She blinked, and looked up from the bloodstain, focusing on his face for the first time. She was pretty, Nigel thought. Not in the obvious way of the man’s former companion, but in a subtler, sweeter fashion. And then she blushed, her cheeks flooding pink and her long, thick lashes fluttering, and Nigel revised his opinion.

She was beautiful, he decided, like a wounded bird. He watched as she put a tentative hand on the man’s proffered arm, then looked up, biting her lip. “Thank you, sir. Ruth Gordon, in your debt.”

“John Pritkin, at your service.” The man doffed his cap briefly. Then the two started down the road, going slowly so that the limping woman was not rushed, and soon disappeared into the fog.

“We ain’t going after them?” Nigel asked Ronald.

“No need. Job’s done, and we didn’t even have to bleed for it.” The small man glanced up. “Come on, let’s get a drink. She’ll take it from here.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

I hit the ground hard, and more than half stunned. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was or even who I was, and I couldn’t seem to control my body. All I could do was lay there and convulse.

Part of me felt leaves and sticks and dirt underneath me, and saw flashes of blue light through my closed eyelids, which might have been more of those weird, fey bugs. Just like I might have fallen out of my perch in the tree and hit the ground a good twelve feet below, without a lot to cushion the landing this time. Only, I wasn’t sure.

Because another part of me was back on a lonely, fog-ridden street in London, making excuses to my smaller companion, because I didn’t want a drink. At least not with him. I took a flask out of my pocket after he left and lifted it to my lips, and felt the burn of cheap gin sear a path down my throat. I drank again before putting it away, and sauntering down the street after the pretty woman and her rescuer.

“Here—over here! I heard something!”

The fey shout jolted me out of half immersion, which was good. Because I could hear soldiers coming this way, tearing through the trees without bothering with stealth. I managed to roll ever, onto my face, and breathed dirt for a moment before rolling again, into a bush.

Thorns pricked my flesh, and when I finally managed to blink my eyes open, it was to notice that the bush wasn’t great for concealment. It had too few leaves and was too close to the path that everybody seemed to be using. But it was the best I could do.