Page 88 of A Season for Scandal

CHAPTER FORTY

“What exactly do you think you are doing?” Oliver asked coldly, as Mr Brown stepped closer to me.

“What amIdoing?” Mr Brown’s smile stretched wide. “Iam threatening the life of the woman you love. Soyouwill do exactly as I say.”

“It wasn’t real,” I said quickly. “Our engagement. It was a cover so that I could investigate you. I’m not his fiancée. I’m nothing.”

Mr Brown’s smile didn’t falter. “Interesting. Is that right, Mr Lockhart?” he asked. “Is Miss Bloom nothing to you?”

Oliver’s jaw tightened. His pitch-dark eyes were filled with a rage I could not have imagined him capable of. “Step away from her,” he said quietly. “I will not ask you again.”

I needed to do something; I needed to think of a plan. He had a gun. He had a gun, and he was moving closer to me. I was going to die. He was going to shoot me and everyone else.

“Or what?” Mr Brown smirked.

“Goodness,” Sylla said in bored tones. “What a lot of unnecessary drama.”

This produced a startled silence.

“And who exactly are you supposed to be?” Mrs Brown sneered, confidence clearly returning at the sight of her husband brandishing a deadly weapon.

Sylla’s eyes ran over her with a haughty disinterest that had the blood rushing to Mrs Brown’s cheeks. “Who I am is of no great importance at the moment,” she said. “It is who I work for that you should be worried about.” Her eyes locked with mine, and it was as if a jolt of electricity had been fired into me.

The roar of panic dulled in my ears, and in that moment of relative calm I remembered who I was. I wasn’t just Marigold Bloom any more. I was a Finch. And that meant that I wasn’t afraid of a man with a gun, because I knew precisely what to do. Hadn’t Sylla trained me for this herself?

“That,” Sylla added, “and the fact that there are several of the more burly members of the hotel security on their way up here, along with the police, I should think.”

“Well then.” Mr Brown took another step towards me, and I felt the cold muzzle of the gun pressing against my temple.

“Don’t—” Oliver choked, taking a half-step forward, terror in his face.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sylla said coolly.

“Listen, you little brat,” Mr Brown spat, “my wife and I are about to walk out of here with your friend, and ifanyonetries to stop us, then you’ll be cleaning her brains off the carpet. Is that dramatic enough for you?”

Sylla’s eyes flicked to mine, and I could have sworn there was actually amusement there. “What do you think about that, Mari?”

I assessed the situation. Mr Brown had his eyes narrowed on Sylla. He was not at all concerned with me because he expected nothing from me, no resistance, no sort of fight. In my head, I heard Simon’s voice telling me that I should make myself small, that I wasn’t clever enough or pretty enough or ladylike enough, knowing I would never stand up for myself or fight back. I thought about Scullen standing over Scout in that dingy alleyway.

Just like those men, Mr Brown utterly underestimated me and, like every member of the Aviary, I knew this to be my greatest advantage.

Taking a deep breath, I moved before I could think about it too much, my body only shifting in the way it had been relentlessly drilled to do over the last six months. I grabbed Mr Brown’s wrist, pushing it in a smooth motion so that the end of the gun swung away from me; a loud bang rang in my ear as it discharged, the bullet flying wide.

Wrapping my other hand round the barrel of the gun, I pulled sharply down, hearing the horrible crack as I broke Mr Brown’s finger, still on the trigger. (I could have sworn I also heard Sylla chuckle.) He screamed, and I twisted his arm towards his back, the gun falling free of his hand and skittering over the floor, where Sylla stopped it by resting her slippered foot on top. My other elbow lifted up, hitting Mr Brown hard in the face, and I spun round, applying my knee with great force between his legs. He made a rather inhuman noise and fell to the floor in an untidy heap.Writhing, I thought. Sylla was right. Watching it really did get the blood pumping.

The whole thing happened in the space of a few seconds, and I found myself breathing hard, standing over the prone body of my attacker.

Everything was utterly still.

“Good, Mari,” Sylla said finally, picking up the gun and checking the remaining bullets. “A touch slow on your first move; remember you want to swing the gun as wide as possible. I suppose your ears are ringing?”

I nodded, feeling slightly dazed.

Sylla turned the gun almost absently on Mrs Brown. “The mistake, you see, is in getting too close,” she told me. “There is no need to press the gun to your victim’s head for dramatic effect. I am perfectly capable of killing Mrs Brown from this distance.”

Mrs Brown sank back into her chair, her head in her hands. On the floor, her husband let out a low moan.

“Yes, I see,” I replied, my voice thankfully calm. I turned my attention to Helene and Oliver who wore matching expressions of surprise – eyebrows raised, mouths slightly open. It was enough to bring a smile to my own face. They really were brother and sister.