Her Ladyship's Curse

As I left the Silken Dream, I thought of Dredmore, and how I might convince him to accompany me to the Walshes. I’d definitely have to lie. Or perhaps hire some muscle to kidnap and drug him.

Suddenly, something flew past my face and burst against a nearby stack of crates. I smothered a shriek as I flattened myself against the brick wall and looked from one end of the alley to the other. “What the bloody hell?”

Two men appeared, both wearing hooded capes, shirts, and trousers of dark red. They marched toward me in unison, one hefting a sparkling glass globe filled with swirling darkness.

My heart wanted to depart my chest, and my knees shook, but I had no time for hysteria. The all-red garments identified the pair to me as a particularly illegal class of magic-wielding scum; they were unlicensed hired killers, known as snuffmages.

I ducked as one threw the second globe at me, covering my head with my arms as I was showered with glass and filth. What they were throwing had to be snuffballs, another magical farce. The globes, I’d heard, were filled with some sort of black dust bespelled to kill anything it touched.

Naturally I was still breathing, and once I shook off the debris, I found the courage to smile at them. “I think your balls are on the blink today, boys,” I said breathlessly. “Got anything else?”

Both men drew long, sharp-edged daggers with rune-carved blades.

“That might work.” I turned, hoisted up my skirts, and ran.

I almost made it to the end of the alley before a clawing hand latched onto my collar. He tried to haul my back against him so he could cut my throat, but I dropped out from under his encircling arm and rammed the top of my head into his groin. That doubled him over in time to protect me from most of the slash of the second one’s blade.

I rolled onto my hands, tucked my head under, and flipped over, which freed my legs from my skirts. One of my slippers went flying as I drove the heel of my foot into the second assassin’s elbow, knocking the blade from his grasp. Then the first one recovered enough to hurl himself on top of me and we both collapsed.

He was too heavy to dislodge, and I was facedown against the paving stones, probably the worst position to defend myself. His hand clamped across my mouth before I could let out a scream, and he used it to pull my head back and expose my throat.

I knew then I was done for, so I closed my eyes and waited for it. Instead of feeling the blade at my neck, I heard a nasty, bone-crunching thump, and the crushing weight slid off me to one side. I crawled out from under his limp arm and leg and staggered to my feet to watch a third man in a black hooded cloak striding out of the alley.

A strong arm came round me as Tom Doyle caught my fist. “It’s all right, Kit. I’ve got you.”

So he did.

Inspector Doyle left his beater with the body of the snuffmage whose skull had been bashed in while he took me to his carri and got me out of there.

“That was nice of you,” I said when I’d caught my breath.

“I’m a nice chap, most days.” He draped his jacket around me. “I’ll take you to the women’s hospital.”

“No, I’ve only bruises and scratches.” I pushed my arms into his sleeves and tried not to shake. “A ride home is all I need.”

“We’ll go to the station first, clean you up,” he said, and started the engine.

I was too rattled by what had happened to argue, so I kept my head down on the way to Rumsen Main and ignored the stares as Doyle took me in past the desk sergeant and several dozen citizens in trouble or complaining of it. The whispers that erupted in our wake made me glance down. My skirts were stained and torn, my bodice soaked with filth. I smelled as good as I looked.

“Almost there,” Doyle said, guiding me through rows of desks where property clerks and secretaries ogled me like I was a naked strumpet.

I noted the stark black lettering on the door glass of the office he ushered me into. “Chief Inspector Doyle, is it? Very impressive.” I watched him draw the curtains so that no one in the station could look in. “Working the Hill’s done great things for you.”

“Pity I can’t say the same about the dispelling business for you.” He led me over to an old leather-covered armchair and sat me down before retrieving a care kit from his desk and a ewer of water from the adjoining lavatory. “Let’s have a look, then.”

I shrugged out of the jacket and held out the rent, bloodstained sleeve on my right arm.

He scowled. “Why didn’t you tell me you were cut?”

“It’s just a scratch. One of them caught me with the tip of a blade as I went down.” I tore the remnants of the sleeve away from the wound and inspected it. “See? It’s not too deep.”

He dampened a cloth in the ewer and gently cleaned the cut. “What were you doing on that side of town, Kit?”

