The Heartless City (12 page)

Elliot did bathe, and after he was clean and in new clothes, he grabbed a bacon sandwich from the kitchen and started off. While talking to Cam, he’d thought of the perfect gift to give to Iris, but in order to get it, he had to walk two miles to Mansion House.

The redundant name belonged to the former residence of the Lord Mayor. Back when Buckingham Palace housed the actual royal family, the mayor lived in a building in the old financial district, and during the year before the quarantine, Elliot lived there, too. The three-story mansion contained a façade with six Corinthian columns, a vast collection of famous art, and even a dungeon-like basement complete with eleven holding cells, as the residence had once served as an official court of law. It also possessed a small but quite prolific library, and Elliot hoped the gift he had in mind could still be found there.

Even though he lived at the palace, Cam’s father still conducted some business at Mansion House, which was why a handful of guards were always patrolling the grounds around it. Since most of them knew who Elliot was, he got past them easily, saying his father had sent him there on business for the Lord Mayor. Once inside, he climbed the winding stairs to the second floor, breathing a sigh of relief when he found the library unlocked.

The wide, oaken room looked just as it did thirteen years ago, so much so Elliot wondered if it had even been touched since then, though the absence of dust suggested the staff still cleaned it regularly. He closed the door and made his way across the polished floor, his pulse leaping every time a board creaked beneath his feet. It wasn’t as though he’d ever been
forbidden
to visit Mansion House, and he wasn’t certain anyone else was even in the building, but he was about to take―and not return―a piece of property, and he wasn’t sure just how he would explain his thievery.

But his worries subsided as soon as he reached the farthest northern wall. When he and Cam found out they would be moving to Buckingham Palace, Cam decided the two of them should leave their mark on the house. They’d carved their initials into the outer rim of the lowest shelf, and there, above an etched
E. M.
and
C. B.,
was the book he had come for.

He’d remembered it because of the vivid gold of its lettering, which stood out even more brilliantly against its ebony spine. His heart pounding, he pulled it out and slid his hand over the cover, smiling as he read the words:
An Anthology of Birds
. When he flipped it open he saw the vibrant pages he remembered―hundreds of descriptions of both common and exotic birds, accompanied by brilliant, detailed, color illustrations. Even though the book was thick, it was also short and compact, so he snapped it shut and tucked it away in the pocket of his coat.

She was going to love it.

His feet felt lighter as he hurried out into the hall, but then he heard the sound of someone ascending the eastern stairs. He turned around and sprinted in the opposite direction, making it to the western steps just before the person emerged. Sweating, he stumbled down the flight and into a corridor, heading toward a door that led to the gardens in the back. He reached it, but the moment he gripped the knob a hunger rose in his throat, searing his veins and closing his lungs.

The hunger of a Hyde.

He spun around and reached for his gun, but no one else was there; both the hallway and the rooms beyond it were utterly silent. His lungs began to expand, but the hunger didn’t abate, so he pressed his ear to the door and listened for movement in the garden. Hydes possessed no stealth or cunning―they hunted like wild dogs―but he heard no pounding feet, snapping branches, or shouting guards. Could he possibly be imagining the fire in his chest?

But now that he thought about it, the feeling wasn’t quite the same. Last night, he’d felt as if the flames would rip right through his skin, but even though the heat seemed just as close, the sensation felt muffled. After a moment, he lowered himself down onto the marble floor. Was it coming from
beneath
him?

“Elliot, what are you doing?”

He shot back up, panic flooding his veins and drowning the hunger. Harlan Branch, the Lord Mayor of London, was slowly strolling toward him.

“I―I thought I dropped something, sir,” he choked. “But I was wrong.”

Branch stepped closer, and Elliot’s stomach crawled up into his throat. He’d always been afraid of Cam’s father, even though he’d never seen him touch anyone other than Cam. They shared the same piercing, ice blue eyes, but only on Branch’s face did the color seem hard and cold. He scratched the side of his silvery jet-black beard as he approached, and Elliot knit his brow, because he wasn’t feeling angry. A cool breeze of pleasant satisfaction was flowing from him, as if he were not only confident and content but… entertained.

“I meant, what are you doing here,” he said. “At Mansion House. The guards informed me you’d come here on some business of the palace.”

Elliot swallowed. “I’m sorry, sir. I lied to them,” he admitted, knowing Branch would see the truth on his face if he tried to hide it. “I wanted to go to the library. To find a book.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A book? You couldn’t find one at the palace?”

“Not this particular book,” he said, pulling it from his coat. “I remembered it from when we used to lived here, and I just… I really wanted to read it again.”

Branch took the book from his hands and read the title with disdain.

“
An Anthology of Birds
.” He raised his head. “You
wanted
to read this?”

“Sure,” he answered, wishing he could melt into the marble. “Birds are… fascinating.”

Branch studied his face, and though he didn’t seem to believe a word, he tossed the book into his hands. “Dinner’s at eight o’clock.”

