Amberlough(60)

“What, tempted? Of course.” Something caught his attention in the dining room, and Cyril followed his gaze. Cordelia had left the bar holding what looked suspiciously like a gin and tonic. She picked her way between abandoned chairs, watching her shoes. Vermillion waves of hair rippled over one bare shoulder and fell between her breasts. “But a man’s got to draw the line somewhere.”

*

“Stones,” said Cordelia, after Müller had caught a cab. “What did you say to him while I was gone? He looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon.”

They stood on the corner outside the Kelly Club. Two more cabs went by, but Cyril didn’t flag them, and other night wanderers climbed in. “I made him a proposition he didn’t like.”

“Did you now?” Cordelia’s eyebrows arched up like drawn bows.

“Ah, go yank yourself,” he said, mocking her. She slapped at him, playfully. He deflected it and tucked his arm through her elbow. “Walk me home? It’s nice enough outside.”

“I’m supposed to keep you safe from muggers, or what?” But she let him draw her along the footpath, dodging between drunken salaryfolk.

“Sure,” he said. “If you do a good job, I’ll pay for your cab back home.”

He wondered where she lived. Somewhere in the southern half of the city, almost certainly. It would be a hefty fare, but he wanted company, and wouldn’t force a late trolley ride on her. He didn’t like the thought of facing his failure, and entertaining would take his mind off of it. Midsummer wasn’t immediately looming, but the mild night reminded him his deadline was much closer than it had been.

Cordelia wasn’t going to let him avoid her questions. “You threw me at him pretty hard,” she said. “You gonna tell me why?”

“I threw you?” He jostled her arm.

“Hang it, you know what I mean. You needed a little bait for your trap.”

“And you were clever enough to figure it out. Thank you.” He liked that she was sharp. Smart, beautiful, and disaffected … She would have made a good fox, perfect for running honeypots, if only one of Ada’s recruiters had cornered her when she was young. Then again, she could be anywhere from eighteen to thirty and he couldn’t have guessed her age with the barrel of a gun to his head. Central might still have time to groom her.

Might’ve, rather. He wondered if the Ospies would be amenable. Maybe he could put in a good word. If he swung the ACPD. If he couldn’t do that, he was just the party’s instrument, and no one valued the opinions of a tool.

He hoped she could find something to do under the new regime, because he imagined it would be hard going on Temple Street after Acherby rose to power. So much rode on Cyril’s treachery.

“You’re welcome,” said Cordelia, hauling him back into the conversation. “Now what exactly am I in the middle of?”

“Cordelia, I told you, I can’t—”

“You said you’d tell me if I needed to know. I think I do.”

“It’s not exactly your decision.”

She halted, in the center of the footpath, and pulled her arm from his. A drunk stumbled past and tried to steady himself on her shoulder. She shoved him away with the unconscious brutality of someone used to dealing with public disorder.

“I can walk,” she said, thrusting an arm out, hand extended toward the street. “You want me to walk?”

He stopped too, and turned so they stood face-to-face, about three feet apart. Around them, foot traffic continued, uninterested.

Holding the lapels of his overcoat, he leaned back on his heels and took in her defiance. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “I don’t think you can.”

“No?” She flung the trailing end of her scarf over one shoulder. “Watch me.”

He let her get a quarter of the way down the block before he realized Aristide would kill him if Cordelia left now. Pushing between pedestrians, he hurried after her. When he caught up, in front of a darkened tobacconist’s shop, he pulled her into the doorway. “I’m sorry, all right?”

She shook him off and backed up against the grated window. Behind her, cigars and pipes lay on a fall of red velvet, arranged around bunches of silk cherry blossoms. “Can we get a couple things straight, right now? I don’t have to be here. Ari’s making it worth my while, but I don’t have to hang around with you.”

“He’s—he’s paying you?” Cyril wanted to laugh.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Mother and sons, that’s just what he needs. A procurement charge. Unless you’re licensed?”

Her glare would have cut diamonds.

“Wonderful. A reason to shove him in the trap and get a good look through all his affairs. Wish he’d done it when I—” He stopped himself, but Cordelia had caught it.

“When you what?”

“Nothing.”

She took a step toward him and he gave ground. She stepped forward again, and he backed into the window. Delicately, she slipped his bow tie from its knot. Then, with more force and speed than he would have credited, she wrapped it around her fist, pulling his face close to hers.

“Cyril,” she said. “What are you?”

“Let’s take this indoors.”