Page 55 of Reap & Sow

Eda aborted her sip of tea. “Wait. Are you talking about Abelard Wolfram? High Governor Abelard Wolfram?” She’d almost forgotten that little fact entirely. Severin Lich’s suspicions of Wolfram being a dealie had led her to Kit in the first place.

“Unless there’s another one hanging about I’ve not heard of. Abelard is the only Pact I’ve made since coming here, save yours.”

“He pays for your apartment,” she mused. And general extravagant lifestyle, no doubt. “Did you really help him become High Governor? How?”

“Skulking, sleuthing, blackmail. Planted evidence to keep his rivals under heel. In one particular case, hanging a man by his ankles from a third-story window.”

“Sounds like common mercenary work.” She’d wondered if demons went about fulfilling Pacts in mundane ways. Now, knowing the limits of their magic, the concept failed to surprise her—though most dealies surely had no clue. A demon would never admit such lack.

“I’ll thank you not to compare me to some knuckle-dragging hired muscle, you little heathen. Have you ever successfully squeezed yourself between the hinges of a security-deposit box? No, you haven’t, because you cannot turn into a mouse, and even then it was a tight bloody squeeze. Are you ready to leave or not?”

Eda took a hurried sip of tea and stood, ignoring Tripp’s glare and Robin’s amused smirk. “Ready.”

Kit made a face at her ugly mantle and ill-fitting trousers. “We’ll get you something better to wear before we meet with him. Can’t have you looking like a vagrant criminal.”

“I am a vagrant criminal.”

“The governor will tolerate our impromptu visit better if he doesn’t think you a mad bog witch. My good looks can only distract from so much.”

“Certainly not your insufferable personality.”

He held out his hand.

Eda took it, wondering how so rude a person might also wield such lordly manners. Wondered why, when his skin brushed hers, it sent a little thrill all down her arm.

Their journey into Blackbridge was mercifully uneventful, until Kit led her down a narrow alley off the merchant quarter in Bellmoor Heath. Besides Cannington, it was the wealthiest borough in the city. The shops here boasted tall frontages and carved beams, glass windows and plasterwork figurines. They made Shaws’ Antiques look decidedly shabby.

“What are we doing here?”

“Shopping. Like I said.”

“You’re just going to prance into a store?”

“I do not prance.” He glanced over his shoulder. “My tail isn’t showing, is it?”

“No…”

“Then stop fussing. You cannot go, Evil Mistress of the Fiends, but I’m unlikely to be recognized.”

Eda was still spluttering when he smoothly slipped around her, sliding on his tinted eyeglasses. “But—do you have any money?”

“I have a tab.”

“A what?”

He sauntered across the street. The city seemed quieter than usual. Muted. Life didn’t stop even for monsters on the prowl, not when there was work to be done, but now the air hung heavy with trepidation. Eda wondered if Lich’s people were still tracking her. She assumed so. The mantle might hide her, but Kit was conspicuous enough for those who knew to look for him. And if Kit is in Lich’s sights, then so am I.

Eda clung to the shadows of the alley and waited. She half expected some sort of ruckus to break out. Screams, couches thrown through windows, that sort of thing. But after a nail-biting fifteen minutes, Kit reappeared through the tailor’s front door carrying a large paper bundle. He almost stepped into the path of two ladies, offering a flashy bow of apology. The women flushed and sent him admiring looks as they passed. One whispered something in her friend’s ear. They giggled.

Eda couldn’t rightly blame them. Kit sported a new doublet and jerkin, black brocade with subtle gold trim: the epitome of understated wealth. The capped glasses concealing his eyes lent him an air of rebellious mystery. If he’d been handsome before, he was downright ruinous now. So much for this little excursion being purely for my benefit.

He shoved the parcel at her.

Eda unwrapped it.

Kit had chosen a fitted moss-green waistcoat to accompany a cream shirt, embroidered with swooping florals along the hem. There was a pair of buttery-soft riding leathers, too, the color of autumn bark. At the bottom lay a wool cloak. Darker and thicker than the one she’d owned before, it boasted an ivory button shaped like a water lily at the throat. Eda stared at it. Of all the flowers.

These clothes were better than anything she’d ever worn. They were lovely, in fact. Practical and pretty and suiting her complexion. Had he thought the same? It seemed unlikely that he’d choose her most favorable colors entirely by accident. “These are…nice.”