The Heartreader's Secret

by Kate McinTyre

  Abigail and Tremaine, of course. Chris hid a smile.

  “I could even do it for you,” Maris offered.

  Olivia winced. “Gods, absolutely not! I’ll pay the doorman, thank you very much, and that’s only if I can’t find anyone more… anonymous.” She considered. “You might have seen if you checked your reports this morning, I’m on a case right now,” she said, and then laughed. “Gods, but it’s a ruddy bore. I could turn over everything I have so far if you can find another investigator who could handle it reliably?”

  Maris winced and fixed Olivia with a pleading expression. “I didn’t know—ach, that will take hours to get sorted.”

  Olivia held up her hands in a warding gesture. “Yes, well, good! I’m hardly getting on a train today, Maris, please. I at least need one sleepless night before I can brave my mother!”

  “But tomorrow?” Maris asked, leaning forward, her face locked in such an expression of hope that Chris found he couldn’t look right at her.

  Olivia paused and then sighed. “Six Gods, Maris, you—fine. Fine!” She slapped her hands against her knees like a judge banging a gavel. “Look what you’re all doing to me. This is an act of unmitigated altruism! It isn’t good for me! Ugh. Get me on the train to Summergrove at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Eight, mind you, not five. I refuse to be that altruistic. I’ll rescue Em if she even needs it. If nothing else, I might at least be able to do something about whatever it is she’s running from.”

  Maris breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Olivia,” she whispered hoarsely.

  Olivia cleared her throat and looked away uncomfortably.

  Chris gave them a moment before he couldn’t sit still and silent anymore. His heart was pounding, and it was taking all of his self-control to keep from squirming in his seat. “I take it—that is, I mean, if everything is, if it’s all right with you, er, you didn’t suggest me as a possibility for taking care of the—of your flat, and so…” He was babbling. They were looking at him as if he’d grown a second set of ears. He took a deep breath and finished all at once. “Am I coming along?”

  Olivia blinked. “Goodness,” she said, seeming sincerely surprised. “I would assume so, Christopher. I’ll most likely have need of your services. I do pay you for a reason, you know.”

  fter Olivia dismissed him early, Chris had truly intended to hurry home. Thinking about all the work he would need to do before he could comfortably leave the manor for a time was dizzying. As was considering the implications of Miss Banks’s letter, Maris’s plea, and what a visit to Summergrove could mean for his life. He’d started down the footway in a daze, weaving between hurrying pedestrians headed in all directions, and had walked almost halfway home before he realized he was being followed.

  It was a prickling between his shoulder blades more than anything else. When he turned about, filtering through the throngs of the crowded streets, his gaze fell on a man in shirtsleeves and suspenders with the face of a mole. He clenched his teeth. Trenton Carter, the reporter from the Daily Herald.

  Their eyes met, and then Carter leapt into action, increasing his pace and pushing past people on his way to intercept Chris. There was no quick-thinking Olivia Faraday at his side, and the thought of having to navigate the labyrinth of a reporter’s trick questions spurred him to action.

  He hailed a taxi.

  It bounced to an ungraceful stop. The wheels had no gnome-light, and it was an open-air hackney with cracked and stained leather seats. The paint was peeling on the chassis, and the horses were little more than shaggy ponies. The cabbie looked down at him from under a brow that rivalled a coastal cliff. Normally, Chris would have just have waved it on and waited for the next, but when he glanced over his shoulder, Carter was right behind him. He bit off a curse and hoisted himself up into the open body. “Black Canning Street,” he instructed and had to hold onto his hat when the cab surged forward.

  “Mister Buckley!” the reporter called, jogging alongside the taxi. “Mister Buckley, clean, potable water is becoming scarce in certain areas of the city! As few as three sufficiently powerful undines could provide drinking water to everyone who needs it! Would your sister approve of this state of affairs? Don’t you think this is a cause that could make use of her talents? Do you not think that…” His voice faded away as he was lost in the crowd and the hackney sped off towards Black Canning.

