Chapter 4

"Your second high society event in a week. Contessa might turn you into a proper lady yet," Joseph mused as their carriage trundled up the hill to the wide streets where the wealthiest residents of London lived.

"If I'm proper, then Contessa is meek and demure," Rhosyn scoffed.

Joseph laughed and the smile made him look younger, softening the constant creases of consternation he wore from frowning at paperwork so often.

"I hope you can at least put on the act for another night," Joseph commented. "Mr. Gower specifically requested that I bring the officer responsible for the return of his jewels, so he could thank them personally."

At this, Rhosyn frowned. "We still haven't caught the Hood yet though."

Indeed, when Fletcher and Davies showed up to retrieve the stolen jewels and question Mr. Barrett on who sold them to him, he had described the same man Rhosyn had chased across the rooftops earlier: a piece of fabric hiding his lower face with a hood pulled low over his eyes. They had gained no further hints to his identity, and so could still only refer to him as the Hood.

"That might be true," Joseph admitted, "but hopefully he won't try to steal the same jewels twice. As long as Mr. Gower is happy and will keep sponsoring Talented, then it will at least take that worry off my plate."

Rhosyn didn't respond, playing through her chase with the Hood in her mind again. She told herself she was searching for some hidden clue in her memories she had overlooked earlier. In reality, the picture of him performing a perfect flip in the air, quads flexing as he landed and threatening to split the seams of his pants, came to her mind at all sorts of odd times. When she was taking a pause to eat lunch. When she was lying in her bed at night waiting for sleep to come.

Rhosyn was infuriated that he had gotten away.

She was also curious.

The cease of rumbling around her drew her from her musings, and she realized the carriage had come to a halt. They had arrived at the Gowers'.

Joseph helped her down from the carriage as Rhosyn suppressed the odd urge to giggle as she lifted her canary-yellow skirts out of the way of her satin slippers. The whole production felt similar to the first time she played dress up with Contessa's gowns years ago.

Still, she did her best to seem like she belonged there as she took Joseph's elbow and let him lead her into the grand house. The crystal chandelier and ornate wood railings on the sweeping staircase did nothing to make her feel more at ease.

However, the sight that greeted her just inside the parlor lifted her heart. A familiar young man hovered in the corner, a tray of crudites balanced in his white-gloved hands.

"Paul." Rhosyn made a beeline across the room to her former charge, although she knew she should probably greet the more distinguished guests first. He must not have heard her the first time, not reacting at all. "Paul!"

When Rhosyn stepped in front of him, he blinked several times as if not processing what he was seeing. It was probably since Rhosyn was dressed far more formally than she ever had been while minding the young Lions in the den. She took his moment of recognition to look him over.

It struck her immediately that he was still so young, barely more than just a boy. It seemed impossible that he could already have a job in a fine house. Then again, Rhosyn had been the same age when she put herself in charge of all the Lion's rescued children.

"Rhosyn?" Paul said slowly.

"I'm so glad to see you here," Rhosyn gushed. "I was so happy to hear that Mr. Gower sponsored you, but I wanted to check on you."

Paul's lips turned up in a smile, but something in his eyes seemed vacant, a strange flatness Rhosyn hadn't remembered in his expression. "I was glad to be sponsored, too."

"Are you feeling alright?" Rhosyn resisted the urge to press the back of her hand to his forehead and check for a fever. He seemed glassy-eyed, and taking care of him was a habit that died hard.

"Yes," Paul assured. "Just tired from learning how to be a proper footman."

"They're not working you too hard, are they?"

Paul shook his head. "I mostly use my Talent to help Mrs. Gower sleep—she suffers from insomnia—and lend a hand at parties like this."

Rhosyn opened her mouth to tell Paul to reach out to her if he was mistreated, but a hand on her elbow interrupted her.

"I think some of the other guests might be offended you prefer the footman's company over theirs," Joseph murmured in her ear.

The heat of annoyance flared in Rhosyn's chest, but she knew Joseph was right, and her irritation was further soothed by the apologetic look Joseph gave Paul. As Rhosyn let Joseph guide her into the thick of the party, Paul resumed his initial posture against the wall, looking like a decorative statue.

They picked their way through the assembled guests, looking for their host, the only person Rhosyn expected to recognize in there. The thick aroma of expensive perfumes mixing in the air threatened to overwhelm Rhosyn more than the cacophony of smells down at the ports ever did. Some women had already congregated near the piano where a lady much more well-bred than herself was picking out a cheerful melody. Rhosyn couldn't help but think that Scarlett played much better.

Joseph spotted Mr. Gower in a knot of gentlemen at the far end of the room and jerked his chin, indicating they should head in that direction. Just as they stepped into the circle surrounding Mr. Gower, a familiar voice sounded from Rhosyn's right.

"Why, if it isn't Ms. Walsh."

Rhosyn's eyebrows rose at the sight of Mr. Blakely, this time dressed in eggplant purple silk, a silver cane with some sort of animal head at the top balanced loosely in his hand.

"I see you are familiar with my guests of honor, Officer Walsh and Police Chief Thorne." Mr. Gower puffed up as he spoke, as if having such a collection of people in his drawing room was a momentous accomplishment. "I invited them after they returned some of my wife's most valuable jewels to her."

"Did they now?" Mr. Blakely asked, his tone impressed even as something inscrutable passed over his face.

"They did, although I wish they would apprehend the scoundrel that stole them in the first place."

Joseph stiffened beside Rhosyn, but Mr. Gower plowed ahead as if oblivious to the sore spot he obviously struck.

"And after the ball at the palace, I simply had to have Mr. Blakely to one of our soirees. Mrs. Gower was so taken with his contortionists that she insisted I invite him over at once."

"I'm afraid I missed the contortionists," Rhosyn admitted to Mr. Gower, although her eyes kept darting to Mr. Blakely.

"I heard you were drawn away by a commotion," Mr. Blakely commented. "It's a shame, I would have liked another dance."

