“Well I don’t know much. We lived in the same city, but two very different worlds.”
“I understand.”
“Very well. Her father was a con artist. Most in high society didn’t know it, but anyone on the streets did. He made deal after deal after deal. Most of which went bad.”
Nothing new. “Were there any men in particular he dealt with? Any specific enemies?”
“Too many to count.”
Perfect. “How much did Whitley know? How much did she see? I know she knew about his dealings, that he owed money, but I need to know men she would have known.”
“That I don’t know.”
Great. Nothing. I take in a deep breath, pressing my fingers against my temples as my head begins to throb. “Fine. Last question. Do you remember our payment from our last deal?”
Knick straightens. “We don’t have the ring anymore. It’s gone.”
“I don’t want the ring back. I don’t care. That’s not what I’m asking.”
He swallows, eyebrows pulling down.
“I want to know its origin. I want to know about the man it belonged to.”
Knick purses his lips. “She said it belonged to her mother.”
“Then?”
“Then her father gave it to a man he’d promised her hand in marriage to, evidently all behind her back.” I swallow and Knick pauses. “You know about all of this already.”
I take in a breath. I know very little. “I want to know about that man. You recognized his name. Who is he?”
“Mr. Robinson. He’s one of the richest and cruelest men in the city.”
“Tell me everything.”
Whitley
The water that tickles my feet smells. I realize this the moment I wake.
There is very little flow down here since many of the tunnels are blocked. Which means all kinds of unsavory fluids that find their way to these tunnels stay. Stagnant water is bad enough. This place might as well be a sewer.
After a full night here, I would have guessed I’d have gotten used to the smell. But not so much. It’s too strong to get used to.
I look up and around, hardly able to make out a thing. My memory is hazy.
I was at the ball. Then I was fleeing to the tunnels to escape. The in-between is spotty.
Images flash through me, a sensation I’m beginning to get used to.
Dancing with the silver haired boy.
Sinking my fangs into the flesh of a man who wanted to sink something else into me.
I stretch my leg, aching to drop the rest of my body into the water, to let the liquid quench my dry skin. But this isn’t the kind of water I need.
This won’t quench a thing.
I take in a long breath. Now what? That’s the real question that matters.
Could I go back to Jeb? Would he take me in now? I’m not so sure. If he did take me in, I know I’d put him in danger. I’d rather avoid that if possible.
I sneak farther down the canal, feet splashing in the dank water until I reach an opening above me. Only the slightest hint of light glints down at me.
I climb up slick rocks and stick my head up into the open fresh air only to realize the light shining down was not from the sun—it was mixture of dim light from a lantern and the silver light from the moon. Which means I didn’t spend the night down here, I spent the day. But that’s good news, I suppose, because I have something in mind for my next meal and it’s going to take a little bit of digging. Digging that is better done in the dark of night.
I slip into the shadows above, listening for any sounds atypical of the area. I hear no calls, no melodies, and no footfalls or shouts. For now, I’m fine.
I move forward, keeping as quiet as I can, as I run west, passing by mob territory and heading to where the buildings grow larger, and brighter. Lanterns are lit behind the decorative bars twisting over every window.
Carriages are in storage areas and horses neigh in private shelters nearby. Those animals live better than half the humans in the city.
I turn down a street I know better than any other. I know where the cobblestone dips, and the spot that always puddles when it rains. I know exactly how long it takes to sprint from one end to the other—though I wonder if that time has changed, if I’ve grown faster. I know the name of every person in every home on this block. The buildings here connect, no space between each residence. It was less ideal than living in massive manors like Jeb and the Erikson’s and Mr. Robinson.
This is where my father raised me, most of my life. It’s the only in-between block in the city. The only place someone not wealthy enough to own an estate could be invited to high-society gatherings.
We were just rich enough to be welcome, but we never quite belonged. It drove my father crazy that he wasn’t truly one of them. He vowed to belong. Vowed to own the biggest house in town. One day.
So he borrowed and spent, borrowed and spent. Everything he could do to pretend to belong. Many believed him.
And he used whatever he had left over on his hair-brained business ideas. Sometimes he seemed sincere, like he really desired to make the business work. Other times he just scammed someone else out of their own hard-earned money so he could pay back some of what he owed. Just enough to keep up his lifestyle.
He was always just stalling. I realize now what he was stalling for.
Me.
When I came of age, he could sell me off to a rich husband. He implied I had a generous dowry, but we didn’t have a penny to our name—after what he owed. One day that would have been my husband’s problem. He’d either have to pay the mob back or let his new bride be taken from him.
My father was an ass.
How I loved a man like that—I have no idea. How I never saw how much he didn’t love me...
I swallow. Fond memories come forward as I pass our old home. But so do terrible ones.
I take in a deep breath. This isn’t my real destination though. Just a tempting detour. I leave my childhood neighborhood behind and rush further west.
