“You don’t think Sir Elvanfoot’s son is involved in something so heinous, surely?”
“His initial disappearance roughly coincides with the date of the first murder. And then I learned he ran from me after I got him to the boardinghouse.” He shook his head, defeated, and kicked at a weed growing up between the cobbles. “Then again, you could be right. The timing might be nothing more than a coincidence and George has other problems I know nothing about.”
Edwina hugged her arms as cool air seeped in under her wrap. Alongside the chill crept an unpleasant truth. Mary had apparently fled to meet a man in a pub, one whom she’d been keeping a secret. “But if it’s George she’s meeting, shouldn’t there be two indications on your watch? If there’s another witch inside with her?”
“Bloody hell, you’re right.” Ian dug the watch out again, letting the cogs and levers whir until the single aural spectrum showed up in the direction of the pub. “I’ll be damned.” He was about to close the watch when the cogs spun again and a second glowing dot revealed another presence.
Edwina’s face fell in disappointment. “So she really is in there with him?”
“Seems as likely as not.”
The obvious question of whether they should simply barge in through the front door of the pub and find out for certain was preempted when the boy from the shop wandered around the corner, stopping to loiter in front of the pub. The coincidence of seeing him lean against the building made gooseflesh of Edwina’s skin.
“What’s he doing here?” she wondered aloud, feeling that familiar pressure in her throat when she swallowed that told her Mary was about to ruin everything of what was left of their family again. “There’s something not right here.”
“Aye, that there is.” Ian watched the boy before catching Edwina’s eye. “If you dinna mind doing a little detective work with me, I think we ought to stay and find out exactly what it is.”
Her first instinct was to turn away. Go home and forget she’d ever followed her sister to this unfamiliar street or this seedy pub on a dodgy lane. Go home and prepare for a quick and anonymous departure once again. For where, she couldn’t fathom. Father had always taken care of that part. But even without knowing the full and complete truth, and despite whatever promises she’d made to Mary about unconditional forgiveness, this time she feared the transgressions had gone too far to be remedied by a mere change of address.
Edwina breathed in the nearness of Ian’s skin, his clothes, and the light perspiration rising from the collar of his shirt. Flight had always been their fancy, she and Mary. To escape, to flee, to stay one step ahead of scrutiny. But in fact, she’d never truly been free. Not when she held firm to the limited vision of what she imagined her life was destined to be. “Oh yes,” she said, daring to relinquish the fear holding her back. “I think I would like that very much.” And she did not blush when he returned her eager smile.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“We need to find a better location where we can keep an eye on the place,” Ian said as he and Edwina stood huddled in the doorway. “We’ll be seen if we stay in the street too long.”
“Where can we go?” Edwina asked.
He looked up and down the lane before settling on an idea. “Wait here,” he said and darted across the street to where a pile of empty crates leaned against the alley wall. “Hob,” he called out. “Are you there?” A man passing by just as he called hello inside a turnip crate offered him a suspicious look. “Lost my dog,” Ian lied, trusting Hob would wait until the man had left to show his face. But no—the elf jumped up from the box with a wilted leaf on top of his head. Ian flung his coat open at his waist as if searching for something in the pocket until the man walked on.
“I was helping Sir with magic,” Hob complained.
“Aye, and a great help you were, I’ve no doubt.” Ian signaled for Hob to lower his head. “I need a wee favor from you and then you can head back.” After a sigh from Hob, Ian explained how he needed him to find an empty room across the street. Main floor would be best. A sitting room, a bedroom, a storage room. Something with a window facing the corner pub. “The usual conditions apply. No one home to raise a fuss.”
Hob flicked the leaf off his head, then dropped back down inside the crate. Ian stuck his hands in his pockets while he waited and nodded at Edwina across the street. He knew few women outside of the Constabulary willing to stand in the damp on the forsaken end of the street without complaint. In truth, he thought she was made for better things than traipsing over the city in search of a sister who’d likely breached the wrong side of the law—be it witch or mortal—and yet, seeing the glint of anticipation in her eye, she seemed to flourish at the notion of risk.