Dillon slowly nodded. "Yes, I see. This way, the fix is more or less certain."
"Hmm." Flick frowned. "Did you ever hear anything from the jockeys you organized about how they got paid?"
Dillon paled. "Only from one, early last season." He glanced at Demon. "The jockey wasn't too happy-his money was left at his mother's cottage. He didn't feel easy about the syndicate knowing where to find his old mum."
Demon met Dillon's gaze. He didn't like what he was learning. The syndicate sounded disturbingly intelligent-an evil, ruthless and intelligent opponent was, in his book, the worst. More of a challenge, but infinitely more dangerous.
That, of course, would normally whet his appetite, stir his Cynster blood. In this case, he only had to look at Flick to inwardly curse and wish the whole damned syndicate to hell. Unfortunately, the way the situation was shaping, it was going to fall to him to escort them there, while simultaneously protecting an angel from the consequences of her almost certain involvement in the syndicate's fall.
While the thought of the syndicate didn't stir his blood, Flick did-in quite a different way, a way he hadn't experienced before. This was not mere lust. He was well acquainted with that demon, and while it was certainly in the chorus, its voice wasn't the loudest. That distinction currently belonged to the impulse to protect her; if he complied with his inner promptings, he'd tie her up, cart her off to a high tower with a single door bearing a large and effective lock, and incarcerate her there until he had slain the dragon she was determined to flush out.
Unfortunately…
"We'd better go." She gathered her gloves and stood, her stool grating on the floor.
He rose more slowly, watching the interaction between Flick and Dillon.
Dillon was looking earnestly at her; she tugged on her gloves, then met his gaze. "We'll let you know what we discover-when we discover something. Until then, it's best that you stay out of sight."
Dillon nodded. Reaching out, he caught her hand and squeezed. "Thank you."
She humphed and shook free, but without any heat. "I told you I'm only doing this for the General."
The statement lacked the force of her earlier rendering; Demon doubted even she believed it.
Dillon's lips twisted rather ruefully. "Even so." He looked at Demon and stood. "I owe you a debt I'll never be able to repay."
His expression impassive, Demon met his gaze. "I'll think of something, never fear."
Dillon's eyes widened at his tone; with a curt nod, Demon turned to Flick.
Frowning, she glanced back at Dillon. "We'll look in in a few days." Then she turned and led the way out.
Following on her heels, Demon breathed deeply as they emerged into the night. A quick glance at the sky revealed a black pall-the moon had been engulfed by dark clouds. Within the cottage, the light of the lantern dimmed, then died. Eyes adjusting to the dark, Demon looked around as he strode across the clearing; no other human was anywhere about-just the two of them alone in the night.
Flick didn't wait for help but scrambled into her saddle. Untying Ivan's reins, Demon quickly mounted, holding the stallion steady as Flick trotted Jessamy over.
"I'll ride home through the park. I'll see you on the Heath tomorrow afternoon."
"No."
Surprised, she stared at him. Before she could scowl, he clarified, "I'll ride back to Hillgate End with you. It's after midnight-you shouldn't be out riding alone."
She didn't scowl, but he sensed her resistance. She studied him, then opened her mouth, doubtless to argue, when a breeze wafted through the clearing and set the trees shivering. It moaned, softly, eerily, through the branches, then died away on a sigh, an expiring banshee leaving only the rustling leaves slowly stilling in the deep darkness.
Flick shut her mouth and nodded. "Yes, all right."
Shaking her reins she set out; muttering his by now customary oath, Demon wheeled Ivan and set out to catch up. He did in short order; side by side, they rode across the next field-the last bastion of his domain. Beyond its hedge, directly ahead of them, lay the furthest reaches of the former park of Hillgate End.
There was a spot they both knew where the hedge thinned; they pushed through onto an old bridle path. Flick led the way into the dark shadows beneath the trees.
Although some of the park's paths were kept in good condition for riders, notably Flick, to enjoy, this was not one of them. Bushes pressed close on either side, branches flapped before their faces. They had to walk their mounts-it was too dangerous to even trot. The path was deep in leaf mold; it occasionally dipped, creating the added danger of their horses slipping. They both instinctively guarded their precious mounts, alert to every shift in weight, in muscle, in balance, of the beasts beneath them.
The General had no love of shooting, so the park had become a refuge for wildlife. A badger snuffled and growled as they passed him; later, they heard rustling, then the yips of a fox.
"I didn't realize it would be this bad." Flick ducked beneath a low-hanging branch.
Demon grunted. "I thought this was the route you used to go back and forth to the cottage. Obviously not."
"I normally take the path to the east, but that crosses the stream twice, and after last night's rain, I didn't want to risk Jessamy's knees going up and down slippery banks."
Demon didn't point out that she was risking Jessamy's knees right now-they were deep in the park, with the centuries-old trees forming an impenetrable canopy overhead; he could barely see Flick, let alone any irregularities in the path. Luckily, both Jessamy and Ivan could see better than him. They stepped out confidently; both he and Flick fell back on trust and let their horses find their own way.
After some time had elapsed, he asked, "Doesn't this path cross the stream, too?"
"Yes, but there's a bridge." After a moment, Flick amended, "Well, there was a bridge last time I came this way."
Lips thinning, Demon didn't bother asking how long ago that had been; they'd deal with the rotted and possibly ex-bridge when they came to it.
Before they did, it started to rain.
At first, the light pattering on the leaves high above was of little consequence. But the tattoo steadily grew more forceful, then the forest about them started to drip.
Flick shuddered as a series of heavy drops splattered her. Instinctively, she urged Jessamy on.
"No!" Demon scowled through the night. "Hold her steady. It's too dangerous to go faster-you know that."
Her silent acquiescence told him she did. They plodded on, increasingly damp, increasingly cold.
Above them, above the trees, the wind started to rise, to whistle and moan and shake the leaves. Jaw set, Demon searched his memories, trying to gauge how much farther they had to go, but he'd never been on this path before. He didn't know how it meandered, and he couldn't place where it came out. But given the fact that this path crossed the stream only once, and they'd been making very slow progress…
He didn't like the answers his estimations suggested. They were still a long way from the manor.
Just how far was revealed when they came to a break in the trees, and he saw before them the stream with a narrow log and plank bridge spanning it. And the charcoal maker's hut in the clearing beyond. That, he recognized.
Beneath his breath, he swore.
As if in answer, the heavens cracked; the rain positively teemed. Faced with the sudden torrent-a curtain falling between them and the bridge-Jessamy and Flick balked.
Muttering all manner of dire imprecations, Demon swung down. He tied Ivan's reins to a tree; the stallion, made of stern stuff, seemed unfazed by the downpour. Head up, he sniffed the air and looked toward the bridge.