“Thank you. We can take a cab there.” Joaquim rose from his desk and extended a hand. After one doubtful look, Marina set her gloved fingers in his and let him help her to her feet. He laid her hand on his arm and led her toward the doorway.
Duilio extended a hand toward Oriana, who accepted it distractedly. They followed Joaquim and Marina at a slower pace. “Whoever the dead girl is,” she whispered, “she’s dead because Mr. Tavares saved Marina.”
“We can’t be certain of that,” Duilio reminded her as they stepped outside the police station.
She cast him a bleak look and turned her eyes back on her sister as Marina walked at Joaquim’s side down toward the intersection where hired cabs usually picked up their fares. “What do you think they’re discussing?”
“Us, of course,” Duilio said. “It’s only logical since we’re talking about them.” When she gave him a caustic glance, he said, “He’s apologizing for what he said about her hands, and trying to distract her so she doesn’t get too upset over the idea of viewing a corpse.”
“Oh.” They had reached the corner where a cab waited, the driver already talking to Joaquim. He opened the cab’s side door and helped Miss Arenias into the seat, and then waited for them to catch up.
Oriana shivered in the chilly air. The fog had burned off, but it was still overcast. “I should have brought a shawl.”
“Would you like my coat?”
She shook her head. “We’ll be warm enough in the cab.”
He handed Oriana up to sit with her sister and settled next to Joaquim, facing backward. “It’s not far.”
Oriana wrapped her sister’s hand in her own as the cab lurched into motion. “It’ll be fine, Marina.”
Marina held on to the hand strap with her other hand, looking lost and afraid. But she lifted her chin after a moment and resolutely stared out the cab’s windows. Fortunately, it wasn’t too long before the cab set them down on Arnaldo Gama Street. Joaquim directed them toward the door of the morgue. Marina seemed pale, but her expression was determined.
“We’ll need to go to the back of the building,” Joaquim explained—mostly for Marina’s benefit, Duilio guessed. “It might be better if you hold this over your nose.”
He held out his handkerchief, which Marina took, dutifully holding it to her face. The building was, once again, mostly empty. They reached the back room and Officer Gonzalo rose from his desk with a startled expression on his face. His eyes moved from Oriana to Marina, and then settled on Joaquim as if demanding an explanation.
“These two ladies might be able to identify the dead girl,” Joaquim said.
Gonzalo’s mouth fell open, but he quickly shook himself back to attention. He drew a set of keys out of his desk, then led them through the empty inner morgue to what appeared to be a closet. “I’ve put this body in the back room. The fewer people who see her, the better.”
Duilio agreed. As soon as word got out that the police were holding the body of a sereia, Joaquim’s superiors would demand he close down his investigation to avoid violating the terms of the ban. Fortunately, Gonzalo had acted quickly.
The officer held the door open, and Joaquim escorted Marina inside. Duilio followed, one hand on the back of Oriana’s waist. The lone table in the room bore a sheet-covered form that smelled of stale blood and death—a scent magnified by the smaller size of the room. Marina pressed the handkerchief tighter her nose, tears starting in her eyes. Joaquim gestured for her to stay by the door.
Duilio followed him to the table and watched as Joaquim lifted the sheet back from the girl’s face. She’d been young, near Marina’s age, with straight brown hair and a pretty face. Her eyes were closed. The line of her chin had kept the blood from reaching the sheet, but Duilio caught a brief glimpse of the girl’s ruined throat. His stomach soured.
Joaquim looked like he felt even worse. He folded the sheet carefully against her chin, not allowing her butchered throat to show. He gestured to Oriana. “Please, Miss Paredes.”
Oriana came to Duilio’s side and gazed down at that pallid face. “I don’t recognize her.”
She turned and held out a hand for Marina. Her sister approached more slowly, as if afraid of what lay there. Oriana set an arm about her waist. Marina slowly lifted her eyes to look at the dead girl’s pale face. Her response was immediate. She laid both hands over her face and began to sob. Oriana wrapped her arms about Marina and turned her away.
