Bronze Gods (22 page)

He lounged on her settee, studying her through the confines of the dark mask, and she hated not being able to see his eyes. The black fabric contrasted with his fair hair, and she leaned forward to whisper, “Take it off, Leo. You don’t need it here. Not with me.” She’d said as much before, but not with such a heartfelt plea.

His tone was light. “You’ve been through enough, Auri. I don’t want to put you off your food.”

“And
I
need to see your face.”

For a moment, she thought he’d refuse. His jaw pulled tight, and he strode over to the window. She half expected him to pull the drapes against the sunlight. Then he reached up with trembling hands to unfasten the ties. When he turned, there was an awful vulnerability about him, as if he expected her—his best friend—to turn away.

Yes, the scars were ugly, but it was good to see his blue eyes again. She moved to his side, stretched up on tiptoe, and kissed his poor cheek. “Do you believe me?”

He seemed incredulous at first, then grateful that she wanted to talk about her own problems rather than this rare moment. “Of course I do. You never lie.”

Leo knew about her gift, and though he wasn’t always honest, he offered tactful half-truths. She forgave him that for the long years of their friendship, for all the laughter. The latter had been scarce in the past six months, but he had a plateful of sorrow, and he couldn’t step away.

“He’ll be back . . . and I don’t know—” Her voice broke, so she tried again. “The stupid thing is, when he appeared, I
knew
there was something off. I suspected him of wanting to use me.”

“More than one man has tried over the years.”

Leo had comforted her numerous times when a romance turned out to be largely calculation and wishful thinking. That was before she learned to focus her gift on those who courted her. These days, it was impossible to catch her unaware, provided she held a conversation with the person first. So she’d been confident she could handle Theron.

In retrospect, that was a mistake.

“What should I do?”

“Stay away from him,” he answered at once. “Don’t speak to him. If he approaches you, call for help. I’ll escort you to and from the theater.”

“That will be a lot of bother for you.”

“Not if you let me stay here.” His expression made her think her agreement was vital to his well-being. Then he sighed, watching her eat. “Really, Auri, what possessed you? Following a man to the Patchwork warrens, protected only by a back-alley charm?”

“Would it be better if I’d purchased the necklace in Temple?”

“No,” Leo snapped. “I’m furious with you, but until today, you were too upset to withstand a scolding.”

She arched a brow, smiling. “But you think I can handle one now?”

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

He proceeded with the most glorious rant, impugning her common sense, intelligence, and her forethought before winding down to scowl at her. He was completely unself-conscious. No pacing to angle his scars away from her, away from the light. They were still raised and livid, purple and red. They were no prettier, but he finally trusted her to see past them. Aurelia smiled.

His frown deepened. “Are you even
listening
to me? This isn’t a negligible matter. It sounds as if this Theron sought you out for no good purpose. I fear his intentions.”

“So do I.”

A chill went through her when she saw it again in her mind’s eye—the claws in the swirling darkness, his avid face. It had been hard to explain this part to the authorities, but he’d taken such pleasure in dispatching his enemies, a primitive, atavistic joy. He hadn’t been frightened during that fight, quite the contrary; he had played with his attackers, exulting in their terror and defeat.

“You’re still unsettled,” he realized aloud. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“A liquid cure for what ails me?”

“Wine if you have some, enough to help you relax. Perhaps you’ll sleep. You haven’t rested much the past few days.”

An understatement. She feared she had prevented him from doing so either. Each night, she’d jerked awake, replaying the deaths in her head. Such a reaction made her feel weak, but surely it was understandable. Nothing in her life had prepared her for such brutality, as if to Theron, those men weren’t human at all.

“I’ll look in the cupboard.” Her flat was modest, four rooms above the club.

Shortly, she returned with two flutes and a bottle of dusty wine. “It was a gift from my father, long ago. I was supposed to drink it to celebrate something, I think. It’s all I have, so I hope it’s good.”

“I’m sure it will be. It’s the effect that matters anyway.”

“Will you do the honors?”

“Of course.” He took the corkscrew from her and examined the wine. “Are you sure, Auri? This is an incredibly expensive vintage.”

