Oliver nodded at the affable man, who carried the conversation with innocuous observations about the weather, upcoming holidays and fall festivals, and the multitudes already gathering for the Summit meeting.
The wagon rolled along, catching the occasional bump, and Emme’s fist tightened on the bench between them. Oliver picked up her hand and threaded her arm through his. He placed his fingers around her fist and held it, maintaining the other end of the conversation with Gus.
Emme swayed against Oliver, trying to keep herself upright, but after a time, she leaned on his arm and shoulder.
Eventually, Edinburgh appeared on the horizon and grew larger as they approached, the humble wagon making its way into the heart of the city. A combination of ancient and newer architecture adorned the streets, and congestion in both traffic and pedestrian walkways slowed all movement. The mood was festive, laughter abounded, and music poured from pubs, restaurants, and gathering spots.
They slowly made their way along the row of tents and temporary structures set up on the green lawns of Princes Street Gardens. Signs outside each building announced its function and activities to be found within. Emme, who betrayed her true depth of physical pain by the punishing grip she held on Oliver’s hand, took in the city with eyes bright and a smile on her pale face. A large building came into view with the words “International Shifter Rights Organization” emblazoned on a sign above the door.
“Look!” She pointed with her free hand, the other still tightly clenching his. “Stop—we should tell Carlo we’ve arrived.”
Finding treatment for her ankle was paramount, and Oliver told her so, motioning for Gus to keep going.
“I’m fine,” she protested.
Oliver used the only thing he could think of to sway her. “You’re the spokeswoman for the organization. We must treat your ankle and freshen your appearance before you arrive and are introduced to those you’ve yet to meet.”
She side-eyed him but reluctantly nodded. “You are correct. I’ll acquiesce this once.” She looked at their joined hands as if only just realizing she was squeezing his fingers. She gasped a little and released his hand, which slowly regained its color.
“And we shall request something for the pain,” he told her, his smile wry.
She shook her head. “I cannot have anything that will leave me feeling sluggish. I shall be well enough. Oh dear.” She pointed down the street. “Protesters?” As they drew closer, she frowned, looked pained. Some of the protesters held signs reading “Predatory shifters are dangerous!” and “Protect our children from shifters!”
The crowd was not large, but the effect on Emme was palpable. She bounced her knee, and her eyes widened as she sucked in her breath.
He picked up her hand again and held it between his. “Squeeze,” he told her. “And do not fidget; it will only hurt more.”
They passed another protester holding a sign reading “Vampires are monsters, not coworkers!”
Emme tightened her grip. “They protest vampire assimilation, too.” She looked at Oliver and then at Gus. “Have these protests been continual?”
Gus side-eyed them both for a moment. “No, and they are quickly dispersed. Summit organizers have been quite diligent in securing peacekeepers.” He paused before stating, “You are not John and Mary Smith, methinks.” Gus’s expression was grave as he studied Oliver. “As a matter of fact . . . Have you a brother named Lawrence Reed?”
Oliver was impressed with the effectiveness Emme’s title afforded her at the hospital. Staff were abuzz with the news that the missing spokeswoman for the ISRO had arrived in town and needed medical attention. Apparently word of her delay had spread, though no one knew what had caused it. She was whisked away from him, yelling over her shoulder that he should protect her portmanteau with life and limb.
He remained as close as he could, pacing up and down the long hallway outside the door to her examining room. It was not long before he spied Gus, who, true to his word, had returned to meet them after delivering his load of pumpkins. Gus’s question about Lawrence had rattled Oliver more than he cared to admit. He’d put off conversation about him for the moment, but a full discussion about Lawrence was inevitable.
Gus approached him in the hallway. “How fares the lady?”
A scream followed by a torrent of angry almost-curses sounded from behind Emme’s closed door, and Oliver winced. He was torn between wishing he could be with her for support and feeling grateful that the stern-faced nurse had barred his entrance.
“Well enough, I suppose,” Oliver said. “Alive, at any rate.”
“Oh dear. She must be in horrible pain. Is she still insisting she not be dosed with laudanum?”
“Very insistent.”
“Sir,” Gus said, falling into step with Oliver as he began pacing again, “I was unable to fully explain my curiosity about your brother, and while I know the time is still inopportune, I feel I must pursue it.”
Oliver glanced at the shorter man, whose spectacles perched in front of intense eyes. Sincere eyes, as far as Oliver could surmise. “I’ve told you he was turned into a vampire a few years ago and has not been in contact with me since.”
“Yes.” Gus nodded. “I must tell you, however, that—” He glanced over his shoulder and motioned for Oliver to join him in a small seating area adjacent to the corridor. “Lawrence Reed has risen through the powerful vampire Cadre ranks by deposing those above him with frightening speed. He plans to disrupt the Summit meetings, though how or when, I do not know. I have taken this information to the authorities, and they’ve assured me their security forces are prepared for any attack, but I remain uneasy.”
“How are you privy to this information? Are you a private investigator?”
Gus’s eyes slid away from Oliver’s face for a moment, and he shrugged. “Of a sort. I am a jack-of-all-trades, and because I am unassuming in stature and personality,
