Shadowdance
Chapter One
Four Years Later—London, November 1885
Pulling the hood of her billowing black cloak farther over her head, Mary Chase wove through the mass of humanity that made up London. The November eve was crisp and clear, and her breath left in soft puffs of white. A vermilion-and-gold sky hovered above, a rarity here where fog usually held dominance over everything and everyone. Against the brilliant canopy of dusk, the dome of St. Paul’s was bleak and grey, flanked in silhouette by the cathedral’s smaller spires.
Traffic became a crush as she made her way along Ludgate Hill, reaching the circus. Omnibuses, carriages, pigs, cattle, and drays fought for space on the road, while hawkers, clerks, newsboys, homemakers, and pickpockets fought for space on the walkways. A perfect place to become lost. At least Mary hoped so. It was essential that she not be followed. Her position within the SOS depended upon stealth and secrecy.
A stew of excitement and anxiety thickened within her. She had a feeling that tonight she would finally get her chance to prove herself. For nearly two years she’d worked as assistant to Poppy Lane, otherwise known as Mother, leader of the Society for the Suppression of Supernaturals, or the SOS. But Mary wanted more. A chance to work on an actual case, to be out in the field with other regulators, agents of the SOS. For, as a certain obnoxious and arrogant regulator had been quick to point out, the ones in the field were at the forefront of danger. And although Mary was trained, she’d yet to be tested.
Mary sidestepped a group of boys hanging on the railing at the base of the Waithman obelisk and then passed a boardman advertising Collingworth’s Cigarillos for the Improvement of Asthmatical Ailments. A hollow whistle lowed, and the ground beneath her feet trembled as a great steamer rumbled over the causeway and into the station beyond. Right on time. For once.
Thick black smoke rolled down to the masses, and Mary’s mouth filled with the bitter taste of burnt coal. Using the cover of smoke, she rushed toward the overpass, and in the confusion of pedestrians hurrying along, she pulled her cloak off, quickly bunching it up. She emerged on the other side, no longer a young woman wearing a long cloak, but an old grandmother, white-haired and hunched, leaning on a cane for support. Traffic flowed around her as she hobbled along, her massive dress swaying about her small frame. Slowly now.
Just before the looming cathedral, Mary joined a cluster of vendors, the scents of meat pies, hot buns, and coffee making her mouth water. She slipped a bob into the hand of one crone selling muffins, then, quick as a cat, ducked behind the wide cart. In a flash she was a lean and spry youth, her step light, her hair out of sight beneath her cap.
Mary chuffed as she skipped along, losing herself in the crowd once again before slipping into a tavern on the heels of a man doing the same. The odor of sweat, spirits, and tallow mingled. Few spoke here, and if so it was to mutter for more drink. Keeping her gaze roving, she headed for the back room. The door opened easily.
“ ’Bout time you showed,” snapped a male voice as she sat down at the small table obscured in shadows.
Mary didn’t bother with a reply. An annoyed huff followed, and the man leaned forward, moving out of the darkness. He was handsome, well formed, and well dressed. Quite lovely really. Mary scowled.
“You are foolish, Mercer, to choose that identity.” Mary didn’t know whose it was, but based on the cut of the suit Mercer wore, she gathered that the poor fellow had been wealthy. It was a tricky business for a demon to take over the life of another. Harder still when the person lived in the public sphere.
Mercer sneered. “I’ll have you know that this form gets me into more places than you’ll ever creep.” An ugly gleam lit his blue eyes. “And more beds.”
She swallowed down a shiver of disgust. How many women were lured by this false front, having no notion of what they truly bedded? “And they’ll all remember you too. Hard to miss, wearing such a fancy skin. Your vanity will see you dead one day. Which is no concern of mine.” She shrugged. “Save when you are dealing with me. You get caught, and it will be my pleasure to strip you of that skin.” The demon had been an excellent informant to her over the years, but she didn’t have to like him.
Mercer’s handsome lips twisted, and for a small moment his irises flickered mustard yellow. “Mayhaps others will be wanting the information I have. I’m thinking I might sell to the highest—” He yelped as her knife slammed into the table with a thud.
Mercer’s gaze drifted down to the sharp point lodged between his pale fingers. Mary looked only at him. “Do you know how a GIM ties a cravat, Mercer?”