Rhosyn usually tried to avoid blushing at all costs, as the flush clashed terribly with her flame-red hair, but she felt heat climbing up her chest to her neck. For the first time, she understood ladies' urges to carry a fan.

"I'm afraid there won't be any dancing tonight to remedy the situation," Mr. Gower said apologetically, "but maybe a game of cards would suffice?"

"I certainly wouldn't mind a hand of Whist," Rhosyn offered, a sly smile inching across her face. "Chief Thorne and I will be a team."

"Then, Mr. Blakely and I will play against you," Mr. Gower offered as he ushered them over towards one of the tables set up around the edges of the room for just such a purpose.

As they walked, Joseph grumbled in Rhosyn's ear, "You know I'm terrible at Whist."

Indeed, every time a deck of cards came out at the Woodrow's occasional dinner party, it became a tight race between Rhosyn and Benedict to see who would win the most hands, with Joseph losing trick after trick.

"It doesn't matter, I'm good enough for the both of us," Rhosyn murmured back.

"I don't think fine society takes kindly to cheating." Joseph spoke low enough that only Rhosyn could hear.

She grinned.

"Then they won't find out."

And so, Rhosyn found herself seated at a small square table with Joseph directly across from her and Mr. Gower and Mr. Blakely to her left and right. Before anybody could offer, Rhosyn snapped up the deck of cards and began shuffling.

Out of habit, she showed off a bit, making the cards flutter down in a perfect bridge before tossing them back and forth from hand to hand. Joseph cleared his throat and Rhosyn looked up, finding Mr. Gower glaring at her with undisguised disapproval. She might have expected as much, as the ladies of breeding he was used to would not have spent their youths among sharps in gambling dens.

More disappointing, though, was the scowl Mr. Blakely shot towards her hands as her fingers deftly controlled the cards through their acrobatics. Rhosyn resisted the urge to duck her head and dealt four even hands. After all, who was Mr. Blakely to judge her for knowing her way around a deck of cards, when he owned a circus?

The match began with Mr. Gower, as he sat to Rhosyn's right, and Mr. Blakely promptly took the trick with the queen of spades. Joseph lost the next trick by playing the ten of diamonds, but it was worth it to find out that Mr. Gower did not have any of the correct suit. On the next trick, Mr. Gower played the queen of hearts, already confidently reaching out to sweep the cards onto his side of the table when Rhosyn stopped him by slapping down the ace of hearts.

"Don't get too confident," she teased as she swept the cards away, using Mr. Gower's moment of consternation to flick a card up her sleeve. Now the queen of hearts replaced the three of spades in her hand.

Honestly, maybe she should have worn gowns with these wide, lacy sleeves in the gambling dens of the lower city. They made it incredibly easy to palm a card.

"Maybe you're the one that's too confident," Mr. Blakely quipped. "What if we made this more interesting?"

"I wouldn't have taken you for a gambling man," Rhosyn shot back.

"Well, I'm certainly not," Joseph grumbled.

"Me neither," Mr. Gower agreed.

"Then what about a bet between just me and Ms. Walsh," Mr. Blakely suggested. His voice took on a low timbre that made Rhosyn sit up straighter in her chair.

"And what would we be betting?" she asked.

"If I win, you have to be a special guest at one of my circus's performances," Mr. Blakely said firmly.

"That hardly seems like an imposition," Rhosyn pointed out.

"Imposing isn't my goal. And what would you like if you win?"

Rhosyn narrowed her eyes at him thoughtfully. "I want you to tell me what act you performed in the circus."

Mr. Blakely's eyes flashed. "How do you know I ever performed? Maybe I just run the shows."

Rhosyn snorted, nodding to his outfit. "I know a showman when I see one."

"Alright, if you win, I'll tell you about my act in the circus, if I performed at all."

They reached across the table to shake on it. As Mr. Blakely's hand grasped hers, rough calluses at the base of his fingers scraped her palm. She raised her eyebrows. Maybe he was a juggler.

Then they returned to the game. They went around the table playing the first card, both teams being evenly matched. Coming into the last trick, both teams were tied, and Mr. Blakely smiled at Rhosyn triumphantly.

"I'm afraid you'll never know my hidden performance skills," he said in mock disappointment.

It was Rhosyn's turn to set down the opening card—her last one—and she grinned. "You're so confident you can best the queen of hearts?"

Mr. Blakely blinked down at the red silhouette staring up at him from the table. Slowly, he laid down his own card, the jack of clubs.

"Oh ho!" Mr. Gower clapped his hands in delight, even though his team had lost. "Now, Mr. Blakely, you must tell us of your hidden talent."

Mr. Blakely stiffened.

"Oh, I didn't mean Talent as in…" Mr. Gower hurried to rectify himself.

"Of course not," Mr. Blakely waved a hand of dismissal, as if Rhosyn hadn't felt the air quiver as the muscles in his body went rigid a moment earlier. "But maybe a demonstration of my skills would be a better explanation."

"Some entertainment!" Mr. Gower exclaimed, clearly pleased to have a similar show to the King at his party.

"I'll need a few things though," Mr. Blakely said, "A knife, an apple, and of course a lovely volunteer."

"I think you have your volunteer right here," Joseph chimed in, gesturing to Rhosyn.

"As long as you promise not to be scared," Mr. Blakely said, something hard and challenging in his gaze.

"Oh, so this is going to be dangerous? I'm growing more excited by the second," Rhosyn quipped.

"I'll see if I can't get a servant to fetch the other things." Mr. Gower pushed to his feet, meandering off to find one of the footmen doing their best to blend into the walls.

An anticipatory silence fell over the table, broken by Joseph. "So how does a young man like yourself come to be running a circus?"

"It belonged to my father." Mr. Blakely folded his hands carefully on the table in front of him. "When he passed five years ago, I knew he would want me to keep it running."

"Ah, a family business," Joseph nodded. "I'm sorry to hear of your father, though."

A crash sounded from above them before Mr. Blakely could speak. Rhosyn's gaze snapped to the ceiling above her, the chandelier quivering with the force of the noise. A hush fell over the assembled partygoers. Another crash, this time accompanied by the sound of shattering glass, and Rhosyn was on her feet.

