothers wore nearly identical stony expressions, their bodies straining instinctively for a fight.

Because in the Brickbats, there was a fight around every corner and at the end of every lane. You lived in a state of readiness, or you died.

“The Tremont Terrors?” I echoed. “But . . .”

Holy God in heaven above.

I would have made the sacred wheel over myself, if I could have compelled my body to move a single inch.

Bloody hell, I thought. Bloody, bloody hell. And hell’s tits for good measure.

The snake tattooed on Willie’s arm—that should have been clue enough, but I hadn’t been able to place it. He’d gotten it as a boy to prove himself, never crying out once as the needle bit his skin. At least, that’s how the story went.

For a time, the Brickbats had been plagued by a gang of orphaned children ranging in age from ten to scarcely old enough to have been cut from apron strings. Employed by a variety of colorful characters and thugs, the children had engaged in everything from theft, beatings, riots, to—if the street legends were true—murders.

They’d been led by the so-called Tremont Terrors, two particularly bloodthirsty brothers who were widely believed to be hell-born demons. They were the reason I’d worked so hard to move away from the tenement overlooking the Coffin, that strange intersection of the old church’s ruins, a forgotten graveyard, and the remains of the gallows.

My gaze shifted between them again in disbelief. Tommy’s had fallen to the floor as he hugged the bedclothes to his chest.

It couldn’t be . . .

But it was.

“The name’s Longmount,” Willie said, his voice hard. “I don’t believe we’ve met, sir.”

Vernon gained a chalky pallor. “No . . . no. You’re right. I was mistaken. Of course.” He turned to me, his voice strained. “My eyes . . . they aren’t what they used to be.”

I waited until Willie and Tommy had vanished into the kitchen before putting a comforting hand on his arm. “I hadn’t realized you lived in the Brickbats.”

“As a child—a century ago,” he said, shifting his weight between his feet. I smiled at his little self-deprecating joke. “I was visiting an old friend, and we witnessed a rather spectacular theft of apples by the Tremont Terrors, and from that moment on, I enjoyed keeping up with the reports of their mischief. Reading about them reminded me of what it was”—he seemed to choke on his words for a moment—“what it was to be young.”

To be free and wild, he didn’t say.

“I really must be going,” Vernon said. “Please excuse me for interrupting your day.”

“You haven’t interrupted it at all,” I told him. “It’s lifted my spirits to see a friendly face, and I’m grateful Eleanor has you to look after her.”

He nodded, releasing a shuddering breath. “She is a kind soul, and I fear the throne may come for her before she’s more certain of herself. Glenmoor underestimates her will and intelligence because she is a young woman, but”—his smile softened as he met my gaze—“as with you, my lady, he does so at his own peril.”

Rather than wait for Fleming, he opened the door himself and was brought up short by the sight of the young man standing there, his hand still raised to knock. For a moment, they only stared at each other.

“Why, Oliver!” Vernon said, recovering first. “How wonderful to see you twice in two days!”

Oliver, of course, was immaculate in his blue brocade jacket and matching waistcoat. My own surprise gave way to equal parts anticipation and dread. I wished I’d had at least a moment to prepare myself for this encounter—then again, I wasn’t sure I would ever be ready.

“And you,” Oliver said, clearly surprised as he shook the older man’s hand. “I wish I had known you were coming. I would have been glad to join you.”

Vernon was quiet for a long moment, studying him. “Which brother was it, lad?”

I edged forward, bringing Oliver into full view. As he glanced toward me, he revealed a dark bruise beneath his left eye.

I gasped, closing the distance between us. “What happened?”

He pulled away before I could touch it, grimacing. “Nothing to trouble yourself over. I—”

His gaze fell to the scratches just visible above the fichu I had tucked into my bodice and the few that crossed my cheek.