The devil twin

Would he need a map?

*Jay*

It's deuced stupid for me to be so blasted nervous, I tell myself. I've inspected every inch of the carriage. It sports not a single scratch. The leather seat is thick and comfortable. The driver and groom, splendidly turned out in the noted Claybourne livery, are almost as well matched as the pair of grays.

Standing in front of Miss Newmoon’s lodgings, I fight not to pace. I check that my neckcloth is still properly in place and my buttons done up. I wear the same jacket and trousers as yesterday, but my waistcoat is dark green brocade, my neckcloth a pale yellow.

When I went to Claybourne’s to retrieve the carriage, I allowed enough time so Claybourne’s manservant could trim my hair and nails, as well as shave me. I am not a man accustomed to uncertainty, nor am I generally taken with vanity, but both dog my heels as the hour of my outing with Miss Newmoon approaches.

I consider waiting in the parlor but don’t think I can manage to sit still. I send the groom around to make a discreet inquiry at the servants’ door, so I know she has not yet left for the park. I ask the driver for the time for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes. When has the afternoon begun to creep by?

The she-wolf should be making her appearance at any…

The door echoes a resounding click, and I come to attention as though the queen were passing by.

With a startled gasp, Miss Newmoon freezes halfway onto the stoop. Then her face blossoms into a beautiful smile that causes my chest to swell with satisfaction. I’ve never in my life courted a she-wolf, not even Frannie, because I had known she would never return my feelings, that she favored Claybourne and Jack above me. Still, while I am not engaged in courtship at this moment, I think I can definitely see the appeal in pleasing one she-wolf above all others.

I’ve always extended small courtesies to Frannie, and she’s always been appreciative, but I have always known that in spite of my best efforts, I’d never possess her heart. Miss Newmoon, on the other hand… I don’t want her heart, but I can’t explain this unheralded contentment that sweeps through me with her obvious pleasure.

She is once again dressed in pale pink, her parasol in one hand, her reticule dangling from her wrist, her bonnet secured beneath her chin with a perfect pink bow. She is elegance and grace. Her father might have been merely a beta, but she has undoubtedly been brought up to expect to walk among the High packs. I tell myself that I need to focus on my assignment, that she is so far above me as to be unreachable, but it is my own selfish desires that are causing me to want to make my discoveries about her pleasant for us both.

Her blue eyes take in the carriage, driver, groom, and horses before returning to linger on me, as though she is taking in my full measure and discovering that I am not lacking in any regard. Finally closing the door behind her, she descends the steps and comes to stand before me, her head tilted back so she can hold my gaze. “What a fine carriage you have, Mr. Swindler.”

“I must confess that I’ve merely borrowed it from a friend. The Alpha of Claybourne. You’d mentioned that you wished to see Blackrock city.” I open the carriage door. “Shall we?”

She glances in the direction of the park.

"It'll be there tomorrow," I say quietly, disappointed that she hesitates, knowing her thoughts are focused on Rockberry. I can't deny the spark of jealousy that threatens to ignite into a full blaze. What if I've misconstrued her interest in Rockberry? What if she wishes to replace her sister's role in his life… whatever that role, however misguided, had been?

She smiles at me, and the warmth and sincerity of it are enough to tamp down my own misguided feelings. For this small moment in time, I've won out over an Alpha. "Of course it will," she says. "How silly of me to give the park even a second's thought when I have a lovely carriage at my disposal." She places her hand in my offered one and I assist her up. Once I settle in beside her, I urge the driver on.

"I suppose if I knew anyone in Blackrock city, my reputation would be thoroughly ruined with this little outing," she says demurely.

"I've never quite understood this practice of chaperones. In the rookeries, where I grew up, girls came and went as they pleased."

"And what of their reputations?" She asks.

I give her a wry grin. "They came and went as well." In spite of a thousand little voices in my head urging me against it, I wrap my gloved hand around hers. "If you were moving about in pack Society and were known, I would have brought a chaperone. I can still procure one if you wish."

I have little doubt that Evangeline would accommodate my request. The familiar blush that I am coming to adore creeps over Miss Newmoon’s cheeks. "I don’t, not really. Besides, it would make things terribly crowded, wouldn’t it?"

