Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(80)

Noah made his way to Mr. Cigrande first, waving as we all gathered around him. “Mr. Cigrande, I’d like to introduce you to—”

“Heathens!” The poor man shivered in place. “I won’t talk to wicked souls.”

“These wicked souls are good with locating impossible clues. If you’d like a better shot at finding your daughter, you’ll reconsider,” Noah said, his tone sharpening. “It might behoove you to speak with them.”

Mr. Cigrande cast a suspicious look our way. I mentally counted to five; poking him with my cane wouldn’t solve my problem of being deemed a heathen. I looked about for a way to get us all off the street, away from distractions. A sign fashioned to look like a teapot hung from the awning of one business. I pulled my shoulders back, adopting my best posture for my best attempt at soothing him.

“Would you like to speak someplace warm? There’s a little tearoom just over there.” I nodded two doors down, saying prayers of thanks for the establishment

being so close. “They advertise melted chocolate and milk. Might be fortifying if you’ve planned a long afternoon of…”

I bit my lip, at a loss for how to describe his screaming at young women.

Blessedly, Mother Nature aided our endeavor by opening up the skies, shaking snow and bits of ice out of the clouds. Cold, miserable, and now wet, Mr.

Cigrande grudgingly followed us into the warm tearoom. Freshly baked scones and buttery scents welcomed us in from the cold. I had no sooner inhaled the aroma when Thomas marched over to a glass display filled with tarts and tea cakes.

“Once you’ve finished your unholy flirtation with the dessert, you can join us at our table, Cresswell.”

“Don’t be jealous, my love. I assure you, nothing tastes as sweet as you.”

His eyes flashed with amusement while I did my best imitation of Mr.

Cigrande and cursed him under my breath. I quickly ushered Noah and Mr.

Cigrande to a table in the corner, hoping we’d be far enough away from any poor, unsuspecting patrons who’d be harassed by either a religious zealot or my fiendish Thomas.

A few servers came to our table and offered choices of hot and cold breakfast items along with cake and biscuits and all manner of curds and puddings. I snagged a few pieces of bacon, an orange, and a soda scone. It truly was a treat to enjoy an orange during this season. I didn’t know how they’d managed to get such fruit but was immensely grateful for their magic. Another server presented a chocolate pot for the table and I quickly nodded, my mouth watering for the richness of melted chocolate and frothy milk. Thomas wasn’t the only one who enjoyed sweets.

“I’d like to know about the demons,” Thomas said bluntly once he’d sat down. He popped a berry into his mouth, then poured some hot chocolate into his cup. “What do you recall of them?”

“Them?” Mr. Cigrande stared at Thomas as if he’d escaped from an asylum.

“What them? I only saw one demon. And seeing one demon is enough for anyone.”

“Apologies,” Thomas said. “Describe the demon to me. Try and recall every detail, even the smallest.”

Mr. Cigrande held fast to his mug of hot chocolate, his expression wary. “He looked like a regular man. A young man. Handsome, like you, but not in the way Lucifer is usually described in scripture. His eyes, though. They was something.

That’s how I knew he was a demon.”

Noah drew in a breath but remained silent as Thomas subtly shook his head.

“What about his eyes let you know his true self?”

Mr. Cigrande stared into his drink, mouth drawn into a frown. Without his bell and anger, he appeared to be a man who had as many wrinkles as gray hairs.

He was worn and frail, his face covered in white whiskers. Much less imposing than he seemed while hollering at passersby.

“When he looked at me?” he said, meeting each of our gazes. “It was like staring into the eyes of a dead man. It’s cold out, but those eyes…” He huddled into his coat. “They sent shivers down my back. They were like blades. Like he could see every thought in my head and knew exactly how to cut them outta me.”

“Hmm. I bet his eyes were as pale as the ocean,” Thomas said, doing that unnerving thing where he was now half in the mind of the so-called demon and half reading the impossible clues no one else bothered seeing.

Mr. Cigrande startled back from the table. “How did you know?”

“Are light blue eyes the best way to spot a demon?” Thomas asked, not delving into the complicated science of his deductions.

“Not just a demon,” Mr. Cigrande said. “The devil himself. Only a creature of Hell could tempt those poor girls away.” He shook his head, the color in his face flushing brighter. “I watched him for a bit, you know. Once I knew what he was. I watched him real close.” He leaned across the table, glancing about the bustling tearoom. “He doesn’t act like no demon; that’s for sure. When he stole that last girl’s soul? He seemed as angelic as anything. Asking if she needed help, if she was new to the city. He preys on the wayward ones. The wanton ones who’ve left God and their families. They’re easy pickin’. That’s why I try and scare them away.”

“Do you believe good women who stay in their homes and memorize their scripture are safe from the devil?” Thomas asked. His eyes flicked to mine, silently asking for me to hold my tongue. I was more than happy to allow him the pleasure of having this conversation on his own. “The wicked are the only ones in danger?”