The footsteps quickened in response.
Gideon’s stomach knotted. He reached for the pistol holstered at his hip, only to remember he’d left it at home tonight. The opulent halls of Wintersea House were no place for a gun.
You’re a Blood Guard captain. Footsteps in the fog do not scare you.
But it wasn’t the footsteps so much as the smell.
Her smell.
He was coming upon a footpath that led into the back alley behind his tenement. It was difficult to find if you didn’t live in this neighborhood and already know it was there. As the footsteps started closing the gap between them, Gideon arrived at the opening to the path. He sidestepped onto it and pushed his back against the wood fence.
If the pursuer knew about the path and followed him down it, at least he’d have the element of surprise.
The footsteps grew louder. Closer.
Gideon tensed, ready to defend himself, when the footsteps passed him by.
He remained where he was, holding his breath. The fence behind him sagged as he leaned against it. As the footsteps receded into the distance, the pounding of his heart soon drowned out the sound.
The smell of her was gone.
Had it ever really been there, or was it all in his head?
You’re an idiot. It’s probably a lamplighter heading home for the night.
Pushing away from the wall, Gideon remained on the footpath, taking it to the back of his tenement. The door there didn’t lead to his apartment directly, but through the abandoned space below: the old tailor shop that once belonged to his parents.
Gideon boarded it up years ago and rarely had a reason to enter it. Earlier tonight, however, he’d gone inside looking for fabric and sewing needles to stitch Rune’s flower.
The shop’s interior door opened onto the stairwell leading to the apartments above. Gideon entered the shop and was halfway to the door when something made him stop.
I don’t have a dress to wear, Rune had told him. My seamstress is booked until next month.
Gideon fumbled through the dark until he found the matches he’d left near the door earlier this evening. He lit a lamp and the flame’s orange glow illuminated the room: walls lined with bolts of fabric; a large worktable for measuring, cutting, and sewing; a back room for taking customer measurements; and a front counter with a dusty old register.
Gideon stalked toward the fabrics, where a dozen leather-bound notebooks lay stacked on a shelf.
He hadn’t touched these notebooks since his parents died. They were full of his father’s notes and his mother’s sketches, detailing her original designs.
Gideon lifted the only blank notebook from the shelf, grabbed a piece of charcoal from the jar next to it, and pulled a stool up to the worktable.
If his mother were designing a dress for Rune Winters, what kind of dress would it be?
He started sketching. The black charcoal burst across the white page as he thought of Rune on the love seat: her rose-gold hair flaming in the light of the lamps; her skin flushing as his fingers traced her; her pulse stumbling as he leaned in to kiss her.
Again, he scolded himself for intimidating her. But she was the one who’d invited him back to her room. She had summoned the wine.
She had made the first move.
Either way, he needed to keep up this charade. If she was the Moth and the one leaving corpses scattered across the city, the closer he got to her, the easier finding evidence of her crimes would be. And if she wasn’t, someone close to her likely was, and it would still be in his best interest to infiltrate her inner circles by courting her.
If she’d let him, that is.
Gideon’s plan was forming on the pages of his mother’s sketchbook.
He kept drawing until he’d ripped out more pages than what remained in the book. He kept drawing until the side of his hand and wrist were black with charcoal and his spine hurt from bending over so long.
It was dawn by the time he had a design he didn’t hate. One he could work with.
The question was: would she like it?
FIFTEEN RUNE
RUNE’S RIDING BOOTS CRUNCHED the stone path cutting through the university’s campus, where she was meeting Verity and Alex. The blustery wind eddied the dirt into the air and swirled the hem of her riding cape.
The pink granite face of Summer Hall greeted Rune, its studded wooden doors shut tight. Hoisting her satchel higher on her shoulder, Rune pulled open both doors and stepped inside. Purple wallpaper greeted her, patterned with giant dahlias, and the green tiles clicked beneath her boots. There were four dormitories on the university’s campus. Summer Hall was known for its pastel colors and botanical patterns.
If the moment you walk in you’re accosted by flowers on all sides, you’ve found the right place, Verity told her the first time she ever gave Rune directions.
She smiled at the girl at the front desk, who waved her past, used to Rune’s frequent visits. The walls changed to blue irises, then yellow sunflowers as Rune turned down halls, making her way to Verity’s room.
She knocked on the small door, and when it swung in, Verity looked out, squinting. Her dark brown curls were flat on one side, and her spectacles were missing.
She looked like she’d just woken up.
“Sorry I’m early,” said Rune.
Verity blinked. “I completely forgot about our meeting.”
“Oh! Do you want to reschedule?”
Verity shook her head. “No, no. Come in. Just … step over the mess.”
Rune followed her friend into the tiny, closet-sized dorm room, shutting the door behind her. Clothes lay in heaps across the few feet of floor between the wall and the bed. Piles of books leaned against the walls and glass jars crammed the shelves. Some jars held living things within them—insects, small rodents—while others held dead things preserved in liquid.
Rune spotted Henry, the mimic spider, in the biggest jar. Already snacking on some winged thing he’d caught in his web.
Verity shoved the scattered clothes into one pile, making room for Rune on the floor.
“I’m sorry for last night,” she said, kicking aside a stocking.
“Oh? What for?” Shrugging off her satchel, Rune pulled out a spell book.
“When I saw Gideon in your bedroom, I overreacted.” Verity sat on her small bed, staring straight ahead at the white roses on her wallpaper. “I remembered the Blood Guard soldiers coming for my sisters, and I guess I panicked.”
Verity rarely spoke about her mother’s betrayal of her two eldest daughters—witches, both. All three de Wilde sisters had been extremely close.
With the heavy tome still in her arms, Rune sat down next to Verity and reached for her hand, which was ice-cold. Rune rubbed it between her warm ones. It was always so drafty in this room.
“What happened to your sisters was horrible,” said Rune. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”
Verity shook her head. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. You’re the closest thing I have to family now.”
Throwing her arm around Verity, Rune pulled her close, trying to comfort and warm her simultaneously, noticing how bony her shoulders were getting. Wasn’t Verity’s scholarship supposed to include meals along with boarding?