Page 50 of Angel’s Flight (The Phantom Saga #4)
Sligo
T heir lodgings in Sligo could be called a hotel as much as Sligo might be called a city, in Erik’s opinion.
Which was to say: only by the greatest stretch of the imagination.
The Oak and Ash was a bustling inn at best, just as Sligo was barely more than a large town.
It had a rail station and a sizable church (as well as dozens of smaller ones), held the county seat, and was, in general, the center of life in the coastal county of the same name, tucked away in the far west of the country.
The inn was central to the city, with a large common hall on the bottom floor serving food and drink, where musicians were currently in session.
The space – all worn, caramel-colored wood and plaster – was full of people even at this late an hour, and the music was as lively as the fire crackling in the great stone hearth.
Christine had insisted on staying to listen, much to Erik’s distress.
The whiskey he found in his hand didn’t do much to tame the anxious creature inside him that wanted to be anywhere but here.
“Do you know any of these songs?” Christine asked as the fiddler on the makeshift stage in the center of the room flew through a solo, accompanied by a bodhrán drum and penny whistle.
“A few,” Erik replied, attempting to sound mysterious and unmoved.
The spell Christine had cast with her candles and kisses on the ship had worn off, leaving him antsier and angrier than before that he was here.
He could still feel the smart of the red marks on his skin under his shirt, but the echoes of the pain weren’t enough to ground him or keep his dark thoughts at bay anymore.
“You could at least pretend to enjoy yourself,” Christine admonished.
“You know how I feel about being here, but I’m here,” Erik said, taking another slug of whiskey on the chorus.
“I do, but what I don’t know is why you’re trying so hard to dislike even the pleasant bits.”
Erik peered over at his wife. She seemed utterly charmed by everything around them and had been all day. Her eyes were hopeful and expectant, and Erik hated himself for how annoyed that made him. He wanted to pull himself back to her – why was it so difficult?
“I’m still cross that we have to do this,” Erik muttered.
“No. You’re afraid of something. You always turn your fear into anger,” Christine countered. Erik was glad the mask concealed the thunderstruck look he gave her. Sometimes it was quite troublesome how well she knew him. “Are you afraid of these people more than others?”
“Yes,” Erik said, almost against his will.
It was pointless to lie to her, even if he could lie to himself.
He looked around the common room from where they were stationed in a dark corner.
He felt like he was back at the Opéra, a ghost cut off from a world he so wanted to influence and belong to.
A world he longed for, despite knowing it wasn’t meant for him, even if he had a claim.
“Because your mother’s country is special.”
“The people here aren’t like others we’ve had to endure.
And I do still hate to endure people,” Erik began, swirling the whiskey in his glass and letting the smell of smoke and peat waft through the air.
Like everything here, it triggered something familiar and sad in his memories.
“I have roots here, however distant, and that creates... expectations. Or perhaps hopes.” He felt silly saying it, but he was glad she’d got it out of him.
“You don’t want them to disappoint you.” Christine’s eyes were kind and knowing in a way that made Erik feel marginally less embarrassed by his fears. “Maybe they won’t, if you give it a chance.”
“I’ve given humanity enough chances.”
“And some of them turned out well,” Christine countered. “Or have you forgotten who you’re here with?”
The poor woman I have ensnared and dragged across the world in my shadow , Erik wanted to answer. Christine took his hand before he could, forcing him to look at her. “Your wife, who loves you, you fool. Who wants you to give something a chance.”
Erik wasn’t sure that was possible, given the circumstances that had brought them here, but he was out of excuses. “I’ll try,” Erik whispered.
Christine’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll succeed. Because I want you to,” Christine replied in a tone that gave Erik a chill.
“Yes, my love,” Erik breathed.
“Finish your drink, listen to the band, and come up to the room when you’re done,” Christine ordered, rising with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m going to see what I can find in terms of a bath, so take your time. I’ll be in our bed when you’re ready.”
Erik did like the sound of that, and the way Christine smirked at him before walking away. He watched her go as he sipped the whiskey, the warmth of the liquor burning down his throat as even warmer ideas of what he’d like to do to her later seeped into his mind.