One of the largest homes in the city, nearly taking the whole block and five full stories up—you can’t miss Mr. Robinson’s home. I wonder if my father thought I’d be pleased, living in a house this large. If that would make me happy.
But I won’t give him that much credit. He knew I wanted to marry Jeb—the only kind and honest person I’d connected with here. He should have been content with that match. It would have been advantageous enough. They’d have been willing to pay whatever they could to help him out of his debt.
But somewhere along the line, someone else made a better offer.
And he sold my happiness for more money.
Perhaps another deal went bad, so bad he knew even an averagely rich New York elite couldn’t pay back. He needed more. Perhaps he didn’t have a choice.
He was addicted to the gamble of a deal. He was addicted to the con.
I wonder how he first got involved with pirates. At some point he did. And that’s ultimately what started this whole thing.
Regardless, my father has already paid the price for his misdeeds, I’m convinced of that. There’s someone else that still has something coming to him.
The owner of the biggest estate in the city is holding his annual party in two days’ time.
A man willing to beat his servants, take advantage of a desperate man and his daughter. I recall the rumors of how he’d bed woman with the promise of marriage, and then expose their adultery and use it as an excuse not to follow through.
But these are rumors only the low class would ramble on about, because in high society—Mr. Robinson is a celebrity. I believe the stories because they fit everything I already know.
I almost wonder if those women even chose it freely or if he forced them into his bed, then ruined them for the fun of it.
It wouldn’t surprise me, but I don’t need that to be true to prove he’s worthy of death.
My father sold me. But this man bought me.
And in two days’ time, he is going to pay.
Bluff
By the time I make it back to Robert’s home, I am sick to my stomach.
I’ve met him—the man I am convinced will be Whitley’s next target. I wanted to smack him in the face then and there—and that was without knowing what he’d done to her.
He’d invited me to his party this weekend. I suppose I’m going to attend now.
I only rarely feel the bloodthirst of siren, but the thought of that man is sure enough bringing it to the surface right now. I want to kill him. Or at least help her kill him.
But Whitley is more important than the craving of revenge. Pulling her mind and heart back to the surface is objective number one. If I can manage both, I’ll gladly kill one more New York elite before our next big battle begins, but it’s secondary.
A servant helps me out of my coat. I grit my teeth as I let her, not understanding the purpose. I am fully capable of doing that myself. But then again, she knows the clothing customs more than I do, so when she pulls out another coat I accept the help. At least I know I’ll be dressed correctly.
“Lord Sonseca!” Robert’s father says in greeting. “You’ve returned just in time for dinner. You must tell us how your meeting went.”
I swallow and force a smile. He seems to notice my discomfort, based on his change in expression, but he doesn’t comment.
“Thank you. I am starving.”
“Perfect, I’ll have Julie set a place for you.”
I’m ushered into a ridiculously large room with intricate decoration of bright red and gold, and a table that could stretch the entire length of a ship.
Rosemera sits up when I enter, searching my face. Her shoulders sag. Apparently my anger with Mr. Robinson has affected my countenance. She clearly thinks my afternoon has been a failure. It has not, but I’m still not pleased.
I can’t stop thinking about Whitley and what would have happened to her if... well if I hadn’t come into her life.
Is this fate—cursed as a half siren, hunted by some of the most evil beings of the sea—better or worse than the fate her father had planned for her? It’s hard for me to imagine that I’ve actually done her a favor, but for the first time I wonder if that’s true.
I sit, and a meal placed in front of me almost immediately.
“Do you have news, Lord Sonseca?”
I sigh. “Yes. I got what I needed from my meeting today but also received some bad news. A friend of mine has passed,” I improvise. “And it will take a few extra days to secure my passage home.”
“That’s terrible.”
I nod.
“Who?” Rosemera asks, concerned, trying to read some truth behind my lies.
“No one you know,” I say, brushing her off. It’s at least typical of this society, never letting women in on the important matters. I’ll talk with her later, when I’ve had a chance to wrap my mind around it all.
“Well, you’re very welcome to stay as long as you need. There is another party this weekend. A much anticipated event of the year. Though after last night, I’d understand if you didn’t want to attend.”
“Nonsense,” I say, forcing another smile. “Mr. Robinson invited me last night. That is the event you speak of, yes? We’d be happy to attend. I’d prefer something to get my mind off of things, after all.”
“Of course. Nothing better to distract from the sadness of life than a dance.”
I smile and nod. Or the murder of an evil man.
Whitley
Shadows envelope me as I dart through the streets. Darkness surrounds me like the waves of the ocean. I could feel at home here, I think, under certain circumstances. The inky blackness feels much like the ocean. The way it pulses. The mystery. The vastness. The pull.
The cold bites at my bare toes. My clothes are dry now, but they’re not near enough to shield me from the bitter cold of the wind. That’s one thing that’s not like the sea. My body adjusts to the temperature of the water, but I can’t adjust to temperature of the wind. Not when it’s like this.
