Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(148)

She eyed her delusion. He had an uncanny way of seeing the future.

“Okay, we go out again.”

Cynda had just reached the lobby when one of the hotel’s staff handed her a message. After mumbling a thanks and pressing a coin into his hand, she ripped open the envelope, praying it was good news.

The Ascendant summons you. Your carriage awaits.

“Trap?” Mr. Spider asked, peering down at the note.

“Sure. But if there’s any chance this guy knows where Theo is, it’s worth the risk.”

Sitting at the kerb was an unmarked carriage. It looked exactly like the one that had claimed her at Bedlam. Steeling herself, she climbed in, shoving the bustle behind her. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a silvery bloom of light directly across from her.



It might have been a mistake to give Hopkins the gun.

A figure slowly faded into view like the Cheshire cat, no weapon in sight. The face was familiar. Black hair, dark eyes. That arrogant smirk.

Too much macassar oil.

This was the real deal.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Twig.” He gave a sharp rap on the roof with his cane, and the carriage pulled away from the hotel.

“You’re Satyr, the Lead Assassin. You were at Effington’s party,” she recalled.

“Yes, you saved my life and you did it with such grace.”

Cynda snorted, knowing b.s. when she heard it. Memories flipped over like a row of dominos. She saw the silver tube, felt his hand placing it against the side of her head. “Why did you do this to me?” she said, tapping her temple.

His expression didn’t alter. “I had my reasons. I admit it was cruel, but you are still alive, and clearly in possession of all your faculties. That, in itself, is quite remarkable.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the best you’re going to get at the moment,” he replied.

“Why do you keep trying to kill me?”

“We do have a history, don’t we, Twig? That evening I threw you under the beer wagon,” he said, smiling at the memory. “Oh, and at the docks. You survived the warehouse fire. Then this,” he said, tapping his own temple. “I’ve never met someone with such tenacity for life.”

He didn’t sound proud of his attempts to kill her, like Mimes had after he’d rammed the knife into her chest. If anything, she heard a hint of remorse. That was the difference between them. Satyr’s eyes always looked pensive as he tried to end her life. Mimes’ glowed with sexual ecstasy.

“Why does the Ascendant want to see me?”

“He said he wanted to meet the woman who had discomfited the angels.” Satyr leaned forward, causing her to tense once more. “You knew I was here before I went visible. How?”



“I’m just good.”

“It’s more than that. Come on, tell me.”

Why not? It would let him know she wasn’t completely unarmed.

“I see a fuzzy outline around someone if they’re en mirage. I never could until you blanked my brain,” she said.

Satyr chuckled. “An unintended consequence. I’m very fond of those.” He leaned even farther forward, a curious fire in his eyes. “How did you reclaim your mind?”

“I had a friend who wouldn’t give up on me.”

A knowing nod. “You were fortunate.” He relaxed against the seat, apparently satisfied.

Cynda ran a bluff. “You told me a lot of things that night you toasted my mind. I don’t remember all of them. Like where you got that device.”

“I never told you that.”

“Then what did you tell me?”

“That I was responsible for the deaths of Johnny Ahearn, Nicci Hallcox and that insufferable Effington.”

“Why frame Keats for Nicci’s murder?”

“Purely an accident,” Satyr replied. “I saw him enter her house and thought it would be fun to use his form. To be honest, there were others I would have rather let fall into the noose than the sergeant.”

“Why’d you kill Nicci?”

“She thought I was Keats, and in repayment for rutting with her, she was willing to reveal where the explosives were stored. She’d scored that bit of knowledge from Effington, which meant both of them were liabilities.”

Would he know who Morrisey was? She sanitized the question. “A companion of mine is missing. He was helping diffuse the bombs. Do you know where he is?”

Satyr frowned. “No, but I suspect the Ascendant might. He was crowing about something when I was ordered to collect you.” He shifted position against the cushions. “You’ve annoyed a very powerful man, and I’d like to thank you for that.”



“Does your gratitude involve a knife in the chest or hands around my throat?”

“Neither. At least not yet.”

It was a bizarre truce of sorts. She got the sense he wanted to be here, not just because his master had sent him.

“What’s this angel thing about?”

Satyr let out an annoyed sigh. “From what I can tell, the Ascendant claims he’s been talking to a messenger from Heaven.”

“Did you ever see him, the angel I mean?”

A shake of the head. “I tried, but if he actually exists, he was very stealthy.” Satyr carefully adjusted a glove. “Was it really Defoe who tried to kill me?” he asked.