When Daisy replied, it was with exaggerated patience. “Not precisely. I am here to make an introduction to Mother.”
Poppy froze. Daisy could not possibly be implying what she thought she was. “Why did you not bring your request to Lena?” Poppy hedged.
Daisy’s eyes gleamed bright for one sharp moment. “I had assumed my sister would be a little more accommodating. Perhaps I was wrong.”
Poppy looked away first. It had been petty to bait Daisy. While Lena was Mother’s official go-between and requests for Mother always went through her, she had also been Ian Ranulf’s lover years ago. As Ian was now Daisy’s husband, the women did not particularly find each other’s presence comfortable.
“Look,” Daisy leaned forward, her tone forgiving when Poppy knew she’d normally drag out her displeasure, “Mary is the best GIM we have.”
“Then why do you want to lose her?”
Mary Chase stirred. “If I may speak for myself?” There was a bit of fire in her eyes, something Poppy had to admire, and so she nodded. Miss Chase settled her slim hands on her lap as she faced Poppy without blinking. “My term of service with the GIMs is over.” Her hands clenched for a moment. “Mrs. Lane, I want to be a Regulator. I have wanted this for some time.”
Poppy managed not to wince upon hearing her name. Mrs. Lane. A farce, for her husband had left her. The pain that lived in her chest spread out to her arms and then down to her fingers. She didn’t allow it to show but let her gaze wander over Miss Chase. The young woman appeared to be all of nineteen, but from Poppy’s reports, she was closer to Poppy’s own age, having lost her first life in 1873.
“I gather you know this,” Poppy answered. “However, I feel compelled to remind you that being a Regulator is no easy task. They live a hard life, and it is often quite short.” Regulators were the SOS’s agents, men and women on the front lines of the supernatural world. They came face to face with things that gave monsters nightmares. Poppy leaned in a touch. “And believe me, many an immortal’s head has rolled while on the job. Just because you cannot die, doesn’t mean you cannot be killed, child.”
Mary Chase’s wide, brown eyes narrowed. “I am not a child. And I’m not afraid of death.”
Poppy rose from her desk, no longer willing to sit still. “Everyone says that.” She grabbed her thick cloak. “And then they discover that, in their heart, they have lied. I don’t believe GIMs get a second chance should they lose their head, do they?”
“No,” Mary said after a moment.
“Come.”
The two women rose and followed her to the door. Poppy walked through it, not waiting to see if they kept up. Outside of the office, Mr. Smythe sat at his desk, his pasty skin blending with his grey hair. He faced a vast and dark corridor, and oftentimes Poppy wondered how he could stand looking into that abyss on a daily—sometimes nightly—basis. Mr. Smythe, however, never complained. He gave her a deferential nod as she passed. She had worked alongside Smythe for fourteen years, and yet he did not know about Winston or that she had a fondness for meat pies sold by street vendors. Not one person within the SOS truly knew her. People tended to stay away from Poppy as though they felt she was something alien and not like them. Which said quite a lot, given that most of her colleagues possessed gifts that were the epitome of unearthly. She did not precisely mind the isolation. She had Winston…. Poppy’s step nearly halted. She did not have Win. He was gone. And she was alone.
“I had a good reason for this, you know,” Daisy murmured just behind her as they slipped into the stone-lined corridor. Here and there electric torches glowed, turning Daisy’s blond curls a harsh yellow. Mary Chase followed at an inconspicuous distance, her eyes lowered and subservient. Ha. Men might be fooled by the display but not Poppy.
“You better have,” Poppy said, just as low. “You’ve come quite close to breaking my trust today, Dandelion.”
Daisy made a noise of annoyance at the nickname, but she quickened her stride to catch up and then grabbed Poppy’s elbow, forcing her to slow down. “Pop. Listen for a moment, will you?”
Every muscle in Poppy’s body went heavy and cold. She knew that tone in Daisy’s voice, as well as the soft, despicable pity that dimmed her eyes. “Well,” Poppy said through her teeth, “out with it. And then explain what it has to do with Miss Chase here.”
Daisy took a stabilizing breath. “She knows.” Her voice dipped a bit. “Who you are.”
The struggle not to break something, or someone, held Poppy in place, frozen with shock and outrage. Daisy took a half step back, her mouth opening and closing like a puppet’s, her hand lifting as if in defense. Smart woman. Poppy couldn’t fathom why her sister would break her trust in such a manner.
Poppy advanced. “Have you lost your nut? What on God’s green earth gave you the right?”
