It wasn’t Mallory who greeted Eleanor at the airship; it was his partner, Michael Auberon. He ducked out of the bronze entry hatch and waved her up the stairs. The sight of him gave Eleanor pause, for she hadn’t thought of other Mistral agents accompanying them to Egypt. It made sense, but Eleanor was both relieved and torn about the idea. She didn’t want her past exposed to countless strangers, but if they were with Mistral, they likely already knew.
“Miss Folley?”
“Mister Auberon? Please, call me Eleanor.” While the idea of Mistral being involved in such a personal matter still vexed her, she reminded herself to try. Perhaps being on familiar terms with one another would help.
“Simply Auberon,” he said.
His hand enfolded hers and Eleanor felt unsteady, as though she had taken hold of the dark hand from her dream. A whispered voice told her not to fear what was to come.
“Eleanor?”
Auberon’s voice drew her back to the present like an anchor being dropped. “Surely you have flown before?”
Eleanor had looked beyond him, to the upper height of the Nuit, where a host of flags fluttered. The fabric flapped on the morning’s breeze, as though they rather wished to snap free. Auberon’s coat also flipped under the wind to reveal his scarlet waistcoat and the butt of the revolver he carried. Eleanor concentrated on these simple things, allowing the scarlet to draw her fully out of the memory of the gleaming hand.
“I have. My apologies, Auberon.”
She extracted her hand from his and decided to blame her reaction on a lack of sleep, with which he sympathized, saying the past few days could not have been easy, all things considered. She let him lead her inside, past an impressive walnut staircase, to the main sitting room where Mallory occupied a chair at a broad table.
Mallory looked up as she entered, but did not look at her. His eyes were far distant, seeing something beyond the room.
“I thought you could regale us with all you know about the ring—rather rings—over the course of the flight,” Mallory said. He was out of sorts, more nervous than she had seen him before. Could it be he didn’t enjoy flying?
“Good morning to you, too, Agent Mallory,” she said and stepped deeper into the cabin.
It was a streamlined space, though not so narrow people couldn’t move comfortably. Polished wood gleamed in low lamplight, smaller nooks and sitting areas giving way to the larger space where Mallory’s table squatted, a fireplace nearby.
The table’s surface was strewn with papers, books, and a tea service. The room was nearly cozy, curved walls decorated with artwork that spoke of many distant countries. Where there were shelves, they were crafted to fit the sway of the walls, each laden with books and artifacts Eleanor wanted to explore. She felt almost at home in the space. The Nuit had seen the world and brought pieces back with her.
“I am—” Mallory pushed the stack of papers before him back and stood up. He gave her a short bow. He had forgone the tie again today, his jacket draped over the back of the chair. His black waistcoat was unbuttoned, the sleeves of his shirt rumpled as though he’d rolled them up and back down again only recently. “Forgive me, Miss Folley. Good morning.”
“Never up with the larks, him,” Auberon said, and moved easily past Eleanor, toward the tea service. “Tea, Eleanor?”
“Please,” she said and allowed her scrutiny to slide from Mallory to the papers he had been studying. She saw many familiar images: photographs and sketches of the Lady, of her hand and carnelian ring. She had similar sketches in her childhood sketchbooks.
Mallory offered her a slim book. Its pages had been divided into sections, labeled with precise markers and a careful hand. Discovery, Folleys, Christian Hubert, The Ring, The New Kingdom (Dynasties 18-20).
“It’s so thin,” Eleanor said, listening to Auberon pour the tea. “You aren’t—” She broke off, the accusation dying on her tongue.
“Holding out on you?” Mallory’s voice was rough, and he sat back down. He sorted through more pages and photographs as if some of the information were new to even him. “I had hoped we would try to work together, Miss Folley.”
Eleanor set the book down and accepted the cup of tea Auberon offered. She found herself making another apology to Mallory. She told herself that if she meant to make the effort to work with Mistral, she could not grow defensive at the smallest perceived slight. “I’m sorry.”
“You really will have to forgive him,” Auberon said, nodding Eleanor toward the chair beside Mallory, while he took one across from them. “He isn’t known for his manners.”
