by Olsen, Lisa
“Actually, the guy I fought turned out to be Bishop.”
“Shut the fuck up. It was not!”
“I will not, it was him, I swear. And he was… different, but good.”
“Still getting the old down low tickle when you see him, huh? Even with the Darcy stick up his ass?”
“I actually think he’s kind of hot all dressed up like Mr. Darcy.” Not that I didn’t love him in his normal clothes, but there was something about all that fabric that made me want to unwrap him like a present.
“You would,” she snorted. “So I’m guessing he didn’t believe the whole Carys bit, huh?”
“Nope. I had to smack him upside the head to get him to listen.”
“So same as always then?”
“Pretty much, yes,” I chuckled. “Even now I’m not sure he believes me entirely, but he let us go, that has to count for something. I just hope I can reach him somehow.”
“Look, he may have reverted to the Order’s butt-boy again, but if anyone can get through to him, it’s you. The rest of ’em bought it though?”
“So far so good. I think Sylvius might know something’s up, but I’m hoping he’ll have my back like last time. And I’m hoping they’ll let you stay here with me and you won’t have to stay much in the feeder’s quarters at all.”
“Yeah, hopefully.” Her dark gaze swung around the room. “This place really does look the same, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I think the bedding is different, but that’s about it.”
“Well, I’m gonna hit the old bedding and get some shuteye. Wake me up if something good happens, okay?”
“Sure. Sleep deep,” I smiled as she took what had become her side of the bed. It was a long time before I went to bed myself. My mind kept churning with all of the possibilities. I fell asleep wondering how to accidentally on purpose run into Bishop again.
* * *
Bridget was still lightly snoring when I woke the next night. Next to the sofa sat a brass bound trunk that hadn’t been there the night before. As creepy as that was, at least they hadn’t come into the bedroom itself. Inside were a myriad of ladies’ garments, as if whoever packed it had no idea what sizes we’d need.
Everything from chemises to shoes, though they didn’t all go particularly well together. The clothes were all finely made, much higher quality than we’d arrived in, but nothing as fancy as what I’d seen in the great hall. The meant we’d either gotten the hand-me-downs they didn’t care about getting rid of, or servants’ clothing. I didn’t care, I was glad to have something clean to put on that didn’t make me feel like a country bumpkin.
Most of the clothing was made for someone taller, or skinnier, or much more buxom, and I set aside a dress I thought might fit Bridget pretty well. I settled on a sprigged muslin dress in a creamy yellow, with puffy sleeves and a pink ribbon under the bodice. Pulling another pink ribbon from one of the other dresses, I tied it around my hair and tucked the ends up over it, the way I’d seen in countless movies, ending up with a passable hairstyle, I thought. A pair of soft slippers completed the ensemble, though I did have to stuff the toes with an extra stocking.
I went to check my efforts in the mirror to find the bathroom as I knew it... gone. No shower, no toilet, no sink – it was more of a dressing room, with a large standing mirror, a vanity with another heavily gilt mirror, and a washing stand at one end. Well, that would be awkward. Not so much for me, who didn’t need the same amenities that humans did, but for Bridget who’d either have to make do with a chamber pot, or go out in search of the human facilities, such as they were.
The standing mirror was nice to get a look at myself though. Not too bad, I thought, though the yellow gown made me look a bit washed out. I wasn’t much for heavy make-up, but I wished for a coat of mascara or a touch of tinted lip balm to make my mouth look more inviting.
A sharp rap at the door snagged my attention, and my heart clenched, wondering if it could be Bishop. Instead, the page stood there, his back ramrod straight.
“His Grace, Sylvius, Elder of Vetis requests your company in his chambers, my lady,” he said crisply.
“Oh. Ah... just a moment, please,” I smiled, shutting the door to go shake Bridget awake. “Hey...”
“Wha...?” A single eye peered at me before squinching shut again.
“I’m going down to talk to Sylvius. You’d better wake up and get dressed in case we have to leave in a hurry.”
“Leave?” She obviously wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet, and I shook her leg again.
“There are some clothes out in the sitting room for you to change into. Come on, wake up, Bridge, don’t fall back asleep.”
Bridget gave an ear-cracking yawn followed by a thumbs up. “You can count on me.” I paused to watch her for a few seconds to make sure she was awake, but decided I’d better not keep the Elder of Vetis waiting on me.
I recognized the path to Sylvius’ chambers, even though I’d only been down there the once. Hopefully this turned out better than the last time, when he’d ended up dead with Aubrey on the throne. Aubrey... I’d almost forgotten about him. Was he kicking around Vetis somewhere? I hoped not, I didn’t need that complication.
Sylvius rose to his feet when I entered, extending both of his hands to me in welcome. “Ah, how lovely you look after a proper day’s rest,” he said with a kindly smile.
“That’s very kind of you to say,” I smiled back, giving him my hands, which he kissed the backs of each in turn. “You, um... wanted to speak with me?” Smooth, Anja, real smooth, the little voice inside my head deadpanned. Way to skip the pleasantries and go right for the hard stuff.
“Yes, I’d love to hear more about your travels, my child. Are you enjoying your visit to the Vetis lands?”