Joseph was hot on her heels, as she darted through the crowded parlor towards the grand stairs in the entrance, cards forgotten on the table behind them. Hindered as she was by her dress, Joseph overtook her as they bounded up the stairs. They turned right at the top, in the direction of the noise.

Mr. Gower stood red-faced with a stricken expression on his face, the carnage of what appeared to have been a library around him. "There—When I… I came in and there was somebody here… They tried to attack me!"

"Which way did they go?" Joseph demanded, his commanding officer persona surfacing in the moment of chaos.

Mr. Gower pointed to the hallway behind them. As one, they turned and looked down the series of doors on the upper level.

"We didn't pass them on the way up the stairs, so they must still be here," Joseph thought out loud.

"I'll sweep the rooms on the right, you get the ones on the left," Rhosyn suggested. She took two steps down the hallway, before Joseph's hand on her arm stopped her.

She turned and found him holding out a knife, handle first. She took it, observing it to be the flat kind that Nate wore no fewer than nine of beneath his clothes.

Rhosyn raised her brows at Joseph.

"I've picked up a thing or two," he grumbled.

With that, they set off down the hallway. Rhosyn peeked into every darkened room she passed, looking for any wardrobes that could hide a thief or open windows that could serve as an escape route. The hilt of the knife was smooth and heavy in her palm as she held it in a reverse grip.

Looking into the third room, a guest bedroom by the looks of it, she was glad for the weapon in her grasp, although part of her itched for her trusty brass knuckles. She wasn't as good with a knife as Nate, and it had been too long since she wielded anything but her police baton.

Every room Rhosyn glanced in appeared completely undisturbed, although the amount and opulence made Rhosyn's head spin. All the children who had crammed into narrow bunks in the Lion's Den could nearly have their own bedrooms here.

When she reached the last door on the right side, she paused. The modest-sized sitting room appeared deserted, but something about the stillness of the air drew Rhosyn further into the room. Her eye caught on a large fireplace along the far wall and her brow furrowed.

Scarlett had relayed a horrifying story about escaping up a chimney one time, and it flickered through Rhosyn's mind now.

Maybe—

The open door slammed into Rhosyn, catching her in the temple and nearly knocking her to the ground. As she took a step to regain her balance, she tripped over her skirt and had to grab onto a nearby settee with her free hand to remain upright.

Her assailant took the moment to jump out from behind the door where he had been hiding. As he stepped into the beam of light coming in from the hallway, Rhosyn gasped.

"You!"

Standing in Mr. Gower's sitting room was the Hood, complete with fabric covering nearly all of his face and a miniature crossbow strapped to his forearm. He pressed the advantage in Rhosyn's moment of surprise, lashing out with a madcap right hook.

Rhosyn ducked, the blow barely missing her and wind from it ruffling her rapidly deteriorating hairstyle. As she sidestepped, she threw out an elbow, catching the Hood square in his stomach.

He let out a soft oomph but was not deterred, taking advantage of Rhosyn's proximity to throw an upper cut. Rhosyn tried to dodge, but her skirts caught on the table behind her, and she couldn't get completely out of the way in time. The blow glanced off her cheekbone, skittering across her temple.

A familiar ringing filled her ears from the impact. Rhosyn's lips pulled back in an expression halfway between a grin and a snarl. She leaped forward as best she could, given the constraints of her current attire. Her fists flew in a series of rapid blows to Hood's face and torso.

He blocked most of them with his forearms, but Rhosyn was too vicious a brawler and pummeled through his defenses, landing a solid blow to his shoulder.

The Hood staggered back, the grace with which he had scampered over rooftops disappearing in the face of Rhosyn's assault. She prepared to leap, hoping to pin him to the ground and rip the covering from his face.

Before she could act, Joseph burst through the still open door, clearly drawn by the commotion. His appearance distracted Rhosyn just enough that she didn't notice the Hood fish his hand into his pocket until it was too late.

Glass shattered as Hood threw a small vial to the ground, and immediately a thick smoke with an odd bluish tint filled the air. It nearly blocked the silhouettes of the two men from view as it billowed up from the ground.

Rhosyn jumped forward into it with an annoyed growl. She was not going to lose her mark a second time, letting him disappear in a puff of smoke like some half-rate magician.

As she stepped into the fumes, they filled her nose and she coughed around the strangely sweet scent. The smoke swam around her. Or maybe it was her vision. Rhosyn continued to push forward, but her equilibrium was nowhere to be found. Her silky slippers, so different from the thick soled boots of her uniform, caught on the carpet.

Her knees hit the ground before she knew she was falling, the world continuing to spin around her. The Hood emerged from the smoke, looking down at her with his head cocked. Rhosyn tried to curse at him but her tongue was too large and thick against her teeth.

Instead of responding, the Hood bent down. An odd shiver ran up Rhosyn's spine as he appeared to reach for her, only to pick up something on the ground at her side.

He held up a playing card—the three of spades, Rhosyn knew—that must have fallen out of her sleeve during their altercation. Without a word he tucked it into his pocket, offered a tiny, mocking bow, and disappeared.

Rarely had Rhosyn been so happy to collapse onto the too-soft bed in her too-quiet bedroom. She flopped onto her coverlet, burying her face in the pillows. Lying perfectly still, she hoped sleep would take the last of her wooziness away.

Whatever had been in the smoke bomb the Hood had used hadn't ever knocked her completely unconscious, but it had left her and Joseph disoriented enough to do nothing but lay on the ground while he made an escape. The cloth across Hood's face, likely combined with him knowing to hold his breath, had given him a chance to slip away into the night.

By the time Mr. Gower came and opened a window to let the fresh air in, their culprit was nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, the night had not ended there.

While the rest of the party guests had left quickly, scared off by the commotion and threat of an intruder, Rhosyn and Joseph stayed as Mr. Gower went through his documents and valuables to ascertain if anything was taken.

