Comeuppance Served Cold, page 6
* * *
The white-and-gold phaeton’s long nose and sweeping running boards gave an impression of aggressive power its smooth ride belied. Fiona and Dolly lounged against the soft leather seats. The glass vase mounted on the back of the front seat held a small, white hothouse rosebud. They were on their way to the Olympic, the most modern hotel in the city.
“Should your fiancé have a say in the planning?” Dolly said.
Fiona shrugged. “He’ll be fine with whatever I choose.”
“You . . .” Dolly glanced at Nick, the chauffer. “Do you care for him?”
“I do. We’re friends. We just . . . don’t love each other. Think of us as the children of two royal families, cementing a political alliance.”
“That’s medieval,” Dolly said.
“That’s Seattle,” Fiona said, “at least for magical families. Daddy believes strongly that we must marry and produce children so the affinities are not lost.”
“And the Arbelios, they’re magical?”
“Oh, yes. Tony’s magical, and I have the bloodline. We’ll make a respectable couple.” She sighed and looked out the window.
Dolly said quietly, “But there’s Rob.”
“There used to be.”
“Well, that’s just heartbreaking.”
Fiona laughed and shook her head, but it was an unconvincing laugh.
“So you sought out gin and shim.”
Fiona plucked the rosebud out of the vase and began to twirl it. “Isn’t this pathetic? We aren’t here to talk about my broken heart, Dolly. We’re planning a party.”
They drove for half a block. A sedan passed them. Fiona turned her head, following it, then faced forward. She twirled the rosebud again.
Another block along, Dolly leaned forward. A group of people, in two lines, marched up Fifth Avenue toward the hotel. She counted eight men and two women bringing up the rear. The women held signs, but she couldn’t read them. “What is that?”
“Oh, those are happening all over,” the chauffer said.
“What are they saying?” Fiona rolled down her window. Dolly could read some of the signs now. SAVE OUR CHILDREN! NO MORE WOLVES!
The chanting, or singing, reached them.
No more wolves!
No more wolves!
No more wolves,
In our hometown!
“You haven’t heard that song, Miss Fiona? It’s all over the place.”
The marchers fell away behind them.
Dolly said, “Something tells me you know every bit of that song.”
Nick glanced up at the rearview and gave a slight shrug. “I may know a verse or two.” He began to sing in a smooth baritone:
We’re taking out the shape-shifters,
Every one we see,
With nets of magicked silver,
And a spear of laa-zoo-lee.
We’re cleaning out the dirty wolves
And every mutt that speaks,
We’re bagging all the killer cats
And all the antlered freaks.
No more wolves!
No more wolves!
No more wolves,
In our hometown!
“What started all this dislike of shape-shifters all of a sudden?” Dolly said.
“Well, no one’s ever liked ’em.”
“I don’t see why. They’re just another form of magicker.”
Nick glanced up at her again. “That’s not true. They’ve told us for years that they’re just people who change, but anyone who’s met a shifter can see they’re more like jumped-up animals. You can’t trust an animal. And they fought against us in Germany.”
“There were wolves in the American army and the British army,” Dolly said. “They risked wounds and even sacrificed themselves to save their fellow soldiers. They just didn’t get medals at the end of it like others did.”
“How could that be, Dolly?” Fiona said. “They wouldn’t fight against their own kind.”
“They didn’t. They were Americans,” Dolly said.
Nick shook his head. “You’ve been sold a bill of goods, Dolly. They never fought on our side. Clannish, they are.”
“No more so than many others. Look at the magical families.”
“But, Dolly, they’re dangerous. Look at the woman in the market,” Fiona said.
“I think that poor girl was probably crazy before she shifted, and she’d have run just as mad in human form.”
“Yes, but she broke a man’s arm.”
It was Dolly’s turn to shrug.
“Well, I’m just glad there aren’t any in our neighborhood,” Fiona said, putting the rose back in the vase.
“Yes, thank goodness.”
