And yet the reason for his being there with Peter was compelling, and one that he knew was right. Travellers as a whole were an insular group, not mingling with outsiders unless such contact could not be avoided. Over the last few centuries, they had withdrawn even more into their own society as the mortal and immortal worlds had grown more fearful of their powers. The mortals saw them as Gypsies, Romany folk whom they were unable to distinguish from the similar—but quite separate—Travellers. The members of the Otherworld were little better, viewing Gregory and his kind as thieves and worse.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said slowly, knowing in his heart that he couldn’t go back to his life of just a few months ago. Too much had happened since then; he had seen himself and his family through his cousin’s eyes, and he knew that he had to make a stand against the old way of life. “I can swear to you that I’m devoted to the job. To the Watch. To the idea that Travellers must be held accountable for their actions. But at the same time that I fully agree that our people must cease reveling in their status as outcasts, I recognize that it is our very nature to do so. To go against nature itself seems impossible at times. Perhaps you are able to control your need to use your powers because you are . . .”
“Mahrime?” Peter asked, his eyebrows rising slightly.
Gregory’s shoulder twitched at the word. “Mahrime” could mean simply an outsider, one who was not a Traveller, or when applied to one of their own people, someone who was unclean. Tainted. Impure. “I was going to say that you and Kiya have distance, growing up outside of the Traveller society, whereas I do not. To us, acting in accordance to our true selves is as natural as breathing.”
“You don’t need to lecture me about that. I’ve had ample proof that Travellers go blithely about their way regardless of who they hurt or how many laws they break.”
“And I don’t condone either. I’m simply trying to explain that what you see as impulsiveness is my way of coming to grips with this new way of life. It might be easy for you to not steal time as you go throughout your day, but I assure you that I’m aware every time I pass by a mortal of the potential to steal just a few seconds.”
To his surprise, his cousin gave him a swift, rough hug. “I know it’s hard fighting what is an automatic reaction.”
Gregory’s expression caused Peter to laugh. “Where did that come from?” he asked when the laughter died down.
Peter made a face and nodded toward the carousel. “Kiya. She says I need to hug more. She thinks it’s good for me to be more open with my emotions. She is probably right.”
“Possibly, but if she convinces you that you need to kiss me next, I warn you that I have a mean right hook.”
“Noted. Now—”
“Well, well, well. What a coincidence finding you here.” The voice that drifted through the blare of music was filled with suspicion. Gregory turned to see its source, his fingers tightening when he beheld a slight woman in a smart cherry red wool suit coat and skirt. The light flashed off the lenses of her glasses as she eyed first him, then Peter. “Two Travellers? How very interesting. You wouldn’t happen to know the location of my client, would you?”
“Who’s this?” Peter asked, sotto voce.
“Reclamation agent,” Gregory answered out of the side of his mouth before turning to face the woman, who now stood with her hands on her hips. “Good evening. To whom are you referring?”
“That woman who died on the rocks a couple of days ago. The one you were standing over.” Her eyes narrowed. “The one who was stolen from me a few seconds later.”
Gregory spread his hands in a show of innocence. Employment with the Watch prohibited him from lying except in the most dire of circumstances, and while he might have been inclined to play a little fast and loose with that rule in private, he couldn’t very well disregard it in front of Peter . . . especially coming on the heels of the grand speech he had just made about his dedication to the job. “I have stolen no woman, dead or alive.”
“Of course you haven’t. But have you seen her? Do you know where she is?”
He chose to answer the second question, since he could do so truthfully. “I have no idea where she is.”
“Odd,” the woman said, giving them both another once-over. “According to my sources, Owens was seen coming to this park in the company of another woman and a mortal.”
He exchanged a startled look with his cousin.
“Owens?” Peter asked. “What is your interest in her?”
“I just told you. She owes me a soul!”
“Are you saying that the woman who died on the rocks a few days ago was Owens? Magdalena Owens?”
“Yes, of course. Although I thought her first name was something else. Oh, it doesn’t matter. She’s the one, all right.” The woman made an impatient gesture. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have to find that woman and take what she owes me.”
“I don’t know for certain,” Gregory said with a nonchalance he was far from feeling, “but I suspect that she’s not going to want to give up her life just so your records will balance. Or whyever it is you are pursuing her.”
“Look, I have a job to do, one simple little job: I collect the spirits of those who’ve passed on. I’m responsible for those spirits, and when someone goes and gets herself resurrected”—here she gave them both a very stern look—“then I can’t go back to my boss and say, ‘Oh, well, that one got away.’ I mean, he’s Death! He’s just not going to understand! Plus it does throw the books out of balance, and the accountants get all pissy if you mess with their books. You wouldn’t know how to resurrect someone, would you?”
Gregory smiled a grim, grim smile. “I have no knowledge of resurrection at all. I believe that is the purview of necromancers.”
“Mmm.” She eyed Peter, then made a dismissive noise. “Very well. But I expect to hear from you if you see her. Drat, who’s this calling?” She moved away a few steps to answer her phone.
She could expect all she wanted; he had absolutely no intention of turning Gwen over to Death’s minion. Not when she was wanted by the Watch.
“She lied to me,” he said to Peter in a soft voice. It hurt to say the words, and he couldn’t understand why that was. Yes, Gwen—Magdalena—had betrayed his trust, but it wasn’t as if he’d invested any time or emotion in her. So why did it feel like he had? “She lied to my face. Looked me straight in the eye and said she wasn’t Magdalena Owens.”
“It’s been known to happen,” Peter said, his gaze on the reclamation agent. “I’m sorry to hear it, but on the other hand, it explains a lot. And will make it easier for us to catch her. Now we know exactly what she looks like.”
Gregory ignored the sense of foreboding that settled over him with those words. He didn’t like to contemplate what the Watch would do to Gwen (as he still thought of her) when they turned her over. Most likely she’d be banished to the Akasha, the place of punishment from which no one escaped. He hardened his heart. He couldn’t allow sentiment to taint his duty. Gwen had broken the laws, those governing both mortals and immortals, and she had to pay for her crime. The fact that she was a barefaced liar was just proof that she wasn’t to be trusted. “I won’t let her fool me again, that’s for certain.”
“Bah. I must go scour the park before the others get here.” The reclamation woman tucked her phone away and glanced around with distaste.