His stifled giggle told her that he did. “I’ll show you out then,” he said loudly from the doorway for Eliot’s benefit. “You’re welcome in my lab any time, Ilsa.”
Then he pulled the door to with a theatrical thunk, only to open it again silently. His grinning face appeared in the gap and he winked at her, before disappearing down the corridor.
Satisfied that Eliot would believe she was gone, Ilsa chose a book, sat down in Fyfe’s armchair, and settled in.
13
She didn’t have to wait long.
About an hour after Fyfe left for his class, Ilsa heard the tinkle of china, and peeked around the doorframe to see a butler with a tray at Eliot’s door. He must have rung for tea.
The butler knocked, a key rattled in the lock, and he was admitted.
Ilsa discerned the murmur of a voice rough and vulnerable with sleep, and forgot all of Eliot’s hard edges and sharp words. She crept silently into the hall, where she became a mouse again, and pressed her little body to the skirting board right by Eliot’s door. When the butler emerged, he pulled the door closed and Eliot swiftly locked it behind him, but Ilsa was already inside.
He turned at the sound of her shifting.
“Oh, heaven, earth and all the damned constellations,” Eliot groaned. Vexed, certainly, but not surprised. Ilsa was disappointed.
“Morning.”
“Well, please, do come in.”
The corner room was large, but it had been divided in two by a partition wall. The bigger space was an office, and had an impressive amount of clutter for the sparseness of the room; the furnishings were minimal, the walls were bare, and no opulent rugs lay over the floorboards.
There were maps, however. A large desk and a lot of floor space had been given over to them. A vast map above the fireplace depicted a land Ilsa thought she knew. On studying it she realised that it vaguely resembled the British Isles. The large lettering above said they were the Isles of Albia.
The mantel beneath bore a layer of undisturbed dust, and in the fireplace was a heap of ash that must have been there since the colder months. Perhaps Eliot did not let the household staff in to clean, or perhaps they refused to venture into his lair. Either was plausible.
Through an archway was a rather slapdash bedchamber. The bed was pushed up against one wall, and bore no coverlet, no runner, no decorative pillows. The covers were rumpled, like Eliot, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his hair mussed up. She was suddenly a little bashful to be so close to Eliot’s recently vacated bed.
If he noticed where her eyes were, he gave nothing away. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, a scowl on his face. She would have to play this right. She dropped her best smile and used her sweetest voice.
“Turns out I belong to a city I don’t know nothing ’bout. Cassia said if I asked nicely you might be the one to show me ’round.”
“Did she now.” Eliot nearly managed to suppress a smirk, but his tone alone proved he didn’t believe her.
“Well someone ought to,” she pressed.
“Perhaps. But I have more important things to do than…” He made a vague gesture in the air that turned into rubbing his eyes. “Settle you in.”
“You said you had jack to do.”
He stilled, and looked up at her from between his fingers. “Did I?”
“You specifically asked to be woken when you was needed.”
He rolled his eyes petulantly, like it was most unfair to use his own words against him.
“How am I s’posed to help you find Gedeon if I don’t know—” “Help?” His glare would have sent a more nervous person scurrying for the door. “You can’t possibly help.”
Ilsa drew herself up and folded her arms. “You din’t think I’d spent my whole bloody life looking for my family to stop now, did you?”
Eliot didn’t answer and Ilsa tamped down her frustration. She was well-practised in bending boys to her will, but this boy had no give. So she changed tack.
“Alright, Cassia din’t say you’d take me ’round London.”
“I’m shocked.”
“She told me to ask you ’bout Gedeon.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“You heard. The others act strange with you. You’re in everyone’s bad books, ain’t you? Why?”
Eliot studied her, and smiled slowly. “Isn’t it obvious? They think I know where their prince is.”
“Do you?”
He blinked. “You’re awfully direct,” he bit out.
“What else was I s’posed to ask?”
“You want to know if I’ve been keeping a monumental secret from the people who rely on me, for over a month? You could have hesitated, just a touch.”
“They believe it. And they know you better than me.”
“Well observed,” he said darkly. “You might have a knack for this sort of thing after all.”
If it demonstrated a knack to note that Eliot hadn’t answered the question, then perhaps she did. “And why’d they think that?”
Eliot shrugged away from the doorframe with a sigh. “Because of the wolves,” he said. “I was their commander under Gedeon. I can’t fault anyone for finding it suspicious that twelve of them vanished in the night and I knew nothing about it.”
You shall have to ask Alpha Hester who the wolves answer to these days.
“Suspicious. Or incompetent. You are really young to be commanding anything.”
Eliot drew up short and raised an eyebrow. “I see they didn’t teach you manners in the Otherworld,” he said.
Ilsa stood her ground as he prowled to within reach of her. That fierce gaze studied her, but she was gratified to see him fail to come to any conclusions.
“More to the point,” he said in a low voice. “Cassia’s not the only one who thought your brother told me everything.”
He turned to the tea tray and poured a cup, but Ilsa had already seen his hurt.
“You ain’t in charge of the wolves no more?”
Eliot lowered himself gracefully into a chair and raised his cup in a salute. “Hence my becoming a man