Joaquim caught Duilio’s eye. “I’ll need to talk to the family.”
That would present its own set of challenges, Duilio reckoned. “I’ll take the two of them to Marina’s flat, and meet you back here.”
“No, I’ll escort them there,” Joaquim said. “I already know where it is. Then we can figure out where the family lives.”
Oriana had evidently been listening, because she mouthed something at Duilio over her sister’s bowed head. He didn’t catch her words though, and returned a confused look.
“Ask my father,” Oriana said softly. “Ask him to go with you.”
He could swallow his pride and do that. Monteiro would know far better how to handle the situation. Joaquim crossed to where Oriana and her sister stood. Marina had stopped crying. She wiped her cheeks with her borrowed handkerchief.
“She’s a friend of mine, Felipa Reyna,” Marina said brokenly. “Her family lives on Bragas Street.”
Joaquim leaned down to look her in the face. “I’d like to take you and your sister back to your flat, Miss Arenias. Your father will understand.”
She nodded, her eyes fixed on the handkerchief that she twisted in her gloved fingers. “We close this afternoon anyway. But Father will be waiting for me.”
“Joaquim and I are going there, so we’ll explain where you are,” Duilio reassured her. “And we’ll see that your friend’s body is properly taken care of, I promise.”
* * *
Oriana sat on one of the soft upholstered chairs in Marina’s tiny rented flat while her sister heated water for tea in a kettle set atop her radiator. The place suited Marina. There were two rooms—a sitting room and a bedroom with furnishings that looked moderately worn. It was a soft and humanly feminine place, a touch shabby, and quite unlike the masculine brown-and-ivory elegance of the Ferreira household.
Marina settled in the other chair across from her, a tufted-back armchair in a butter-colored floral. “I knew he was human.”
Those were the first words Marina had volunteered since they’d come upstairs. She must mean Joaquim Tavares. Oriana had been waiting for Marina to say something, ask something. She’d been expecting to talk about the years they’d been separated, when Oriana had thought her sister was dead. No . . . instead Marina wanted to talk about Joaquim Tavares. “But he didn’t know you were a sereia. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I thought perhaps he might take me for a walk in the park one day, or down to the seashore at Matosinhos to hunt for shells. I thought perhaps dinner in a fine restaurant. It was foolish. Everything’s ruined now,” Marina said, “because I’m not human.”
Oriana managed to hold in her groan. “Marina, you only met him yesterday.”
“I felt the tie between us, Ori,” Marina protested. “I was so sure.”
Oriana could understand her sister placing Joaquim Tavares on a pedestal when he’d come to her aid. No doubt he’d become her hero in that moment, but there was no guarantee he would reciprocate her admiration. Oriana settled for truism, since nothing she said would make Marina feel better. “If your souls are tied together, then everything will work out in the end, Mari, human or not.”
The teakettle began making a feeble whistle, probably the best it would manage under the circumstances. Marina opened the top, funneled in a handful of leaves, and set it back on the radiator. “And you and Mr. Ferreira? He must be tied to you or he wouldn’t have been the one to go after you.�
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The soft chair in which Oriana sat abruptly became uncomfortable. She had never felt at ease talking about her feelings. “He’s a gentleman, Marina,” she said, trying to sound dismissive. “I’m merely a servant.”
“You’re too smart to be a servant.” Marina shrugged then. “Besides, Lady P married our father, and she’s a noblewoman.”
“Lady P?” Oriana was glad she didn’t have her tea yet. She would have choked on it.
“I got tired of saying Lady Pereira de Santos.” Marina gestured airily with each syllable of the lady’s name. “She doesn’t mind.”
Oriana’s stomach felt hollow. Had the lady replaced their mother in Marina’s mind? Marina had been only eight when their mother died. Twelve herself, Oriana had become Marina’s mother, in a way. Perhaps she’d been replaced as well. “Do you like her?”
“Well, she’s actually very nice. She seems unfriendly, but that’s because she has to act that way.” Marina paused, her lips pursed. “That doesn’t sound right. Um . . . it’s like a mask that she wears, because she has to be very careful about who learns the truth about her, so she can’t make many friends.”