As their host did, Rhosyn ventured through the house looking for signs of forced entry. By the time Mr. Gower announced that nothing had been taken, she had found no signs of how the Hood may have entered, although with so many comings and goings for the evening's revelries, and not knowing what he looked like under the mask, it was possible he may have slipped in unnoticed without even picking a lock.

Rhosyn and Joseph had shared a carriage back to the middle city, Joseph resting his face in his hands.

"Why would they try to rob him after we just managed to return his wife's jewels to him?" he asked in a tone of utmost despair.

Rarely one for quiet, Rhosyn had just shaken her head and looked out the window. In two weeks, she had gone to two parties that ended in ruined dresses and failed chases. Even before she was an officer of the Royal Police, Rhosyn had tasked herself with protecting the people of London in whatever way she could. Recently, she had failed at every turn.

Now she rolled onto her back with a sigh, closing her eyes and letting her mind drift. Despite the unusual heaviness of her limbs from the remnant of the drugs in her system, Rhosyn's blood rushed through her body with unnerving speed. She would not be able to sleep soon. It had been too long since she had been in a proper brawl, and even just the taste of a fight with the Hood today had been enough to reactivate old instincts. Hell, the last time she had been able to let her reflexes take over like that was when she fought Scarlett in the Wolves' fighting pits. She missed it—the adrenaline and freedom that came from throwing herself at a problem with everything she had.

Rhosyn rubbed a hand over her eyes. She was now an officer for the Royal Police, and that was the best way for her to protect the city she had called home all her life—where she had chosen to stay to be with her adoptive family even when adventure and the sea had tugged at her blood. It didn't do to dwell on such things, though, and she forced her mind to focus on something else.

The memory of trading blows with the Hood morphed into exchanging easy jabs with Mr. Blakely over cards. Disappointment flooded her that he, along with the rest of the guests, had been gone by the time she and Joseph recovered from the drugged smoke. It was probably for the best though. As much as she enjoyed Mr. Blakely's charms, it was clear she should keep him at arm's length.

With the way he had stiffened when Mr. Gower spoke of being Talented, and how determined he seemed to be to climb the social ladder by brushing elbows with the elite and wealthy, she doubted Mr. Blakely's casual flirtations would continue if he were to find out about her checkered past.

Still, if she wasn't going to be able to sleep anyways, it didn't hurt to imagine. She and Mr. Blakely might meet again, but instead of leading her towards a dance floor, they would break out into a shadowed corner of the garden—perhaps an ostentatious hedge maze like the Worthingtons had.

But then what would he do? Mr. Blakely was a gentleman, but Rhosyn was far from a lady. She knew how things would go in the darkened alley of the lower city, but proper romantic trysts were not in her repertoire.

In line with these thoughts, the vision morphed, so it wasn't Mr. Blakely she pressed herself against in some darkened corner, but a masked figure with a hood pulled low over his face. With those powerful thighs and broad shoulders, Rhosyn didn't doubt that the Hood could easily hoist her in his arms.

She shook herself, snapping her eyes open and tracing her gaze over the spiderweb cracks in the plaster ceiling. She really wasn't fit for society if her mind preferred to ponder romantic entanglements with the man who had just punched her before leaving her fighting for consciousness on the floor. Maybe she just hadn't been in a proper brawl in too long.

Rhosyn's fingers drifted up to her face, tracing over her battered cheekbone, the ache of something deeper bothering her more than the pain of the bruise. She missed running with the Lions.

Joseph intercepted Rhosyn the moment she walked in the door, pouncing on her as if he had been waiting. She blinked at him groggily, having tossed and turned most of the night. The deep furrow between his brows chased the sleepiness from her mind though.

"Mr. Gower sent a message early this morning." Joseph began without preamble. "He found that something was missing."

"What?"

"His household staff, the Talented ones," Joseph admitted grimly.

They had been walking through the mess of desks towards Joseph's station in the corner, but Rhosyn froze.

"Paul…"

"He and Olivia are missing," Joseph explained.

Rhosyn turned on her heel, ready to storm out and march through the city until she found her former charges, but Joseph's hand on her shoulder stopped her. Her head snapped toward him and at the very last second she schooled her face out of the snarl that threatened the corners of her mouth.

It wasn't Joseph's fault.

"I already have Davies and Fletcher on it. They've been investigating the Hood for months now."

"And do they have any leads?" Rhosyn snapped.

"I need you in the lower city," Joseph side stepped the question, giving her all the answers she needed.

Rhosyn pulled her arm from his grip, but his beseeching expression kept her from storming away.

"There was another turf war in the lower city last night, by the train yards," Joseph admitted in a low tone. "They dispersed by the time we got there, but my gut tells me it was the Foxes. This is escalating too quickly. With so much happening with the Hood in the upper city, I need to know I have somebody I can trust keeping an eye on things."

The heaviness in Joseph's eyes said the words he left unspoken. He knew she would take care of the lower city, because those were her people. While many of the Royal Police were from the middle city, with the higher-ranking officers consorting with those in the upper city like Chief Cook had, the dirty back alleys and dice houses were Rhosyn's London.

"Alright," she acquiesced. "But don't keep me in the dark."

Or I may not be able to stop myself from performing my own investigation.

"That's why I told you. I'm not a Chief that keeps secrets."

"I know," Rhosyn nodded. In that moment, she was sure he was comparing himself to his former mentor.

And so, Rhosyn found herself walking a familiar beat among her usual streets, eyes darting around for signs of violence. She had roamed these neighborhoods on many days where furtive glances and a certain tenor in the voices of those out and about had made the city seem like a powder keg about to blow—usually when turf wars and skirmishes reached a peak.

Today wasn't one of those days. The sun was strong enough to pierce the perpetual smog, and voices echoed loudly off the cobblestones as people shouted their greetings and went about their business. Rhosyn frowned. Perhaps this area was too far from the rail yards to be affected by last night's bloodshed.