Eleanor looked to Auberon, curious as to the man’s insights when it came to Mallory. “What is he known for?”
“His ability to get the job done, no matter the circumstances.”
The honest affection and pride in Auberon’s voice was a strange contrast to how drawn Mallory’s own face became. It clearly wasn’t a compliment in Mallory’s opinion. What circumstances had those jobs drawn him to? Maybe they had more in common than they thought.
“Like a dog worrying at a bone,” she said.
“Slobber flying every which way,” offered a new voice.
Eleanor turned to look at the woman who entered the sitting room, recognizing her as one of the Cairo Street dancers from the Exposition. She was better dressed here, the marvel of her mechanical arms covered by a travel duster. Leather gloves protected her hands. “One of the dancers?”
The woman made a quick bow, something curious in her eyes. She extended her hand to Eleanor. “Cleo Barclay. I work with Sirocco in Cairo—the Egyptian branch of Mistral. It’s a pleasure to have you with us.”
“It’s reassuring to know how you see me, Cleo,” Mallory said. “And you will have to forgive me my poor manners this morning. I spent the night reading about the dead. They were far less critical of how one dresses or acts.”
“Didn’t mind your snoring in the least bit, did they?” Auberon said.
Eleanor watched the agents interact and sipped her tea, her attention coming back to Mallory as he extended his hand, offering her something small and metallic. It was a pin like the one that adorned his own jacket and those of Auberon and Cleo.
“You’ve been designated as a special consultant,” Mallory explained, “so if you would wear that . . . ” He nodded to the pin in her palm. “Once we reach the Cairo offices, it should prevent people from stopping you every five minutes to ask your business should you be without one of us.” Mallory waved a hand toward Cleo and Auberon, and they snorted.
“He won’t let you out of his sight, don’t worry,” Cleo said and poured herself a cup of the fragrant tea. “Ever since you explained that there are four rings, he won’t stop talking about you.” Cleo’s mouth twitched upward. “All the way to the second level of the Eiffel Tower, Miss Folley this and Miss Folley that and the Lady had four rings—four rings!—to mark each of her stations and—”
Mallory cleared his throat. “Miss Barclay.”
Cleo slid gracefully into the chair next to Eleanor’s. “He’s even allocated more agents to assist in what will be a longer mission than we planned.” She tilted her head as she studied Eleanor. “Collect one ring and done. But no, hmm?” She didn’t appear too upset by the change of plans.
“How many agents in all?” Eleanor asked.
“Only a dozen or so,” Cleo said.
Perhaps it was a small contingent for Mistral and its sister agencies, but to Eleanor, it sounded like too many. She was used to having one or two on a mission. The fewer people along, the fewer could muck it up.
“And their purpose?”
The leather of Mallory’s chair whispered as he shifted. “Being that we have three rings to recover, they will assist in that aspect. We can’t be everywhere at once, Miss Folley, though neither can your Christian.”
Eleanor stared at Mallory, the sense of distrust returning. She didn’t want to take offense, but the words prickled like a needle drawn against bare skin. Cleo and
Auberon didn’t break the silence; the Nuit made a low creak as the wind picked up and she strained against the tethers which kept her from soaring where she wished.
“I think we need to establish something,” Eleanor said as calmly as she could. She set her teacup on the table. “He isn’t my Christian and I’m not his Eleanor. Walking away with the scarab ring could not have endeared me to him.”
But had it? Christian taught her many things, and without that instruction, she wouldn’t have succeeded in claiming the ring at all. Was he proud?
The silence after she spoke seemed thicker than before. Eleanor heard distant voices outside the ship, but from within the curved walls there was only the spark of the fire until Cleo spoke.
“Do you have that ring with you?” she asked.
“I never take it off.” Eleanor touched the lump of the ring beneath her vest and blouse, but didn’t withdraw it. Showing it to Mallory had been one thing; showing it to Auberon and Cleo was something else entirely. She wasn’t ready to let them that close to her or the memory of her mother. “Have you gathered proof that Christian has the carnelian?”
