“Yes,” said the geminus.
Leo had no remembrance of buying the thing. A memory did come to him, though: the battered pewter quill stand and matching ink pot his father used. The pride in his father’s face when he would take up his pen and write, and how happy it made Adam Bailey to see his son make use of it as though the act of writing was itself a commonplace skill, not something painfully acquired later in life.
It had cost his father a week’s earnings to buy that pewter quill stand, and it had already been well used by the time he’d purchased it from the chandler.
The ornate object Leo now held likely cost ten times the quill stand his father had bought. And yet, he didn’t care about this thing at all. It meant nothing. As for the dented pewter writing accessories once belonging to his father, those were kept securely in a strongbox in a locked drawer of Leo’s desk. Only Anne knew of their whereabouts, their significance, for he had shown them to her, and she had handled them with the respect one saved for sacred relics.
This was why she meant so much to Leo, why he had to keep her with him at all costs. Only she understood what he valued. Only she accepted every part of him.
Staring at the expensive trinket in his hand, Leo wondered: what would his father do in this situation? He might refuse the Devil’s offer of power. Or he might seize any advantage given to him, for his father had been at all times ambitious. This was the greatest bequest he left for his son—the need to rise ever higher.
His back heated as greed surged through him. He wanted to take, to claim. Everything he could. For himself, for Anne. For the memory of Adam Bailey.
He glanced up. The geminus stood before him, though Leo had not heard it move. It held out its hand.
“That thing has no value,” the geminus said. “But what my master offers is inestimable.”
Leo’s fingers tightened around the quill stand. Then released. He placed the object in the geminus’s hand. The creature immediately put the quill stand in its coat pocket.
“A wise choice.”
“When will this gift take effect?”
“Immediately.”
To test this, Leo considered taking something from the footman dozing in the entryway, but he had little care for the fortunes of a servant. It must wait until the morrow, when the Exchange opened and Leo could prey upon any number of men.
“If our business for the evening is concluded, I shall away.” The geminus practically sang with good spirits. It strolled toward the door and opened it.
“You have no need of doors,” said Leo.
“Ah, but sometimes I find them amusing, sir, and my humor is too pleasant to waste on tedious appearing and disappearing. I believe I shall take a stroll in your garden. Such a place at night will suit my fancy.”
Leo shrugged. His thoughts were too occupied with whom he should meet tomorrow at the Exchange, what fortunes he would make for himself, and whose he would demolish. “As you wish.”
“Good night, sir. And may I say again how very gratified my master is made by your continued efforts on his behalf.”
“I act on my own behalf.”
The geminus smiled, or so Leo sensed. “That you do, sir.” With that, it quit the study, closing the door behind it. A moment later, Leo heard its footsteps outside on the garden path.
Leo stood alone in the chamber, searching within himself for a sense of his new power. He could not perceive it, not yet, but he felt its potential. Damn, but he wished the sun would rise so the day’s work could begin. If only that were one of his abilities. He felt sorely tempted to run up to the bedchamber and wake Anne, tell her of his greater power. Yet he could not. At the least, he wanted to see her, hold her. His greed for more encompassed them both.
After dousing the fire and candle, he returned upstairs. He threw off his banyan and walked toward the bed.
“Leo?” Anne’s whisper floated through the darkness.
He settled between the covers and pulled her close, fighting the urge to reveal what new gift had been given to him. They would both reap the benefits. “You sound surprised.”
“I thought you were in the garden.”
He stilled. “I was in my study. Some work needed attending.”
“But ... I just saw you out there.” She edged back, away from him. “I heard footsteps outside, and you weren’t in bed, so I looked out and there you were, walking up and down the garden.”
The geminus. He hoped she did not mistake the creature for a would-be burglar, and want to summon the constabulary. “The gardener, perhaps.”
“No. The moon came out, and I saw your face. It was you. I know my own husband. But you weren’t wearing your nightclothes, you were fully dressed.”
Leo was out of bed in an instant. He threw back the curtains and peered into the garden. No one was there. Not the geminus, and not the gardener Leo had invented. He glanced back at Anne, moonlight turning her to silver and shadow, caution in her gaze.
She had seen the geminus, and thought it was him. It could not be possible.
Memory like a knife pierced him. Months earlier, Whit had deserted the Hellraisers. They had fought on Saint George’s Fields, guided there to intercept Whit by his geminus. Whit had pointed at that geminus, told his friends to look at the thing as if expecting a revelation. When none came, when they had seen naught but a faceless creature, Whit had despaired, and turned his back on them. The Gypsy girl with him had seen something, though.
The same as Anne had seen. Whit’s geminus looked like Whit. And the geminus who answered Leo’s summons was his double.
And there had been Robbins, who had insisted on seeing Leo at a coffee house when Leo had been, in fact, home.
Hot pain shot through his left calf. As though he were being branded. He staggered into the small closet and fumbled for a candle. It flared to life with a hiss. Hand faintly shaking, he held the light up to see his calf.
Just above the ankle: an image of a flame.
“Leo.” Anne’s voice was very close, right outside the door to the closet. “Tell me what is going on. If something is wrong, I need to know.”
Using his fingers, Leo snuffed the candle’s flame. He did not bother wetting his fingertips, simply crushed out the fire with his bare skin. But if there was pain, he did not feel it. He felt only the thick, choking smoke of approaching doom.
“Nothing.” He left the small chamber and found Anne waiting for him, ghostly in her night rail, and beautiful. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, and he rasped, “Nothing is wrong.”
Anne threaded her way through the cramped alleys, dodging men in sober woolen coats and tricorns, their faces serious as though the fate of nations weighed on the next few hours. Which it did, in a fashion. For her many discussions with Leo had revealed to her that commerce comprised the blood of statehood. Money flowed through England’s veins. Should it cease to flow, death would follow, and decay.
Yet the men she passed were not too deeply involved with business that they did not see her. She attracted many curious stares, and one gentleman in a full-bottomed wig stopped outright in his tracks to gawk at her.
Pulling her cloak closer, Anne gave the gentleman a polite, cool nod, but kept walking. A footman trailed close behind her.
“At which of these coffee houses will I find my husband?”
The footman shrugged. “He always leaves the carriage and walks in. I never even been here before.”
Meaning Anne had no guide for this new, masculine world of Exchange Alley. A cartographic challenge, then. The native populace always knew where they were, but it was left to the cartographer to learn the landscape.
The scent of coffee and the sounds of men’s voices thickened the air. Everyone walked with great purpose, else they huddled close in grave conversation. Signs adorned each storefront. LLOYD’S. NEW UNION. NEW JONATHAN’S. JERUSALEM. Inside, a continual supply of coffee and newspapers was provided. A far distant country from the gossip and idleness of genteel women. A palpable energy buzzed, making her heart beat faster.