Supernatural Devices (6 page)

“And I thought that you were utterly without manners. It is nice to know that one of us was right. Now excuse me. I am going home.”

With that, Scarlett left the pub, though she did not immediately head for the row of cabs that still waited. Instead, she stood for a moment or two, waiting. Waiting for what? For her anger to subside enough that she could think again? For Cruces to come hurrying out to apologize? The former would probably take more than a second or two, while the latter… Scarlett could no more imagine Cruces apologizing for something than she could imagine him drinking tea. He seemed to think that just because he happened to be almost unbelievably handsome, that gave him a license to treat women abysmally. Well, Scarlett was not going to be foolish enough to let herself get anywhere near him, despite the attraction she felt for him, especially when he held her.

It wasn’t like she was not used to the attention of young men. She had experienced some of that while traveling with her parents and being the only blonde girl in a sea of men during an excavation. Her good friend Gordon even, whom she knew since childhood, sometimes gave her a look that appeared more than a friendly look. Cruces was definitely one of the most alluring, charming, yet straightforward men she had ever met. And she could kick herself for feeling anything towards the rake.

Because she wasn’t quite ready to go home, Scarlett headed back towards the market. If she could catch some glimpse of Cecilia, then she would be able to tell Cruces exactly what a bad idea giving up the search had been. Not that she cared what he thought, of course. She made her way back through the stalls, not bothering to heed the cries of the hawkers trying to interest her in their wares.

The London mist was starting to close in a little now, trailing between the stalls, so that they seemed even more mysterious. Scarlett was not bothered by that so much as by the fact that it meant she would never be able to spot Cecilia now, even if she were still in the market. Which meant that Cruces was right. Scarlett felt her hands ball reflexively in annoyance.

There was nothing for it but to head back to the town house, so Scarlett turned and walked towards the exit once more. She would simply have to start again in the morning, bringing together such resources as she could. She wasn’t going to give up, not even with a client like Cruces. She was
not
going to fail at what should be such a simple task.

Scarlett was deep enough in her thoughts that for a second or two, she did not pay attention to the woman who stepped out into her path. She merely assumed that the woman was there to buy something from one of the stalls. It was only when the woman did not move out of Scarlett’s way that Scarlett paid her a little more attention.

She was old. Old in a way that suggested any number Scarlett tried to place on it would not be high enough. She wore black, in layers of clothing that might once have looked something like the mourning clothes Queen Victoria still wore for her husband, but now made her look more like a slightly battered crow. Her hair was wispy and grey where it stuck out under a simple scarf that looked a little like a darker version of the one Cecilia had been wearing.

“If you want to find the girl,” she said, “follow me.”

She turned and stepped back into the mists, leaving Scarlett with just a split second in which to think. Briefly, she considered fetching Cruces, but in the time it took to find him, the woman would undoubtedly be gone. Besides, Scarlett didn’t see why she should include the young aristocrat in this. It was her case, not his.

Her mind made up, Scarlett hurried after the elderly woman.

S
carlett followed the old woman as best she could through the thickening mist, keeping pace but not quite managing to catch her up. It wasn’t quite as bad as following Cecilia, because the old woman wasn’t making any real effort to get away from her, but it wasn’t easy, either. The woman didn’t stop at any point to let Scarlett catch up properly though; nor did she give her the chance to call for Cruces. Not that Scarlett would have called for Cruces right then, of course.

Scarlett couldn’t see much through the mist, but she still had a reasonable idea of where she was. Time spent finding her way around old tombs with her parents had given her a good sense of direction, and she was not going to be disoriented by a little mist.

When the old woman turned into an unlit alley, Scarlett had a moment of apprehension though. Why lead her down there, into a place that really did not look safe? Why lead her along like this at all, rather than simply telling her where to find Cecilia? It did not make sense. Would it not make more sense, in fact, to suggest that this was all some kind of trick?

Scarlett could see how it would work all too easily. The old woman, or an accomplice, had undoubtedly overheard her speaking with Cruces about the young woman they were trying to find. They would also have seen that Scarlett and Cruces appeared to have money, and marked them out as potential victims for a robbery. All they had to do was lure Scarlett away to somewhere she could not call for help.

If she had any sense, therefore, Scarlett would turn around and walk away without setting a foot in that alley. Two things stopped her. The first was the thought that it was only an old woman. Scarlett was more than capable of protecting herself against even a strong and dangerous attacker, so one rather frail assailant would not represent much of a threat. She had not seen anyone else around, so the odds on there being more potential robbers were slim.

The second, and much more compelling, reason came with the thought of what Cruces would say if he found out that Scarlett had an opportunity to recover the ring Cecilia had taken from him, but had not gone through with it. It wasn’t that he would be angry. No, it was far worse than that. He would laugh. He would laugh, or he would claim that he understood, and make it clear that Scarlett was just one more helpless young woman playing at being independent, when in fact she could not bring herself to take the smallest risk. Scarlett was not going to let him think that. Not after all his other small insults.

So Scarlett forced herself forward. She had her knife if it came to violence, and she had her wits to keep her safe from everything else. She strode forward, determined to demand an explanation from the old woman, and find out one and for all what, if anything, she knew about Cecilia’s sudden flight.

The woman was waiting for her at the end of the alley. There did not seem to be anyone else there, which made Scarlett feel briefly very foolish. After all, there was no chance that such an elderly woman was going to try to rob her alone. At worst, the woman would try to fool her with vague promises of information in return for money, which Scarlett would be able to get around easily enough. She stepped forward more confidently, advancing until she was only a pace or two from the gypsy woman.