  Chris slid down in the seat, closed his eyes, and tried not to think about clean drinking water, or heat for homes in the wintertime, or basic infrastructure like magic mirrors becoming harder and harder to afford. Rosemary couldn’t fix all of it. Rosemary could barely fix any of it. No matter how often Carter chased him down and hollered frustrating questions he didn’t know the answers to, that wouldn’t change. Rosemary couldn’t bind for every poor soul in Darrington. And if the traditionalist interests who funded Carter’s paper got their grasping hands on her, she would be binding for them.

  He rather doubted that Sir Hector Combs’s first priority was feeding the poor.

  Ah, but then….

  Chris turned his face away from the crowded footway, wishing the hackney was covered so he could be alone with his thoughts. He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t just Avery and Hector Combs and their agendas that he had to be afraid of. Garrett Albany’s reformists would love to get a hold of Rosie as well. He suspected—no, he knew that their intentions for her were just as nefarious.

  He could trust Doctor Livingstone and Miss Emilia Banks. Olivia and Maris and William. Missus Faraday, only because if she had some agenda, it would have come out by now. And Rachel Albany, who’d defied her brother and left whatever life she’d made for herself here in the city. Outside of that?

  He knew he’d find Carter waiting for him at home. But that was later, and he’d bought himself some time to plan how to put the burrowing mole-man off and avoid revealing he was leaving town.

  He wanted to see Will before he left, anyway.

  Black Canning Street was infinitely less frightening during daylight hours. Chris could still see the pretty young blunts that skulked about from the corner of his eye, but they skittered for corners and alleys at the sound of hooves on pavement. As always, Chris had to try not to think about Will’s past, his time running with the other handsome toughs that frequented this part of town, about the things he’d done while he’d been part of their association. The burglary, pick-pocketing, racketeering… that didn’t especially bother him.

  But the rest?

  Yes. Yes, that bothered him quite a bit.

  He disembarked before Will’s flat and took a moment to survey the area in daylight for once. Sometimes Chris could remember Will’s childhood home so clearly that it stung. The gables, the shutters, the big oak door. The gardens and ivy-covered walls and huge roaring fireplaces. It had been big and beautiful and worthy of Will and his mother. And certainly, nothing like a rundown little tenement lodged drunkenly between two others like they were keeping it from slumping over.

  Chris used the big door-knocker and waited for Agnes Cartwright to answer. Sometimes, she was thrilled to see him and chattered about Will missing him when he didn’t visit. Sometimes, the sight of his face seemed to remind her of her husband, who’d studied his unique ability and then died. And others, she didn’t seem to know him at all. In those times, it wasn’t uncommon for her to pull the gun she always carried and threaten him. He didn’t like to consider what might happen if, on one of those occasions, Will wasn’t home.

  But he was home today. It was his face Chris was met with when the door opened.

  Incongruously, Will wore a grin the size of the ocean. “Chris!” he exclaimed. Before Chris could say anything, Will clasped both of his hands and whirled him into the flat. “Hell, what are you doing here! I was about to go by Olivia’s office to see if you were there! I—just a moment!” He dropped Chris’s hands.

  Chris wrung them while Will shut the door. The places where he’d touched him tingled and Chris flushed
, trying to rub the sensation away. “I—” he began, prepared to launch into an explanation of his departure, possibly peppered with half-apologies for his speedy retreat the night before, but before he could get another word out, Will darted forward, grasped Chris by the cheeks, and pulled his face down into a kiss.

  If asked, Chris would lie and say that he jerked away. In reality, he did what he always did, arms coming up around Will to pull him closer, fingers spreading against his back, mouth opening and eyes closing. He wondered, not for the first time, if kissing was always this wonderful, or if William Cartwright was just especially good at it. Whichever it was, he was especially exuberant this time, and Chris was more than a little breathless and aroused when Will pulled away, still smiling.

