I was too rattled by what had happened to argue, so I kept my head down on the way to Rumsen Main and ignored the stares as Doyle took me in past the desk sergeant and several dozen citizens in trouble or complaining of it. The whispers that erupted in our wake made me glance down. My skirts were stained and torn, my bodice soaked with filth. I smelled as good as I looked.
“Almost there,” Doyle said, guiding me through rows of desks where property clerks and secretaries ogled me like I was a naked strumpet.
I noted the stark black lettering on the door glass of the office he ushered me into. “
“Pity I can’t say the same about the dispelling business for you.” He led me over to an old leather-covered armchair and sat me down before retrieving a care kit from his desk and a ewer of water from the adjoining lavatory. “Let’s have a look, then.”
I shrugged out of the jacket and held out the rent, bloodstained sleeve on my right arm.
He scowled. “Why didn’t you tell me you were cut?”
“It’s just a scratch. One of them caught me with the tip of a blade as I went down.” I tore the remnants of the sleeve away from the wound and inspected it. “See? It’s not too deep.”
He dampened a cloth in the ewer and gently cleaned the cut. “What were you doing on that side of town, Kit?”
“I needed a dress for a dinner engagement.” I winced as he took a pair of tweezers from the kit and plucked a bit of gravel from the wound. “Why were you out following me?”
He met my gaze. “How do you know I was?”
“Men generally stay out of the high fashion district.” I saw him take out a small brown bottle marked with a marigold label. “No, Tommy, not calendula,” I begged. “It’ll sting like blazes.”
“It’s the only thing to keep it from infecting and help it heal,” he told me as he soaked another cloth with the tincture. “So stop whining.” He ignored my hiss and began cleaning the gash. “I wasn’t following you. I was following Lady Walsh.”
“Really—” I let out the breath I’d been holding. “What for?”
He set aside the cloth and took out a roll of bandaging cotton. “That’s none of your business.” He straightened my arm before he began winding the bandage over the cut. “Why would someone send two snuffmages after you?”
“They weren’t especially attached to their money?” I grimaced as he pulled the bandage tight. “Are you cleaning me up or torturing me?”
“I’m questioning your involvement in a violent public altercation.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “A man died in that alley, Kit. It’s my job to find out why.”
My shoulders sagged. “I don’t know who they were, other than snuffmages,” I said honestly. “They were waiting outside the dressmaker’s for me. They heaved a couple of their ridiculous snuffballs my way, and when that didn’t work, they came after me with their blades.” I would not mention the man in the black cloak. “That’s everything I know.”
“Rumsen snuffmages like to use bloodbane in those silly snuffballs,” he informed me. “It’s enchanted to kill anything it touches.”
“They were filled with black powder.” I picked up a fold of my skirt spattered with the stuff, smeared it on my fingers, and held it up in front of him. “Look, I’m not dying. Praise heaven.”
“You turned it into that.”
I chuckled. “Sure I did. Right after I pulled a hare out of my hat.”
“Magic has no effect on you,” Doyle continued smoothly. “My grandfather remarked on it several times before we left Middy.” He tied off the bandage and gave me a hard look. “Said your mother had the same gift.”
“How lucky for me.” Panic surged through me as I checked my battered brooch watch, which fell from a tear in my bodice into my hand. “Oh, look at the time. How dreadfully late it is. I must be off.”
“You’re not leaving,” he said, standing.
“I’ve answered your questions, Tommy. I’m in desperate need of a bath and new clothes, and I don’t think you have either tucked away in your kit.” I tried to stand, felt my knees wobble, and sat back down. “Damn me.”
“You’ll feel better after you have a rest.” He nodded toward the wide couch on one side of the office. “It’s more comfortable than it looks.”
I couldn’t imagine sleeping in a police station, even one supervised by my handsome savior. “So is my bed.”
“I’m sending our staff warder over to your flat to have a look.” He held up a hand to stop my protest. “The snuffmage who got away has his reputation to mend. He’s likely already set a trap.”
“But you said that magic doesn’t work on me,” I reminded him.
“On you directly, no,” he agreed. “But he can get to your boiler, your ceilings, or your walls. They like to make it look like a tragic accident.”
“Father and Son, Tommy, that’s all magic ever is—” I stopped myself. “You can’t enter my flat without my permission.”
“You’re still under suspicion of extortion, and you’re a woman.” He leaned down. “Which we both know means I can fair burn the place to the ground if I wish.”
He smelled of wool and soap, and I wanted to bury my face against his broad chest. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”
His stern expression thawed to something gentler. “Kit, you’ve no idea what I might do.”
The door to his office opened, and a sweet-faced elderly woman wearing a feminine version of a beater’s uniform and carrying a cup and saucer came in.
“Hot and sweet, my dear,” she said, as she put the cup in my hands. She frowned at the bandage on my arm. “Shouldn’t she be in hospital, Tommy?”
He made a disgusted sound.
“Wouldn’t let him take you, dear? Can’t say as I blame you.” She began tidying up around us. “Dreadful places, they are. Whenever I go to visit one of the lads, it sucks all the energy out of me.”
“The stench doesn’t help, either.” I spotted the embroidered symbols on the lapel of her dark-blue jacket. “You’re a mage?”
“Staff warder,” she corrected, beaming. “Mrs. Mary Harris, at your service.”
I turned to Doyle. “You send sweet old ladies into potential crime scenes?”
“She has more arrests than any three men in the station,” he told me. “And trust me, you wouldn’t want to go up against our Mary in some dark alley. Last time someone did, we needed three whitecarts.”
“Stop that, Tommy, you’ll frighten the lass,” the warder scolded. To me she said, “I’ve had some scuffles with snuffmages, and they’re not a pretty bunch. What can you tell me about them?”
“They didn’t kill me,” I said.
She chuckled. “I meant, what did you notice about them?”
“There were two, a bruiser and a dink,” I said. “Dressed head to toe in dark red. They threw snuffballs filled with dirt at me, and then went for their daggers. Neither said a single word.”
“They don’t put dirt in snuffballs.” Mrs. Harris thought for a moment. “Sounds like rogue partners—ex–guild members who hire out their services to very bad men,” she tacked on when she caught Tommy’s frown. “They work in pairs to insure the killing’s done. The one who escaped, was he the dink?” At my nod she sighed. “It’s the little ones you always have to mind; they develop their spellcraft a bit more to make up for their lack of stature and muscle. The local guild master’s a head shorter than me.” She glanced at Doyle. “Speaking of the little pest, he’s waiting for a word with you, Tom. Expect he wants to protect the guild by disavowing this lot.”
Tom took my keys from my reticule and handed them to the warder as he gave her my address. “She’ll need a full sweep, Mary. Do take Caldwell and Nelams with you.”
“Nicholson as well, I think. Lovely to meet you, dear.” Mary left before I could reply.
“You know where I live?” I demanded.
“I know where you live, and that you bought the entire building for a pittance,” he said. “I also know you live
