From Ember, the prequel to Firelight, in which Miranda's luck runs out as she meets up with an old acquaintance. (I am hoping there isn't any formatting gremlins in this)
Don't come home empty-handed. Certainly not, Father. Her face burned, and yet she kept her walk steady as she turned onto a busier avenue. Here, people walked at a rushed pace: clerks on their way home, shoppers searching for bargains, and peddlers wanting to make a shilling. A group of urchins made a game of tossing rubbish at the boardman on the corner, taking advantage of the fact that he couldn't fight back because of the heavy advertising boards he wore over his shoulders. Splatters of something dark and foul dotted the back board, turning, "Henry Kissmegast's Emporium for the Distinguished Gentlemen" into, "He..y Kissm..e..as..s...Distinguished Gentlemen." Miranda's lips twitched; the little devils had quite the aim.
She took the opportunity to lift a few pockets from the men who slowed to laugh at the sight. Later, she'd come back and give the poor boardman a bob as a bit of a reward for having to endure such daily torture.
Despite the warmth in the air, she felt cold as she left the scene. Prickles of unease danced along her spine. Miranda steeled herself not to turn round. Instead, she wove deeper into the crowd, her pace increasing past decorum. But she could not shake the feeling of being watched, followed.
A quick peek confirmed the sudden sidestep of a man, his form no more than one silhouette amongst many on the crowded sidewalk. She turned away.
Sweat trickled down her neck to creep under her collar. Who was it? Instinct told her it was a stranger, someone who meant her harm. She'd been living this unsavory life long enough to acquire a hearty respect for her instincts.
Faces became a blur, the cacophony of London near deafening when paired with the beating of her heart. He was herding her, moving ever closer. She ought to seek shelter, perhaps in a shop, but it wouldn't stop him. Of that she was sure. Home was too far away. She'd have to fight. A heartbeat thumped at her neck as she fought back panic.
Fingers clenched tight, Miranda made a sudden turn into a dark alleyway. Predictably, her stalker followed, stepping into the space with the authority of one used to inciting fear, not being a victim of it. His mistake. He took a step closer, and his features came into view.
She knew this man. Her mind raced to place him as he spoke.
"When'd you catch on then?" he asked as he strolled toward her. His costume bordered on the ridiculous. Lemon and lime plaid trousers met with a raspberry waistcoat. A dark orange sack coat and green bowler completed the atrocity.
"Three blocks back." Miranda backed up, drawing him further into the alley, away from witnesses. She could do this. She could fight.
A smile split his plain face, revealing a gap between his front teeth. That smile. A shiver lit over her. He was one of the young thugs who had accosted her in the alley behind her home months ago. A surprising bolt of excitement lit through her at the realization. Would the dark stranger who had come to her rescue then appear as well? She quelled the thought. One coincidence would not bring on another.
The man tilted his head to regard her. "I know you." He touched one long finger to his jutting chin. "Don't tell me, it's rattling around in me brain box..."
"Did we..." Feathery brows waggled.
"Good God no," Miranda snapped, which had him scowling.
"Well you don't have to be so vigorous about it, eh?"
At that Miranda gave a little laugh, though she feared she might be ill. "I don't see how politeness factors into the equation when you are stalking me in an alleyway with the intent to do no good."
The wide space between his brows wrinkled for a moment before clearing. "True."
Ooh! I know she can get the better of him, but still, I'm all creeped out by this guy.
ReplyDeleteLove the boardman's mud splattered slogan!