Oriana thought of the hard face Lady Pereira de Santos presented to the world, and realized that despite her awkward words, Marina might have hit on the truth. The lady couldn’t afford for anyone to find out she’d remarried. Would she become plain Mrs. Monteiro then? Or would she retain her status? Oriana wasn’t certain how that worked. And how would it affect the woman’s control over her stepson and daughter? “How many people know about her and Father?”
“Not many,” Marina admitted. “She has a daughter my age, though. Ana and I became friends after I came here, although Ana’s very quiet.”
Wallflower was the term generally applied to Lady Ana. Although attractive, Ana had the reputation of being wordless. She was also quite tall, which wasn’t fashionable. While Isabel had never mocked Ana, she hadn’t made any effort to befriend her either, meaning that Oriana had never had the chance to speak to her. “Does Lady Ana know?”
Marina nodded. “Ana likes Father.”
Everyone likes Father. Gods help her, Duilio probably liked her father, too. Oriana sighed.
“Lady P said Mr. Ferreira is interested in you,” Marina said brightly. “She went to see him at his house and he was very concerned.”
Over the years they’d been separated, Oriana had forgotten her sister’s gentle tenacity. Marina would pick one topic and hang on to it like a crab—in the sweetest way possible. Oriana tried changing the subject. “So tell me about the exiles here. How many are there?”
“Not that many,” Marina said as she poured tea through a strainer into her cup. “Some decided to go to other cities—too dangerous here. I think Father said there were less than fifty.”
The arm of the government that sent spies into the city had estimated that at closer to thirty. Oriana suspected her father’s estimate was more accurate. Despite being male, his position in the city had made him a natural leader among the exiles.
“Your Mr. Ferreira is rather handsome,” Marina added. “Has he ever kissed you?”
Oriana sank farther down in her chair. She hadn’t seen her sister in three years, and Marina wanted to talk about males, of all things.
“You should just tell me, because I’m not going to give up.” Marina handed her the first cup of tea. “So when did you first meet him? Did you know, then?”
Oriana took a sip of the weak tea, wishing she had coffee to sustain her instead. She had no idea how to answer Marina’s last question. She wasn’t certain exactly when she’d suspected her tie to him. The feeling had grown slowly. And even if she did feel a tie to Duilio, she wasn’t certain how he felt about her. He’d told her he would be her friend. That implied he eventually intended to pursue a closer relationship, after she’d had enough time to decide what she wanted.
But to placate Marina and distract her from the sorrows of the day, Oriana decided to tell her everything that had passed between her and Duilio Ferreira. Well, almost everything. “The first time I met him,” she began, “was several days after Isabel Amaral died. It turned out he’d actually been looking for me.”
She told of Duilio offering her a position as his mother’s companion. She’d taken the job because it had been the only way she could afford to stay in the city and hunt for Isabel’s murderer. That search had led to Maraval, and in the end Oriana had called the marquis and his accomplices into the ocean—most of them to their deaths—to prevent them from shooting Duilio.
Marina clapped. “That’s wonderful. Did he kiss you then?”
Oriana laid her hands over her face. It’s going to be a long afternoon.
CHAPTER 19
Monteiro agreed to accompany them to the house of the dead girl’s parents. He did, however, demand to look at the body first, to assure that no mistake had been made. It seemed a reasonable request, so once again Duilio visited that quiet back room of the morgue. Gonzalo guarded the door while Joaquim drew back the sheets to expose only the girl’s face.
“Damnation,” Monteiro said, and then made the sign of the cross. “It is Felipa Reyna. What happened to her?”
“Her throat was torn out, sir,” Joaquim said.
Monteiro turned his dark eyes on Joaquim. “When?”
“Gonzalo guessed yesterday, sometime during the evening. He didn’t have a doctor come look at her because he knew it would be reported. He’s fairly knowledgeable himself, though.”
Monteiro turned his eyes on Duilio. “After the attack on Marina. If you’d warned me yesterday about the murders, I still couldn’t have gotten the word out in time to save her.”