The band finished one song and began another, the leader singing of robbing Captain Farrell on Kilgary mountain. Erik had to smile just a bit. He did know this one, and he raised his glass for another sip.
“ Musha-rin-durin dah, whack for the daddy-o, whack for the daddy-o there’s whiskey in the jar ,” the whole crowd sang with the band and Erik sighed, closing his eyes to let the music reach him. He’d been trying to keep it out, but maybe Christine was right. Maybe he could give it a chance.
“ He counted out his money and it made a pretty penny, I took the money home and I gave it to me Jenny ,” the men on stage sang over the drum and pipe, their voices rough and reedy, carrying a tune old as the hills.
His mother had sung this song once when she was in a fair mood; when the sun was shining and she thought no one could hear.
Her father had sung it to her, and his father to him, and so on. Who knew where it came from...
“ She sighed and she said that she never would deceive me, but the devil’s in the woman and I never will be easy. ”
“A violent song, though not inaccurate.”
Erik’s eyes flew open. There before him, seated where Christine had just been, was Pauline, with a look of pure delight in her grey eyes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Pauline said, leaning towards him.
She was dressed more fashionably than he had ever seen before, wearing a dark blue dress with a low-cut neckline edged in lace.
Her spectacles were gone and her hair was up in the same sort of style Christine had favored lately, with a few ringlets loose at the base of her neck – had she changed the color somehow to look more auburn too?
“The only surprise is seeing you so soon,” Erik drawled, affecting an air of disinterest. “Have you been lurking here waiting for me?”
“You do think quick,” Pauline replied. “When I received word from Monsieur Bidaut that you had fled London with your tail between your legs, I knew you were on your way. You’ve given us quite a merry chase – the trick about America was genius. To find you so easily now is truly a delight.”
“The delight will be mine when I leave you a bloody pulp out in the alley,” Erik said with a sneer that was met with a mock gasp of horror and a grin.
“You’d threaten a woman? I thought you were reformed, or some such nonsense.
I guess you’re the killer I have heard so many things about,” Pauline tutted.
“And don’t say I don’t know you, Erik. Because I do.
I’m a scholar of all things about you if I do say so myself. Your dedicated student and aficionado.”
“That can’t be very satisfying,” Erik muttered. “There’s not much to learn.”
“You’d be surprised what an enterprising detective can uncover.” Pauline looked so proud of herself, it would have been comical if not for the madness in her eyes.
Erik waved a thin hand. “What do you want?”
“This is a parlay before the battle begins. A courtesy offer.”
“You want something in exchange for the surrender of my fortune?” Erik was almost ready to give it to her. Being chased down for such a petty reason was truly beneath him.
“Oh. No,” Pauline said sweetly. “That exchange will come later. When I decide whether or not to burn your mother’s crumbling old village to the ground.”
The mask concealed the expression on Erik’s face, but not the fire that must have sparked in his eyes, for Pauline grinned, smug and infuriating.
“Why would I care?” Erik bluffed. “Or believe you would do something so flashy and foolish? You and Bidaut have been subtle so far.”
“I don’t mean literally, silly man.” Pauline giggled like she was flirting, a profoundly disturbing affectation.
“I mean I’m going to own that town – plans are already in motion – and destroy it, bit by bit.
I’ll evict the useless farmers, and close down whatever godforsaken hovels they have on their main street.
Drive everyone away one by one in misery.
There’s so much you can do with a little finesse and a vulnerable old fool. ”
“And money. Which your employer doesn’t have or they wouldn’t be after mine,” Erik scoffed, though the thought was chilling.
“We’ve learned from you how easy it is to make people believe in ghosts and lies,” Pauline replied with a shrug.
“But you’re right. Bidaut thinks it’s too complicated.
He’s planning on finding someone to kill if you don’t comply.
Maybe our friends from Lucca? Howard or dear Giacomo.
Jack to you. Or that whore in London your own strumpet was seen with?
Or perhaps Adèle Valerius? That would be poetic. ”
Erik forced himself not to take the woman by the throat right here, audience be damned.
All Erik could hope was that this was a bluff, and he had not done the thing he wished the most not to do – or that Christine had taught him to not want to do – endanger friends, old and new.
Bring more people under the shadow of his curse.