But there was a warmth in the way he was looking at her that made her hesitate.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, and his expression didn’t at all have the cool disinterest that most of his class carried.
“I come with a message,” she said, stalking toward him.
“I see,” he said, eyeing her as she approached. If he sensed the danger she posed to him, he didn’t show it. “And who, exactly, is this message from?”
“Unimportant.” She reached for the knife tucked into the folds of her gown even as she moved closer to him. “But he’s a dangerous man. An important man in this city.”
“Ah,” the man said, and now a spark of humor glinted in his eyes. “I suppose you’ve come to warn me off.”
Viola frowned, thrown by his response. He was not reacting the way he should. Perhaps because he didn’t realize that Death could wear a woman’s skirts.
“I imagine this is about the column in the Herald,” he said, sounding more bored than concerned. “Let me guess. If I don’t stop looking for trouble, trouble will find me, or some such thing?” He smiled at her, and she knew she had been right. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the dimple that softened his left cheek—as an old man, he would wear the traces of his happiness.
But he would not make it that far.
In a flash, Viola closed the distance between them and had her blade out at his throat. But he didn’t so much as flinch. “I don’t think you understand,” she told him.
“Oh, I understand perfectly.” The man’s eyes met hers calmly. He was pazzo, this one, with a knife to his throat and not a worry on his face. “You intend to kill me to keep me from writing more columns that anger your employer, whoever that may be.”
“You don’t believe I’ll kill you right here and now?” She pressed the tip of the knife in until it dented the skin just above the large vein that runs down the neck. Any more pressure and he’d be dead before anyone could help him.
He glanced at the blade poised at his throat and then back at her. “On the contrary,” he said softly, “I’m quite convinced you could kill me. Though I’m a little surprised at the knife, to be honest. A gun would do the job just as easily, and there would be less chance of a mistake.”
Viola glared at him. “With a knife, I never make a mistake.”
The man seemed even more amused at this. “Still, I would advise against killing me right now. It wouldn’t have the effect you’re intending.”
Confused, Viola pulled back. “And why is that?”
She heard the click of a pistol’s hammer at the same time a woman’s voice spoke: “Because he’s not R. A. Reynolds.”
Viola drew in a sharp breath and, keeping her knife pointed at the man’s throat, she turned to find the girl in pink leveling a pistol steadily at her. The way the girl stood, confident and sure of the weapon in her hand, Viola knew she wasn’t bluffing.
“I suppose that’s who you’ve come looking for?” the girl asked, keeping the gun trained on Viola as she stepped closer.
“Yes,” Viola said, considering her options. With the gun aimed at her, the hammer already back and ready to fire, she was trapped. She was accurate and deadly with a knife, but she wasn’t faster than the bullet would be.
She could still kill them. A flare of magic and her affinity could snuff their lives as easily as a candle. “I have a message for R. A. Reynolds.”
“They always do,” the girl said, her airy tone more bored than truly annoyed. “I’m surprised your employer didn’t do his homework—I’m assuming it’s a him. Men with fewer brains than balls usually do underestimate me.”
The girl’s brash words didn’t match the flounce of silk or delicate air she had about her. “You?” Viola asked, trying to make sense of the girl’s meaning as she let her affinity flare out into the room. She found the man easily, his familiar heartbeat steady and slow, and then the girl’s, which was just as steady. But even as steady as it was, Viola could sense the satisfaction—and excitement—coursing through the girl’s blood.
She’d assumed that the girl was nothing more than a bit of fluff, a pretty thing to amuse Reynolds, but she’d been wrong. This one, she’s more than she seems.
“Yes,” the girl said. “You see, he’s not R. A. Reynolds. I am.”
“You are the newspaperman?” Viola asked, forgetting her focus and letting her affinity go cold again.
“Do I look like a man?” the girl asked, her pink lips curving into a mocking smile.
Viola glanced between the man and the girl in frustration.
“I’m afraid she’s telling the truth,” the man said cheerfully, the point of the knife still pressed against his throat.
“Who are you?” the girl asked, leveling the gun in Viola’s direction. “Who sent you?”
Viola could only stare, awed at the girl’s confidence and shamed by her own shortsightedness. She had assumed that R. A. Reynolds was a man. She who knew well enough what it meant to do a man’s work in a man’s world, and all the while to do it better than most. She’d been a fool. And now she was trapped, because she knew then that she would never be able to take this particular girl’s life.
“I asked you a question,” the girl said, her eyes steady and her expression serious. “Let’s see. It’s usually Tammany and their goons making threats, but with my most recent column, I suspect it might be someone from the Order. I can’t imagine they would have enjoyed that piece, and I can’t see why anyone from Tammany would care about the train.”
“The Order?” Viola spoke before she could stop herself. She wanted to destroy the Order, not to do its dirty work.
“You don’t even know why you’re here, do you?” the girl asked.
“I know enough,” Viola said. “I know you should stop before something happens. Before you can’t take it back.”
“The one thing you should know about me, especially if you’re so set on doing me harm, is that I never take anything back,” the girl said, stepping forward. “Do I, darling?” she asked the man.
“Unfortunately for the rest of us, no, you never do. Even when you’re wrong.”
“Which is why I try never to be wrong.” The girl took another step toward Viola. “I must not have been wrong about the train for your employer, whoever it is, to send you after me. The Order knows it was magic that destroyed those tracks, don’t they? They’re well aware that the people who stole their treasures are still out there, and they don’t want anyone else to know. They’re afraid of being seen as weak and ineffective. I’m right, aren’t I?”
This one, she knew too much, but not so much as she thought. She didn’t know that one of the people who stole the Order’s treasures was standing in front of her. “Enough with the talking,” Viola said.
“But you haven’t answered my question.” The girl’s aim was as steady as her gaze. “And considering that you are currently threatening the life of my fiancé, I think the least you could do is provide me with some answers.”