Mina took a deep breath. “And Stephen’s perspective is like yours?”
“Oh, in some ways. But he’s always known he was to be the next master of Loch Arach—our lands back home. That makes a difference too. An heir isn’t an entirely separate species from his younger brother, perhaps, but then, neither are my people an entirely separate species from human beings.”
Thinking of Florrie and Bert, and then of herself and Alice, Mina laughed. “Siblings, then? Our two…peoples, I mean?”
“As metaphors go, it’ll do well enough. If you’re worried over Stephen,” Colin said, looking at her with sudden clarity, “don’t be. He’s an honorable man, and I don’t mean like Brutus. Poor fool.”
“Brutus or Stephen?”
“Either, I’d think. Though I’ve only known one of them personally.”
“Good,” said Mina. “I’d hate to think you’d been keeping bad company.”
“Oh, I always do that. Except now, of course.”
A wink turned him back from an ancient and strange creature into a feckless young man, and Mina had to giggle. “Of course,” she said dryly, “and I appreciate the courtesy. Did you come in here just to compliment me?”
“Not at all. I thought I’d take a bit of a tour around the place. After all, Stephen’s left me in charge of the defenses, reluctant as he might have been. I’ll have to try very hard to live up to his example.”
“At least in some ways,” said Mina. Handsome as Colin was, she’d prefer he didn’t try to follow his brother’s lead in all things.
Twenty-eight
From a human perspective, “Mr. Green’s” home was one towering new building in a large square of them. At noon, they cast long shadows over the street, and the door that Stephen approached was a full foot taller than he was. It was ornate as well, covered with gold leaf and fanciful designs, as well as the ironwork he’d seen when he’d flown overhead.
The whole building challenged the would-be visitor. The size and the ornamentation drew the eye but asked a question at the same time: Are you good enough for this place? What can you offer? Stephen, who’d seen the whole square from a vantage that made it look the size of a postage stamp, felt not a single moment of hesitation, but he recognized the demand nonetheless.
The butler who answered the door, dubious and remote, made the question more apparent. Taking in Stephen and his wardrobe with a single glance, he switched from suspicion to respect. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that Mr. Green isn’t at home today.”
Mina had tried the same code. Mina had, even as an obstructive stranger, possessed a great deal more in the way of personal attractions, and Stephen’s business had been somewhat less urgent.
“Then,” said Stephen, “I’ll wait until he is.”
The butler coughed. “That may be some time, sir.”
“As a matter of fact,” Stephen said, “I rather doubt that. I’ll wait in the parlor while you tell him I’m here.”
Their eyes met. The butler was an old hand and doubtless could freeze most unwelcome visitors with a glance, but Stephen was constitutionally immune to being frozen. It rather went with the heritage.
Bowing slightly, the other man stood away from the door and showed Stephen in. “In here, sir,” he said, gesturing to a doorway. “What name shall I give Mr. Green?”
“Lord Stephen MacAlasdair,” said Stephen. Then, remembering what Green was—or more accurately, what he was not—and the urgency of his mission, he added, “Alasdair of Loch Arach’s son and heir.”
Stephen had always had a surname. His father had gone by “MacAlasdair” as well for the last few centuries and had laughed at it occasionally—“The youth is father to the man,” he’d quoted—but he’d come of age long before a man needed more than one name. When dealing with creatures like Green, he’d always dropped the pretense.
No reaction crossed the butler’s narrow face. “Very good, sir,” he said without expression and retreated, leaving Stephen to make himself comfortable in the parlor.
Blues and browns predominated there, in a small room full of overstuffed chairs and strange crystalline carvings that demanded much less than the outside of Green’s home. Outside, Stephen thought as he toyed with a peacock-feather pen, the original owner had wanted to announce himself to the world. Inside, Green evidently didn’t care as much.
He wondered if he would have realized any such thing before he’d known Mina. He’d always had people to deal with his lodgings and his wardrobe; he’d left the details to them. Stephen couldn’t recall, now, ever thinking how the world must look to a man who was confined to one shape, or to one who didn’t have money and lineage at his back.
Frowning, Stephen put the pen down and picked up a deck of playing cards. On their backs, strange creatures wandered through unearthly woodland scenes, all obviously hand-painted with some skill. He turned one over.
A blue-eyed woman looked back up at him. Her golden hair fell from beneath an equally golden crown with heart-shaped rubies marching around the band and curled on the shoulders of her rich red dress.
The Queen of Hearts.
Stephen flipped the card back over and put the deck down. Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and paced a circle around the room, glad of the challenge that avoiding footstools and end tables posed. Where the devil was Green? Slipping out the back, perhaps, while his man kept Stephen waiting? Stephen had half a mind to go looking.
“Mr. Green,” said the butler, opening the parlor door.
At home, Green looked even less conventional than he had in Mrs. O’Keefe’s club. He entered with his flaming-red hair loose around his shoulders; he wore a smoking jacket in black and gold brocade, loose silk trousers, and no shoes. His bright green eyes ran over Stephen for a long, unsettling moment. The gaze might have been lecherous or it might have been knowing; it could well have been both.
“Lord Stephen MacAlasdair,” he said. “Unexpected and, I hear, insistent. How very…dramatic. You may leave us,” he added, waving a hand at the butler.
Colored fire flashed in the lamplight. Green didn’t wear shoes, but he did cover his hands with gemstones. Stephen wasn’t surprised.
“My business is important,” he said, “and a matter of some haste.” Etiquette advised that he apologize for the intrusion, but etiquette didn’t generally handle men who made deadly homunculi.
“So I’d inferred. Still, I’ll take the liberty of assuming that it won’t take us out of this house,” said Green, draping himself over one of the chairs, “and ask you to make yourself comfortable. I’d offer refreshment, but I’m not entirely sure I have your sort of food.” He met Stephen’s eyes squarely and smiled. “Maidens are very rare these days, you know. I’ve seen all sorts of articles saying as much.”
“And from what I’ve read,” said Stephen, “I know enough to be careful of any food you’d serve me.”
That was an educated guess and a general principle of dealing with the Unseen World, but it hit. Green’s eyes flickered, and a hint of concession appeared in his smile. “And so the dance begins,” he said. “I had wondered, you know. Reclusive as you’ve been, Alasdair’s son, your name is not unknown in certain circles. Neither are your whereabouts.”
“And you’re part of those circles?”
One didn’t ask for names or titles. There were rules.
“Indeed. You could think of me as an ambassador, if you wanted.” For a second, Green’s eyes turned from human green to the deep color of the primeval forests. “And no, I won’t tell you from which court.”