Fiona gave Dolly a sidelong glance and frowned but didn’t say anything more.
Chapter Four
FIONA TOOK TO THE hotel manager at once, and soon the three of them, having inspected the ballroom, were studying menus and tasting samples brought out from the kitchen, preceded by the scents of bacon, chicken, brandy, and beef. Shim suppressed the appetite, but Fiona’s was fully back now, and she nibbled with obvious enjoyment.
After a second taste of the tender squab Véronique, Fiona looked away, smiling in an embarrassed manner. “Excuse me just a moment,” she said. She hurried from the room.
When she didn’t return, Dolly excused herself too. She admired the lobby as she walked through it, with its glittering chandeliers and the shining filigree work along the mezzanine railing. Outside, parked diagonally across Fifth Avenue, sat a black sedan with the outline of a gold shield on its door. Dolly looked from side to side and spotted the mouth of an alley close to Seneca Street.
Fiona was there, twined around a man. Dolly stopped, feeling the instinctual pinch in her gut at the sight of his blue uniform. Fiona’s fingers were wound through his black hair, and her face was tipped up against his as if she were drinking nectar pouring from a flower. From the hips down, their bodies joined like one.
Dolly took her time approaching them. “Don’t you have menus to be studying?”
They untwined with a jerk. Fiona blinked as if she were drunk. The man turned half away from them, adjusting the waistband of his uniform trousers. He was tall and wide-shouldered, with a narrow, supple waist.
Fiona said, “Dolly, this is—”
“I know who this is. Go back inside.”
He turned now to face Dolly and put out his hand. “Miss White, I’m Robert Loughlin.”
“You’re the one who’s gotten Fiona in a lot of trouble,” Dolly said. She did not take his hand.
Apart, even now, their bodies leaned toward each other like strands of underwater kelp. “Just one more minute, Dolly. Please,” Fiona said.
“If your father gets wind of this, you’ll be on an island in the middle of Puget Sound until your wedding,” Dolly said. “Go.”
“Go, darling,” Robert whispered.
Fiona bit her lower lip. She pressed her hand against Robert’s cheek and stepped away from him. Before she was out of reach, he grasped her hand tenderly and kissed the tips of her fingers.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Dolly said. “You two aren’t star-crossed lovers in a movie.”
Fiona ran past her, her cheeks bright pink.
“She told me you’d help us,” Loughlin said.
“I have no idea why she told you that,” Dolly said. “Come along, Officer Loughlin. I’ll walk you to your car.”
He didn’t look embarrassed or defiant. He met her gaze straight on with eyes the color of a chocolate bar. Of course, Fiona had fallen for this one.
“I love her, Miss White,” he said.
“That’s delightful. She dove headfirst into a gin bottle because of you, Mr. Loughlin. There is no reason to think you are any better for her than Tony Arbelio is.”
He faltered. Perhaps his shoulders slumped a little. “Maybe I’m not. Tony’s a good guy, even if he’s a bit of a daisy.”
“Why do you say that?”
Loughlin raised his eyebrows. “There are certain clubs that a certain kind of man . . .” He hesitated. “It’s not my place to talk about it. Point is, Fiona deserves better than being sold like livestock.”
She stepped over a crack in the pavement. “Magical families are different. Those like us don’t measure up.”
He stayed at her side. “I measured up fine the first four months. Good enough for dinners, card parties, excursions, while the White King persuaded my dad to support him with the city council.”
Dolly turned. “Your father made a ruling in favor of Mr. Earnshaw?”
“Of course not. He’d never do that. But Earnshaw wanted stronger penalties for unlicensed magickers. Before, practicing without a license always got you fined. Now a second offense gets you dropped in the hoosegow for sixty days. City council was divided on it, and they all respect my father. When Earnshaw got the vote he wanted, suddenly I wasn’t good enough for Fiona anymore.”
