Page 567 of Flirting with Darkness

7

THE SISTER

He threw his length and weight onto the velvet-padded bench.

The tip of his cane came to rest on the wooden floor of the carriage.

He looked around the entirety of the dim space, ensuring no surprises awaited him, that he and the woman across from him were the only ones there.

Satisfied, he arranged his spine into the cushioned seat.

He met her gaze across the curtained, plushy purple interior.

Tasseled and velvet-covered pillows filled the ample space on both sides. A faint scent of almonds and jasmine filled the cushioned interior.

Ghost half expected her to produce a hookah.

Perhaps that, too, was his father’s plan. For both of them to get inebriated on opium, like the denizens of those dank, sleep-filled holes one could find around certain parts of London, either to pass out or to fight to the death while chasing the dragon inside his father’s fortress.

The thought brought a dark smile to his lips.

She didn’t offer him anything, not at first.

She certainly didn’t offer him opium.

She stared at him with wide, violet-colored eyes, her black hair arranged in artful, complicated curls around a round, cherubic face.

He could almost believe she was his sister.

“You doubt me?” she said, almost as if she’d heard his thoughts. “You doubt who we are to one another?”

Her full, bow-like mouth twitched in a dark amusement.

“Of course you do,” she mused, answering her own question. “How could you not? You may or may not know our father precisely, but surely you could surmise enough of his story and personality from others. Through rumor, if nothing else. Notoriety.”

Smiling coyly, she lifted one eyebrow. “No doubt your mother’s tales were quite detailed and colorful. Whatever else, you must have gleaned enough by now to know what an unapologetic liar he is… about absolutely everything. Wine?”

She held up a crystal bottle.

The decanter was not small. It remained more than half-filled with dark red liquid, and the sides shimmered in flickers of sunlight through the curtains. A round stopper capped the top of what looked to be the finest cut crystal.

Ghost indicated a no with one gloved hand.

All musings around chasing the dragon aside, he wanted his head clear.

He bowed politely at her offer.

“No… thank you…dear sister.”

She returned his wry smile.

“Ah. I see you have a taste for bleak humor… and a certain irreverence. That is good. You will need both things where you are going, brother.”

“Did you intend to tell me your name, at least?”

“Serafina,” she said, without missing a beat. “Is it true you call yourself ‘Ghost’? Like some half-dead apparition?”

“Ghosts are completely dead, Serafina.”

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