She directed her steps away from the shops and factories and in the direction of the mess of intersecting rails where goods from the factories and those received from the port would begin their journey to the rest of the country. It wasn't an area she spent much time in as a youth, being firmly ensconced in Scorpion territory, but she knew it was a prime area for violence and crooked deals. The rail workers cleared out at night, and there were plenty of heavy shadows and abandoned train cars where people could conduct business best done in the dark.

So, as she stepped out from behind a spare train car languishing on the track, she started in surprise at the brightly colored sight that greeted her. Workers scurried about, loading bundles and boxes into carts that then trundled out to the surrounding streets. At the epicenter of the activity stood a train, brightly colored in green and yellow, a far cry from the dark steam engines that dominated the area.

Rhosyn drifted closer, gaze catching on words printed on the side of one car in dramatic, curling script.

Archer's Circus

No sooner had her brain fired in recognition, than a familiar voice greeted her.

"You certainly don't take any time off."

Rhosyn spun on her heel, little pebbles crunching underfoot as she turned to see Mr. Blakely. Today, the trappings of a man trying to wheedle his way into society were gone, replaced with a workman's garb. A light shirt was tucked into plain trousers, his sleeves rolled up to nearly his elbows. A sheen of sweat made his hair cling to forehead, dark aside from the contrasting streak of silver at his right temple.

"Neither do you, it seems," Rhosyn said, trying to keep her gaze from lingering on his bare forearms. Perhaps there was something to exposed ankles being indecent, if such an innocuous thing could be so thoroughly distracting.

"Ah, but I didn't end up working last night," he responded, crossing his arms across a surprisingly broad chest for one of his stature.

"I'm afraid I might become an unpopular party guest, if every event I attend continues to end in a police investigation," she griped.

Mr. Blakely's eyes twinkled. "Or maybe it will just give you an air of mystique."

"That doesn't get you as far in law enforcement as it might in the circus," Rhosyn pointed out.

Mr. Blakely laughed, the sound light and easy. Rhosyn had found him charming in all his finery, but she found her smile coming more freely with him like this.

"And what brings you down to the railyard the morning after such an eventful celebration, Mr. Blakely?" Rhosyn prodded.

He waved a dismissive hand. "Call me Ansel, please. Nobody else in this traveling pack of fools calls me Mr. Blakely, so I save the airs for when I'm trying to impress."

"Well, Ansel," Rhosyn started, a strange amount of bite working its way into her tone as she processed that she was not somebody he was intent on impressing—although she had presumed as much in the quiet of her bedroom the night before. "What brings you to such a part of town?"

"The rest of my show has arrived," he explained, gesturing to the train behind her. "I came to London a few weeks ago with just a handful of my best acts, trying to drum up interest. After performing at the King's party, the Merry Men have gained enough notoriety for me to bring my entire circus for an extended stay. They just arrived."

Rhosyn's eyes narrowed. "Did your train have any trouble upon arriving?"

"No," Mr. Blakely—Ansel—cocked his head. "Other than the ungodly early hour it arrived this morning."

Rhosyn considered him. Her mental hackles rose at the thought that he might be lying. His train had arrived at the spot of a dangerous turf war just hours after it occurred. What's more, he had been at the last two events that had ended in thefts or kidnapping. Then again, so had she.

Ansel observed her as she thought, expression guileless.

"I guess it's for the best that yesterday's festivities ended early then, if you had to be up before the sun," Rhosyn commented.

Ansel shrugged. "Despite the fact that I lost our bet, I found myself disappointed that I didn't get to show off my skills for you. After all, your slight of hand was very good, and I don't like to be upstaged."

A fire in Rhosyn's chest sparked at his accusation—despite the fact that she had cheated—but settled into the heat of a challenge, instead of rage, when he saw that his expression was more amused than angry.

"Only a sore loser confuses luck for cheating," she quipped.

"Oh, I'm no stranger to luck," Ansel answered cryptically, "but I do have a knack for remembering what cards have been played. I'm pretty sure you played the Queen of Hearts twice."

"Well, there's no proof of that."

Ansel's eyes flashed, green catching in the sun like the emerald at the center of Mr. Gower's stolen hat pin. "Then I guess I still owe you a demonstration."

"Technically, you only have to tell me about your circus act."

"And deny a performer a chance for dramatic effect?" Ansel asked. It struck Rhosyn as an odd comment somehow, in the broad daylight where he seemed to be just another man working to unload a train of its cargo, in plainclothes with a smudge of something like grease along his jaw. Last night, in all his finery, he had certainly seemed the consummate showman, but now it seemed as if he was missing something. It left Rhosyn unbalanced, wondering which man was the real one—the suave Mr. Blakely she played cards with last night, or Ansel who she bantered with in a trainyard.

"Maybe we can still find time for you to show off," Rhosyn suggested.

"My circus will be performing its opening show next weekend. Why don't you come and see for yourself. Front row seats are hard to come by, but I know the owner," Ansel joked.

"Now you're just cashing in your side of the bet."

"I have very little incentive to play fair against you." He grinned, expression sly.

Rhosyn's rational mind told her to refuse his offer—steer clear of a social climber who likely wouldn't take kindly to her background. After all, she had a thief to catch, the Foxes to bring down, and missing Talented to find.

But Ansel wore his smile like a challenge, and Rhosyn never backed down.

"I expect tickets on opening night."

"So it shall be." Ansel opened his mouth as if to say something more, but his gaze caught on something over her shoulder. "Careful with the trapezes! You'll get them all tangled doing that."

In a second, he strode away, commanding the workers who were loading bundles of ropes into a wheelbarrow. Rhosyn stood watching for a moment in the middle of the mayhem, a rock in the center of a hive of worker bees. Then she turned from the Archer's Circus train and began weaving her way through the much bleaker and less lively engines.

She wasn't sure what she expected to find. The gangs of the lower city were skilled at hit and run tactics, striking each other swiftly and melting back into the shadows before the authorities arrived. Such guerrilla tactics were how the Lions had thrived for nearly a decade.

It was doubtful the Foxes left any more evidence around than boot prints in gravel, already worn away by the stomping of the rail workers this morning. Maybe the trains themselves would give her a clue as to what they might be smuggling that was worth spilling blood over.