They stopped at Fifth. A trolley rolled by in front of them. From its window, a man lighting a cigarette stared at them, especially Dolly. She did not stare back. She hurried across the street with Loughlin at her side.
He stopped by the car door. She could see his billed policeman’s cap resting on the driver’s seat. Loughlin said, “You don’t know them, Miss White. You’ve been taken in by the house and their manners. Francis is trouble in a sharp suit, and the White King’s worse.”
“And you’d like to get back at him,” she said.
He shook his head. “No. He’d always told Fiona she should expect to marry into a magical family. But he threw us together. He let her, he let us, hope. He shouldn’t have. That’s why the gin, Miss White. Because he let her hope.”
She looked at him. What a lovely pair of fools he and Fiona made.
“You think Fiona would be happy on a policeman’s salary?”
“She’d be happy with me,” he said.
So certain. She shook her head. “I don’t know, Robert. I think maybe you’re the kind of man who’d like a tragic love in his past. So you can moon over the society pages and sip your whiskey, thinking about what could have been and never having to find out if you two could have weathered a marriage.”
“You’re coldhearted,” he said, “and you’re wrong.”
“Coldhearted, yes. As for wrong . . . Ask yourself this. If she were just Fiona, who had to get a job in a shop and learn how to cook and to clean, would you love her as much? No—” She held up her hand as he opened his mouth to speak. “No passionate speeches of undying love, Robert. Talk is easy. Just think about it. Would you stand by her side?”
She turned and walked away. He might have called something after her, but a jalopy rattled past, and she couldn’t hear his words.
* * *
Fiona hummed to herself in the car back to the house. Glancing at Nick, Dolly said, “You seem pleased with the Olympic.”
“Oh, very!”
“And the menus. Those offerings were tasty.”
“Oh, yes, so tasty. I loved the offerings.”
“It’s settled, then.”
Fiona stopped humming. She reached for the rosebud but drew her hand back. “Yes. It’s settled.”
The parade of chanters had vanished. Fiona leaned forward. “Nick, I meant to ask. Who is Laa-zoo-lee?”
“What, Miss Fiona?”
“In the song.”
“I don’t know.”
“I think it’s a reference to lapis lazuli,” Dolly said. “It’s a blue stone.”
“Really, like a sapphire?”
Dolly shook her head. “It doesn’t sparkle. It’s deep blue with a matte finish. You’ve probably seen it in jewelry, especially Egyptian style.”
“Egyptian style?” Fiona’s brow crinkled. “Maybe I have.”
“With a gold setting, with the right spell, it reacts to shape-shifters.”
“Like silver?”
“Not exactly. It helps identify them.”
Fiona nodded. “Oh, like black tourmaline.”
That wasn’t quite right, but Dolly didn’t correct her.
Over dinner, Fiona described the Olympic to her family. Earnshaw agreed it sounded acceptable and said he would go inspect it later in the week. Francis smiled at his sister. “You are almost like your old self again, Fiona.”
“I feel as if I’ve come out of a fog,” she said. “As much as I dislike that awful stuff Dolly made me drink. Speaking of coming out of a fog, where is your blessed medallion? I haven’t seen you wear it in a while.”
“It’s at the jeweler. The clasp broke.”
“Oh.” Fiona pushed away the last bit of her lemon custard. “How did that happen?”
“Stop quizzing your brother,” Earnshaw said.
“I was just asking.”
“I’m not six, Fiona. Stop fussing.”
“I’m sorry,” Fiona said. “I think Dolly and I will have our coffee in the drawing room. We have a party to plan. May I be excused, Daddy?”
“An excellent idea.” Earnshaw stood up. “I’m going up to my workroom.”
Fiona waited until her father had left. “Dolly, shall we?”
Francis stood aside as his sister brushed past him. When Dolly neared the door, he reached out and put his arm across it, blocking her. “I owe you a great deal for the return of Baby Sister.”
“If Fiona is happy, and your father is happy, those are all the thanks I need,” she said. She stood calmly, looking at him without blinking.