"It would indeed, so relax and enjoy your tour of Blackrock city." While I fully intend to enjoy every facet of her.

While I avoid the grand Park, I order the driver to take us through other parks. I find it increasingly difficult to keep my eyes off Miss Newmoon as she takes in the sights. Her face reveals such exquisite pleasure, her lips continually curling into a smile, her deep blue eyes sparkling with delight.

As a rule, I am not one to talk overmuch, but Miss Newmoon is fascinated with everything, and she has the occasional question.

Have I toured the vax cabinets?

I haven’t.

Is the inside of the Goddess’s grand temple as impressive as the outside?

It is.

I finally order the driver to stop at a spot near a river where rowboats are rented. After a couple of false starts… it takes me a few attempts to get the gist of handling the oars… we are now gliding seamlessly along. A few other couples are in nearby boats.

It occurs to me that I've never taken time to simply enjoy Blackrock city. In my youth, I struggled to survive. As I got older, I struggled to learn. As a man, I became obsessed with my occupation, with being the very best at what I do. It seems odd to suddenly find myself doing little more than gazing at the she-wolf in the boat with me. She's opened her pink parasol so it can provide some shade against the late afternoon sun. She appears serene, as though she's left her troubles on the bank of the river.

Yet I can't seem to stop myself from imagining Rockberry with her sister, watching her, enjoying her fascination with everything. "Your sister. Did you look exactly alike?" I regret my words as soon as they leave my mouth and she grows somber.

"Exactly. But it was more than our features. Our mannerisms, our interests, were the same. No one could tell us apart, not even our father."

So Rockberry had seen precisely what I myself see when I look at the she-wolf. And Rockberry had taken advantage of the girl. Unfortunately, I can understand that as well, because I am finding it very difficult to be near Miss Newmoon and not touch her, not lean over and kiss her.

"It's funny you should ask me about Elisabeth," she says, her attention on the sunlight dappling the leaves above. "I was just sitting here lamenting that a gentleman had never taken Elisabeth rowing. Or at least she didn't write about it in her journal. It's quite pleasant."

I must agree, I've never before been rowing. I admit this to her, feeling a bit embarrassed. She gives me an impish grin. "I gathered, but you've mastered it quickly enough."

I grin back. "I tend to be a quick study. Growing up on the streets, I learned that the child who survived was the one who adapted swiftly to the unexpected."

Her tongue darts out to touch her upper lip, and my gut clenches. I wonder what those sweet lips taste of. “You mentioned that you were borrowing Alpha Claybourne’s carriage and also that you sometimes move about in upper circles. How is it you know the nobility if you grew up on the streets?”

“Are you at all familiar with Alpha Claybourne’s story?” I ask.

“No, my father never felt comfortable around the High packs. I think because his finances were never comparable to most. He always looked exactly as he was: an impoverished beta. He didn’t mingle with the Alphas. So I fear I don’t know Alpha Claybourne.”

“Just as well. He has… or had… a scandalous reputation. It’s settled down a bit since he married Miss Evangeline, sister to the Alpha of Greywind, but you probably don’t know her either.” Especially as Evangeline had indicated that she didn’t know Eden. “Be that as it may, Claybourne lived on the streets as I did. His parents were murdered and he was lost for a while.”

“How horrible!” she exclaims.

“Yes, it was. Dreadfully so. Although you won’t hear him complain about it. Gave him a life unlike that of any other Alpha. We lived with a pupsman who went by the name of Feagan. Through him we learned to excel at thievery. When Claybourne was fourteen, he ran into a bit of trouble and was arrested.” I don’t see the need to reveal that the trouble had involved his murdering a man. “As a result, he came to the attention of the Alpha of Claybourne, who declared him his long lost grandson. When he took in his grandson, he took in his friends as well. So for a time I lived in the Alpha’s pack and was taught how to give the appearance of being a gentleman.”

“You choose your words so carefully, Mr. Swindler. ‘Appearance’ of being one? Do you not consider yourself a gentleman?”

*Eden*

He grins again. “Only when it suits my purpose. Often I’m more a scoundrel than gentleman, Miss Newmoon.”

The heat in his eyes causes my heart to gallop. Oh, I am treading on very dangerous ground here, and well I know it.