A quick perusal of the manifest in the small office at the side of the rail office showed nothing of note, besides the arrival of the Archer's Circus train, which she already knew about. The only things coming in and out yesterday and today were steel and coal, as well as a large shipment of textiles. The last would be very valuable—prices had been driven up enormously since Contessa advised the King to enact a policy demanding fair wages for the factory workers—but not something any gang would try to steal.

Rhosyn left the rail yard behind her with lead in her usually bouncy gate. Perhaps Chief Thorne's faith in her was misplaced, thinking she could protect the lower city from whatever trouble was brewing.

A comforting weight like a blanket settled over Rhosyn's shoulders as she opened the sky-blue front door of the Woodrow's house. The only thing that would make it feel more like coming home would be climbing up from the secret passage beneath Nate's desk in the study. However, it had been filled with stones and boarded up after the Royal Police were alerted to the secret passageways' presence a few years ago. Nate was unwilling to give those that might want revenge such easy access to his home—and his wife—now that the secret of tunnels was no longer owned only by the Lions.

Still, Rhosyn was no more inclined to knock on the front door than she was when entering through a trap door, and she strode into the foyer and past the sweeping staircase casually. Nate and Contessa wouldn't mind. After all, two of their most frequent visitors were Kristoff and Scarlett, who Rhosyn knew through experience preferred windows to doors.

Rhosyn meandered through the parlor, listening for signs that the Woodrows were home. It looked much the same as it had since Nate first moved into the mansion, elegant but plain furniture and nondescript still-life paintings adorning the walls. The most prominent sign of life was the overflowing vases on every surface, immaculate flowers kept blooming by Gregor's presence. As much as Rhosyn had hoped the place would be more lively after Contessa moved in, she had proved disinterested in decorating, most of her time spent either helping the King or working with the Lions on projects of more questionable legality.

Still, certain details spoke of the home's inhabitants. An ornate marble chessboard sat prominently on the table in the middle of the room, a birthday present for Contessa that Nate had agonized over several years back. Dozens of books, a mix of poetry, fairy tales, and politics, lay stacked on the surfaces not occupied by flowers. On top of one of the teetering piles, a silvery blade gleamed, apparently unable to have been packed onto Nate's relatively well armed form.

It appeared they weren't home.

Rhosyn sighed, turning towards the rear of the house where the kitchens would be, along with the possibility of hot tea and Gregor's round smile. She should probably go try to get a good night's sleep, but she wasn't willing to leave just yet. This house brought her more of a feeling of home than the barren bedroom in the middle city.

Hand reaching for the doorknob that would lead her into the kitchen, Rhosyn froze, ears pricked at a sudden noise. It had sounded like a groan, and Rhosyn hesitated to burst into the kitchen. While it wouldn't be the first time she had accidentally barged in on the Woodrows in a compromising position, Contessa was still enough of a lady to be mortified every time.

It came again—a breathy moan in a voice Rhosyn recognized. She smiled and grabbed the doorknob.

"Kristoff, stop defiling Gregor," she shouted.

From the other side of the door came a scuffling and a deep chuckle, along with a quieter, more embarrassed-sounding groan, then the door sprung open.

"How do you know he wasn't defiling me?" Kristoff asked by way of greeting.

Rhosyn raised a brow as she stepped past him into the kitchen.

"Maybe nobody was defiling anybody," Gregor remarked in a deceptively even tone from where he stood at the wooden table, chopping potatoes as if he had always been doing so, but a blooming bruise just below his ear gave him away.

"Sorry to interrupt," Rhosyn teased, bumping Gregor with her hip on her way past him.

"Would you like some tea?" he deflected.

Rhosyn nodded as she perched on the wide windowsill at the back of the room swinging her legs. "Thank you. I'd be glad to have the walk over not be for nothing, since it appears Contessa and Nate aren't home."

"I'm afraid they haven't made it home for dinner yet this week," Gregor admitted as he lifted the kettle onto the stove. "If you need something though, I can give them a message."

Rhosyn shook her head. "I don't need to worry them if they're already that busy. The Royal Police are working on it after all."

"But?" Kristoff folded his arms as he leaned one hip against the table in the center of the room, his deep blue eyes sharp.

Rhosyn cocked her head. "But, what?"

"But obviously you're still worried if you came."

Rhosyn's boot heels thumped against the wall behind her as she considered Kristoff. His dark hair managed to look perfectly disheveled from Gregor's hands, and whirls of black ink covered his forearms where he had pushed his shirtsleeves up. Every inch of him still screamed rogue, despite the fact that most of the jobs he ran these days were on behalf of the crown. After all, Nate and Contessa worried about the specifics of how Kristoff executed his missions, while King Byron remained glad to benefit from having an inside source in the underbelly of the city.

A lick of envy flared in Rhosyn's heart, and she moved to quash it quickly.

When the Lions had ceased to be a street gang and Rhosyn had considered her future, Kristoff had been the first to encourage her to train for the Royal Police. He knew she craved a purpose and action, and he convinced her this was her chance to go straight—to live the life she might have had if not for the Inquiries. When she asked him why he didn't join the Police too, he ruffled her already messy hair and told her he was far too much of a troublemaker to ever wear a uniform.

Now she wondered if the same couldn't be said about her.

"It's Paul and Olivia," Rhosyn admitted. "They're missing."

"And you're investigating it with the Royal Police?"

Rhosyn shook her head. "There are officers on it, and Joseph wants me to stay in on a case in the lower city. But…"

"But Lions protect their pack." It was Gregor who finished for Rhosyn in a decisive tone.

"I just worry about doing off-the-books investigating when Joseph is trying so hard to keep the Royal Police spotless," Rhosyn pointed out.

"Isn't blindly following orders what got the force into such a mess in the first place?" Kristoff asked.

Rhosyn folded her arms. "Only because the Chief was the one doing illegal things."

"Still, I think that's enough evidence that the spirit of the law is more important than the letter of it."

"I'm not sure it would be above board for a Royal Police officer to concede that point." Rhosyn frowned.