“You’re a lovely woman, Dolly. Maybe the fog is clearing for me too.”
“It’s good to be clearheaded,” she said. “Excuse me.”
He let his arm drop, and she went past him toward the drawing room. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed.
* * *
NOVEMBER 13, 1929
(FOUR DAYS BEFORE)
Without as much need to watchdog Fiona, Dolly had some trouble filling her time. Once or twice, she ran errands for Mrs. Chambers. Fiona enjoyed morning walks, and Dolly walked with her, as well as walking again before sunset. It kept her limber and sharp. She had, with Earnshaw’s permission, taken one evening off to hear a lecture on natural science at the library and spent a few hours one day at an art museum.
Now she was the one to have trouble sleeping. She would say good night to Fiona and wander into the drawing room, reading or jotting notes for the engagement party, but sleep eluded her.
This night was no different, and still awake and restless although it was past midnight, Dolly went downstairs to choose a book from Earnshaw’s library. Earnshaw was out, spending the night at his club, and Francis had left after dinner, whistling as he pulled on his jacket.
She tried the study door, thinking Earnshaw might have locked it. The knob turned easily, and she stepped in, touching the toggle on the wall to bring up the ceiling light. The room was cool.
The French doors were ajar, and light from the house next door, filtered through the yew tree hedge, threw long streaks onto the floor. She walked over and pulled the doors closed, twisting the latch. As she turned to the bookshelves, a shape filled her vision, and she started, gasping. “Francis! Where did you come from?”
He grinned at her, standing at the end of the couch. “And where did you come from, wandering through my father’s study like you own it?”
She kept her gaze steady. “He said I could use his library.”
He strolled toward her. “You can use anything in this house you want.”
She mastered the impulse to step back. “And what are you doing here?”
He grinned. “I live here, Dolly.” He moved so close, she could smell cologne, cigar smoke, and whiskey. “You manage things well, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve weaned Fiona off gin and shim and kept her away from that awful downtown speak. She’s even focused, finally, on the marriage. All because of you.”
“It’s barely been two weeks,” she said. She skirted him, approaching the shelves. “And it’s my job.”
He caught her arm and held her still. “You know I saved your job, don’t you? I could have told Dad you weren’t diligent in watching Baby Sister.”
She tugged but could not pull free. She had underestimated his strength.
He said, “You were so eager to stay here, close to me. You played Dad like a fiddle to keep Fiona here. Why so chilly now?”
“You think that had something to do with you?”
“Well, why else? The house doesn’t offer anything for you.”
“It was your father’s decision,” she said.
Francis laughed. “He’d already had Inez bring Fiona’s trunk down from the attic. Ten minutes with you, and plans are changed. It wasn’t his decision. It was yours.”
“I can’t convince you,” she said. “As to what there is for me here, I need a job.”
“A beautiful woman never needs to worry about a job,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”
“Spoken like a rich man trying to get a woman into bed,” she said.
He let go of her and strode to the study door. “Francis,” she said, hurrying after him, but he pulled the door shut and locked it. She stopped as he turned with a smile. “Open the door,” she said.
“I don’t like games, Dolly. Not this kind—coy girls’ games. You came right in here, when everyone else in the house was asleep.”
“I didn’t know you were here.”
He grabbed both her arms and dragged her against him. “Then we’ll call it fate.”
“Let go of me.”
“After a kiss.” He bent his head down. She stamped her foot on his instep as hard as she could.
He straightened and drew his arm back as if it were a tennis racket. She turned her head to avoid the worst of the blow, but the momentum knocked her down, and she fell, her ears ringing, against the end of the couch.
“Do you think you can say no to me?” He stood over her, staring down, his face half in shadow, still smiling. “Is it Dad you’re holding out for?”
She gripped the edge of the sofa and pulled herself into a half-sitting position. “I bet I’m not the first woman you’ve hit,” she said.
