A Breath of Frost (23 page)

She wasn’t entirely sure what part of her speech he was referring to. It was surprisingly hard to think when he was so close. Her blood raced through her veins, pooling warmth in the oddest places, like the back of her knees and behind her ears. He was going to kiss her again.

“My lord Blackburn.”

Or not.

Daphne stood not three feet away, batting her lashes demurely; so demurely Emma had the urge to poke her in the eye with one of her antlers. Girls trailed after her, giggling and sighing over Cormac. He blinked, looking a little like a trapped animal. “Emma is shockingly remiss in not inviting you in for tea. She’s positively wild now, is she not?”

“Positively,” he agreed, regaining his customary lazy smile, the one that hinted at the kind of boredom that produced delicious mischief. He glanced at Emma. “But I find myself thinking society manners deadly dull all of a sudden.”

Daphne’s expression froze. Sophie and Lilybeth’s mouths dropped open. The combined force of the other girls sneaking jealous glares her way made the evil eye charm heat up, as if she’d been too long in the sun.

“The girls are swooning,” she said with a soft, sad smile. She knew she’d never be one of those girls now, artlessly flirting with a handsome gentleman. Girls wearing antlers instead of bonnets probably didn’t get many chances to flirt.

Cormac made a move to follow her, but it would take a stronger man than he to forge through half a dozen debutantes intent on talking to him.

Just as well.

She had her own mischief.

Moira didn’t need magical itchy feet
to know she was in trouble.

She was always in trouble on this end of the bridge, ever since Atticus claimed it for his gang of Madcaps. She’d flattened him once on principle. He’d been pestering her to join them and hand over her exclusive connection to One-Eyed Joe. She’d refused.

Somewhat violently, it had to be said.

Atticus held a grudge nearly as deeply as Piper. She fancied herself his sweetheart but he loved himself more than she ever could. Somehow, that had become Moira’s fault. And they hated that she wouldn’t be cowed. It didn’t help that she was faster than they were and that One-Eyed Joe wouldn’t deal with them, only her. They’d chased her with a hellhound once and he’d cursed them with nightmares for a full month.

When they were at the markets at the same time, she kept to
her end of the bridge, but with all the gargoyles being trapped and hunted by the Order, that was becoming more and more difficult. And when she saw the rickety wheelbarrow of onions abandoned at the mouth of the alley, she’d known she had no choice. The wheelbarrow was actually full of small gargoyles that Moira and Strawberry collected on their nightly rounds. One-Eyed Joe gave them a charm to make them look like pungent, slightly spoiled onions.

The Order paid for every surrendered gargoyle, no questions asked. One-Eyed Joe did a brisk trade for a week or so, but most of them had either already been found by Keepers, or were now too far out of London to bother with. The fewer gargoyles there were left, the more vicious the competition became. Strawberry wasn’t up for it and never had been.

And seeing the bruises on her face, Moira was suddenly keen to compete.

They had Strawberry cornered behind a shop that mostly sold grimoires—magicians’ manuals—and dragon’s-blood inks. The building leaned at a sharp angle toward the water and was so close to the wards, the back alley tended to shift in and out of view. Atticus preferred it for his nastier business and when the bookseller tried to chase him off, his customers were pelted with stones and slimy ropes of seaweed.

Currently, Atticus had turned a pile of broken crates into a throne. His hat was the same virulent violet as his eyes. He liked to claim he was the descendant of a Faery prince but Moira knew it was an illusion. She’d been the one to steal the ingredients for the glamour charm he wore under his collar. One-Eyed
Joe made it for the innkeeper’s daughter and she’d traded it to Atticus for a kiss.

Three of his boys surrounded Strawberry, who was on her knees and weeping silently. She couldn’t handle conflict, not since she’d escaped her mother’s house in Paris. Piper loomed over her, laughing. They hated her for being French, and for being Moira’s friend.

“Oi.” Moira made sure her voice carried and that it dripped with as much derision as she could muster. She knew it infuriated Atticus. Right on cue, he stood up, sneering. His lavender eyes were smug and arrogant. She fully intended to smash her fist into one of them before the day was done. She leaned on the broom handle she’d taken from the wheelbarrow. It made a decent staff.

