Okane didn’t reply. He set the stool down and sat on it, still looking peeved. He watched her for a minute, then asked, “What was that?”
“That? That was a pervert,” Laura growled.
“No, I mean that.” He pointed at the teacup.
“Oh. I saw that in a movie recently.” She flushed a little. “It’s not terribly original, but it worked.”
“That it did.”
Laura sighed, sitting down again and setting the handkerchief on the counter.
“What do you think, did I pull off the Clae look?” she asked after a while, wistful. Okane gave her a puzzled look and she explained, “You know, how you can’t actually see the emotion on his face, but it’s like, there in his aura, so it’s that much more terrifying. Did I manage it?”
“Not really. ---’re kind of an open book.”
“Really?” Laura groaned, propping her head up on one arm.
“It’s not a bad thing, though.”
Laura grumbled incoherently, but as she did, she realized he actually started this conversation. Nowhere in these two weeks had he done that before. She’d been so busy glaring him into submission he hadn’t gotten a word in to begin with, but he hadn’t started a conversation with Clae at all either. She shifted to stare, searching for an answer in his expression.
“Thanks, by the way,” she mumbled. “For … y’know, the stool. And the hanky.”
“It’s nothing.” He looked away.
That seemed like the end of their little chat, but for once he didn’t flee to the other side of the room. Slowly, Laura found herself smiling. Maybe she’d earned his respect by pouring boiling tea on someone. He better not be sitting there out of protective instinct. Her smile began to dip back into a frown at that thought.
Two sharp knocks on the door broke her out of her thoughts, and she knew who was there even before it opened. Mrs. Keedler entered the room, snapping her umbrella shut as she did. The bottom of her dress dripped water onto the threshold, but that didn’t dampen her spirits.
“Hello, Laura,” she called. “Everything all right? I passed some man cussing about witches.”
“It’s fine. He was a rat, but we took care of it,” Laura replied.
Mrs. Keedler looked back at the window with a black expression. Knowing her, she wanted to beat that man with her umbrella.
“Cads. There’s more and more of them coming down to lower Quarters because they think they can take advantage of people.”
“I hope he comes back when Clae’s around, he’d give the rat a good lesson. But forget it. What’re you doing over here? The bakery’s still open today, right?”
“It is.” Mrs. Keedler brightened up. “But I saw Clae go past the window. I’ve seen too many days when he’s put off eating until late at night, and while he’s gotten better since you came along, I don’t want you to miss lunch just because he’s in a hurry.”
She walked over to the counter and set a basket there. Flicking away the cloth covering revealed three sandwiches.
“It’s not much, but I cut up one of our baguettes. Can’t have you starving over here if I can help it.”
“Mrs. Keedler, you’re an angel. Thank you!”
Mrs. Keedler just laughed. “Don’t lie like that. So, is this the new Sweeper I’ve been hearing about?”
She looked at Okane like she hadn’t noticed him before. He shrank, but stayed on the stool.
“This is Okane. We hired him about two weeks ago. Okane, this is Mrs. Keedler. She and her husband run the bakery down the street.”
Okane nodded slowly in acknowledgment.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” Mrs. Keedler observed, to which he shook his head. She chuckled. “Well, I hope you’ve settled in nicely. Clae might be a bit strange, but he’s got a good heart. Save him one of those sandwiches.”
“I will if he hurries,” said Laura.
Mrs. Keedler patted her arm as she drew back. It was a completely different kind of touch from the one that man used, and Laura smiled at it.
“Rain or no, I’m sure he’ll be back soon, and I’ve got to get back. God knows that husband of mine can’t last long on his own.”
“You sure you can’t stay a little while? You could have some tea,” Laura suggested.
“No, but thanks for the offer. You two have a nice day. Stay dry!”
Once the woman was gone, Laura picked up one of the sandwiches and took a bite. Okane waited, watching as if he needed some sort of approval.
“Go on, they’re not poisonous.”
