He crouched down, puffing a bit as his belly got squeezed but unwilling to get his trousers dirty by kneeling on the cobblestones. He used up three matches—and there were only five in the box to start with—before he got the candle lit. With his walking stick tucked under one arm and a hand shielding the flame, he walked into the alley.
A filthy trick! A filthy, dirty, awful trick to play on people, leaving something like that for an innocent man to find. Why, he almost soiled himself from the fright of seeing such a…
“Pleeeease.”
He stood there, staring stupidly, while his mind accepted the horrible truth: Not a trick. Not a mannequin. Not red wine or red paint staining the alleyway. The severed leg, the bone stabbing out from the flesh looking too jagged to be the work of an ax or saw. And the torso. Cut up. Torn up. Wounds too desperate for any surgeon to heal. It was a wonder the woman was still alive.
“There there, my dear,” he said, going down on one knee in the blood and the dirt, tears running down his face unnoticed. “Everything will…” Be what? Not all right. Never all right. This was even worse than those killings that had occurred around the docks not long ago. But this wasn’t a prostitute, just a young woman.
“Dooooreeen.” Her voice sounded thick, clotted. “Fooooggy Doooowns.”
“Doreen from Foggy Downs,” he repeated. “Yes, I’ll tell your people. I’ll send a letter out, express. You won’t be left to strangers, my dear. I’ll see that you get home. I promise.”
No more words. No more breath.
As he stumbled out of the alleyway, calling for help, he heard the jagged sound of soft, inhuman laughter.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“Stop here,” Michael said to Torry. Then he turned in the seat to look at Glorianna. “What do you think?”
There was a look on her face. Pleasure? Pride? He couldn’t tell. “It was a dark landscape,” she said softly. “Fog obscures.”
“I remember,” he said just as softly, ignoring the amused yet confused look Torry was giving both of them.
“Left to itself, this place would have attracted dark hearts or dark natures—maybe even a demon race.”
“What?” Torry said.
“Hush,” Michael said, laying a hand on the younger man’s arm.
“They made a choice, those people who first settled in this place,” Glorianna continued. “Maybe there was a Guide with them originally. The people might have stories about their ancestors that could provide a clue. Those original settlers chose to quiet the Dark and feed the Light. They brought love and laughter and anger and sorrow and all the messy tangles that make up a human life. And they kept this a daylight landscape that leans toward, but never surrenders to, the Dark. Every day, simply by living here as they do, they make the choice to hold on to the Light.”
He looked at the village of Foggy Downs spread out below them. Good people with heart. That’s why he’d wanted her to see this place. He’d thought, hoped, she could help them. Do something with this landscape he couldn’t do. But he understood now her pleasure and pride as she looked down at the village and considered the people who lived there. As she looked at him.
“So the music does make a difference here,” he said, not sure if he was making a statement or asking a question.
“It makes a difference in all your landscapes, Magician,” Glorianna replied. “Our connection to Ephemera is the reason our ancestors were shaped to walk in the world.” She looked at the land spreading out before them. Then she smiled and sat back. “Let’s go down and meet your people.”
“She called you a Magician,” Torry said out of the side of his mouth after giving the horse the signal to move forward. “You feel easy about that?”
“Yes, she did,” Michael said, smiling. “And yes, I do.” Because something about the way she said the word sang for him right down to the marrow in his bones, he focused all the luck-bringing skill he had into a single wish: Let her have a day of light and laughter, a day of simple pleasures. Let her have a day to be a woman instead of a warrior. Let her have a day when Glorianna can dance.
Michael brushed his hair, then straightened the vest. Good shirt, embroidered vest, good trousers. Yes, he did clean up well and would turn a few female heads.
But was it enough to turn Glorianna’s head? They had the bed and the candlelight he wanted for their first lovemaking.
He sighed. And they had a village full of chaperones. Added to that, Shaney’s wife had put Glorianna in the room that had the squeaky floor, so a man couldn’t even approach the door of the damn room without everyone in the main room below knowing about it. Hadn’t he learned that for himself when he’d knocked on the door to see if Glorianna had everything she needed? There was no harm in a man enjoying a kiss, especially when he had sense enough to stay in the doorway. But Maeve, the postmistress, had come puffing up the stairs, then stood there and told him to get on with it so the girl could close her door and get a bit of rest before the evening’s dancing.
How did she expect him to get on with it, with her standing there tapping one foot and looking stern?
Sebastian probably could have gotten on with it.
“Put the ripe bastard right out of your head,” Michael muttered to himself. “He didn’t fare so well against his own auntie, now did he?”
Cheered by that thought, he left his room, considered tapping on Glorianna’s door, then went down to the main room to spare Maeve another run up the stairs since she seemed to be the one keeping guard.
A day of simple pleasures, of light and laughter. A day when Glorianna could dance.
So far, she’d had the light and the laughter. Now he’d give Glorianna Belladonna the music for the dance.
“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” Glorianna said as she helped set the tables.
The Missus, as everyone seemed to call Shaney’s wife, just tsked. “It’s no trouble. Besides, we probably won’t see either of you again until after the wedding.”
Glorianna bobbled a dish and decided she’d helped enough. Besides, her knees had gone weak. “Wedding?”
Maeve glanced at the Missus, and they both gave a sharp head bob.
“Liked his kisses well enough, didn’t you?” Maeve said. “He’s never been careless when it comes to the girls, but you have to figure a man like that has learned enough to know what to do when he’s between the sheets.”
They were both looking at her expectantly. “Ah…”
“Where did you say you were from?” Maeve asked. “Aurora, wasn’t it? A fair piece from here would you say?”
“Um…” Most likely it was a fair piece from here. Or as close as crossing a bridge. She just wasn’t sure she should be the one to try to explain that. Especially now that she realized all the little comments about Michael that Maeve and the Missus had been tossing at her since she came downstairs weren’t just little comments. More like what she’d expect doting aunts—or horse traders—to say when they were trying to sell a favorite nephew to a potential wife.
Which was exactly what they were trying to do.
Then she caught a movement on the stairs that led up to the rooms. Her legs folded, and it was sheer luck that she ended up halfway on a chair. “Oh, Guardians and Guides.”
No, she hadn’t seen him to advantage. Even during the evening they’d all spent in the Den, she hadn’t seen him for who he truly was.
He’d shed the scruffy, friendly stranger along with the worn shirt and trousers he wore for traveling. He’d shed Michael in the same way she sometimes shed Glorianna, the part of her that had family and friends.
The man who slowly walked toward her wasn’t Michael. This was the ill-wisher, the luck-bringer who could command the currents of power that flowed through Ephemera. The Magician.