Chapter Twenty-Five

"I am not wearing this in public," I say as I stand in front of Isla's full-length mirror.

Behind me, Gray's lips twitch. "I think you look ador—"

"If that word is ‘adorable,' stop now or suffer the consequences." I glare at my reflection. "Who the hell am I supposed to be? Glinda the Good Witch? I just need my magic wand to sprinkle fairy dust through Munchkinland, and while I'm at it, maybe I'll grant Mrs. Wallace a heart. No, a sense of humor."

"You realize none of that makes any sense to us," Gray says. "However, while I have wondered about Mrs. Wallace's lack of humor, I no longer do. Seeing you in that outfit, I am assured a very keen wit lurks behind that dour facade."

I turn my glare on him. Then I look back at the mirror, where Isla is eyeing me contemplatively.

"I am not certain it is… quite right," Isla says.

"You think?" I gather layers of skirts. "I look like I'm ready for a freaking communion."

I'm dressed in white. All white. Except for the very top layer, it's all underthings, and I could argue on that point, but they've been arranged in a way that disguises their true purpose, leaving me in a frothy confection of white linen and silk and lace.

That's not even the worst of it. My hair has been curled and frozen in place with fixative, and I look like a twelve-year-old who got carried away with a curling iron. A light rub of something on my cheeks and lips makes them rosy red, my lips a perfect cupid's bow.

"You guys can see she's mocking me, right?" I say. "How the hell am I supposed to walk down the street like this."

"You have a point," Isla murmurs.

"Thank you."

"You will need to be hidden under a long coat. I have one with a hood. That might—"

"Queen Mab will not take me into the goblin market dressed like a freaking angel."

Gray frowns and tilts his head. "They might find that intriguing, provided of course that you add a few more eyes and animal heads to properly resemble a biblical angel."

"More eyes and animal heads might help," I grumble. "I am not—"

A brief commotion outside the door cuts me off.

"Dr. Gray's room does not need cleaning," Mrs. Wallace snaps. "Go."

A moment later, the door opens and Mrs. Wallace walks in, shaking her head. "That girl."

"Lorna?" Isla says.

"She will not last, ma'am. I am sorry to say it, but we have no place for a timid mouse like that."

She cuts off Isla's response by lifting something in her arms. It's an overcoat… I think. It looks more like something worn by a medieval minstrel, all strips of varying colors and fabrics. Without a word, she puts it on me. It's too long and nearly brushes the floor, but the added girth lets it button over my breasts. Mrs. Wallace promptly unbuttons that part and arranges the jacket bodice so that it is otherwise open, showing my white and frothy garments beneath.

I look in the mirror. The effect is interesting. That showy and dramatic jacket with a glimpse of the angelic costuming.

Mrs. Wallace walks up behind me and plops a hat on my head. It's a low top hat, made of the same multicolored fabric. It seems intentionally small, and she has to fasten it in with pins.

"There," she says when she's done.

I look in the mirror. "Huh."

"Are you done caterwauling now?" she says.

"I am." I swing around, watching the jacket swing with me, the white peeking out through the half-fastened opening. "You know I have to ask where you got this hat and jacket."

"From the circus, of course. Now we are going to need Simon to drive us. You cannot walk about like that. Let me dress, and we shall be off."

Gray joins us in the coach. He isn't happy about the prospect of leaving me with Queen Mab. At first, he'd only been disappointed that he couldn't go along. Now, as night falls, he's concerned about what I'm doing and the fact that I'm not doing it with someone he trusts to have my back. Oh, he trusts Mrs. Wallace. He's even seen her teaching Isla and me how to use a knife, so he knows she's capable of defending herself in a dangerous situation. But will she defend me? That is the question, and while I tell him there's nothing to worry about, I'm lying through my teeth.

If we run into trouble, I have absolutely no expectation of Mrs. Wallace's help. The most I can hope for is that she won't use the chaos of a fight to slide a blade between my ribs.

I have Catriona's switchblade. I also don't expect to need it. Queen Mab isn't going to take me any place where I might be shivved and tossed onto a trash heap. That would be bad for business.

I understand Gray's concern, and I do wish he could join us. With that being impossible, I appreciate that he promises he won't try to sneak after us… or ask Simon to do it for him. In the past, he has sent Simon to secretly watch Isla's back and mine. It's the "secretly" part that's the problem. We have agreed that he will instead make his concerns known and, if he strongly disagrees with my assessment of danger, he can insist on sending Simon or coming himself. It's a difficult line to tread for a Victorian man, and I appreciate his restraint.

Queen Mab wants to meet near the entrance to the vaults. To understand Edinburgh's "underground," one needs to understand how the city was constructed. For centuries, with the Flodden Wall around it, the only way to build was up. There are areas where new buildings were just constructed over old ones. Literally over them. Edinburgh being a city of hills makes that easier. What is considered underground actually lies above ground level. It's just underneath the city.