At that, he reached out and took one.
“Mrs. Keedler may be intimidating, but she’s actually a big sweetheart. She makes great bread, too.” Laura picked at her sandwich, frowning, before thinking to hell with it. “If you stick around I think you’ll like her.”
Okane mumbled something into his sandwich. Silence settled between them, but not the uneasy silence from before. It was a bit more like the silence between her and Clae. She ate her sandwich slowly, to waste more time.
An hour passed. By this time Laura had gone back to the newspaper. She read out the more interesting bits while Okane studied the tubing of the Kin, but she knew by his soft noises that he was listening. It was a little strange to think about; just this morning she’d been dead set on loathing him, but if he was on board with breaking stools over her enemies’ heads, he couldn’t be all bad. Her eyes trailed after him as she recited the report of recently imported films and how Amicae’s golden boy was off to act in some big production in another city. She couldn’t see much beyond the glint of his eyes through the Kin, but she could hear another faint laugh. He was almost endearing from this angle.
She was reading about a minor scandal in the Third Quarter (some man messing with the streetlamps, painting silly faces on them so they looked like jack-o’-lanterns) when the door swung open again. This time it was Clae, completely soaked through and only slightly less irritable. He stopped short just inside the entrance, water dripping off his coat, and cast a suspicious look around. He zeroed in on Laura.
“What happened?”
Immediately, Laura panicked. What was he looking at? Had he heard what she’d done to that would-be customer? Had he seen the spilled tea, if it hadn’t dried up? She never cleaned it up!
“It was self-defense, I swear!” she blurted.
Clae cocked his head to the side.
“Self-defense,” he repeated, disbelieving.
“Yes.”
Clae shook his head. He hung up his coat on the rack and yanked off his boots, setting them next to Laura’s. He padded across the floor in socks that were miraculously still dry, passing them by to go through the back door. He didn’t close it all the way, so the steep stairs remained visible, and after a moment there was creaking overhead.
Laura cast around the room for something to talk about when he came down again. She wasn’t keen on explaining why she’d dumped tea on a visitor, pervert or no.
“You live up there too, right?” she asked.
“Yes,” muttered Okane, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I just realized, isn’t this place kind of small? Are there multiple rooms up there?” Laura gestured at the rest of the shop.
Okane glanced up at the ceiling, as if making sure Clae couldn’t see or hear him. “There are rooms. More than I expected for a bachelor.”
“Oh?” Laura looked up too, though the ceiling was nondescript and gave her absolutely no insight.
“They’re small, but they’re furnished. ---’d think a family lived up there.”
“This was a family business.”
Clae’s voice made them both jump. He stepped out from the stairwell in new dry clothes, though his hair remained sopping wet. He sat back down on his stool. Okane drew back as if expecting some sort of punishment for gossiping. While Laura felt a little ashamed too, she wasn’t about to flinch away; Clae wasn’t the kind to lash out about something like that. He didn’t seem to notice Okane’
s discomfort at all. He inspected the teacup he’d left however long ago, frowned, and quickly downed it. He set the cup back on the counter with a loud clack and clarified, “Family business, family house. We all worked here.”
Laura folded the newspaper with slow movements, creasing the folds again as her earlier apprehension drained a little. Clae didn’t usually go out of his way to volunteer personal information. The most she’d gotten out of him was the brief mention of his father during their run through the Sullivan mansion.
“And it’s not a family business anymore?” she prodded quietly.
“Job has its hazards.” Clae shrugged. “Why didn’t you heat up the tea?”
Laura blinked in surprise at the change in topic. “Uh, well, I didn’t think about it.”
At that, Okane picked up the teapot. He made a muffled noise and walked off, which Laura took to mean that he was going to make more. He’d barely reached the stairs when Clae leaned over toward Laura. She leaned back in response, but paused as he whispered, “Self-defense? What, you punch him and all of a sudden he’ll sit next to you?”
For a moment Laura was baffled, but then she looked back where Okane had disappeared up the stairs, and it clicked.
