Wicked After Midnight(7)
Cherie’s eyes met mine. Neither of us knew the haughty daimon well. She was probably glad to get rid of me so her son would stop staring and writing horrible poetry to slip under my door.
“Don’t worry. We’ll go soon,” I said, and she nodded and left the dining car without a word to her sons.
Cherie gulped down both vials quickly and then looked as if she might lose them to nerves. The moment she was done, we both stood and hurried to the door. Being on the road would be better than dealing with this awkwardness a moment longer.
A small party waited outside our wagon. Tish kept dashing tears away, while Criminy did his best to maintain his usual smirk.
“Mr. Murdoch put this together for you, honey.” Tish handed me a train case that was unusually warm, and inside I found a dozen vials of blood nestled in little holes. It felt like an incubator.
“This, too.” I was surprised to see the reclusive Mr. Murdoch himself. He’d ventured outside his car more frequently since Imogen had come along, but I couldn’t recall if he had ever spoken directly to me before, not in all my years of traveling with the carnival. Imogen and I got along fine, though, and I’d spent some rainy afternoons reading beside her fire while a butterfly flapped lazily on my shoulder; there was a swallowtail in her butterfly circus that seemed to favor me.
The reclusive artificer stepped back to reveal our trunk raised up on a small conveyance, almost like a wagon, with a steering wheel and a clockwork winding box on the back.
“Wind the key, and as long as you’re on the road or flat ground, at least one of you can ride. Sell it in Dover for traveling money.” His gloved hand lingered on the key as if he were adopting out a puppy of which he had grown fond.
“Thank you so much,” I said, and Imogen stepped forward.
“It was my idea, you know. But Henry’s design.”
“Good Lord, woman. What isn’t?” He sounded gruff, but he pulled her close and kissed her hair with a fondness that made my lonely heart ache.
Jacinda Harville stepped up next, handing me a knife in a leather sheath. “One of Marco’s. Stay lively so I can read about you in the Franchian papers, yes?”
I’d liked the journalist ever since she’d drawn a flattering picture of me for her book on the caravan, and although her beloved knife thrower was a man of few words, he winked and nodded. Funny to think I’d crushed on him once. It felt as if it was a million years ago that I’d watched him across the fire, dreaming of passion and adventure that I still hadn’t found.
“Maybe we’ll see you there soon,” Jacinda added. “Lots of juicy stories in Franchia.”
“Lass is getting restless for adventure,” Marco said, and I would’ve sworn he goosed her.
All the smiling faces were making me feel wobbly inside. Criminy and Tish, Mr. Murdoch and Imogen, Jacinda and her daggerman. They all had what I longed for: someone to love and a place to belong. I fought back tears and was about to launch into a big speech when Mademoiselle Caprice appeared, a valise in her hand.
“Allons-y,” she said with great fanfare.
“Let’s go where?” I asked.
Caprice looked at me as if I was a complete idiot. Criminy tried not to laugh and failed.
“To Ruin, of course.” She pinned Criminy with a harsh glare. “Luc said she was intelligent, and you concurred. Am I missing something?”
Despite the fact that I was well aware that Criminy was the most vicious predator for hundreds of miles, I still bared my teeth at him and growled. “A chaperone? You’re sending us with a chaperone?”
Tish almost stepped forward, but Criminy caught her, probably recognizing that she was an excellent target for an angry Bludman’s fangs.
“Demi. Poppet. Darling. Surely you don’t think I’m sending two young, innocent girls to Franchia by themselves? You’ve never been there. You don’t know how to negotiate air travel. You don’t speak the language. And even if I was willing to take the chance, no one will do business with young human girls unchaperoned in the Pinky world.”
“We’re not young. We’re in our twenties. And we’re dangerous.”
He smiled, rubbing my shoulders with both hands as if calming a dog. I snapped at him, my fangs closing on air. “You are dangerous, yes. And Mademoiselle Caprice will keep you under leash until you’re in a safe place. Franchia is a different country. Daimons have different rules. She’ll fill you in and make sure no one takes advantage of you.”
“No one can—”
He put a finger against my lips. “You lost this round, pet. Count your blessings, and write me an angry letter from Ruin, yes?”