“I’m sure. Let’s live dangerously.”

“Seems to me you already are.”

The pop of the cork sounded like a gunshot in her quiet apartment. Her nerves jangled as he poured two glasses. Then Leo raised his in apparent toast, but his eyes were somber. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.

So he truly does fear for my life.
That wasn’t any comfort at all.

CHAPTER 21

M
IKANI DRAINED THE LAST OF THE BITTER COFFEE DREGS IN
his cup and grimaced. His partner walked over to his desk, attaché case in hand. Ritsuko’s paperwork hadn’t been touched since they came back last night. That was . . . quite unlike her. He hoped she wasn’t hurt too badly.

It had been a grueling three hours in that dark barn, avoiding more snares and traps. In the end, it was worthwhile. Deep drag marks indicated where the apparatus had been hauled onto a waiting cart.
There’s no way it was fully assembled, however.
Mikani hated knowing there was another murder machine out there, ready to claim a third victim.

“Well,” she said. “We have blueprints . . . for all that helps us.”

“We already knew where the parts came from. And where they delivered them.”

“Somebody took the contraption back to the city,” she pointed out. “I can send word to all the companies that operate outside Dorstaad city limits—”

He slammed a fist against his desk. “He moved it himself, somehow. Someone would come forward for the reward if they’d helped him haul those damned things around the city.”

“Then I don’t know where else to look,” she whispered.

Mikani sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know. I—I’m sorry.”
And tired. Frustrated. And damned be, if I didn’t almost lose you to that bastard.
“We need to stop him—before he uses that thing on another girl.”

She set a hand on his arm. “We’re doing everything we can.”

“I know. Just wish it were enough, partner.” He let out a long sigh.

“Well. It’s not a direct link to locating Toombs, but . . . if you’re willing, I’d like to follow up on a lead I got last week.”

Mikani glanced wearily at his stack of reports. “We’re expecting the initial findings on the owners of the farm. And Miss Wright’s incident report looks likely to land in our laps as soon as we hear back from the morgue. So while we’re waiting . . .” He stood, pushing the pile of papers to the center of his desk. “Let’s go.”

“When I interviewed Toombs’s mother, she told me to talk to her neighbor because the woman is an inveterate snoop. From Mrs. Drusse I did learn some things about Mr. Toombs.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Toombs didn’t visit his mother enough. He regularly had disreputable callers who harassed his parents. And I got the name of the man they work for.”

The lift door opened as they approached, discharging a tall man in a loose-fitting tweed jacket; he had a shock of ginger hair and plenty of freckles. After a moment, Mikani placed him as someone who worked downstairs, poking at the dead bodies.
Higgins,
he remembered.
Refused to process some counterfeit Magnus whiskey when I didn’t file the proper request. Bugger set us back an arrest to uphold the rules.

Before he could ask what Higgins wanted, the man approached Ritsuko and took her hand. “I just got word downstairs. Are you well?”

She smiled up at him. “Just a few cuts.”

“Have you seen a physician?” Higgins asked.

“I did, before I came in this morning.”

Looking as if he were being inexpressibly forward, Higgins pressed her fingers between his. “You should’ve taken the day off.”

Mikani observed the exchange with a growing mix of annoyance and confusion.
Higgins knows Ritsuko . . . rather well, apparently. How the hells did that happen?

“We’re too close to the end. With the pressure the Summer Clan and House Aevar are applying, we’ll have Toombs soon. I can’t afford to be at home.”

Higgins still didn’t let go of Ritsuko. “Look after yourself. I worry about you.”

“Don’t you have enough to fret about without adding me to it? How’s your mother?” She was smiling, a friendly, open expression.

“Overall, not well. But she has good days.” At that point, he seemed to notice Mikani standing at Ritsuko’s shoulder. “Good afternoon, Inspector.” He made as if to tip a hat and apparently realized he wasn’t wearing one.

“I’ll see you Sunday if not before,” she said, as Higgins turned.

He watched Higgins get on the lift before turning to his partner. “You’re—” He made a vague gesture, shaking his head slowly. “. . . him?”
Your eloquence is impressive, Mikani. Get a grip, man.
“You’re keeping company with Mr. Higgins these days?”

