These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(58)

“And in ’ere is?” Arthur asked, smirking as he pulled the door open for us.

William led the way back into the black void, and the faint outline of his body was the only thing keeping me from crashing into everything as my eyes adjusted.

“Who—how did you see through my disguise in here?”

“We’re talented,” William said over his shoulder.

“Quite talented,” came Arthur’s voice from behind.

William stopped at an open table and pulled back a chair for me, which must have looked like strange behavior to anyone sober enough to notice or care.

I sat down, trying to find the right words. “Are you? Do you have? I mean . . .”

Arthur nodded at me. “Yea, we’re special-like, just as you are. I could ’ear the strain—in yer voice. Ya shoulda let ’er change it.”

“Don’t matter,” William put in as he sat, “I could see the makeup and the alt’rations. Brushstrokes, yeah? Like you’s got a mask. Still, that Camille bird’s gotten right good at it, took me ’most two seconds to see ya through it.”

“You are acquainted with Camille?” I asked.

“ ’Ow’d ya think we got these threatenin’ faces?” They smiled, teeth glinting in a sharklike way.

“Charged a fortune, though.”

Arthur gave a disappointed shake of the head. “Shouldn’ta paid extra for the scar, Willy.”

“Scar’s the most impor’nt part,” William said. He looked to me. “Terrifying, innit?”

“Quite,” I said, my pulse finally slowing. “Why did you change your faces?”

“Went into ’iding,” they spoke together.

“From?” The two exchanged rapid, hesitant glances before coming to a silent decision, turning back to me.

“The one yer lookin’ for. Experimented on me ears.”

“An’ me eyes.”

“We’d rather not dredge up those memories, love.”

“Unpleasant, see?”

“Where’d that lass get to?” Arthur asked, twisting around and searching the room.

“There she is,” William declared triumphantly, holding up three fingers for a barmaid across the room to see. “Drinks on Arthur ’gain.”

Arthur scoffed. “If she were talkin’, I’d’ve won,” he said, shaking his head.

“But ya din’t.”

They looked easy enough, but I could sense an undercurrent of pain that was strikingly similar to Mr. Braddock’s. Still, I had to keep on the difficult topic. “So why are you two here?”

“Braddock asked us to keep our ears out for information about Beck,” Arthur whispered. “And this ’ere is the top place for ’earing about special-like folk.”

“Why this place?”

Arthur shrugged. “Don’t know ’ow it started. Maybe’s more comfortable drinkin’ with your kind?”

“Everyone keeps it quiet, though. You gotta look extra close. See that barmaid?” William asked, nodding toward our server. “Beer comes out warm, but watch ’er hands.”

The bartender poured our glasses as he had done mine earlier, but when the barmaid fetched them, she took an extra moment to wrap her hand around each base. Within seconds, each glass fogged up, chilled to its core. After she delivered them to our table, I couldn’t help but scrape the frost in amazement.

“Of course,” I sighed. “Mr. Braddock doesn’t tell me about this place, either.”

“That there—wait.” William eyed me in a terribly uncomfortable way—it felt as if he were slowly peeling off layers of my skin. “He don’t know you’re ’ere?”

“He doesn’t tell me anything and then goes off searching without me,” I complained, my exasperation not particularly well disguised.

“ ’Haps he’s tryin’ ta protect you.”

“An’ we ain’t ’elping by keepin’ you ’ere. You should return ’ome. We’ll keep watch. Better suited for it anyways.” William spoke in the soothing tone one uses with an irrational child. Of course, the effect on a rational adult was anything but soothing.

“No. I need to find my sister, and all this ‘protection’ does is slow the search!” I said, the table rattling as my fist banged down.

A couple of sleeping drunkards at the tables around us jerked their heads up, bewildered. Neither Arthur nor William flinched at my outburst, though. Arthur just gave me a look of pity, which felt rather insulting, considering our pathetic surroundings. “He’s got ’is own reasons.”

“What on earth is his hold over you? Did he threaten you? Beat you up? You know, I could help if he injured you—”

“Dearie, we owe ’im our lives.”

I gaped at them, certain I was mishearing. Perhaps they owed him their wives? Knives? “I’m sorry, what exactly do you mean?”

“He’s the reason we ain’t dead. Freed us from Dr. Beck,” Arthur said. William nodded along enthusiastically.

“I see . . . and this was when he was not testing his power on innocent subjects?” I was rather viciously pleased to see their abashed reactions.