Page 84 of Mistress of Lies

She grinned at him. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I assume Isaac brought you here for more than a dance?”

He gaped at her. “How?”

“Please,” Shan said. “I’m not a fool. Let me help. The sooner we figure out this,” she brushed her hand across his chest again, “the sooner we can figure out this.” Pushing herself up on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips against his in a kiss.

It was soft and unbearably chaste, but the promise was there.

“Now come on.” She stepped around him, and mute, he followed. Twining her hand in his, she led him expertly through the labyrinth, back to the entrance of the ball.

She must have done this before.

Isaac was there waiting for them, lounging on a bench, cigarette in hand. He didn’t look the slightest bit worried, and Samuel felt such the fool for jumping to conclusions.

“Shan,” he said, his eyes burning with a passion that Samuel had seen before. “Samuel.”

“I found our wayward sheep,” Shan replied, pulling him forward. “Now, I believe there is work to be done.”

Isaac laughed. “Naturally. Well, don’t wait on me.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “I’ll catch up.”

Still a bit stunned, Samuel let Shan lead him back into the party, drawing him towards a cluster of people he vaguely recognized. She cast him a look over her shoulder, one eyebrow elegantly arched, and he reached for the power deep within.

It responded instantly, like a cat waking from its slumber, and when he asked about their thoughts on the recent Unblooded problem he was able to lace the darkness into his words with a shocking ease.

And he pretended that it didn’t feel good.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Shan

“You’re not listening to me.”

“I am,” Shan insisted, though she didn’t tear her gaze from the streets below. She stood with Bart on the edge of a sloped rooftop, tracing the movements of the people through the district—or more accurately, the lack thereof. It was a heartbreakingly lonely sight—there was hardly anyone out, and those who were moved together in groups, rushing through the night.

There was fear in Dameral, and she could feel it in the air.

“If you were listening,” Bart continued, his voice quiet but sharp in her ear, “then you’d be more cautious about this.”

She cast him a glare. “I have to investigate them, Hawk,” she said, using the code names for their street work. It was safer that way, and Shan didn’t want to risk it. Especially when she was investigating something so important.

She had yet to find a connection between the four victims, but she had to keep looking. Their names ran through her head like a mantra.

Fiona Molloy. Charles Hahn. Jessica James. Thomas Menken.

The street was clear, and she dropped from the rooftop to the alley below, softening her landing with a bit of Blood Working. Bart scrambled down after her, his descent less dramatic but no less effective, appearing at her side as she inserted the lockpicks into the keyhole.

“And just… like that,” she murmured, as she maneuvered the tumblers into clicking free.

Bart slipped past her, easing the door open and entering the small flat. Shan bit back a smile—even though they were arguing, he still insisted on accompanying her on this mission, going so far as to take the lead when he could.

As if he could do anything against a Blood Worker. She let him have his pride, though. She was familiar enough with the sensation—and besides, if they did run into any trouble, she could protect them both.

When Bart waved her forward, the all-clear sign, she stepped into Thomas Menken’s flat. He had been the latest victim, found dead in the middle of the intersection in one of the poorest districts of Dameral. He had been found by the Royal Blood Worker and Samuel Aberforth, and from the reports they had given it had been a gruesome affair. Just like the previous ones.

And now she was here, in his home, digging through his belongings in hopes to find some clue as to why he had been targeted.

“What was his job, again?” Bart asked.

“He was a foreman for one of the larger shipping companies,” Shan replied, going through the contents of his pantry. It was well stocked, though starting to go off in the week since Menken had been murdered.