The youngest of the boys, revved from taunting, started to head down the stairway to hurry the matter along when the dandy stopped him. “No need to rush in, lads. Let them come to us,” he said and nodded toward the river with that ghastly, rotten grin of his. Even the fog was apparently on their side, creeping in around the boys at that very moment, thick as gauze, to hide what they were up to from the bobbies and any decent folk passing by.
River water lapped at Edwina’s heels. They had no more than ten minutes before they became drenched to their calves. She tried not to think about how heavy the fabric of her skirt would become should she be forced to tread water in the freezing-cold river. She also tried not to think of having to do the inevitable. Using magic in a public space against hapless mortals—while surely a defense could be made in circumstances such as the one they found themselves in now—was the last thing she wished to do. She knew too well from experience there were consequences to revealing one’s true identity in front of the wrong people. And she simply couldn’t pull up stakes and move again so soon. If she and Mary couldn’t find anonymity in a city of five million, then where else was there left to hide?
A wave sloshed over the tops of Edwina’s ankle boots, while the gang of five squatted at the top of the steps like feral cats about to feast. “Come on up, my lovelies,” taunted a boy with black hair and blue eyes that shone like ghost lights in the building fog. “Or maybe you prefer to stay in the water permanent-like.” There was a quick clicking sound, and Edwina saw the sharp glint of a steel blade flick open in his hand.
The threat made her pulse course. Desperate, she cast her eye over the shore, the river, and the top of the bridge. Who would see? Who would know? Above, the boys’ faces faded in and out of view as the dense mist enveloped them. The fog had crept in thick and brooding, obscuring their silhouettes though they hunkered only a dozen feet away. A ship’s horn sounded on the water, but all she saw was the phantom shape of a vessel moving through clouds. The miasma of mist and foul city breath swirled along the embankment wall, swallowing up what remained of the foreshore.
Ian stood at the base of the stairs, his trousers soaking up water, and removed his pocket watch. “Now or never,” he said as if reading her mind.
The boys’ eyes lit up with greed at the sight of the watch, knowing the weight of that gold in their hands could fill their stomachs and their dreams of wealth for a month. Two of the boys, their boots held together with twine and tar, crept threateningly lower on the stairs. Ian merely smiled as though he were going to recite another cursed poem.
Hang the consequences. She wasn’t going to stand by and be gutted like a fish. Edwina turned to the river and sang. “Haste ye help a stranded soul, wings of white and eye of coal. Come forth with claws to scratch and strike, in aid of kin and kith alike.” Then she stood back as the seagulls, who’d earlier complained overhead, darted out of the sky as though loosed from longbows.
Chapter Thirteen
The attack came swiftly. A swarm of seagulls shot out of the sky, diving at the gang with wings and claws out for the strike. The unlucky lad with the pipe in his teeth ducked and covered his head with one arm, but the birds were relentless, dipping and scratching at his skin. Sharp beaks nipped at the young man as the birds squawked and chided and then slapped their wings in his face. The lad cursed and swatted, but the gulls only swooped out of reach and circled around for another attack.
Ian watched astonished. He’d expected Edwina might assist him by using that lilting voice of hers to cause the boys to run back to their lane, the consequences of using magic against mortals be damned. He’d done his best to hide their magic from view, conjuring an innocent fog by using a mortal’s well-worn words of poetry, but could not have guessed she would summon a full-fledged attack.
Shaken free from his initial shock, he charged up the slick steps, knocking the black-haired lad with the knife out of the way with his shoulder. Next, he shoved the would-be thief in his ridiculous top hat onto his backside as the gang scrambled to avoid being bitten by the wild birds.
The gulls clawed and snapped at the band of young men, pecking and scratching through their threadbare clothes until the hooligans backed away with bleeding hands flapping over their heads to rid themselves of the cursed birds. Long streaks of fresh white droppings showed on the backs of the lads’ coats as they ran. Ian chased after the young men for a good fifty paces until he was satisfied they were truly gone. Catching his breath, he returned to the riverside to check on Edwina.