“You are looking for the girl, Cecilia?” The woman demanded.

Scarlett nodded. “But I will warn you now. You’ll get nothing from me until I see proof that you know where she is.”

“Proof?” The old woman smiled for a moment, and it was not a pleasant smile. “Yes, I will give you proof. Come here.”

“I am close enough,” Scarlett said, still wary enough to want to keep her distance. After all, why should the woman want her any closer than she was? Whatever she had to say, she could say without them being any closer.

The woman nodded, and for a moment her eyes flashed. “Yes, you are.”

She lunged forward. Scarlett moved to defend herself, but she misjudged how quickly the other woman would move. She sprang forward with the vigor and speed of a young man. A
strong
young man. When her fingers clamped around Scarlett’s wrist, Scarlett thought that she could feel the bones grinding. Her other arm went around Scarlett’s waist, gripping her tightly.

“You should not fight,” the woman warned. “You would not want to fall.”

“Fall?” Scarlett asked, but almost as soon as she did so, she had an answer. They were moving, and moving quickly. More than that, they seemed to be moving several feet above the ground, rising like a hot air balloon.

No, Scarlett realized, rising like mist. They floated impossibly above the ground like a part of the mist around them, rising until they were higher than the level of the rooftops, looking down on the streets below where people were still making their way home by the light of the street lamps. Would those people see them, or would they be swallowed by the darkness and the mist? Scarlett doubted that there would be any help from that quarter, even if they did notice.

They travelled faster then, catching the breeze as the city gave way beneath them. The journey only lasted minutes, but quickly, there were the shadowy forms of trees beneath them, and the only trees Scarlett could think of in such quantities near London were those in Epping Forest. Which meant they had travelled miles at speeds Scarlett found hard to comprehend.

There were lights below, and as they got closer, Scarlett saw that they were the lights of campfires. Those campfires sat in front of colorful wagons, elaborately carved and painted, with people sitting outside wearing clothes that were brightly patterned and a long way from the usual fashions of the city.

Scarlett felt her feet touch the earth, and the grip on her vanished. She stepped away, turning around to confront the woman who had stolen her away like that, but she was gone. Or at least, she was changed so dramatically that it amounted to the same thing. Where there had been an elderly unattractive woman before, there now stood a young man not much older than her.

He was very handsome. Handsome in a wild untamed way with the tanned skin of someone who had either worked outside or lived in a warmer climate than England. His hair fell in waves down past his shoulders, while his features had a quiet strength to them that reminded Scarlett briefly of Cruces. Or maybe it was just that both young men were quite exceptionally handsome. Scarlett would have judged, if pressed, that Cruces marginally had the edge on this newcomer, but it was close. Particularly since the young man in front of her had the deepest green eyes she had seen, outlined, quite unusually for a man, with the deep black of kohl.

Those eyes were the only spark of color anywhere on him. The shirt he wore was open necked and loose, as dark as the night around him. So were the pants below it, and the boots that came almost to his knees. The young man stood there quite impassively while Scarlett stared at him.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want from me? And how dare you snatch me from the street without so much as a by your leave? More to the point, how did you do it?”

There was one difference between the new young man and Cruces, at least. Cruces would have flashed a smile and come out with some answer designed to make Scarlett feel uncomfortable. This man did not answer, and his expression did not flicker. Instead, he simply pointed towards the camp.

So this gorgeous young man was the tall, handsome, and silent type. “What?” Scarlett demanded. “What’s there?”

She did not get an answer to that. Instead the young man just kept pointing. Scarlett sighed and gave up. Apparently, all she could do was go along with what her abductor wanted. Perhaps that would give her more answers. There was clearly something supernatural going on. Flying there had been something of a clue in that respect. Yet Scarlett had learned often enough that ‘supernatural’ was not an explanation in itself. The things that she had always seen with her gift still needed to be thought about and examined, questioned and pieced together. She just hoped that there would be answers further into the camp.

There were plenty of people in the gypsy encampment, mostly gathered about the fires. The men wore loose outfits similar to the one worn by the young man who had brought her there, though theirs were generally more colorful. The women were even brighter, dressed in layers of flamboyant cloth offset with jewelry that gleamed golden in the firelight. There were a few children about too, running among the fires even though Scarlett suspected that they should have been in bed by that time. In a wave of tiredness that probably stemmed from trying to do too much so soon after travelling across a whole continent, Scarlett knew that
she
certainly should have been.

She knew too that gypsies sometimes stopped in the forest near to London, but she wondered what had brought this particular band there. Had they been staying long, or were they simply there to take advantage of things like the market. Scarlett knew that many bands were better at trading with the things beyond the normal than most city folk, so perhaps that was it, though it did nothing to explain what she was doing there.

As Scarlett moved through the fires, she attempted to start a conversation or two with the people there. They were polite enough, but Scarlett could sense their wariness at the presence of an outsider, and she was not sure what she should ask them. All she could do was stand there and try to think. Why would the young man have brought her here?

Then she looked over to another of the fires, and saw why. Cecilia sat there, as bright as any of the women there, tending something by the flames. Scarlett briefly wondered how she had gotten there so quickly, but then laughed to herself. If
she
could get a ride out there on supernatural wings, presumably Cecilia could too.

Scarlett walked over. By that time, Cecilia had clearly seen Scarlett, but she made no move to run away or even rise. Instead, she just watched Scarlett approach, putting aside the sewing she was working on by the firelight and looking up at her with undisguised enmity.