Talk about déjà vu. There were a lot of things I could’ve said to that. I could’ve come up with stories as to where I’d been traveling and excuses why our paths hadn’t crossed before, but instead, I decided to level with him from the start.
“Sylvius, I’m going to be honest with you. Carys is not my Sire.”
“Is that so?” he replied, the smile never leaving his lips.
“No. I think we both know I’m something else.”
“And yet, you’ve not claimed that birthright. To which Ellri do you belong, my dear?” His friendly smile clouded. “Lodinn perhaps? Is that why you seek sanctuary?”
My eyes flicked to the finger where Jakob’s ring had once sat. Without it, he couldn’t identify me as his progeny. Interesting that Lodinn was well known for being a bastard even back then. “No, Your Grace. Jakob is my Sire.”
“Ah, and how does Jakob fare these days?”
“To tell the truth, I hardly know. I haven’t seen him in a long time.” Not a lie... “As for why I can’t claim him as my Sire, I’m under orders to keep that a secret. One I’m hoping you’ll keep.
“Of course, you have only to ask.”
“Thank you so much. Believe me when I say that people could die if Jakob’s name were to be brought into it at this time and place.”
“Never you mind about that then,” he said, patting my hand. “I shall carry your secret with me to the grave. But surely Bishop and Aubrey know.”
“Actually no, they don’t. They don’t know me at all. I’m not nearly as old as I claim. The only reason I bested Bishop is because Jakob is my sire and I’m stronger than most my age.”
He waved away my self-deprecation. “That is not the only reason, from what I hear. Your skills in combat were much talked about after you retired for the evening.”
“I can imagine,” I sighed in dismay. Something told me I would end up the vulgar American in that gossip. “I know, it wasn’t a very ladylike show.” I looked away, embarrassed.
“Nonsense,” he snorted, reaching out to tip my chin up. “A true lady is satin over steel, just as you are.”
“What a nice thing to say.” How wonderful it was to find an ally so far from home. “Anyway, I didn
’t want to lie to you, and I truly am grateful for your hospitality.”
“Think nothing of it.” He patted my hand again. “We are glad you have graced us with your presence, and hope you will stay on for a nice long visit.”
Bridget was waiting for me in the hallway when I stepped out of Sylvius’ chambers. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “I packed our gear, are we heading for the hills?”
“No, we’re good,” I said softly, not sure who else might be around who could overhear the conversation. “Sylvius was very understanding about our... predicament.”
“You told him?” Her eyes stretched wide.
“Not all of it. Not the where we came from, just the who we are parts.”
“Oh. So I have to keep playing Eliza Doolittle to your Princess Di, huh?”
“I wouldn’t quite put it that... uh oh...” I murmured, picking up the distinctive stride of boots approaching in the corridor. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I thought I almost recognized, “Bishop,” I breathed as he came into view.
He was just as crisply put together as he’d been the night before, though dressed in darker clothes, the way the other Order members were. Coming to a stop before us, he gave a stiff bow. “Good evening, Miss Gudrun,” he said shortly, ignoring Bridget completely.
“Good evening, Bishop,” I replied, bobbing in kind.
“Evenin’ guv’nor,” Bridget said with an exaggerated curtsey, and I shot her a look that said cool it.
“And how did you find your lodgings for the day?”
“They were most hospitable, as is our host,” I replied. Had he come there to see Sylvius or to see me?
“Very good,” he said, lips pressing together for long seconds, as if he wasn’t sure what to say next.
“Are we keeping you from something?” I asked, not sure if we should step aside to let him reach Sylvius’ door.”
“No, not at all,” he replied, waving my concern away. But still, he didn’t say anything.
“Loverly weather we’re ’havin’, ain’t it?” Bridget ventured, ignoring my look with a challenging gleam in her eye. “Well, it ’tis.”
“Would you by any chance have some free time this evening?” I asked, deciding to take the bull by the horns.
“No, regrettably that is not possible,” he said gruffly, leading me to believe he didn’t regret it one iota. “I merely came to give you this.” Bishop produced a folded piece of parchment, thrusting it into my hands.
“What’s this?” It looked like a letter of credit in his elegant script. On the back was a list of names I didn’t recognize.
“Arrangements have been made with these vendors in town so that you may provide yourself with a suitable wardrobe. There is a letter of introduction to the most desired modiste in town, I’m told. You have only to present this, and you will have everything you need.”
“There’s no amount on here. How much can I spend?”
“Whatever is necessary.”
Surprised at the gesture, it took me a few seconds to look away from the letter and back up at him. Maybe family did mean something to him after all? “Thank you. That was most thoughtful.” I smiled at him, but Bishop looked like he’d swallowed a bug.
“It is nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You must allow me to find some way to repay your kindness.”
“It would be a kindness, madam, if you never spoke of it again.” Turning on his heel, he strode away without another word.
“Way to go, Anja!” Bridget crowed, snatching the paper out of my hands to look over the names of the shops. “I thought you two weren’t getting along? What happened while I was out to make him your new sugar daddy?”
