She suppressed a groan. She would have preferred that Duilio Who Smelled of Ambergris didn’t remember her. She peered at him cautiously. “I was.”
He nodded, his eyes going serious. “I hear she’s gone abroad. Do you know when she’ll return?”
She fixed her eyes on the metal wall straight ahead of her. If she looked at him when she answered, she might give herself away. “I’m no longer employed in the Amaral household,” she said. It was an honest answer, one no one would refute. “I’m afraid I’m not privy to their plans.”
Despite her determination to appear composed, Oriana’s mind brought forth an image of Isabel’s face, hair streaming about her in the water, her expression frozen between terror and resignation . . . and the pain of that night swept over her again.
Miss Paredes had been behaving with such calm that Duilio had wondered if he was wrong about her. She had gazed up through the water at the replica of the Amaral house without a flicker of recognition reaching her features. She had fended off his intentionally insensitive comments with drivel that had been printed in the newspapers. She had made him
Until that moment, when he had asked her when Lady Isabel would return.
Something in her eyes gave away her pain. She had been in that house after all. He considered it impressive that she’d chosen to face the scene of what might have been her death. Some victims of crimes never could go back. That argued strength on her part, or stubbornness, or both. And if her grief was a pretense, she should be on the stage at the Sao Joao Theater.
He’d been trying to come up with a way to earn her trust, if that was possible. Now he was tempted to console her—perhaps lay one of his hands over hers—which would have been presumptuous of him. He glanced about to see if anyone had noticed her distress and intended to intervene, but the other patrons of the vehicle were happily chattering away.
“My mother is in half mourning,” he said. She didn’t respond, but he continued anyway. “Eventually she’ll go back into society and it would benefit her to have a companion. I wonder, as you’re no longer employed by the Amaral family, if you’re between positions?”
Her large eyes remained fixed on some terrible vision within.
He kept going. “If so, I think you should apply to my mother to be her companion.”
Miss Paredes shook her head briefly, as if rising from sleep.
“She has been searching for one for some time,” Duilio lied.
She blinked and glanced up, her eyes meeting his almost by accident.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, sounding perplexed.
Duilio drew a calling card from the inside pocket of his frock coat. “Come by tomorrow afternoon for tea. My mother will be expecting you.”
“And what should I tell her?” Miss Paredes asked hesitantly, allowing him to lay the card on her palm. The black silk mitts she wore bared only the tips of her long fingers.
He dangled the bait in front of her. “That you would like to be her new companion, of course. She’s sure to like you.”
Miss Paredes carefully tucked the card into her purse. “Thank you, sir.”
Ah, now he had gone from annoying gentleman to potential employer. As he didn’t want her to flee, he set about making inane conversation, one of the skills he’d found terribly useful in his work. A large number of the Golden City’s social elite believed him only half a step away from idiocy. They would say almost anything in front of him, never realizing he was listening.
She didn’t protest the new topic of conversation. She patiently let him tell her all about the new coat as if she were accustomed to gentlemen blathering on about trivial things. He’d read the bizarre news item that morning and recalled most of the details. Those he didn’t, he simply fabricated. She continued to nod at polite intervals, the tension in her shoulders slowly easing.
He was relieved, though, when the submersible came up next to the quay, and not only because he wanted to breathe fresh, nonpressurized air again. It had been difficult to maintain his facade of absurdity when there were so many questions he wanted desperately to ask this woman. This wasn’t the right time or place, though, and Miss Paredes clearly wasn’t the confiding sort. If he pressed her, she would likely run in the opposite direction. No, he needed some leverage to get her to talk to him, and he had an idea what might work.
For the moment he settled for helping her up the wide plank leading from the door of the submersible to the quay. “Remember, Miss Paredes, my mother
She nodded, whatever she felt about that offer hiding behind those dark, now-opaque eyes. Then she was gone.
CHAPTER 9
Isabel Amaral’s eyes were wide in the pale oval of her face. One lock of hair had come loose and streamed across her cheek, up to her lap. The air was slipping away, leaving them with the water that would kill Isabel. Her eyes pleaded for help . . . and then her lips opened and a flood of bubbles streamed from her mouth, the last of her breath.
Her body jerked convulsively against the ropes that bound her there. Oriana tried to reach her, tried to do something, anything, but she failed.
Isabel went still. Her head began to sway loosely with the motion of the water, that single strand of hair floating past her open mouth and snagging against her lips. And an eldritch glow began to fill their watery prison, the table with its spells and death.
Oriana turned her eyes toward it, but it blurred, none of the letters or words containing any meaning. And if she didn’t figure it out, she would have to watch Isabel die over and over again.
TUESDAY, 30 SEPTEMBER 1902
Oriana sat up abruptly in her narrow bed, her gills agonizingly dry. She pressed her hands hard against the sides of her neck, putting pressure on her gills to force the pain to subside. Tears slid down her cheeks, a reaction to the terror that had pursued her beyond her dream.
After a moment, she wiped her tears away and covered her face with her hands. Instead of figuring out some new method of hunting Espinoza, she’d spent the whole evening curled on the bed in her rented room, crying. Not just for Isabel, but for everything she’d lost, all the pain and regrets of her life catching up to her at once.
She needed to pull herself together. She took several deep breaths, praying for strength.
And she did feel better then, as if her night’s misery had floated away on her breath. The sun had already risen. Her windows faced west, so it was still dim in the room, but she forced herself to get up and lay out the cleanest of her remaining garments, a black suit that flattered her pale complexion. She’d sewn blue ribbons around the hems of the skirt and the jacket’s bodice to smarten it up. The seat of the skirt was shiny with wear, but no one would note that unless they were seeking to find fault. She hoped it would be good enough; she had an interview this afternoon.
The decision had been an easy one. If she wanted to stay in the city long enough to find justice for Isabel, she had to get money somewhere. Should she secure this position, it would give her both an income and a place to live without the threat of Carlos and Heriberto finding her. She didn’t have time to deal with either of them as they deserved.
All the same, she couldn’t be certain Mr. Ferreira wasn’t after the same thing as Carlos. Women usually made the decisions in the home; if a gentleman offered a position, that hinted at seduction. The fact that he was a
