Page 31 of Razors & Ruin

“Orgies,” I murmur, arching a brow. “Depravity. No one admits to a thing, of course. But it could be quite the sight.”

He sits back on his stool and eyes me, his expression stony. “You’re not coming along, Nellie. Is that clear?”

"Oh, I see. I’m not suitable for a ball, is that it? A place like that, full of masked women with soft hands and softer mouths. You wouldn’t want me cramping your style."

I pause, daring him to deny it, but he doesn’t. I cannot keep the poisonous wrinkle from creasing my nose, and I sneer at him like he’s something I scraped off my shoe.

He’s in danger of being discovered if he sets foot in that nest of vipers. It’s quite the fucking liberty for him to assume I’m of no use to him in an environment like that.

The pie shop publican came and spoke truth to me, the truth my dismissive lover here does not possess. The knowledge sits in my chest like a brand, hot enough to burn, but I give nothing away.

I will not allow Sweeney to walk the floors of The Regent’s Ball without me to watch over him.

I could tell him what I know—that he is already compromised—but the information I have is too sparse to be helpful. Who saw him? What will they do about it?

Wetherby may have been the one to connect the dots; it wouldn’t exactly take a genius. He will doubtless be there tonight, ready to laugh at the hapless Mr. Todd as he’s paraded before the elites of the city like a Russian bear.

More fool anyone who prods Sweeney, that’s what I say.

I put my palms on the counter and lean over, bringing my face close to his.

“Now, you see here, Mr. T,” I say. “We’ve been through a lot in a couple of days. You’ve asked a lot of me, and I think it’s fair to say we let it get weird. You and I have found some balance, despite everything. Yes?”

He nods guardedly, and I warm to my theme. "But I wonder, Mr. T... Would any of those ladies let you carve your name into their skin the way I did?”

He tilts his head. “I have to suppose not, treacle.”

“So tell me what you and the Beadle talked about.”

"Leave it alone, Nellie. I have it handled."

I lace my voice with mocking sweetness. "Oh, I’m sure you do, love. After all, you’ve got a way with people, don’t you? Well, don’t you worry about me. I’ll be right here, waiting for whatever’s left of you when you come crawling back."

Sweeney glances at me, and something buckles within him, as though he realizes he must give a little if I’m to back down.

It’s a small but unmistakable shift of power, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.

“Alright; we talked about Johanna.” He sniffs and crosses his ankle over his knee. “Well, sort of. I wanted to know where the missing kids go. The ones whose names vanish from the ledgers, if they’re written at all.”

“And?”

“The Beadle clammed up. I had to agree to this stupid folly to get closer to people who move in his circles. He implied that thereare men who know more, and unless they will lend me an ear, I have no means to discover the truth.”

The fuckingtruth? He’s in no place to hear that. He thinks his bouncing baby brat will turn up safe and well, and in that shining alternate universe, there may be a place for him.

But himalone. He’d carry his scarred arm beside him and see my name daily, but his heart would no more belong to me than his viscera, blood, or bones would.

What’s flesh today is ash and shit tomorrow, that’s for damn sure. He’d burn me for Johanna without hesitation, happy to trade all our ruinous wrongs for even a delusion of something right.

If he goes to the party alone, he may never return. If he is recognized as Currer Brook, the Beadle will have his curio—God, maybe that’s it.

It could be an elaborate bluff, and Sweeney is squirming on a lure, unaware he’s being reeled in. Just playing with people’s lives, as the powerful are wont to do.

An idea fizzes at the edge of my consciousness, one too hot to dampen. I will have to finesse it to pay off, but the touchpaper is alight and burning.

I already know what Mr. T will do—having executed (ha!) his party tricks, he will simply don a mask and blend into the revelry, spinning his silk around some woman who knows much about her husband’s dirty hobbies but little about how a man’s hot hands should feel.

Not on my watch.If I see some bitch give my Sweeney a glad look, I will extract her eyeballs from their sockets and makethem into cufflinks. Anyone who doubts it can take it up with Marianne, if they care to dredge her out of the estuary.

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