Page 36

Dim afternoon light leaked through Kenton Hill’s streets as we made our way back to Colson & Sons. Isaiah led Patrick and me, and I kept my eyes straight ahead, determined not to see the swell of his knuckles.

He’s a dangerous man. It should have come as no surprise.

He was a revolutionary, a mob leader, and a miner. Most miners had more muscle than they could be trusted with.

He isn’t a boy anymore. I reminded myself. He tried to tell you.

So, he was the judge and the executioner. I wondered how often he broke eye sockets like it was a transaction.

Kenton Hill was a town run by one man. I wondered if he knew how unbalanced it was, to have collected so much control, to be the sole puppeteer. Had he considered how easy it would be for someone to snip all the strings when only one hand held them?

I folded my arms over my chest rather than take his arm. I was wire-taut.

Would he have pummeled that man to death? He certainly seemed intent on doing so. And over what? A bit of bad bluff?

I thought of the man in the pub, quailing beneath Patrick’s gaze, Sam’s puce-faced mother, the hawker’s head as it hit the dirt. Was this the Colsons’ idea of peace?

Kenton Hill suddenly didn’t seem so miraculous as the light faded. The copper and steel works lost their gleam.

Even with the waning daylight, the townsfolk had not slowed. The laneways kept their frenetic pace, and I was shocked to remember there was no curfew here, not like the ones imposed elsewhere. Even so, a particular buzz wove its way from conversation to conversation as we passed.

“Jack, are you headed to the meetin’?”

“Meetin’s at eight, you dunce, not seven!”

“Another meetin’? Not that I’m complainin’.”

I frowned. “What meeting?” I said without looking at Patrick.

“Town meeting,” he offered. There was a cigarette between his lips that he lit with a flourish. “At the hotel.”

“Run by you?”

His eyelids seemed heavy. Smoke billowed from his lips. “In lieu of the chairman.”

“And what’s the meeting about?”

He shook his head minutely. I got the impression that I exhausted him. “The usual,” he said. “The coming winter, food rationing. Mostly people come to complain, and then we fix whatever’s broken.” He talked about it like it was a millstone he was tied to.

I squared my shoulders. “I’d like to go.”

“I bet you would.” He said no more, just puffed on his cigarette.

I gritted my teeth. “I’ve got my own complaints to air.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” He looked skyward as he walked. The floating lights were beginning to spark to life of their own accord. For a moment I was distracted by the improbability that they should exist. “It’s beautiful,” I admitted, trying not to sound too complimentary.

Patrick watched me as though I were mystifying. I wished he’d stop. I was trying to keep my blood cool, my pulse slow. I wanted my wits about me, and they were quick to scramble in his presence.

Was it just that he was dangerous? Had I become one of those desperate women clamoring to feel alive? Wasting in idleness so severe that anything thrilled me?

How pitiful. And yet.

Perhaps it was merely his looks—not clean-cut, but intense. It struck me anew with each glance. A sharp, vicious beauty. The destructive kind. By day’s end, I’d be peppered through with shot.

Maybe it was just the tether I’d kept with the Patrick of my youth. The softer Patrick, the skinny kid with dirty hair. Glimpses of the boy made me more sympathetic toward the man.

“Whatever your grievances, you can write ’em in a letter and send them to me,” Patrick said now.

I stopped on the path. Patrick took two strides, then turned to me with apparent irritation.

“Why can’t I come?” I was fully aware of how petulant I sounded.

“Because you ain’t a resident,” he said, stamping the cigarette beneath his boot. “And your face will distract the entire pub from the agenda.”

“I’ll sit in a dark corner, then.”

“You’ll sit in your room,” he said. “And I’ll have a doctor come see you.”

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“Nevertheless, you’ll see one.” Already he was walking again. “You’ve had your time on the town, exactly as you asked.”

I scoffed. “Did you truly think I’d be placated by one small outing?”

“And what a fine outin’ it was,” he said grandly. “I bought you tea and cake.”

“And clobbered a man blind.”

He turned and found me one pace behind. His chest was an inch from my nose. “You’ll wait in your room for the doctor.”

A different woman might have given in then, their stomach shriveling as mine did. “You planning to carry me up there?” I asked. “Throw me over your shoulder?”

His eyes flashed. “You say that like it isn’t exactly what I’d like to do.”

I swallowed. “It’s a lot of stairs, Patrick. You wouldn’t manage.”

“Careful.” He crouched until his nose was level with mine, his lips a hairsbreadth away. “That sounded an awful lot like a challenge.”

Heat washed over me, a thousand small flares sputtering beneath the skin. I narrowed my eyes. Tried to pretend like I wasn’t on fire. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“But I would dare, Nina,” he breathed. “I’m just bidin’ my time. Don’t give me an excuse.”

There was an instinct to close what little distance remained. I ignored it. “You’re so confident you could get me in bed just like that?”

For a moment, he only watched my lips, and I was a heartbeat away from letting him have them, bravado be damned. My thighs pressed together, my stomach jolted with fresh thrill. He was going to kiss me, right there in the street.

But Patrick’s eyes suddenly sharpened, and he leaned back, amusement dancing across his face. “Didn’t say anythin’ about a bed, now did I?”

He left me standing there alone, my face ruddy red, the tightly spooled cord in my chest unraveling.