  “Hello,” Chris said, his voice rough enough to make him flush. He wanted to step back and maybe ask just what had gotten into his friend. Or perhaps just launch into an explanation of his upcoming departure. But no one had ever warned him just how comforting it was, how good, to hold a willing, eager person close, someone who wanted to be there. Fernand had not been a toucher, Rosie had always squirmed out of hugs that lasted too long, and his mother had been gone for so damned long. Will was warm and solid and real, and an aura of caring radiated from him and melted Chris’s heart.

  Really, this would all be easier if Chris’s interest was only sensual. It was moments like these, filled with simple, innocent, sincere feelings that complicated it all.

  “Good morning,” Will murmured, and rolled onto his toes to kiss Chris again, quick and almost chaste. “Ah, I’m so glad you’re here. Without invitation! It’s—hah. Gods, I was so worried you regretted last night.”

  Chris breathed deeply. “I…” He fumbled with a smile. “It’s good to see your face.”

  “Ah, Chris. Chris, the sodding bastards are going to sell.”

  “I—” It took Chris a moment to adjust and realize what they were talking about. And then, when he did, he couldn’t help but burst into a grin. “Gods! Will, that’s amazing!”

  Will nodded, and Chris’s knees turned to jelly. When Will smiled like that, it utterly transformed his face. He was much less pretty wearing a smile, his pouty lips thinning and his crooked teeth showing and his sullen eyes dancing, but Chris found that he preferred it. They clasped hands as Will slid out of Chris’s arms, and Will squeezed for just a moment before turning away and walking across the room.

  “I’m not even paying a bloody fortune,” he said as he moved, “but I’m willing, and they know it. I showed them my finances. They demanded more and more. No sum seemed to satisfy them! Ah, but when I tried to barter my services, they actually became interested. I think they may have some rather blown up ideas of what I can actually do, but they won’t find that out until it’s far too late.” He stopped before the hearth and craned his neck to look up at the portrait of his father that hung above the mantle. Graham Cartwright’s lips flickered in a small smile at that moment, one that Will echoed. “I’m signing on Maerday.”

  When the papers were finalized, Chris would be in Summergrove. It seemed terribly wrong not to be here. He felt his own smile turn sickly. “I’m so glad for you, Will. I can’t wait to see the old place again.”

  Will turned. His eyes shone. “We’ll get my father’s notes. All of them. I can help you understand your abilities, find out everything my father learned from you. Not just—all of you. There were more subjects. Dozens! And more abilities, as well. Ah, we could learn so much. Gods, using his work, I could go after Lowry myself, someday.”

  Fulfilling his father’s dream: vengeance for what the categorization system had done to Missus Cartwright. It was a lofty goal, perhaps even a noble one, but Chris couldn’t think that far beyond himself, about all the questions that he could have answered. And about walking those old halls again, seeing if it filled in the blanks in his memory, sharing that with Will….

  He came up against a wall in his mind as he realized what he was imagining. Simple things, silly things, sensual things. Walking through the corridors of Will’s past at his side and sealing new memories into place where the old ones had been.

  Dangerous thoughts.

  “I won’t be here,” he blurted.

  Something slipped across Will’s face. “What?” he asked.

  “I—that is, I’m leaving Darrington. With Olivia! For work. For a case. Of sorts. It’s a favour for Maris. I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s supposed to be a secret. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

  “Oh,” Will said. He turned his face aside, but not before Chris saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He shrugged one shoulder. “Well, that’s… fine. I hardly need you to hold my hand.”

  Guilt and relief jostled each other in Chris’s chest. He reached up and pulled off his hat, smoothing down his hair. “Ah, b-but Gods, Will, what amazing news! I… when I’m back, and… and I have the time, I’m sure…” He didn’t want to promise anything specific. His lips still tingled from Will’s kiss.

  “Of course,” Will said, and there was a stinging lash in his tone. “You’ll want to see my father’s notes. They’re relevant to you, after all, which is what matters. By all means, yes, please, mirror me when you have time. I’d hate to interrupt your doubtless overflowing social calendar.”

  An unfair snap of anger shot through Chris. Maybe that was why he spoke without thinking. “You always leap right to insulting me the moment you feel slighted. Gods, is it any wonder I’m looking forward to Summergrove?”