The statement was a dismissal, and Elliot took advantage of it, murmuring “Thank you, sir,” and hurrying out the garden door.

he noonday sun was unusually bright outside
La Maison Des Fleurs
, which made the smoky darkness inside more jarring when Elliot entered. He was grateful to find the hall less packed with people than the night before, but his heart still thumped against his ribs, as he hadn’t been wholly sober near a crowd since before his affliction. After leaving Mansion House, he’d considered buying a bottle of gin, but he didn’t want to be slow and slovenly in front of Iris. Besides, he
wanted
to feel her spirit. The pain of the others was worth it.

A flash of petal-pink and tension flew by him, but it wasn’t her. He squinted through the smoke and caught sight of the manager named Eddie, who was doling out coins to a cluster of dancers down by the edge of the stage. Elliot waited until the girls had dispersed and then approached him.

“Hello,” he began, clearing his throat as the man’s anxiety stung his chest. “My name is Elliot Morrissey. I was here last night with―”

“Yes, I know. What can I do for you, sir?”

“I was wondering if Iris was here and if I could speak to her.”

His anxiety grew. “Why? Was she discourteous to you or to the Lord Mayor’s―”

“No, not at all! I just wanted to speak with her. It will only take a moment.”

Mildly suspicious, Eddie rubbed his whiskered chin. “She’s probably still in the kitchen. She just got here a minute ago.”

“Thank you very much.”

Elliot turned and walked away even though he wasn’t entirely sure where the kitchen was. Soon, however, he spotted a young boy carrying mugs and plates and followed him through a narrow doorway just beside the bar. They traveled down a short corridor and arrived at a second door. The boy went in, but Elliot paused and peeked his head inside.

A middle-aged woman was kneading dough beside a cluttered sink, where the boy dropped off his dishes and then rushed back out the door, too lost in a cloud of yearning to notice Elliot standing there. After a moment, the woman who must have been the cook stopped kneading, and Elliot sucked in a breath and clenched his fists against his legs. Grief flowed from her soul like surging blood from an open wound, so fresh and relentless that when she turned and walked out the door as well, Elliot had to close his eyes and fight tears as she passed him. At first, she didn’t notice him any more than the young boy had, but just before she reached the end of the hall, she glanced back around. Elliot opened his eyes, and when the two of them looked at each other, her grief sharpened and sank into his heart like jagged claws. Finally, she looked away and walked through the second doorway, and Elliot clutched his chest and let out an agonizing breath.

“Psst! Iris! Is she gone?”

The whisper came from within the kitchen, spoken by an unknown voice, and Elliot turned around and craned his head back through the doorway. He saw no one, so he edged inside and peeked around the corner, his heart leaping when Iris’s figure finally came into view. She was standing before a dusty mirror hanging on the wall, pulling her charcoal curls back from her face with the requisite ribbon.

“Yes, she’s gone,” she replied to the voice. “But I wouldn’t chance it, Mae. She probably went to get a drink. She’ll be back any minute.”

A note of sadness rose in her, and Elliot guessed she knew why the cook was carrying such grief.

“I got time. She won’t even know the two of us was here.” Another petal-pink waitress scurried into Elliot’s view, cradling a small, grimy dog in her arms like a child. The sand-colored mutt, which looked to be a dachshund and terrier mix, whined until the girl, Mae, scratched its matted chin. “Poor little Boots,” she cooed. “It’s cold out there today, ain’t it, girl?”

“She’ll notice it’s gone,” Iris warned, turning around to face her. “That dog isn’t worth getting sacked for.”

“Nonsense,” Mae said, shoving Boots―who’d apparently been named for her white front paws―into Iris’s arms. “Now where is that blasted ham?” She walked to the counter and seized two slices of boiled ham from a tray, then returned to Iris and fed the meat to the salivating dog. “Poor little Boots,” she murmured again. “You was hungry, huh?”

She grinned at Iris, and Iris smiled pleasantly in return, masking her disgust and irritation flawlessly. But then she looked up and caught sight of Elliot standing in the doorway, and every other feeling drowned in the wake of her disbelief.

“Elliot?” she choked.

Mae turned and saw him there as well, jerking upright and nearly dropping the ham on the floor.

“Lordamercy,” she squeaked. “I’m sorry, sir. How can we help you?” But then she knit her brow and turned to Iris. “Wait, what did you call him?”

“I’m so sorry,” Elliot said, taking a step toward them. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to speak to Iris.”

Mae’s eyes bulged, and though Iris’s face remained impassive, her pulse leapt with a sudden electric thrill that charged his heart. He gripped the wall and tried to keep from grinning like a git.

“I spoke with your manager. He told me it would be all right.”

“All right,” she echoed, blinking and then glancing over at Mae. “I’ll take her back outside,” she said, nodding at the dog. Then she turned to Elliot. “Come on. We can go out here.”

She carried Boots toward a door a few feet to her left, and Mae stared, drinking Elliot in from head to toe, envy and hunger twisting inside her stomach like a corkscrew. He hurried past her and followed Iris into an empty alley, rubbing his hands as she closed the door and released the mangy dog, which scurried off as soon as it realized its source of food was gone. The snow on the ground had melted, but a bitter wind was blowing. Elliot started to take off his overcoat, but Iris stopped him.