“Oh, no, I just—No. He was ready to break somebody’s head open but I beat him to the punch.”
Clae’s head moved minutely, and she knew he wanted more information. She felt flustered and reluctant to say it, but forced the story out. “Well … somebody came in, and he … um … he was here to see you, but he was talking about how a girl shouldn’t be here and—” God, this was the very last thing she ever wanted to happen or talk about. She couldn’t even form the words but gestured vaguely. “He thought he could … take liberties. So when he—Well, I dumped tea on him.”
Clae’s eyes narrowed, and he growled, “While the tea was still hot, right?”
Laura rubbed at her burned leg. “Definitely.”
“Good.” He sat back on his stool, pondered a moment. “If he comes in again, tell me.”
“Right.” Laura tapped her feet together twice, then mumbled, “So you haven’t gotten Okane to open up to you?”
Clae made a huffing sound. “He won’t.”
“You think?”
“No. It’s vulnerability. He saw you vulnerable, like he is. You’re less likely to threaten him, in his mind.”
Was that some kind of insult? Laura’s brow furrowed. “He thinks I’m too weak to pose a threat?”
Clae snorted like she’d missed the point entirely. “Forget it.”
Nearly half an hour later, as Clae pondered closing early, the man from before returned. He had a shorter, portly man in tow, equally well dressed, and they opened the door seemingly as loud as possible. Okane started at the noise, and as soon as Laura saw who it was, she kicked at Clae’s leg and hissed, “It’s him!”
She didn’t elaborate, but that was enough information for Clae. Right there, at the drop of a hat, he was angry. It didn’t show on his face but it was there in his eyes, and the menacing click of his pocket watch didn’t help. Laura scooted her stool a good foot or two away before she realized what she was doing. The men didn’t pick up on his mood.
“Are you the head Sweeper?” The man from before looked much more pompous and annoyed than last time.
“I am,” Clae replied, stowing the watch in his pocket and folding his arms.
The man’s eyes flicked over to Laura and Okane for a moment, and Laura was sure she saw gloating in his expression. He probably thought he was about to get them fired.
“Wonderful,” he said, striding forward. “I’m James Sutliff. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
He held out a hand to shake, and it just so happened to be the one Laura poured tea on. It was wrapped in a bandage. Laura felt some pride at the sight. Clae looked at the hand. Just looked at it, saying nothing, something like disgust curling his lip. That was when the man got an inkling that something was off. He cleared his throat awkwardly and took a step back.
“I stopped by earlier but you weren’t in. I wanted to see you about some mobster trouble I’ve been having recently. Mr. Ohler here tells me that it’s a rather sorry state”—here his companion dipped his head, flashing a quick, false smile—“and advised I go directly to the top. Your employees were here, but they weren’t very helpful. In fact, they were openly hostile. Not to insult the way you run things here, but these two—”
In one smooth movement, Clae stood. He was shorter than James Sutliff, but he invaded the man’s space and glared up at him in a manner that made Laura think of a mean little stray dog. He grabbed Sutliff’s injured hand in one of his own, gripping tight enough that Sutliff gasped in pain.
“You.” Clae’s voice was so low that Laura could barely hear it. “I’m sick of you so-called high-class gentlemen coming down here and acting as if you own everything. You dared touch my apprentice and you have crossed a line.”
As he spoke, his grip tightened. Sutliff made an odd noise and tried desperately to wrench his bandaged appendage away. Ohler hurried forward to intervene.
“Mr. Sinclair! Mr. Sinclair, what are you doing?”
Clae paid him no attention. “Get out. If I see you on this street again, I’ll rip both your hands off.”
He let go. Sutliff stumbled back, injured hand kept tight to his chest for protection. Ohler stood between them with arms outstretched as if expecting Clae to rush for the other’s throat, but Clae simply reclined against the counter.
“That was entirely uncalled for!” Ohler cried. “You can’t go assaulting your clients!”
