Page 21 of A City of Smoke and Demons
Analise was taking a stroll through the Credges with a member of the Gendarme— possibly Unseen—and whoever or whatever Ezra was. Her eyes slid to his face; she looked away before he noticed, her fists clenching in her pockets as she went over the previous night and what she’d seen in the dead woman’s mind——a demon. What else would she have seen if Ezra hadn’t tumbled through her door?
She couldn’t imagine who broke into the morgue, unless it was the other man who accosted her. She shivered, touching her throat, then paused. Ezra had been corpse-pale and panicked when he arrived. Who was chasing him?
As the streets became busier, Jem moved ahead, leaving Ezra to walk with Analise. If she even thought about running, he’d have his hand around her arm instantly, and even if she broke free, where would she go? He knew where she lived. He knew where she worked. Lira’s pub would be closed, and Analise realised she had no idea where her friend actually lived.
She'd never heard any talk of the Gendarme having a safe house. The idea of one in the Credges was laughable. She patted her hip, forgetting her blade was on her kitchen table. Directing her scowl at the side of Ezra’s head, Analise considered all the places she’d stab him if she could. As though sensing her ire, he glanced at her, his blue-green eyes twinkling.
‘Glad you find it amusing,’ she muttered.
He gripped her arm suddenly, hauling her out of the way of a group of men. She crashed into his chest, her nose pressed against his collarbone. She froze, then jerked away.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she hissed, straightening her coat. Her fingers were tingling.
His eyebrows lifted but he said nothing.
Jem was waiting for them at the corner of a narrow street lined with matching doors and windows. A curtain twitched as they passed; Analise caught a glimpse of an old woman peering at them. Jem stopped at the last townhouse in the row.
‘Here we are.’
There was something strange about the door. It seemed to move, the edges blurring the longer Analise looked at it. Magic, she realised, watching Jem take a vial from his pocket. Whatever he was doing he kept hidden from them, but Analise caught the faint smell of chemicals—sulphur, ammonium, like the ones they used in the morgue.
Inside, the small foyer was dark, the air stale. A set of timber stairs led to the second storey, threadbare carpet running along their centre. The kitchen was tiny, with a wooden table beneath a dust-smeared window, and off to the side was a parlour with a battered lounge, a faded rug, a bookshelf and an unlit fireplace.
It was obvious no one had been in this house in a long time. Analise gave Jem a hateful look, stomping into the parlour to the bookcase. She found some penny dreadfuls, old leather-bound novels, and a yellowing suffragette pamphlet. A foldednewspaper sat beneath a layer of dust. Analise pulled it free, blowing the dust away. The paper was five years old. Blackwood had been made head of the Church. An unregistered death witch was publicly executed in the Old Bailey, and an alchemist had finally discovered how to keep the lights on without having to continually burn fuel.
Analise stared at the headline about the witch. That could be her, if she didn’t play this right.
Ezra and Jem were in the kitchen, talking in low voices. Analise couldn’t understand why Jem brought her here. She was certain it wasn’t common for the Gendarme to offer personal protection, especially not to people from the Credges, and that made her suspicious. When people acted in ways that were not expected, it always meant they wanted something.
And how did a gangster's lackey come to be on such friendly terms with a Gendarme?
‘Well,’ she announced, returning to the kitchen, ‘I’m going to go and look upstairs and see if there’s a window high enough I can throw myself out of.’ Analise hurried away, pausing on the small landing to collect her thoughts. A night or two, surely that would be it, then she could go home. She squared her shoulders and went exploring. There was a room for washing, with a tub big enough to sit in, and a wash stand and privy. At least it was indoors, she supposed.
She eased open the other door and froze. One bed in the whole house.
Sighing, she went back to the kitchen.
‘There’s only one bed,’ she announced.
Ezra grinned. ‘I hope you don’t snore.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘Would you rather the floor?’
‘I’d rather wet cobblestones at the end of the darkest alley in the Credges,’ she shot back, making him look at her in a waythat said,liar. Analise stomped back to the parlour. There was a lumpy cushion and a coverlet hanging over the armrest of the lounge.
She plonked herself down pointedly. All she had to do was sleep on it.
Ezra, leaning against the door frame, lifted a shoulder. ‘You’ll change your mind.’
His smile was too smug for her liking.
The following morning, Jem arrived with two bags. It was Jem who helped Ezra pick up the shattered pieces of himself after he lost both his parents. Ezra remembered standing in the kitchen of his home, staring at the cold fireplace, not knowing what to do. Without his parents' wages to pay the rent, the landlord had no qualms about kicking a devastated sixteen-year-old boy onto the streets.
Jem had taken him to a boarding house. The place was run by a matronly woman whose name Ezra couldn’t recall, but he remembered her eyes were kind, like his mother’s.
‘You look awful.’ Jem passed over one of the bags as Ezra met him at the bottom of the stairs.