Pedantic arse.

“Yes. He’s a gentleman. Unexpected, dry sense of humor as well.”

“For how long?”
Not your concern. She’s your partner, and you’d do well to remember that.
He couldn’t suppress the odd little twist somewhere deep inside, though. “I mean, I had no idea you’d started seeing anyone since Warren.”

“It’s only been a . . . week, I think.” She didn’t look sure. He understood that, as the days and nights ran together recently. “He asked me to luncheon as soon as he heard I was . . . unattached.”

It’s absurd that she sounds surprised. Half the men in this building would like to bed her.

He nodded once, pretending to feel sanguine about the situation, and started toward the lift. “He seems quite . . . upright? Respectable.”

She grinned, following him into the cage. “He’s good to his mother. The gossips say that’s the way to judge how a man will treat his wife.”

Mikani snorted. “Gossips are idiots. Let’s chase down that lead of yours; we’ve a killer to catch.”

His partner filled him in during the forty-five-minute drive; it wasn’t the physical distance, but the city streets grew more dangerous and unpredictable by the day. Traffic snarls of blocked hansoms and irate wagon drivers clogged the lanes. A few times, Mikani considered seeing how well the cruiser was made and simply pushing his way through. But it was unlikely he could pull that off without injuring a few civilians, and despite Ritsuko’s teasing, he wasn’t actually a maniac.

“You never take me anywhere nice,” Mikani observed, as they climbed out.

Harland Stokes, the moneylender to whom Toombs owed a substantial debt, kept offices in a nondescript building nestled between a storage facility and a shuttered shop. Mikani glanced up and down the narrow corridor of neglected businesses and semilegal operations wedged between the Rivermouth piers and the market districts closer to the center of the city. Scurrying porters and minor House nobles, conspicuous in their attempts to go unnoticed, crossed paths as they slipped among moneylenders, pawnshops, and less identifiable shop fronts and unmarked doors.

“Technically,” Ritsuko said, “
you
brought me.”

“You found the address. It’s all you. Admit it, you’re drawn to disreputable things.” He grinned and made sure the security locks on the cruiser were set before heading for Stokes’s door.

“It’s true. Every Sunday, I drag Mr. Higgins to a different gin joint.”

Mikani laughed. “I suspect Mr. Higgins would have a stroke if you tried.” He rapped on the door with the handle of his walking stick, then pushed it open without waiting for an answer. “Harland Stokes? Need a minute of your time.”

A squat fellow with shoulders like a brick wall answered; his coat was incongruously well tailored, and his waistcoat shone with gold thread.
Yet he has a face like a broken clock.
“Do you have an appointment?”

Mikani rolled a shrug and ambled into the room. “Inspectors Mikani and Ritsuko, CID. Consider this . . . a civic duty. We have a few questions. Mr. Stokes gives us good answers, and we all go away happy and with the satisfaction of a day well spent.”

“Mr. Stokes may not be inclined to perform any civic services today. Wait here.” His accent was thick as curds and whey; while they waited, Mikani tried to place it.

Apparently, Ritsuko was thinking the same thing. “Where’s he from?”

“Winter. Northeast, I’d wager. But he has an odd accent, one I haven’t heard much.”

A few minutes later, the henchman returned. “Boss will give you five minutes. If those questions are brief, that should do it. If they’re not, I’ll chuck you in the street myself.”

Hells. I know that accent. Don’t see many Craggers this far south.
Crag coasters kept to themselves, rarely venturing to the northernmost settlements of the Isles to trade. Mikani had met a few before leaving home but had never seen one in Dorstaad before.

“You’re the soul of politeness, you are.” Mikani gave the thug a grin and motioned for Ritsuko to lead the way to Stokes’s office.

She preceded him; and for the second time in recent memory, his gaze dropped to the curve of her arse.
Focus, Mikani.
With a guilty pang, he followed her in.