“Is that what you were doing out so late at the pleasure gardens? Scoundreling?” I ask.

His rich, dark laughter echoes around us. I think it’s as wondrous a sound as the sea roaring onto shore. If I am not careful, I fear I might find myself being even more taken with him.

“Is that even a word?” He asks.

“I’m simply trying to determine if it was providence or simply dumb luck that brought you to my rescue.” I say.

“Does it truly matter how our paths crossed?” He asks with a smile.

I smile back at him. “No, I suppose not. Tell me something else about yourself, Mr. Swindler.”

*Jay*

Something else? I’m suddenly at a loss for words. I can’t tell her about the murder in the rookeries. Because sleep eluded me last night, I’d gone to the mortuary where they’d taken the she-wolf they’d found. In spite of Sir David’s orders, I’d been unable to let the dead lie without at least trying to determine the story.

The she-wolf had been beaten beyond recognition. She’d been discovered sprawled in the alleyway wearing only a silver choker. While I spent many of the early hours of the morning interviewing those in the area where she was found, striving to at least determine a name for the victim, my thoughts were elsewhere.

It is unlike me not to remain focused on the task at hand. But this morning every fair-haired she-wolf had caused me to think about Miss Newmoon. Every question I asked had prodded me to wonder what questions I should ask of her. Every person peering around a corner trying to discern why I was there reminded me of my responsibility to cease her annoying Rockberry. I was striving to solve a murder that was not my assignment, and I’d been distracted by memories of Miss Newmoon: her smiles, her laughter, her innocence.

I can't tell her any of that. Nor can I discuss any other murders I've investigated. While they fascinate me, they'd no doubt alarm her. My life suddenly seems dreadfully dull. The only hope I have of an interesting conversation will come from her.

"Just as you've never been to Blackrock City, I've never been beyond Blackrock City," I finally tell her. "Tell me of your home."

"You've never been outside of Blackrock City?" I hear the incredulity in her voice.

I shake my head, "No. Would I need a map?"

She laughs, and I want to capture the delightful sound and store it in a wooden box, to be heard whenever I lift the lid. I'm not usually so filled with fanciful thoughts, but she charms me with little more than her presence.

"I daresay, you most certainly would, although the railways make travel a bit easier."

"So tell me about your home."

"It's a small stone cottage built near the cliffs. The music of the sea is a constant refrain, but it's not nearly as noisy as the city. I think that surprised me most… all the different sounds that come together. It's never quiet. Even with the sea at home, I've always found myself able to think without noise intruding. Sometimes I can hardly think here. Well, except for now, of course. It's very pleasant on the river."

"Odd. I don't notice the noises you refer to. I don't know if I would like living by the sea if it gives a man too much time with his thoughts."

"Do you not fancy your thoughts, Mr. Swindler?"

Sometimes they're too disturbing, too menacing, but I'm not going to share that with her. Instead, I seek to put us back on course. "I'm surprised your home is small. I thought all the ranked wolves lived in large residences."

"While my father was ranked, our beginnings were humble. Although he dreamed of better for his daughters. I suppose that's the way of a father. Is your father still living?"

I should have expected the question, based on my own inquiries. I consider lying. I consider giving only a portion of the truth, but I decide that although it pains me to give the answer, I can accomplish more with the truth, build a fragile cornerstone for trust. "No. He died on the gallows when I was eight."

Sorrow reshapes the lines of her face into exquisite beauty, because the emotions are unguarded and true. I've misjudged the wisest course. I've thought to disarm her, and instead, I'm the one taken off guard. She lures from hiding something deep inside me. Emotions I've locked away long ago want to venture forth from the darkness… if for only a moment.

"I'm so sorry," she says, her voice brimming with her need to provide comfort. If she cares this deeply for a man she's only recently met, what would be the depth of her love for a sister…or a husband? "What was his offense?"

I remind myself I'm playing a role, and that whatever develops between us will be frayed with falsehood and weak with deceptions. My words are flat, never allowed to touch my soul. "He was charged with thievery. Left me an orphan. Like yours, my mother died in childbirth. I was apparently an unusually large baby."

"That's how you came to be with that pupsman. Feagan, was it?"

"Yes, I was fortunate he took me in. I had no family. You and I are alike in that regard, I suppose."