Duilio felt a wave of relief. Although he hadn’t intended to point out that fact, he hadn’t wanted Oriana’s father blaming him either. “No, sir.”
Monteiro gazed down at the body. “Will you show me what they did?”
Duilio pulled back the sheet. The girl’s throat had been sliced away, not much more than the spine and the bloody flesh around the back of the neck remaining to hold her head to her body. The cuts were clean, so the killer had used a sharp blade. Surely her death had come quickly, some small consolation.
“They took her gills,” Monteiro said.
“Is there any significance to that?” Duilio asked.
“I don’t know.” Monteiro grabbed the edge of the sheet and yanked it back over the girl’s waxy face. “She’ll be safe here?”
Joaquim nodded. “Gonzalo said he’d stay on duty until someone comes to take the body. He’ll keep everyone out of here.”
“Then let’s get moving,” Monteiro said.
* * *
The Reyna family lived in a modest three-story house on Bragas Street, but they had the entire first floor, a large home in this part of town. Duilio and Joaquim waited near the parlor door while Monteiro broke the news to the girl’s parents. The father covered his face and began to moan. The strong-jawed mother, with her straight brown hair drawn sternly back from a face that looked much like her daughter’s, fixed a wrathful eye on Monteiro. “Who killed her?”
Monteiro shot a quick glance at Joaquim, but answered anyway. “They don’t know. There have been two other murders of nonhuman girls in the city in the last two weeks—an otter girl and a selkie. Mr. Ferreira and Inspector Tavares suspect this may be related to those.” His hands moved fluidly while he spoke, and Duilio could only wonder what he was telling them.
The woman turned angry eyes on Duilio and Joaquim, measuring them. Then she turned back to Monteiro. “And what about my daughter?”
Monteiro touched a finger to his chin and said, “Arrangements need to be made for her body, Rute, as soon as possible. The police are hiding it from themselves. They are bound to notice what they are doing eventually.”
The husband continued to moan, his head in his hands. The woman ca
st a quick glance at him, took a tight breath and said, “I’ll go talk to the mortician. We’ll fetch her home.”
“It is gruesome,” Monteiro added. “Julio shouldn’t see her until the mortician has prepared her. The girls either, honestly.”
The woman nodded grimly, and then fixed her red-rimmed eyes on Joaquim and Duilio where they stood by the door. “I am aware you aren’t required to do this for foreigners like us. You have my gratitude.”
While her sentiment sounded grudging, Duilio could hardly blame her.
Joaquim just inclined his head. “I am very sorry for your loss, madam.”
* * *
Maneuvering the girl’s body to the mortician’s without anyone noticing the commotion proved more difficult than they’d anticipated. Even so, by four the girl’s body was out of the morgue and safely out of police hands. The mortician turned out to be another Sympathizer, a man who’d done this service for nonhumans before.
If nothing else, Duilio’s new acquaintance with Monteiro was affording him the opportunity to meet a variety of the Golden City’s Sympathizers. While the Ferreira family had always shared that sentiment, they had never sought out others. It was unsafe. Any one of the people they dealt with—the humans, at least—could as easily take the prince’s coin to betray them. And while Duilio had always known his family was at risk, making contacts with members of that community made it clearer how much more vulnerable those who took an active part in resisting the prince’s edict were.
After leaving Joaquim at the police station, Duilio decided he would walk to Miss Arenias’ flat to escort Oriana back to the house. He was surprised when Monteiro offered to accompany him. While the man had been grateful to Joaquim for coming to Marina’s aid and for their actions concerning the dead girl, it was also clear he remained irritated over something, and Duilio strongly suspected that irritation was with him.
“Your help this afternoon was invaluable,” Duilio told Monteiro as they proceeded toward Virtudes Street. The afternoon traffic was heavy enough that they didn’t have much privacy, so their conversation had been sporadic. People hurried on either side, heading toward their homes, brushing up against them in their rush. Duilio kept an eye on that flow of pedestrians as they walked. “We were unsure how to approach the family.”
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