The office was positively opulent, belying the seedy exterior. An expensive carpet woven of pure silk threads created a blue-and-green geometric pattern beneath their feet. The furnishings gleamed from recent polish, and the man sitting behind the ornate desk looked like a banker. Of course, appearances could be deceiving. Past the man’s silver hair and spectacles, Mikani caught a glimpse of an absolutely sharkish mind.

“You have five minutes. Make it quick.” Stokes wasted no time on a greeting.

“Very well. You lent Gregory Toombs a significant amount of money recently. Funds which he then used to commit capital crimes. Since men like you always keep tabs on their clients, I’ll bet you have some idea of where to find Mr. Toombs.”

“That’s concise.” Stokes smiled, then produced a humidor. “Would you like a cigar? This won’t take one minute, let alone five.”

Mikani inclined his head politely and took the offered cigar, sliding it into his pocket. “Most kind.”

“Sir,” Ritsuko prompted.

The moneylender clipped the end, then made a production of lighting his cigar. “Toombs doesn’t owe me a copper. He paid his debt two weeks ago, all in old coins.”

Well. That’s unexpected.

“He paid in full, just like that? I take it you didn’t extend him another loan.”

“Certainly not. I shouldn’t have done so in the first place. Actors aren’t good bets for return on investment. No collateral, no job security. I must confess, I’m curious as to where he managed to get the money myself.”

“So are we. You said he paid in old coins? Do you have one on you?” Some of the older coins still bore the mark of their issuing House or trading-concern pact; if nothing else, it might point them to Toombs’s mystery backer.

Stokes narrowed his eyes. “On me? No. But I can procure one if you’ll turn around.”

Mikani looked over at Ritsuko and shrugged before turning away from the moneylender. Thumps and clangs sounded behind, probably from a hidden safe. His partner was visibly chewing on some theory; she had that thinking expression.

But before he could ask, Stokes said, “Here you are. You can keep it. And your time’s up, I believe.”

•   •   •

O
UTSIDE,
R
ITSUKO STUDIED
the coin in the daylight. Stokes had been right about its being old; the silver was dull, the engraving worn.
Hard to make out what it’s supposed to be.
The metal looked more like pewter, but if the moneylender had accepted these coins to clear the debt, they must be valuable. But as she traced the faint pattern, her pulse quickened in excitement.

“Mikani, come feel this!”

“That’s . . . quite the offer, partner.” He smirked and stepped closer.

Ignoring that, she grabbed his hand and pressed his fingers to the etching. She wondered if he would recognize the pattern. The antlers were what caught her attention, so she waited until he reached the top of the coin. He traced the shape again, his brow furrowed.

“Well?” she demanded.

“That’s . . . oh. A stag’s head.” He frowned, hesitating. “The button?”

She bounced, then climbed into the cruiser, as the atmosphere in the narrow street wasn’t such that she was inclined to linger. Inside, she didn’t lean back, as the cuts still stung. Before work, it had taken the better part of an hour for the doctor to check each one to make sure no slivers of metal lingered beneath her skin to get infected.

“Exactly. So if the button belonged to Toombs, how did he end up with old coins that match the emblem on it?”

He slid into the driver’s seat. “How did he get
any
coins, would be my question. If Stokes didn’t lend him the money, there’s someone else backing him. And I find it hard to believe that they’d be unaware of what he’s doing with the money.” He tapped his fingers on the wheel for a few seconds. “Or . . . he found a hidden treasure.”

Ritsuko scowled as he started the vehicle. “It makes no sense that someone would pay him for this. I mean, who benefits from Miss Aevar’s death? Or Miss Bihár’s.”

“Anarchists? I don’t know. Cira’s death got at least one of the Houses riled up, then Electra’s murder nearly sparked a riot.”

“Do you think the girls were targeted because of who they were? Wedges, if you will, to be used against social order?”

Mikani spoke carefully, seeming to weigh his words even as he dodged through traffic and makeshift blockades. “The Aevars aren’t so powerful that they’re unassailable. Cira had a single bodyguard, who stayed at a distance, instead of a cadre of armed guards like other Houses. Which made her an easier target than, say, a Magnus girl. And there were those who knew of Electra’s family ties to the Summer Clan. Both girls were isolated from their usual support and protection.”