Page 97 of The Shadows Between Us
“How do I look?” he asks.
Actually, he looks a lot like Leandros now. The hair color and beard length are the same, though I doubt he would appreciate such a comment.
“Less kingly,” I offer.
“Good. Then let’s be off.”
DAWSON’S IS LOCATED SMACK-DABin the middle of the city. It’s the largest building in the entire block, as well as the loudest.
“Damn,” Kallias says from the horse next to me. “I just realized we can’t go in together.”
“Why not?”
“A man doesn’t take his mistress to a place like this. He goes here for a break from his mistress.”
“What about his wife?” I ask.
“He needs a mistress for a break from his wife.”
“What about your parents?”
“That’s a different case entirely. The men in my family don’t give up their power for anything less than the most all-consuming love. Something that they’re willing to give their lives for.”
His words make my mouth go dry, and I can’t quite meet his eyes.
“Then I suppose we’d better head in so we can better protect yours,” I say. “What should I do?”
“I don’t want to separate.”
“You just said we have to. We’ll draw too much attention if we enter together.”
He thinks a moment, not bothering to climb down from his horse yet. “There should be other entrances in the back. We just need to get you in. Try to get to the gaming room. I will find you from there. But if anything happens, if any man tries to… grab you or do anything at all—you leave. You get out. And I will do this on my own. I should do it on my own anyway.”
“Too late,” I say. “Friends don’t let friends go to gentleman’s clubs alone when someone is trying to kill them.”
He doesn’t bother to laugh at the lame joke.
I slide down from my horse. Catching myself on my feet, I hand the reins to Kallias before he can utter another word of protest.
I feel my way around to the side of the building. Music and laughter spill out through an open window when I reach the back, the light helping me to find a door.
There’s nothing left but to use my talents of manipulation to get myself where I need to be.
I pull the unlocked door open, my eyes blinking at the suddenonslaught of light. Taking a few hesitant steps into the room, I try to make sense of where I am. Tubs of water. Stacks of used mugs. A strong scent of stew.
Kitchens.
A young girl—perhaps ten or so—looks up from where she’s scrubbing at pots in one of the tubs of hot water, her hands red and raw from the task.
“Oh,” she says upon my sudden entrance. She flicks her head back in an attempt to get an errant strand of thick black hair out of her eyes. Her hair doesn’t look as though it’s ever been brushed in its life. A relief. She doesn’t work here as a prostitute. She’s merely a kitchen girl.
“Sorry,” I say. “I think I came in the wrong way. I’m a new hire. Can you point me to the gaming room?”
“That door. Down the hallway. Up the stairs. Second door.” Her hands never cease their scrubbing.
As I exit the room, another girl is entering, and we collide. The fall sends my cape sprawling open, and the older woman gets a good look at me. A good look at more of me than has ever been seen in public.
“Who are you?” The new voice is stern and exhausted. She’s broader than I am, which I tell myself is why she was able keep her feet and I wasn’t.
