“She’s left the road.” Ian pointed to where Mary had disappeared around a corner onto a quieter lane.
Afraid of being seen, he had them hang back at the entrance to the lane. From there they watched Mary walk several yards before passing through a narrow opening in the wall. He took a measurement with his watch and found only the three of them in the vicinity. Wherever George was, he hadn’t followed. “Come on, let’s see where she’s gone.”
Catching up, they came to a narrow, damp corridor that led to a rectangle of gray light at the far end. There appeared to be a courtyard ahead surrounded by more ramshackle tenements. Ian paused, waiting and listening.
“Let’s not stop now,” Edwina said.
Bricky lass. Ian pressed forward with a grudging smile on his face, even as he fought off the anxiety he felt at the sight of another cramped nook made for murder.
Inside, the corridor was sour with the reek of curdled milk. Edwina whispered she wished they had a torch, then risked a little fire to better see where to set her feet by blowing on her fingertips. She held the small flame aloft, scaring a pair of pigeons from their roost above. In the orange light, the puddle causing the sour smell was made more obvious, resembling the leftovers of a drunkard’s rebellious stomach. Letting go of Ian’s arm, she lifted the hem of her skirt until they were through to the other side.
Unlike the busy road they’d left full of people sorting out their lodging and food for the night, the courtyard was abandoned. And hastily so. A fire burned in a communal pit with a fish hovering above on an improvised spit. The split flesh was still pink from too little time in the heat. Edwina blew out the flame on her fingers as they left the passageway. Surrounding the courtyard were a dozen flats, upstairs and down, that formed a U shape around a muddy common area. Laundry hung like flags from the upper rails to dry. A brick wall enclosed the far end, and a second corridor continued out the other side. Ian realized too late that anyone entering from either passage could be seen from every window in the building. But where was Mary?
A curtain snapped shut on the upper level as a door clicked closed at their right. “Why do I feel like a mouse trapped in a dead end?” Edwina said, surrounded on all sides as they were.
“Because we were led here deliberately.” Ian realized now how blinded by curiosity he’d been. “She knew we were following her,” he said, taking note of the exit on the other side of the courtyard, where the alley appeared as dodgy as the one they’d just come through.
He was considering their limited options when Mary emerged from behind a grungy bedsheet that had been hung on a rope strung between the stairs and the single lamppost. Almost coquettishly, she swung out to show her face as she braced her feet on the base of the lamp and held on to the post with one hand.
“Sister, what a surprise to see you here, and with your new beau,” she said, letting the sarcasm drip sweetly off her tongue.
“You’ve taken us on a jolly expedition,” Edwina said. “What a lovely location you’ve chosen.” Though he could not be certain, Ian thought he detected a note of charmwork in her voice. As if she was accustomed to calming her sister. “Perhaps now we can go home so we can talk about how you came to know this place. You know I understand everything. I forgive everything. But you need to explain the details to me so we can make things right again.” Edwina attempted to take a step closer, her hand held out to clasp her sister’s, but was forced to stop when the false smile fell away from Mary’s lips.
“Stay where you are,” she snapped. In her grip she held a small, gleaming orb with a gold vein running through a sea of blue. “Or I might be tempted to crush his precious memories to dust.”
The area above Ian’s left ear throbbed at the sight of the orb, and he had no doubt the memory in the witch’s hand was his. All the intricate, interstitial moments of his life, the ones Hob could never replace, she now held up as leverage, threatening to destroy them forever.
“Aye, and what about all the others you’ve taken?” he asked. “We found the memories of the men you helped murder.”
Mary’s brows tightened and she shook her head. “I didn’t murder anyone. Ask Edwina. I merely followed the scent of death.” She locked eyes with her sister. “Tell him.”
Edwina flinched when a baby cried out in a flat above and then quickly hushed, as though the whole of the tenement building were eavesdropping on their family secrets. “Let’s go home. I’ll tell him everything there.”