Daisy’s pointed silence gave her a moment’s qualm, which Daisy pounced on. “I agree that it is bloody irritating to be managed by one’s sister.” Poppy scowled, and Daisy ignored it. “However, as you’ve been known to point out, I have only the best intentions.” Daisy touched her arm. “You need a companion, Pop.”
A harsh laugh burst from Poppy. “You think I’m that infirm, do you? I bid you to remember that I am thirty-two. Hardly ancient, despite what your society friends might think.”
“I do not think that you are ancient, Pop,” said Daisy quietly. “I think that you are in pain.”
“Do not.” Poppy took a sharp breath. “Do not ever pity me, Daisy.”
Bad enough that her sisters knew Win had left her. It had been humiliating. But that was nothing compared to the emptiness and the dull, unwavering ache that his absence wrought upon her.
In the gloom, Daisy’s eyes gleamed like star sapphires, the effect of her new GIM nature when emotions were roused within her. “Pity and empathy are not the same thing.”
“You have brought a GIM to keep me company,” Poppy snapped, “as if you fear I might do something drastic.”
What nonsense. Poppy did not do drastic things. She simply died a little more inside each day and wished the world to go away. That had not worked particularly well; the world was still here.
Daisy’s gaze searched hers. “Mary is loyal and discreet. And she is entirely trustworthy. On my life, I swear that.”
“Good thing to swear, as your life might very well be what I take.” It was entirely too temping at the moment.
“I am shaking,” Daisy said with an unladylike snort before becoming serious once more. “You need someone to keep you focused. And lord knows that bitch Lena will not do that for you. She’s just as likely to stick her fangs into your neck when your back is turned.”
“You really ought to get over your dislike of Lena.”
“Pish,” Daisy said with a wave of her hand, “that woman means nothing to me. And you know full well that I speak the truth in regard to her character.”
Unfortunately, Daisy was right. Lena wasn’t the helpful sort. She despised weakness even more than Poppy did.
Poppy sighed, then looked at Mary Chase who hovered just beyond the circle of light where Daisy and Poppy stood. The young GIM had drifted back, having correctly read Poppy’s request for a modicum of privacy. Poppy turned back to Daisy. “I asked you here because I seek information, not a nanny.”
“Then ask away,” Daisy retorted. “Mary won’t tell a soul, and as she is currently my right hand, I’d tell her anyway. So you can drop that repressive glare, Pop.”
Just once, Poppy would love to wring her sister’s neck. Hell, Daisy would easily recover so it wouldn’t be outright murder. She studied the unflinching Mary Chase for a long moment. Sensible woman, crafty, discreet. It could all be a lie. Poppy’s life depended on her choices. Which meant she had to use more than logic, but instinct as well, to survive.
“All right then, Miss Chase,” she said to the woman. “You have your chance.”
Miss Chase curtsied prettily. “Thank you, Mrs. Lane.”
“Don’t thank me just yet. A demon has escaped his prison,” she said to them. “I received the report from Lena an hour ago. The only information we have of his current whereabouts is from a telegram, which may or may not have been sent by him. It makes mention of a ship of fire.” Her hand rested upon the cold, stone wall. “It is imperative that the SOS locate him. Immediately.”
Needing to move, Poppy turned away and strode up the cast-iron staircase that spiraled upward. Heels clanked upon the metal, then Poppy reached the top and turned the handle, which released several heavy bolts. The heavy door pushed open without a sound, and the familiar, comforting scent of books and wood polish greeted her as she stepped into her bookshop.
Daisy and Mary followed, and then she pushed the door shut and heard the sound of the bolts slipping back into place.
Daisy’s pretty face was pale. She knew something. Damn. Instinct had Poppy’s hackles rising before Daisy even spoke. “Winston is on holiday in Paris.”
“Paris? Win hates Paris.” Poppy had tried to get him to take her there on holiday years ago, and he’d outright refused, calling it a heathenish, boorish city, filled with wastrels and gadabouts. Poppy told him he’d overstated his case, but Win had made it up to her by keeping her in bed for their holiday, giving her an interesting demonstration of his own rather heathenish proclivities.
Thankfully, Daisy responded before Poppy could dwell any further on that time. “All I know is that he went there after…” Daisy nibbled on her bottom lip.
“After what?” Poppy could not cull the worry from her voice. Win had left her, and still she was fretting over him like a bloody mother hen.
Daisy’s nose wrinkled. “He beat a suspect to a pulp two weeks ago. The CID let him go, Poppy.”
Poppy sagged against the counter. She could not fathom Win losing control of his temper. And the CID was his life. Winston Lane was an inspector, first and always.