"And yet you came to some of the most notorious criminals in London for advice."

Rhosyn resisted the very immature urge to stick her tongue out at Kristoff for verbally backing her into a corner. He had a way of pulling argumentative urges out of her like Rhosyn imagined a sibling would, if she had been lucky enough to have one.

"You have good instincts," Gregor chimed in more gently. "Chief Thorne knows it, I'm sure."

Rhosyn jumped as the teakettle started whistling, and Gregor turned away to remove it from the heat. Kristoff kept observing Rhosyn pensively, the corner of his usual devilish smirk slipping slightly.

"I'll keep my ear to the ground for any news about Paul and Olivia," he promised quietly, "But I don't think you should be hard on yourself for wanting to make sure they're safe."

Rhosyn nodded her thanks as Gregor bustled over with a cup of tea. Like a brother, Kristoff had a way of knowing what she needed to hear, just like he knew how best to tease her.

"Maybe you just need a man in your life to distract you," Kristoff prodded. "Contessa said something about you dancing with a gentleman at the King's ball."

"I hardly see how who I dance with has anything to do with my job as a police officer," Rhosyn shot back.

Gregor grinned. "He's just trying to play matchmaker with everybody since he's tired of waiting for Contessa and Nate to have a baby he can slowly corrupt to his villainous ways."

"They say they're trying, but I hardly see how that's happening when they spend every night working into the small hours of the morning." Kristoff threw his hands up in defeat.

Rhosyn snorted into her tea. "Well, I'm sorry but I don't think I'll be supplying you with a child to dote on any time soon, either. I'm more concerned, at the moment, with finding the ones who have gone missing."

Rhosyn jumped up and down, wiggling inelegantly to pull the too small pants over her hips and thighs. Finally, she managed to button them, blowing a stray curl off her sweaty forehead. For years, she had worn only the navy uniform and gold buttons of the Royal Police, or an occasional gown gifted to her by Contessa and altered to fit, but tonight's task required discretion. So, she had dug to the very bottom of her small chest of clothes and fished out the black shirt and trousers she used to wear when the Lion's went on liberation missions.

Fortunately, Rhosyn had filled in since the lanky days of her teenage years, but she had failed to update her espionage wardrobe. She would just have to deal with tight pants during tonight's creeping about, and avoid thinking about how Contessa would blush at the way the trousers showed every curve of her ass and thighs.

Rhosyn wasn't exactly a lady, after all.

Shoving a black scarf into her shirt, to conceal her hair once she reached her destination, Rhosyn slipped out of her middle city residence and turned her steps uphill. Where Rhosyn normally strode confidently down the middle of the street where all could see her uniform, tonight, she stuck to the edges where the shadows of buildings might obscure her face. As the houses changed from wood to stone, becoming more widely spaced with blooming flowerbeds out front, a thrill ran up Rhosyn's spine.

Something wild in her lifted its head in interest at this new development, as if it had missed illicit midnight missions. She mentally wagged a finger at it. This was a one-time thing, to make sure Paul and Olivia were found. Still, she shivered as she paused to pull out her scarf and wrap it around her hair and lower face.

Soon, the silhouette of Mr. Gower's house shadowed the cobblestones in front of Rhosyn. Surveying the front of the house, the windows remained dark and impenetrable, concealing anything that might be happening within. No matter. Rhosyn was more interested in the back of the house where the servants' quarters resided.

She darted between shadows, creeping around towards the back of the mansion. Her brows drew together as the rear windows remained darkened, but the flickering of a lantern off to the side caught her eye. She crept towards it, finding the light seeping out the cracks around a large door, leading to what must be the carriage house and stables.

Rhosyn inched forward, pressing her palms to the wooden panels and aligning her eye with the seam between the double doors. With her narrow frame of vision, she could just make out a sleek black coach occupying the center of the stable, backlit in shadowy lighting that appeared to be spilling from one of the stalls.

She stiffened as voices drifted through the still night air. Straining forward, nearly pressing her nose into the door, she tried to distinguish words, but only succeeded in making out a faint murmur.

Perhaps it was only the groom, indulging in a little late night…conversation. But nobody knew more about the goings on in a great house than the help, so often treated as invisible but carrying secrets that could ruin many socialites if they so chose. Mr. Gower's household staff may have some inkling of what happened to Paul and Olivia.

As slowly as she could muster, Rhosyn unlatched the stable doors—still unlocked as if the groom hadn't yet closed up for the night—and pressed the door open. She sent up a silent thank you for the wealth that kept Mr. Gower's stable hinges well-oiled, as the wood silently swung forward just wide enough for her to slip inside and ease it shut behind her.

She placed her feet gingerly on the hay-strewn floor, soft boots padding gently as she inched towards the source of the voices. The voices became clearer, and she paused next to the coach, which took up the majority of the open space, crouching partially behind it near one of the large, spoked wheels to listen.

"—need them back as soon as possible."

Rhosyn frowned at the familiar voice. She hadn't expected to hear—

"They might still come back of their own accord, Mr. Gower."

She inhaled sharply through her nose, air full of the warm smell of hay and sleepy horses. What would Mr. Gower himself be doing in the stable in the middle of the night?

"If they wanted to come back, they wouldn't have left, Hamish." The voice was definitely Mr. Gower's, but gone was polish of civility that coated his tone in ballrooms and parties. He sounded frustrated.

"We don't know that. The Royal Police might still bring them back."

"The Royal Police wouldn't know a lead if it bit them on the nose."

Rhosyn bristled and tried not to think about how she herself was working outside of the Police's jurisdiction at the moment.

"I expect them back soon." Mr. Gower spoke again. "I refuse to change my plans."

"They weren't here for long enough for me to—"

"I don't take kindly to excuses, especially from you, Hamish." Mr. Gower interrupted the groom's attempts to explain. "Remember what will happen if you fail to help me."

A rustling came from the stall where the two men spoke, and Rhosyn's heart leapt into her throat as she realized Mr. Gower was about to step around the corner, with her only partially obscured by the shadow of his carriage. She had been so preoccupied by his conversation that she had failed to devise her plan of escape.