  Will’s head snapped up, and for just a moment, his eyes looked bruised and wounded. “Summergrove?” he asked, voice faint. Before Chris could react—apologize? Snap at him? Throw it back in his face? He honestly didn’t know. Will folded his lips and barked out a humourless laugh. “I see, then.”

  “It’s for a case.”

  “Which is, of course, your only interest.”

  “Rosemary is there,” Chris said. He was so torn between being defensive and pleading for understanding that his voice came out sounding curiously toneless.

  “And her nanny,” Will replied, and there it was.

  Chris could meet Will’s eyes for only a moment before he turned away, swallowing hard. He thrust his hands into his pockets and took a few steps to nowhere. “I suppose so,” he said, after a silence that stretched too long.

  “And?” Will prodded.

  Chris could stop this right now.

  He could look up and admit that he and Will had just gone too damn far to turn back. That after last night, what was between them had crossed a line. And, in Chris’s heart, that line had been crossed a long time ago. Friendship was impossible for them and ending their association was unthinkable, and so there was only one way forward.

  Together.

  He could say all of that.

  Instead, he hunched his shoulders and clenched his fists. “And?” he echoed, his voice small because surely he had no idea what Will was implying.

  Surely.

  Will’s bitter, quiet laugh made him flinch. “And what do you intend, Chris?” he asked, his voice harsh. “Will you woo her? Court her? Kiss her mouth while you still taste like me?”

  Every word was like a blow, and Chris forced himself to breathe deep and look up. “I—” He hated himself, he hated Will, and he hated this. He gritted his teeth, clenched a fist so hard he felt his fingernails break skin, and threw himself headlong into it. “I’ll do what I want!” he said, throwing the words like a punch. “You and I—you need to be reasonable. What are you even accusing me of? I can hardly be unfaithful. This isn’t a relationship! This isn’t anything!”

  Will scoffed, shaking his head. “Right,” he spat. “It’s not as if you’re here more days than you’re not. It’s not as if we don’t share most everything. It’s not as if you didn’t come here looking like you did last night and throw yourself into my arms and I didn’t ask a single sodding question because I know what you need, when you need it, better than—”

&n
bsp; “A mistake!” Chris cried, raising his hands as if he could ward off Will’s words. “A recurring nightmare that I keep waking up out of! Haven’t I always made it clear? I don’t want these things to happen, that I only want to be your friend, that it’s a damned mistake, that it’s… it’s….”

  “Here’s what you’ve made clear,” Will said, his eyes green daggers. “You want everything without taking responsibility for anything. You’ll bend your idea of how things should be when it suits you, and bend it right back when it doesn’t. You care about yourself, and that’s all.” He spat. “You’re a self-absorbed coward.”

  “I—” Chris started, and growled. His fists trembled. He wanted to find clever, well-wrought, magical words that would throw everything Will had said back into his face. “You—” The cutting words he imagined would free him from the net Will had tangled around him. “That’s—” But he couldn’t find them. He couldn’t find them because they didn’t exist. Because the fact was, every single thing Will said was true.

  And so Chris took out his cruelest knife and cut as low as he could.

  “Just because you’re perfectly fucking happy being a nancyboy doesn’t mean we’re all so shameless!”

  The words left a residue on his tongue like poison.

  Will’s eyes widened, and he flinched. It lasted a flash of a moment, just long enough for the impression to be seared into Chris’s mind like the afterimage of a lightning strike. Chris’s heart spasmed, he took a half-step forward, but he hadn’t even opened his mouth for his worthless, inadequate apology before Will was snarling.

  “Get out of my house,” he said. “And I don’t want to see your bloody face again unless I ask for it, is that clear?”

  Too clear. Chris’s heart skipped a beat, which made his chest feel tight and sour. He’d ruined everything. The knife he’d wielded had just sliced through their friendship, and he wasn’t sure he could fix it. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, cursing himself. “Will—” he said, voice hoarse, and Will’s eyes flashed.