“You’ll be more comfortable inside,” Abigail said, gesturing with an extended arm for them to enter. “Well done, Charlotte.”
It took a dose of blind courage to trust the witch who was offering them sanctuary, but Edwina didn’t think her father would have given her the address if he didn’t mean for her to someday use it. He might yet prove himself to be the sort of person who abandoned his adult daughters, but in her eyes he was and always would be a man who’d done the best he could for his unnatural family.
Edwina felt a hand at her elbow. A caution from Ian. Yet instinct told her to trust, and so she ducked her head and walked through the closet door. The welcome warmth of the room, along with a general feeling of comfort and safety, put her at ease. The walls were delicately patterned with gold fleur-de-lis flocked wallpaper, and a crystal chandelier lit with white candles hung overhead. It had to be an illusion, but if so, the girl had done a grand job.
Edwina swung around to encourage Ian to follow when a miniature hairy creature in a tattered green jacket bowed at the waist in greeting.
“Welcome, milady.”
Ian poked his head through the doorway before following her inside. “Hob? What the devil?”
“Mister! Come in, come in! All is warm and well.”
“How did you get here?”
The door closed behind them, leaving Edwina and Ian alone with Hob, who jumped up on one of the footstools by the fire.
“You said stay out of sight. This is where I went.” The little creature made a face like it was obvious. “This is where all find shelter.”
“Ah, I think I’m beginning to see,” Ian said, putting his watch away.
“Well, I’m not entirely sure I do.” Edwina sat in a chair near the fire, though she did not remove her shawl. Not yet.
“It’s a safe house,” Ian said. “A port in a mortal storm, if you will.” He sat opposite and reached for the teapot on the table between them. “A network is said to exist throughout the isles.” He paused to pour them each a cup of steaming Darjeeling. “I had no idea one existed in this part of the city.”
Edwina accepted her tea in a china cup and admired the black-and-gold design of astrological signs set in an intricate pattern around the rim. “I had no idea anything so broad as a network existed at all. My father merely said I would find help here.”
Ian crossed the room to the bookshelf. He pulled loose a fat tome, hefting it in his hand. “Lady Everly’s Grimoire,” he said, impressed. He replaced the book and tipped the spine of another to reveal a cover made entirely of bark, entitled Herbal Remedies of the Dryad. “It appears to be a well-stocked library of the occult as well.”
“Anything in those books that can explain what happened to make us require a safe house?”
“Ah, right.” He let out a sigh and replaced the wooden book. “Hob, go fetch us a couple of local newspapers.”
The little fellow stood at attention. “As you wish,” he said before scrunching up his nose as if wondering where he might procure such a thing. Seemingly arriving at an answer, he snapped his fingers and dove into a decorative porcelain urn beside the fireplace.
“How does he do that?”
Ian returned to his seat and crossed his legs. “His kind has their networks too. Dinna ask me how it works. I dinna ken parallel-world theory.”
Edwina set her cup down half-finished and leaned forward. “What could have provoked that hotel clerk to accuse you of those things he said?”
He leaned back in his chair and casually smiled at her. “I notice you don’t seem particularly fashed by the idea of sitting in a parlor alone with an accused degenerate, sipping tea and warming your sodden feet by the fire.”
“Well, I suppose I hold out hope the notion isn’t true,” she said, feeling a flush. It wasn’t only the nearness of the fire making her cheeks warm. With the little imp gone, she and Ian had been left alone in the room without a chaperone of any kind. The tingling that arose in her bloodstream at the thought made her feel as if she could create any kind of magic she chose in that moment. He gazed at her with a hint of amusement as he pursed his lips slightly. Given her limited experience with men, she wasn’t sure how to interpret such a look. Freddie’s attention had always been very formal, with his mother orchestrating their every moment together. There had been furtive glances on sofas, but they always ended in giggles, as if each of them were embarrassed to sit so near the other. Not so with Ian. With her blood up, she allowed herself to wonder if such interest was based on more than mere scrutiny. She dared not look away as the firelight caught in his eyes.