The Cerulean (Untitled Duology, #1)(34)

“I got her with a net launcher,” he said. “And we’ve kept her tied up. We aren’t sure what—”

But his words were cut off as he opened the back of the truck and a silvery-blue streak crashed into him.

“Grab her!” Branson shouted.

More out of instinct than actual skill, Leo’s arms reached out and closed around the delicate figure. She felt more human than he’d expected—through the dress he could feel her ribs, her spine, her stomach. Her skin was warm and soft where it touched his, and her hair gave off a fragrance that he couldn’t place. She was stronger than she looked, and he tightened his grip on her as she struggled against him, wailing and kicking wildly.

Then there was a smacking sound and her head snapped to one side as her whole body went limp. He hadn’t even seen Branson throw the punch. Everything happened so fast.

“No!” Agnes was standing in the truck bed, staring in horror at the girl’s unconscious form. “What did you do?” she screamed at Branson.

Xavier had one hand around Agnes’s wrist in an instant, yanking her down from the truck.

“What in god’s name were you thinking? You nearly gave Mrs. Phelps a heart attack when she discovered you were gone. What’s wrong with you? What the hell are you wearing?” He looked up and down the street as if terrified someone might see his only daughter outside in pants. “Get into the house this instant.”

Agnes knew better than to argue. She ducked her head and, with a last glance back at the girl, hurried through the gates and up the steps to the brownstone. Leo wasn’t sure what to do. The girl’s body was folded over his left arm, her hair hiding her face.

“Well, well,” Xavier said, walking over. “What do we have here?”

“I found her in the plains, Father. She—”

“Put her back in the truck,” Xavier said. Branson bent to grab her feet, and together he and Leo wedged her in among the crates and tools. A bruise was forming on her temple. She seemed . . . young. Vulnerable.

He looked away. “We don’t know what she is, Father. I found her in a pit in the middle of the plains.”

Xavier was inspecting her, turning her head side to side, examining her palms and her feet, fingering the material of her dress.

“Get her to the theater with the others,” he said to Branson. “Keep her locked up. And get Kiernan there first thing tomorrow morning to find out exactly what the hell she is.” He clapped Leo on the shoulder. “Good work, son. At the very least she’ll be a stunning addition to the new production. If we can’t find other uses for her.” He smiled, and Leo felt proud and uneasy at once, which made for a rather confusing combination.

But he shook it off and forced himself to focus on the here and now. His father was proud of him. That was what mattered.

“Come,” Xavier said, as Branson and the others secured the truck and prepared to leave, “let’s have a drink in my study and you can tell me the whole story.”

Leo had never in his whole life been invited into Xavier’s study, except when he was being punished. But to have a drink and regale his father with the story of his adventure in the plains? It was a dream come true.

“Yes, Father,” he said eagerly.

“Just a moment.” Xavier turned to the man who drove the supply truck, the one Agnes had bribed. “Did you know she was stowing away on this vehicle?”

The man blanched. “N-no, sir, I swear. Not until we were well away from Old Port, and then—”

“And why did you not return her to this house immediately?”

“Well, I . . .”

“She bribed him, Father,” Leo said.

The only sign Xavier gave of his irritation was a slight flaring of his nostrils.

“Do I not pay you enough?” he asked the man.

“Of course you do, sir. I’m sorry, I—”

“Clearly not, if you are willing to take money from my daughter to line your pockets. Greed is a sin.” He stepped forward, and Leo felt as if the temperature had just dropped a few degrees. “You will never work in this city again if I have anything to say about it. And my reach is long. Do you understand me?”

The man was shaking, his face turning the color of porridge. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

He jumped like a frightened rabbit and scurried off to the cab of the truck.

“Choose better men next time,” Xavier said to Branson. “Or you’ll be looking for employment yourself.”

Branson wasn’t the type to scare so easily, but his nod was terse, his jaw set. “Yes, boss.”

“Imbeciles,” Xavier muttered as the men drove away. He strode back up to the brownstone, Leo trailing in his wake. Swansea stood by the door, and Leo heard his father say to him, “Get word to Forester Grange immediately. Tell him it’s a done deal.”

Forester Grange ran a successful carpeting business in Old Port, but his family was not a prestigious one, however much Mr. Grange would like to hope otherwise. You could not simply buy your way into the Old Port elite. Leo wondered if his father was getting new carpets for the Maribelle.

Xavier’s study was in the back of the house, an oval-shaped room with large windows that overlooked their garden patio, full of pristine leather couches and impressive-looking old tomes. There was a portrait of Leo’s grandfather on one wall, though since he had squandered the McLellan fortune and was the reason for Xavier marrying a Pelagan in the first place, Leo was always curious as to why his father didn’t have it removed. A crystal decanter of whiskey sat on his desk, and his father uncapped it and poured two glasses, handing one to Leo.