Clae turned his gaze on him, and Ohler shrank back immediately. He stuttered for a moment, but Sutliff brought him back to earth.
“You won’t get away with this. I don’t care how long it takes or how many people I have to go through, I’ll make sure you’re out on the street!” Sutliff growled.
“I said get out,” Clae spat.
The men hesitated, but when he pushed himself up again, they scampered for the door.
“Mark my words, you’ll regret this!” Sutliff yelled, even as he stumbled down the steps. “I’ll have you all fired!”
The door banged shut.
“You don’t think he can actually get us fired, do you?” Laura muttered.
“He can’t. We’re the only Sweepers as it is, so we’re irreplaceable. The City Council will be up in arms if he tries getting rid of any of us,” said Clae.
He stacked their empty teacups with no attempt at grace. They stacked well enough without handles, and he picked them up in one hand, teapot in the other.
“You can go too.”
“We’re closing early?”
“No one in their right mind is going out in this weather. Might as well close up. I’ll call if any urgent news comes in.” As Clae passed Okane, he gestured with the teapot. “You can go with her to the trolley stop. If that ‘client’ of ours tries to follow, feel free to crack his skull open.”
Okane nodded and Clae vanished through the door to the stairs. Laura leaned over the counter and called after him, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then! And, uh, thanks!”
There was a loud grunt, but no other response.
“Will --- be leaving now?” asked Okane.
“I suppose. He said I could go, after all. Typically means leave as soon as possible.”
She eased herself up from the stool and made her way slowly to the door. Her boots there had dried. She prodded them to check, then slipped them on.
“Do --- want me to go with ---?” Okane drifted after her.
“Sure. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, though. It’s not the nicest weather, after all.”
Okane looked out the window, probably deciding whether it was worth the effort. Laura didn’t expect him to come along, so turned her attention to donning her light jacket and fetching her umbrella. She stepped out onto the top stair. There she was protected from the rain for a moment, giving her the opportunity to ope
n her umbrella and step out into the downpour. A following snap sounded behind her, barely noticeable amid the pattering of the storm. A glance back showed Okane following a step behind her, wielding Clae’s battered umbrella.
“You’re actually coming?”
He muttered something she couldn’t hear.
“What?”
“If it’s okay, I said.”
“It’s fine. I just didn’t expect you to.” Laura shrugged.
He copied the movement and stood there awkwardly. Clearly he wasn’t planning on saying any more, so Laura tipped her umbrella. “Shall we?”
He nodded.
They hurried down the street, tramping through puddles on their way to the trolley stop. The stop was out of sight of the Sweeper shop even on a good day, two streets away. There was no shelter at this one, which Laura lamented, but she could deal with it. They waited for a long while. Laura’s boots were good protection, but the raindrops were big enough and hit with enough force, the liquid bounced up; Okane’s pants were soaked up to midcalf. He would need boots of his own. Laura dug out her pocket watch. They still had some time.
“Why did you tag along?” she asked.
Okane just shrugged again.
“Really?” she pressed. “Because before today I didn’t think you wanted anything to do with anyone. It’s been weeks and you’ve only just started talking.”
Okane’s mouth twisted. He frowned out at the rain, resting the umbrella pole against his shoulder.
“Well, --- didn’t like me.”
“True, but if I’m mean to you, why do this? Why the turnaround today? And don’t tell me you were trying to be my knight in shining armor.”
He glared at her. His eyes seemed even more luminescent in the near dark, like they reflected the lamplight. “---’d rather I just watched?”
“No, but I’m not weak like everyone seems to think,” she grouched.
“Obviously not.” Okane looked away again. “--- at least stood up for ---rself.”
Laura tilted her head and peered at his face, trying to figure out what that was supposed to mean. The way he said it almost sounded like an insult.
“And that’s a good thing?” He didn’t answer, so she went for another approach. “Did you not do that, back with the Sullivans?”
City of Broken Magic Page 15