“Moira,” Strawberry sniffled, still wrapped around a sleeping gargoyle with a chipped nose. Piper sneered, stepping cruelly on Strawberry’s long hair.

“Keep smiling,” Moira told Piper. “While you still have teeth.”

“Girls, girls, fighting over me again?” Atticus laughed, still perched safely out of reach on his dais. “Moira, you know you can join us. All you have to do is apologize. And obey.”

She blinked innocently. “Is that all?”

He preened, proud of his blond beauty, his reputation for cruelty, and his devoted gang. “Aye, my beauty.”

Moira tilted her head, considering the offer. The lads shifted nervously, self-preservation instincts honed to a point. Atticus rarely fought his own battles. “Nah,” she said finally, with mock regret. “I’d rather do this.”

She smashed the end of the staff into Piper’s foot, the one pinning Strawberry to the ground with her own hair. Piper howled and fell back against the wall. Moira spun, lifting the staff and walloping the three boys, one after the other. The first fell down, blacking out before he hit the dirt. The second, John, got a bloody nose, but the last, Rod, managed to duck out of the way just in time.

Atticus climbed higher on his crates. Strawberry dragged the heavy gargoyle down the alley. She was holding her arm at an awkward angle, teeth clenched. Piper launched herself at Moira, clawed hands going for her eyes. Moira swung the staff again, going low this time. She swept it behind the other girl’s knees and knocked her flat on her backside. Marmalade streaked up the crates, hissing at Atticus.

Rod got in a good hit, cracking the breath out of Moira’s chest with a flat-palmed strike. She gagged and tumbled into more crates piled in a kind of protective gateway. She crashed through them, scattering their makeshift fortifications. She kept hold of the broom handle, using it to help her back up to her feet. She jabbed out, aiming for eyes and noses and other vulnerable areas. John, Rod, and Piper dodged, unable to get closer. John’s nose was crooked and already swelling.

Moira swung the staff over her head like a slingshot and they scattered. She climbed the boxes, the charms on her boots making her especially agile. She grinned, closing in on Atticus. Too late he realized his precious gang wasn’t standing between them anymore.

“You’ll leave Strawberry alone, you tosspot,” Moira said
darkly, jabbing at him with the end of the staff, just enough to make him sweat. She knocked his hat off just because she could. It tumbled down into the alley, spattered in mud.

“Why you—”

He didn’t have a chance to finish his threat. Moira slammed the staff into his stomach, knocking him backward. He sailed off his throne, hit the fence, and tumbled over. There was a shout and a distant splash as he landed in the Thames.

His gang froze, shocked. Moira hopped back down to the ground. “You can come at me again or you can go fish him out,” she said. “Your choice.”

“This isn’t over,” Piper hissed at her before they broke into a run to find Atticus. She was the first to jump off the fence in a show of heroism. Moira wasn’t sure how getting herself immersed in the dirty water of the river was going to help and she didn’t much care.

She darted down the alley to the wheelbarrow where Strawberry slumped, the gargoyle at her feet. She was cradling her wrist. “I think it’s broken,” she said. Her spirit-mouse was curled up on her shoulder looking mournful.

Moira swore. “Get in,” she added, nodding to the wheel-barrow. She dragged the gargoyle by the ears, keeping a wary eye on the curious passersby. The glamour only worked once the gargoyle was inside the wheelbarrow. She could smell salt and flowers, as usual. “You had to get a beast of a blighter,” she huffed, straining until she thought her eyeballs might explode.

“I wanted to do my part for once.”

“You always do your part.”

Strawberry sighed. “Not like you do.”

“Just watch out for warlocks and Rovers,” she muttered, sweat dripping into her ears. The bridge wasn’t crowded yet and the pomegranate lanterns hadn’t even been lit, but the ends were always a bit suspect, no matter the time of day. She got the gargoyle to the cart and hopped up beside Strawberry.