“I have no idea,” I freely admitted, staring after him far more confused than I’d been at the start of the conversation. Why would he go and do something so nice and then treat me like I was a leper? “All I know is, somehow I need to spend more than five minutes with him if I’m going to get him to trust me.”
“But not tonight. Tonight we’re going shopping!”
Chapter Twelve
It was not strictly Bishop’s territory to patrol, but given his position, he could roam anywhere in the city that he pleased. There were vampires to be found in the bustling fashion district as well as the docks and dives. Was it not important to ensure that the protocols were being observed in polite society as well as in the seedier boroughs where a dead body drew more rats than concern?
And if he found his gaze constantly distracted by every flash of golden hair, it was not because he sought out the pretty new addition to Vetis. Providing for her monetary needs had discharged his familial duty and now he could concentrate on other more important things. So why then did he fancy he heard her laugh around every corner?
Though it confounded him, Bishop admitted in the silence of his own thoughts that he was actively searching for her among the evening patrons rather than any signs of wrongdoing among his kind. In truth, he found her fascinating, and not simply because she had bested him. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of Carys... but no, that was not it.
She was nothing like Carys.
That alone kept him from believing entirely that they shared the same Sire. What would Carys have had to gain in siring such a delightful creature? Carys had ever felt the pressing need to be the most desirable woman in any room, it was ludicrous to think she could have fostered such a close relationship with this girl. And the strength and resourcefulness with which she had taken him down in combat... Miss Gudrun was a worthy opponent indeed.
It was only a matter of time before he spotted her in Cranbourne Alley, newly purchased bonnet trailing in her fingers, her human companion by her side carrying a short stack of parcels. He should have instructed her to have them delivered to the mansion. Sister or not, Bishop felt a duty to provide for her, that he did not understand.
“You there, boy,” he called out to some urchin on the street. “Go and offer to carry their parcels for a penny and I shall give you a shilling.”
His eyes lit up with avarice. “A whole shilling?”
“Two if you keep my name out of it,” he chuckled, producing the coins. “But you must attend to them most carefully. If you attempt any thievery, I will know it.”
“No, sir. I won’t. That is, I will attend them most carefully,” the boy said, reaching for the coins with dirty hands.
“Good lad, off you go then.” Stepping back to watch the boy approach the ladies, Bishop watched Miss Gudrun’s face light up in delighted surprise at the offer, digging into her reticule and producing tuppence, twice what the boy requested. Or had the little guttersnipe decided to fleece them? From the astonishment on the lad’s face, he thought not, it was merely her tender heart offering more than what was asked.
Into one shop after another they disappeared, purchasing hats, pelisses, gloves, shoes. He could only hope that she’d already been measured by the modiste, there were few ready made garments to be had. Bishop hung back, watching her from the shadows as she took delight in the simplest of things. Exclaiming over an intricately embroidered trim, or the particularly fine binding of a book, or the inner workings of the gaslights. Perhaps such an innovation was new to her?
They entered a confectioner’s shop, and Bishop leaned against a building across the street, lighting a cheroot from a candle at a nearby street vendor’s cart to pass the time. No sooner had he set the candle down than the cigar was pulled from his mouth.
“Smoking is bad for your health, you know,” Miss Gudrun declared, grinding it beneath her delicate slipper.
Barely able to contain his surprise that she’d caught him unawares, Bishop pulled out another thin, brown cigar from the case in his breast pocket. “We don’t get human diseases,” he said mildly, reaching for the candle again, but she was faster, snatching the cigar from his mouth and crushing it to pulp.
“Well, you might not like my boot up your behind if you keep smoking, so there is that,” she replied wit
h an irritable pout that he found difficult to resist despite the vulgarity of her pledge.
“Alright,” he capitulated, tucking the slender case back into his pocket.
“What are you doing out here?”
What was he doing indeed... He hardly knew. “I...” Bishop was saved from having to come up with a suitable response by the appearance of her companion.
“Hey, are we gonna shop or what?” the human demanded in a petulant tone that set his teeth on edge.
“Not right this minute, Bishop and I are talking,” Miss Gudrun replied with an odd look, which her companion clearly took meaning from.
“A thousand pardons, milady,” she said, bowing deeply.
“Cool it, Bridge. I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Her use of the vernacular was often confounding, but Bishop found it charming in its own way. “I’m hunting,” he said, which was true, from a certain point of view.
She seemed to accept that response, not thinking it untoward. “Business or pleasure?”
“Business,” he lied easily, not wanting to admit out loud that she was his quarry.
“I’d expect no less from you.”
It was disconcerting to hear her speak as if she knew him. “You have me at a disadvantage, madam. You seem to know all about me, but I know nothing about you.”
“Please, call me Anja.”
“That would not be proper.”
“Like I said before, we’ve already been far more intimate than is proper, haven’t we?” she reminded him with an alluring curve of the lips, not quite as coquettish as Carys might have done, but just as appealing.
Bishop did not need much prompting to remember the feel of her under him while they’d sparred, soft but strong. Their connections gave him leave to use her given name, and he yielded. “Very well, Anja,” he tried it out, liking the sound of it on his tongue.