I press my back against the stone wall, away from the few lanterns nearby, and I listen. I hear the patter of footsteps, the grunting of effort, then the crunch of something heavy being dropped on the ground. A knock on a wooden door and the squeal of hinges as they swing open.
“This lot is heavier than usual,” a low voice says as he grunts again. “Of course he’d send me out in the cold this late for a box of bloody flour.”
“Oh hush. What’s complaining going to do?”
“Perhaps next time he’ll think ahead and get the order in on time and in with the rest of the supplies. No more of this last-minute malarkey.”
The voices fade, the hinges squeal once more—and that’s when I act. I rush forward, slipping my hand between the door and the frame just before they touch.
I slip into the hall, letting the door click shut behind me.
It’s easy to tell when a household is away from the home— the servants talk louder than usual. I met this family once before, when they turned their noses up at father and me the day we arrived late to church. Apparently that was a worse sin than having several bastard babies with pretty handmaids. But that’s beside the point.
I won’t feel at all bad about robbing this home of their luxuries.
If I’m going to give Mr. Robinson a taste of his own bitter evil, I’m going to need a place to scrub the smell of the sewer off of me. I’m also going to need a new dress. Lucky for me, he has two daughters near my age and size.
I slip upstairs and pour myself a hot bath, as quietly as I can manage. An empty house this big is never actually empty. There will be butlers and maids and cooks in and around several areas of the home at any given time.
I slip my body into the liquid and squirm with delight as the warm water tingles over every inch of my skin.
I scrub every portion of my body with a luffa I found in a nearby cabinet, sudsing up with soap. I give extra attention to my hair, combing through the knots while still in the water.
Finally, I relax, and close my eyes. Consciousness drifts away like the tides.
A PIERCING SCREAM JOLTS me awake. I open my eyes, but my vision is blurry, body floating...
I blink and realize I am under water. But I’m not supposed to be underwater, I’m supposed to be stealing a bath and some clothes from a rich family. I sit up, head emerging from the water.
A maid stands there with a hand over her mouth.
“Greetings,” I say sheepishly.
“I thought you were dead,” she says, her voice a near sob.
I suppose if I were still fully human Whitley, I would be. Sleeping underwater isn’t so much a foreign thing for me now, as strange as that may be.
I feel more energized than I have in days.
“Who are you?” The woman stammers. “Why are you here?”
Oh, yes. Now that she knows I’m alive, I’m an intruder. Right. “A ghost,” I improvise with a sing-songy voice.
A song! What a wonderful idea.
Her eyes grow wide.
I begin a soft tune, drifting from deep within my chest, like a purr, vibrating my whole being.
The woman grows still, her hands clutched over her apron, but her tense face relaxes. Eyes still wide, pupils dilated.
“Pay me no mind,” I tell her in a sweet voice. “I have no reason to hurt you.”
I slip out of the tub, dripping wet, then leave her there, gaping and walk through the hall, stark naked. In the first bedroom I find, I search through the closet—nothing. I bite my lip. This must be a guest room. I try another and find men’s clothing. In another, the clothes of a girl too small for me. Finally, I find what I’m looking for. Dresses fit for a ball. They won’t be tailored to fit perfectly, but these are a tad too small rather than too big. I’ll make that work.
I rip a crimson red dress from the closet: embellished with lacing at the top and a flowing skirt. It’s perfect. Very fitting for what I
have in mind. There will be no blood stains tonight, at least none that will be visible.
Bluff
My fingers tremble as I button the sleeves of my undershirt.
“How are you?”
I look into the mirror to see Rosemera watching me from the doorway. I shake my head, but give no other response.
“You think she’s going to be there?”
I nod. “Pretty confident, yeah. And I’m also confident this will be my last chance. They won’t miss her again.”
Rosemera walks forward, taking the place next to me in front of the mirror. “She loves you,” she says, like it’s that simple.
“She doesn’t know me.”
“She does. She just doesn’t have the memories to back it up. You saw the way she looked at you while you danced, didn’t you?”
“You saw that?”
“Of course I did. And she recognized you. She was just also confused. She’s running on instinct, because it’s all she has right now. Use that. Use her instincts to your advantage.”
I clench my jaw. “You’re suggesting I turn siren on her.”
“No, I’m suggesting you to use your magic to woo her. That magic is part of you, you cannot deny it forever.”
I rub my face, tousling my coarse hair. It’s so weird to be wearing someone else’s body in times like this, when I feel so emotionally vulnerable. Yet I’m not even myself. “I feel bad,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“You’ve been paying attention to me and my plight, and I haven’t even had time to ask you how you are. If things with Robert are...”
“They’re good,” she says with a blush. “I’m just not sure what that means yet.”
I nod. “You’ve made this much more convenient for me, aiding me every step and I’ve been so caught up...”
She places a hand on my forearm. “You’re helping me too. Having a convincing uncle gives me much more credibility in this part I’m playing.”
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