“I needed a dress for a dinner engagement.” I winced as he took a pair of tweezers from the kit and plucked a bit of gravel from the wound. “Why were you out following me?”

He met my gaze. “How do you know I was?”

“Men generally stay out of the high fashion district.” I saw him take out a small brown bottle marked with a marigold label. “No, Tommy, not calendula,” I begged. “It’ll sting like blazes.”

“It’s the only thing to keep it from infecting and help it heal,” he told me as he soaked another cloth with the tincture. “So stop whining.” He ignored my hiss and began cleaning the gash. “I wasn’t following you. I was following Lady Walsh.”

“Really—” I let out the breath I’d been holding. “What for?”

He set aside the cloth and took out a roll of bandaging cotton. “That’s none of your business.” He straightened my arm before he began winding the bandage over the cut. “Why would someone send two snuffmages after you?”

“They weren’t especially attached to their money?” I grimaced as he pulled the bandage tight. “Are you cleaning me up or torturing me?”

“I’m questioning your involvement in a violent public altercation.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “A man died in that alley, Kit. It’s my job to find out why.”

My shoulders sagged. “I don’t know who they were, other than snuffmages,” I said honestly. “They were waiting outside the dressmaker’s for me. They heaved a couple of their ridiculous snuffballs my way, and when that didn’t work, they came after me with their blades.” I would not mention the man in the black cloak. “That’s everything I know.”

“Rumsen snuffmages like to use bloodbane in those silly snuffballs,” he informed me. “It’s enchanted to kill anything it touches.”

“They were filled with black powder.” I picked up a fold of my skirt spattered with the stuff, smeared it on my fingers, and held it up in front of him. “Look, I’m not dying. Praise heaven.”

“You turned it into that.”

I chuckled. “Sure I did. Right after I pulled a hare out of my hat.”

“Magic has no effect on you,” Doyle continued smoothly. “My grandfather remarked on it several times before we left Middy.” He tied off the bandage and gave me a hard look. “Said your mother had the same gift.”

“How lucky for me.” Panic surged through me as I checked my battered brooch watch, which fell from a tear in my bodice into my hand. “Oh, look at the time. How dreadfully late it is. I must be off.”

“You’re not leaving,” he said, standing.

“I’ve answered your questions, Tommy. I’m in desperate need of a bath and new clothes, and I don’t think you have either tucked away in your kit.” I tried to stand, felt my knees wobble, and sat back down. “Damn me.”

“You’ll feel better after you have a rest.” He nodded toward the wide couch on one side of the office. “It’s more comfortable than it looks.”

I couldn’t imagine sleeping in a police station, even one supervised by my handsome savior. “So is my bed.”

“I’m sending our staff warder over to your flat to have a look.” He held up a hand to stop my protest. “The snuffmage who got away has his reputation to mend. He’s likely already set a trap.”

“But you said that magic doesn’t work on me,” I reminded him.

“On you directly, no,” he agreed. “But he can get to your boiler, your ceilings, or your walls. They like to make it look like a tragic accident.”

“Father and Son, Tommy, that’s all magic ever is—” I stopped myself. “You can’t enter my flat without my permission.”

“You’re still under suspicion of extortion, and you’re a woman.” He leaned down. “Which we both know means I can fair burn the place to the ground if I wish.”

He smelled of wool and soap, and I wanted to bury my face against his broad chest. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

His stern expression thawed to something gentler. “Kit, you’ve no idea what I might do.”

The door to his office opened, and a sweet-faced elderly woman wearing a feminine version of a beater’s uniform and carrying a cup and saucer came in.

“Hot and sweet, my dear,” she said, as she put the cup in my hands. She frowned at the bandage on my arm. “Shouldn’t she be in hospital, Tommy?”

He made a disgusted sound.

“Wouldn’t let him take you, dear? Can’t say as I blame you.” She began tidying up around us. “Dreadful places, they are. Whenever I go to visit one of the lads, it sucks all the energy out of me.”

“The stench doesn’t help, either.” I spotted the embroidered symbols on the lapel of her dark-blue jacket. “You’re a mage?”

“Staff warder,” she corrected, beaming. “Mrs. Mary Harris, at your service.”

I turned to Doyle. “You send sweet old ladies into potential crime scenes?”