The vaults mostly come from another bit of historical reconstruction. The Old Town is, well, old. And mostly impoverished. If you're traveling from the New Town and you want to get past the Old Town to the wealthier areas on the other side, you don't want to actually have to go into the slums, right? Yuck. All that filth and poverty and reminders that some people are living in homes you wouldn't consider fit for your livestock. No, what you need is a road that goes over those icky parts. Thus the South Bridge was built.

Under that bridge there are vaults. Mazes of rooms and corridors that eventually proved unfit for storing goods, but perfectly fine for storing people, namely those desperate for free shelter. The vaults are also a place for black-market trade, and so it's not surprising that the underground market will be there.

Simon takes the coach over the bridge and then down to where we're to meet Queen Mab. It's a dark street where I wouldn't walk by myself at this time of night. Hell, I might not even walk it with Gray. It's both too empty and not empty enough. Too empty to make a mugger think twice, and yet in every dark shadow, I catch the movement that tells me people are there, people who don't want to be seen.

When Gray raps on the coach roof, Simon only slows Folly, as if he's not sure he really wants to stop. He finally does and calls back, "Are you certain this is the place, sir?"

"It is," says a voice from the shadows.

Through the window, I see Queen Mab step out. She's making no effort to disguise herself in shabby clothing. Quite the opposite. She's wearing a gorgeous scarlet wool cape with black embroidery and silken tassels along the hem. Underneath, I can see a green and gold dress. She has a boy with her, of no more than thirteen. We've seen him before. I don't know his name, though we suspect he is a relative, maybe grandson or great-nephew. I peer into the shadowed alley, but there's no one else with her. Just the boy.

Simon hops down to open the door, but Gray is already swinging it wide.

"I am not staying," Gray says to Queen Mab as he alights first. "Though if you have changed your mind on that, I would happily do so. You do not seem to have a proper guard."

The boy bristles, and Queen Mab's hand lands on his arm.

"I meant no offense," Gray says to the boy. "Only that I expected multiple guards."

"To bring a guard would suggest I need one," Queen Mab says. "As if I cannot trust my reputation to keep me safe. Gustav here is quite capable of fighting, should the need arise, and I have heard Miss Mallory is as well. We—"

She stops as Mrs. Wallace gets out the coach, Gray helping her down.

"Well, hello, Paulina," Queen Mab says. "I did not expect you. You are part of Dr. Gray's household?"

"His housekeeper."

"Really? I have wondered where you ended up. I should not be surprised."

"I will be joining you," Mrs. Wallace says. "I do not trust Mallory in this. Or in anything."

Queen Mab's brows shoot up. Then she laughs softly. "You always did say what you think."

"It's easier."

Gray sighs. "I respect Mrs. Wallace's opinions, but I assure you that I trust Mallory implicitly. I do not know how much you understand of Mallory's past…"

"That she used to be a demon with an angel's face?" Queen Mab says. "A ruthless thief who double-crossed everyone she met?"

Simon makes a small noise. He'd been Catriona's friend, and—as far as I can tell—the one person she'd never betrayed.

Queen Mab continues, "Then there was an incident, a near-death experience during which the girl struck her head, and now we have Miss Mallory instead, who is neither angel nor demon, but something far more interesting. An enigma."

"Wrapped in a mystery," I say. "If Mrs. Wallace can join us, I'm fine with it. I understand that she doesn't trust me, and I accept that, as Catriona, I gave her reason for that."

I think I'm being reasonable, but Mrs. Wallace's hard look says she hears only mealymouthed platitudes, and she isn't falling for them.

I let Gray help me out of the coach. Once I'm in Simon's lantern light, Queen Mab says, "Oh, my. Now that is a bit of clever costuming."

"Do I look a delightful confection?" I say with a half twirl of my skirts.

"You look like a fairy changeling, ready to shed her colorful skin and play the role of a sweet human child. Clever indeed. Also appropriate, in light of your transformation. I commend your ingenuity and your sense of humor."

"It was Mrs. Wallace's idea."

"Then I commend hers."

"It's not too showy?" I say.

Queen Mab looks pointedly down at her own outfit and arches a brow.

"All right," I say. "Showy is good, I take it."

"Interesting is good, as is that sense that it suggests one is more than one appears. Your costuming is perfect. I presume you brought the hand?"

I lift a carpetbag. She waits until I open it. Then she lifts it out for a closer look.

"It is indeed authentic," she says. "Yes, this will do nicely. Now, Dr. Gray, while I know you long to accompany your fairy changeling, I am going to need to ask you to leave with your coach. It is not safe here. I will see that she is properly returned home in my own conveyance."

Gray nods. He murmurs, "Be careful," to me and then, louder, "If she is not back by two, I will return. That is no threat, ma'am, only a precaution, in case anything befalls you both in there."

"Nothing will befall Miss Mitchell while she is under my protection. Come along then, ladies. We have a goblin market to infiltrate."