“Now comes the hard part,” she said. Her arms felt like jelly. She grabbed the stone ears and hauled. The gargoyle tipped back and crashed into the wheelbarrow, tipping them both precariously. Moira scooted over, crushing Strawberry. A gargoyle’s wing tip gouged painfully into her tailbone but the wheelbarrow righted itself. Strawberry’s eyes were tightly shut and the lines around her mouth were white with pain. Her wrist was swollen and mottled with bruises.

“Well, so much for that idea,” Moira wheezed. She shoved damp hair off her face. “We might have to leave it behind.” A witch’s ladder made of painted crow feathers worked into a braided cord hung from a signpost overhead. She flicked it idly, going through her options. A jar of blue evil-eye beads watched her from the nearest window. One of them blinked. She took another cautious glance up and down the bridge. They were starting to attract attention. “Blast.”

She leaped off the wheelbarrow. “Right. Let’s go.” She skirted around the front to pull Strawberry to One-Eyed Joe’s tent. She was reaching for the handle when the first familiar arrived, a fox with pointed ears who sniffed around the gargoyle. Three cats, a crow, and a swan with a vicious beak followed. Moira yanked
on the wheelbarrow. One-Eyed Joe’s illusion charms were strong, but she didn’t know if they could hold if too many witches grew nosy. The goblin markets could turn volatile without warning.

When a Rover sauntered out of the shadows between the buildings, Moira swore. She couldn’t keep this one at bay with a broom handle and a handful of illusion charms. She felt the menace rolling off him. The Order mostly kept them in check, but trust the bleeding Greybeards to be nowhere around when they might actually be useful for once.

“What have we here, my dears?” he asked unctuously.

Strawberry slid off the end of the wheelbarrow, covering the gargoyle with her skirts. She smiled sweetly, despite her wrist. “We’ve heard onions left in the sun for three days in horse urine increases magical power.” She reached back for the pretend-onions, slimy with rot. “Would you like to try one?”

He looked suspicious but he stepped back nonetheless. It afforded just the distraction needed for Cedric to walk up behind him and cosh him. The Rover gurgled and fell in a heap. Cedric didn’t even pause, he just went straight for the gargoyle and hefted it into the wheelbarrow.

“Cedric.” Moira grinned at him. “Brilliant timing as always.”

Strawberry clambered back onto the uncomfortable heap of gargoyles, patting her hair into place. Cedric grabbed the handles and pushed the wheelbarrow. “What happened to you two?” he asked. “Or do I even want to know?”

“Atticus.”

Cedric’s jaw tightened. “Of course.”

She shrugged, grinning despite her aching arms and the splinters in her palms. “I pushed him into the river.”

Cedric’s smile was brief. “Again?” He readjusted his grip as the wheelbarrow thudded over the uneven cobbles. “What’s in here? Rocks?”

“Pretty much,” she said. “Gargoyles,” she added in a whisper.

He scowled. “Why didn’t you send word? It’s not safe to be hauling this much magic around alone right now.”

They stopped in front of One-Eyed Joe’s striped tent. Cedric helped Strawberry off the back as Moira poked her head in the doorway. No customers. “Wheelbarrow’s back,” she announced.

“Onions?” he asked, looking up from a small shell he was carving into a cameo.

“Good crop,” she assured him. She jerked her head toward Strawberry, who followed Cedric inside meekly. “Atticus’s boys roughed her up.”

“Did they now?” One-Eyed Joe asked mildly, lighting his pipe with a smoldering lily stalk. The embers smelled like wine and sugar. “Doesn’t look broken. Just a sprain.”

With her hair pushed back tidily, the bruises in Strawberry’s face were stark. Cedric’s eyebrows lowered. The smoke from the pipe formed into wasps. They hovered for a moment before shooting off down the bridge. “Let’s just see how he sleeps this week,” One-Eyed Joe added with a chilling smile.

Moira was already rummaging through the trunk under the table. She pulled out a length of torn fabric and wound it gently
around Strawberry’s wrist. Cedric stood back patiently, his hands in his pockets.

“Tuck a sprig of lavender in the wrappings,” One-Eyed Joe said, pulling a handful from a jar.