Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(67)

“Lou, I . . .” He ran his fingers down my braid, and fresh chills washed over my skin. When I finally turned to look at him, he dropped his hand and stepped back, refusing to meet my eyes. “You asked.”

“I know.”

Without another word, he strode into the washroom and closed the door.





A Time for Moving on


Reid


“Let’s go somewhere,” Lou announced.

I looked up from my Bible. She’d visited the infirmary again this morning. Since returning from the foul place, she’d done nothing but sit on the bed and stare at empty air. But her eyes hadn’t been idle. No, they flicked back and forth as if watching something, her lips moving imperceptibly. Her fingers twitching.

Though I didn’t say anything, I feared the patients were beginning to rub off on her. One patient in particular, a Monsieur Bernard, worried me. A few days ago, Father Orville had pulled me aside to inform me the man was kept under constant sedation—and chained—to prevent suicide. Father Orville seemed to think Lou would suffer a shock when the inevitable happened.

Perhaps time away would do us both good.

I set aside my Bible. “Where do you want to go?”

“I want a sticky bun. Do you remember the patisserie where we first met? The one in East End? I used to go there all the time before, well . . . all of this.” She waved a hand between us.

I eyed her warily. “Do you promise to behave yourself?”

“Of course not. That would ruin the fun.” She hopped down from the bed. Fetched her cloak from the rack. “Are you coming or not?”

A sparkle lit her eyes that I hadn’t seen since the theater. Before the burning. Before, well . . . all of this. I eyed her carefully, searching for any sign of the woman I’d known the past week. Though her fever had abated quickly, her spirits hadn’t. It’d been like she was balancing on the tip of a knife—one wrong move, and she’d impale someone. Likely me.

Or herself.

But today she seemed different. Perhaps she’d turned a corner. “Are you . . . feeling better?” I asked, hesitant.

She stilled in tying her cloak. “Maybe.”

Against my better judgment, I nodded and reached for my own coat—only to have her snatch it out of reach.

“No.” She wagged a finger in front of my nose. “I’d like to spend the day with Reid, not the Chasseur.”

Reid.

I still hadn’t grown used to her saying my name. Every time she did, an absurd little thrill shot through me. This time was no different. I cleared my throat and crossed my arms, trying and failing to remain impassive. “They’re the same person.”

She grimaced and held the door open for me. “We’ll see about that. Shall we?”

It was a blustery day. Icy. Unforgiving. Bits of the last snowfall clung to the edge of the streets, where footsteps had turned it slushy and brown. I stuffed my hands into my trouser pockets. Blinked irritably into the brilliant afternoon sunshine. “It’s freezing out here.”

Lou turned her face into the wind with a grin. Closed her eyes and extended her arms, the tip of her nose already red. “The cold stifles the reek of fish. It’s wonderful.”

“That’s easy for you to stay. You have a cloak.”

She turned to me, grin widening. Pieces of her hair tore free of her hood and danced around her face. “I can swipe you one, if you’d like. There’s a clothier next door to the patisserie—”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Fine.” She burrowed deeper into the folds of her cloak. Charcoal. Stained. Fraying at the hem. “Suit yourself.”

Scowling, I trudged down the street after her. Every muscle in my body seized with cold, but I didn’t allow myself to shiver. To give Lou the satisfaction of—

“Oh, good lord,” she said, laughing. “This is painful to watch. Here.”

She threw one side of her cloak around me. It barely covered my shoulders, but I didn’t complain—especially when she nestled beneath my arm, drawing it tighter around us. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders in surprise. She laughed harder. “We look ridiculous.”

I glanced down at us, lips quirking. It was true. I was simply too big for the fabric, and we were forced to shuffle awkwardly in order to stay covered. We tried to synchronize our steps, but I soon stepped wrong—and we ended up in a tangled heap in the snow. A spectacle. Passersby eyed us in disapproval, but for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn’t care.

I laughed too.

By the time we burst into the patisserie, our cheeks and noses were red. Our throats ached from laughter. I stared at her as she swept the cloak from my shoulders. She smiled with her whole face. I’d never seen such a transformation. It was . . . infectious.

“Pan!” Lou flung her arms open. I followed her gaze to the familiar man behind the counter. Short. Heavyset. Bright, beady eyes that lit with excitement upon seeing Lou.

“Lucida! My darling child, where have you been?” He waddled around the counter as fast as his legs would carry him. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten your friend Pan! And”—his eyes widened comically, and his voice dropped to a whisper—“what have you done to your hair?”

Lou’s smile slipped, and her hand shot to her hair. Oblivious, Pan swept her into his arms, holding her a second longer than appropriate. Lou gave a reluctant chuckle. “I—I needed a change. Something darker for winter. Do you like it?”