Cleo answered, “No. Imagine the scene: the museum flooded, workers striving to clear artifacts before they can be damaged. It’s chaos. I suspect the ring isn’t the only item missing. When the collection is returned to its proper place, we’ll find more lost. Not,” she stressed, “that Hubert had anything to do with that, but this was honestly a thief’s playground.”
“Agents, Ma’am.”
At the sound of yet another voice, Eleanor looked to the doors leading from the chamber. A thin man filled the space, his reddish-blond hair barely contained in a queue. He didn’t look in any way an agent: dressed in a rumpled suit that bore stains of what she hoped was tea, he emitted an odor akin to fried cod. Eleanor’s nose wrinkled and she couldn’t help but notice that Mallory withdrew somewhat as well, leaning away from the young man.
“We’re ready to get underway, agents. Estimated time of arrival . . . ” And here, he looked uncertain, biting his bottom lip as he pondered times and destinations. “ . . . tomorrow morning. Cairo time.”
“Thank you, Gin,” Auberon said and began to collect the papers covering the table. Cleo set to picking up the tea service.
Someone outside closed the exit hatch, and only then did Eleanor realize Mallory had pulled on his coat and was offering her his hand. “Come up top with me?”
Eleanor took his hand and the mantle that Cleo offered. Cleo grinned and only said, “You’ll see,” as Mallory pulled her away.
He led her past corridors that twisted elsewhere into the main level and up the grand staircase. Eleanor wasn’t certain what she expected of the Nuit’s second level, but it wasn’t what she saw. Sweeping windows followed the curve of the cabin, reinforced with steel every six feet. Chairs and tables were bolted to the floor, allowing small groups to partake of the wide views as they traveled. It was colder up here than down below, and Eleanor was thankful for Cleo’s mantle.
“The cabins below are windowless, as they wrap the core of the ship—for increased security,” Mallory said as he guided her toward the stretch of windows near the bow. “But this entire floor makes up for it.”
“I’ve never seen a room like it.” Eleanor moved toward the edge of the floor where it met the windows. When she looked down, it was like standing in the sky itself, above the whole of the shipyard. She gasped and reached for Mallory’s arm.
He anchored her with a firm grip. “Should have mentioned that.”
Paris spread out beneath them as the ship lifted from its berth. Eleanor never had trouble gaining her sky legs, so the motion didn’t unsettle her, but the continued impression that she was flying amused her.
“It won’t make you queasy to watch?” Mallory asked.
“I feel like a child again, dreaming of flying,” she murmured. “I’ve never had a problem with heights. Sometimes the only way to really see a thing is to get above it.”
Mallory kept his silence as the ship skimmed through the low-gathering clouds above the city. The Nuit gained speed then—too much speed—and appeared headed directly for the Eiffel Tower.
“Mallory—”
He laughed, a sound that was half disbelief. “Ah, hell. Gin!” He shouted the pilot’s name. “You’ve forgotten—”
Cleo’s voice carried upward to them. “—about the—”
Followed promptly by Auberon. “—bloody damn tower!”
The Nuit made a quick move, graceful considering her size, and Eleanor lurched into Mallory. His firm presence beside her kept them both upright.
“Gin is . . . ” Mallory paused, as if searching for the correct word while the Nuit righted herself and likely made a stunning display above the early Exposition crowds. “Cleo would call him a unique treasure in God’s collection.”
“And you?”
Mallory considered that as the Nuit picked up another measure of speed and left the tower behind. “In some ways, the younger brother I never had. Gin’s always been a part of Mistral. Director Walden adopted him as a kid. He only ever wanted to fly.”
Mallory guided Eleanor to a small sitting area not far from where they’d stood, into lapis- blue seats that reminded her of tomb vaults painted for the goddess Nut. It eased her mind somewhat that Mistral had a sister agency in Cairo. She thought back to what Mallory had said, about them trying to preserve artifacts much as archaeologists did, and she found comfort in that idea, too.