She sprang from her crouch, preparing to make a break for it, hoping she wouldn't be recognized even if she was seen. Before she could run, the door of the coach at her back slid open and an arm wrapped around her neck. She tipped backwards into the interior of the coach, another hand clamping over her mouth, muffling the instinctual scream that threatened to break free.

The carriage door closed before her with quiet snick as she squirmed in her assailant's hold, one arm firm across her chest as they hunched over her on the lushly upholstered seat.

"Quiet," a male voice hissed in her ear. "I don't want to get caught any more than you do."

Rhosyn froze, still but for the frantic pounding of her heart and the rushing beneath her skin. She knew that voice. Her eyes darted down, and sure enough, a wrist bow decorated the forearm banded across her heaving chest.

The pair stilled, listening for any sounds indicating their scuffle had been noticed. A shadowed silhouette drifted past the small glass window set into the door, but it didn't pause or give any indication they had been found.

Still, they didn't move yet, the only sound in the space their carefully schooled breathing. If Rhosyn's was a bit ragged, it was from the sudden jolt of adrenaline. It certainly wasn't the sudden wash of awareness coursing through her body as she strained to remain perfectly still, despite the press of the Hood against her back, his muscular thighs bracketing hers. His chest against her was certainly as solid as the width of his shoulders suggested it might be.

Rhosyn opened her mouth, quickly deciding to bite the Hood's palm. She needed him to let go of her, and certainly the immediate danger had passed. Before her teeth could close around the meat of his hand, he snatched it out of the way, as if he had sensed her intentions. Her teeth snapped on thin air.

"That wasn't very nice, considering how I just helped you." The Hood didn't release her, his fingers instead drifting up to where a coppery curl had slipped out of her scarf. He plucked at it gently, rubbing it between his thumb and pointer finger. The red of her hair was stark against the dark gloves he wore. Rhosyn swallowed.

"Ah, I thought I recognized you," the Hood murmured as if to himself. "I shouldn't have expected you to play fair."

"I'm not the one who has to drug my opponents to escape," Rhosyn hissed.

He huffed in what might have been a chuckle, the breath filtering through his mask warm and ticklish on her neck. Rhosyn squirmed.

The Hood tightened his grip. Rhosyn prepared to throw her head back and break his nose, but she hesitated. Even if it seemed they were now alone in the stables, she wasn't willing to risk a full-on brawl on the Gower's property—especially when she wasn't supposed to be there.

As if reading her thoughts, the Hood spoke. "And I'm not the Royal Police officer who appears to make a hobby of breaking and entering."

Rhosyn flushed, seriously considering breaking his nose anyways just for the satisfying crunch. "You were here the night of the party," she deflected. "What do you know?"

Maybe he was the one responsible for Olivia and Paul's disappearance. Perhaps an associate stole them away while the Hood distracted Rhosyn and Joseph. After all, Mr. Gower's description of his attacker didn't match the Hood…but then why would he be here now?

"Are you here to steal more Talented from their new lives?" she hissed accusingly.

The Hood's arm stiffened around her, but he didn't answer her question. "I'm going to let you go, and you're not going to tell anybody you saw me here, or you'll have to explain why you were here too."

"I'm investigating a crime scene. There's nothing hard to explain about that." Rhosyn hoped her words would distract him as she shifted surreptitiously in his grasp, searching for a way to slip free without things descending into a full out brawl. Then again, maybe throwing a few punches would clear her head.

"Something about the way you slipped in under cover of darkness makes me think that you don't exactly have a warrant."

He was right, but Rhosyn wasn't inclined to confirm that. Instead, she hooked her foot around his calf where she kneeled between his legs. She simultaneously threw her weight sideways, grabbing at the arm around her neck and grappling with her leg to take him down with her. The pair rolled on the floor of the carriage, the Hood falling on his back with a heavy ooph as Rhosyn landed on top of him.

The momentum of the fall from the seat was more than Rhosyn expected, and her shoulder crashed into the carriage door with a bone-rattling thump, slamming it open. She tipped out of the black box and hurtled to the ground below. The Hood held fast to her shoulders, following her down.

Rhosyn flung out her arms and bent her knees, trying to tuck into a roll that would bring her to her feet. A ripping sound filled the still air of the stable as Rhosyn failed to break her fall. Her forehead smacked the straw strewn floor, and her ears rang.

When awareness of her body beyond the sharp pain in her head returned, the Hood's weight was no longer on top of her, and the strange sensation of a cool breeze caressed her ass.

"I thought those pants might be a little tight for crime fighting," a familiar voice chuckled just above her. "If you were trying to distract me, it very nearly worked."

Then light, quick footsteps began retreating.

Rhosyn regained control of her limbs a second after realizing Hood was escaping. Hastily, she scrambled to her feet, grateful that the stable now appeared to be empty of both Mr. Gower and the groom, Hamish. She raced to the door, left slightly ajar, just in time to see a dark silhouette leap from the top of the garden fence, performing a flip in the air before landing lightly on his feet and darting off into the night.

With a sigh, Rhosyn let him go. The Hood seemed to be made of smoke, and the harder she tried to grasp him, the more he slipped through her fingers with surprising agility. She couldn't risk being caught chasing him through the streets at night and being forced to explain herself to Chief Thorne.

Rhosyn twisted and looked over her shoulder to assess the damage to her pants, finding the entire back middle seam torn open and amended her thoughts. She definitelycouldn't be caught racing through the streets at night with her entire bahookie on display.

She slipped back into the stable and made sure to set the carriage to rights before exiting and shutting the door behind her. Once she had snuck back around to the front of the grand house and onto the street, she unwrapped the black scarf from her head and used it to tie around her waist. It would be enough to keep her halfway decent on the walk home, if any late-night drinkers were still wandering the streets.

Not that it seemed to matter too terribly much anymore. Hood had quite literally caught her with her pants down tonight before slipping away, and she still didn't know where to find Paul and Olivia.