The Book Eaters(108)
She bought shoes in the first place that sold them, ignoring the baffled expressions of the store staff. Good solid boots for that heavy, faux human tread. Just the way she liked them.
Clothes were easy enough. She raided the men’s section of a charity shop for black jeans and a black shirt, putting them on in the changing room afterward. She was pleased to be rid of the tartan skirt.
For Cai, she also chose a small backpack, something to store his books and clothes and—now—his signal blocker. When that was done, they bought food. Magazines and sci-fi books for him, thrillers and gory crime for her. Commercial fiction had a kind of sugariness she always found addictive.
“What was that book you picked up?” Cai said. “Carmilla, or whatever it was called? It looked interesting.”
“Um. It’s just an old-fashioned Gothic story.” Devon didn’t feel like explaining to her son why she’d bought a novel about lesbian vampires. He’d never stop laughing. “You wouldn’t like it, I’m sure.”
Shopping done, they were making their way home when Devon walked past the Vintage Emporium.
And did a double take. Proudly displayed in the window, behind layers of thick glass and lots of security locks, was a vintage Chanel handbag in black crisscrossed leather with a gold chain strap.
Old-school but timeless, and also devastatingly expensive. Even a fringe social participant like Devon could tell from the make and brand that it was something quality.
She caught Cai by the shoulder. “Hold a sec. I need to buy that purse.”
“That one in the window?” He gawked at the sleek black leather in confusion. “Why? You already have a messenger bag.”
“Not for me, for Hester. She lost her handbag when we ran from the train, you know. I should get her something.” In case it was the last time they saw each other, she added silently.
“Will that make it better?” he said, eyeing the handbag distrustfully.
“It won’t make up for upending her life, no,” Devon said. “Nothing can.”
“Huh? Then why are you doing it?”
“Weren’t you the one just saying I should do something nice for her?” she said, with casual lightness.
He scrunched his nose. “It’s so plain looking.”
“Sometimes, the nicest things are,” she told him as they stepped inside.
And stepped out again fifteen minutes later, carrying a pinstripe box full of tissue-wrapped handbag.
“Wow!” He was goggling. “A thousand pounds? I don’t think you’ve ever spent that much of your money on me!” He pouted. “And you didn’t even want to give her a gift five minutes ago! It was my idea.”
“Oi! Greedy lad! I think I’ve done my fair share for you, thanks.” The purse was indeed a lot of money. Devon couldn’t find it in herself to regret the purchase, though. It was only cash, she’d get more. “Besides, I decided you were right. I don’t have enough friends to lose.”
“I’m always right.” He stuck his tongue out, puffed with pride.
* * *
They arrived back at Traquair House, both flushed and warm from a day of walking and shopping. Her watch suggested 3 P.M.; only a few hours left till their rendezvous with Mani. And a few hours after that till the knights arrived.
“Can I meet you upstairs in our room?” she said to her son. “I want to go looking for Hester first, if that’s okay.”
“Have fun talking to your girlfriend,” he said, and darted away before she could flick his forehead.
Hester was in the downstairs drawing room, thankfully alone, and facing the window. A small pad of paper rested in her lap on which she sketched a view of Traquair’s maze and gardens.
Her black-and-white drawing wasn’t fully accurate to the scene outside. With no color to soften its tones, the shadows looked darker, and the highlights brighter. She had carefully depicted the iron gate at the maze’s entrance, but omitted its exit; there was no path out of the thorns.
“That’s really good,” Devon said, edging over. “Are you self-taught?”
“It’s not good.” Hester pressed her pencil point hard into the pad; it broke off, tiny chunk of graphite skittering across paper. “I can only copy, not create. Because I’m not actually creative. I guess you were right about that much.” She looked up, eyes red-rimmed. “What do you want?”
“To talk to you,” Devon said, clutching the box tighter than necessary. “And although I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, I just wanted to pass along a gift. Before, you know, we run out of time.”
A puzzled frown. “A gift for me?”
“For the bag you lost.” Devon offered up the box in all its tissue-wrapped glory, feeling more embarrassed by the second. “I couldn’t replace the gun but I could at least do this much.”
Hester stared in bewilderment at the flouncy packaging. “What on earth did you buy? Did you get this from Vintage Emporium? That place is awfully expensive!”
“Never mind where I got it from,” Devon said, a rare blush creeping into her face. “Look, I know this is probably the wrong time for this conversation”—Was there ever going to be a right time?—“but if you want to come with Cai and me, we’ll be at the brewery by seven P.M. If you don’t want to come, then please, please clear out before eleven. Promise me you won’t hang about, aye? The knights mean business.”