For a time they were quiet, enjoying the show outside the windows as Paris slid past. They shared the sky with a handful of balloons, their occupants waving to the Nuit as she went. Farther out, a few airships skimmed the clouds, but soon enough, the Nuit was alone in the sky, steaming south toward the azure spread of the Mediterranean and Egypt beyond.
“Have you been to Cairo before?” Eleanor asked Mallory, and he turned his attention to her with a nod.
“I have. My work with Mistral has taken me a good many places, but Cairo is special, isn’t it?” He settled into the chair, lacing his fingers together across his chest. “I’ve never seen it with someone who was essentially raised there.”
Eleanor thought of the book downstairs, with the collected intelligence on her family and the ring. Was it only that, intelligence, or did it strive to reach beyond and draw conclusions as to why certain things had happened? Before she could ask, Mallory went on.
“I don’t mean to make you uneasy, but you’re not entirely a stranger to me, Miss Folley. I’ve read a great deal about you, but much of it is conjecture. Have you heard of deductive reasoning?” he asked and, when she shook her head, continued. “It’s taking known facts about a person and using them to build a foundation toward the facts you may not know.”
“Agent Mallory—”
“Virgil, please.”
“Agent Mallory.”
Eleanor stood up, but there was nowhere to go. She looked around the glass room, spying Auberon and Cleo at the stern, a far enough distance away that they could not be heard. Rather than storm downstairs, Eleanor sat back down, feeling like a jack-in-the-box.
“I’m presuming Mistral is willing to go to any length to recover this ring, but I dislike the idea that agents have been watching me.”
Eleanor found the idea of Mallory watching her less troubling than other agents doing so. However, his expression as she spoke was not one of recrimination but of plain, outright study; she decided it was troubling all the same.
His hand slid over hers—too familiar, but she did not move away. Something within his expression compelled her closer. Something inside her recognized him.
The shadow of his eyes deepened and then flared gold, like sunlight on the edge of Egyptian sands. Then, a growl. It was a low sound, startling, rising from deep inside him. He dipped his head closer to her and appeared to smell the air between them; he took a long draw through his mouth, as he might from an—
Opium pipe.
She watched, transf
ixed. He inhaled, his hand clenched hers, and that low snarl rumbled out of him again. It was the sound of a large predator, a wolf scenting prey, and Eleanor shuddered.
He came closer, so close that his rough-cut hair brushed her cheek. Any closer and his cheek would skim hers. Part of her wanted that, wanted to know the way his slight beard would feel against her skin.
“Mallory,” she whispered.
He blinked and the moment passed. He drew his hand away from hers and looked almost in pain as he stood.
“If you will excuse me.”
He didn’t wait to see if she would excuse him; he simply left, and Eleanor sagged into the blue velvet of the chair, relieved he had gone.
CHAPTER SIX
Loire Valley, France ~ August 1868
The first time he changed into a wolf, Virgil Mallory believed he was dying.
The afternoon sun had begun to wear on him, and he dragged an arm across his sweaty forehead, trying to push back the nausea.
His day had been spent working in the vineyards, a bucket of live toads at his side. At the base of each grapevine, he knelt and dug a small hole in which he would bury the toad alive. His grandfather and father prayed for a miracle from the toads, that they would stave off the blight that was claiming vines across the country. The illness and the insects that seemed to bear it didn’t appear to have reached the Mallory crop, but they took no chances, and thus Virgil found himself with bucket, spade, and toads.
The toads were as confounded with the idea as Virgil was. Early in the day, Virgil hadn’t dug the hole deep enough, which meant escaping toads. Early in the day, Virgil hadn’t covered the bucket with a piece of cloth, which meant escaping toads. Now, as the afternoon wore on, the toads had grown too tired to flee and Virgil too disinterested to give chase.
Virgil jabbed his spade into the rich earth and flopped on the ground. He squinted against the bright blue cloudless sky and wished he were anywhere but here. He didn’t want to be a vintner and was relieved the responsibility would fall to Adrian as the eldest. Virgil wanted to be an explorer, for it implied a romantic life, flitting about the world as he would, carried by ship, train, or balloon. The idea of staying here was death.
Rings of Anubis: A Folley & Mallory Adventure Page 10