“He seemed nervous,” she admitted. “Preoccupied. But excited, too.”
“Did he say why?”
Gia hesitated. “He’d found something. A new kind of gemstone that was beyond priceless. He said it would change everything.”
Gavriel’s interest sharpened. “Those were his exact words? That it would change everything?”
She nodded firmly. “But he wouldn’t tell me more. After we . . . engaged in a tryst, he left to meet someone. It was after midnight by then. Before you ask, he didn’t tell me who.” Her eyes filled with tears. “The next day, I heard what happened to him. I swear, Lord Morningstar, that is all I know.”
He searched her face for deception and found none. “Did he mention his aide? Levi Bottas?”
She looked puzzled. “The boy from down south? No, not that night. Barsal thought he was a bit dense, to be honest. He only hired him because his uncle gave a lot of money to the Freedom League.”
“What about Primo Roloa, the deputy consul? Or Luzia Bras?”
She shook her head. “He’d complain about them sometimes. That’s all.”
Gavriel asked a few more questions, but she knew nothing more. They left the flat and descended the stairs. Gia’s naked visitor lurked behind one of the potted palms, hands covering his groin. He crouched low when he saw Rowan, peering between the fronds with apprehension.
“You can go back up now,” she told him in a friendly manner.
He waited for her to pass, then scurried up the stairs, bare buttocks wobbling. Gavriel did his best to remain aloof, clamping his molars together. Rowan did not make a jest. She was scanning for hidden assassins ahead.
Outside, rainclouds gathered, threatening a downpour. It would be a wet walk back to the Red House, but Gavriel felt pleased with their progress. Rowan might be heavy-handed, but he had her to thank for his first real breakthrough. Had he come alone, he would still be standing outside the gate.
“Finally, a lead we can use,” he said giddily. “Casolaba’s death must be connected to this gem, and whoever he met must be the killer. I’m afraid it is looking more and more like the witches are behind it, but I must follow where the evidence takes me.”
Rowan gave him a half-hearted nod and halted at the curb. The cobblestoned street was deserted, yet she stared intently into the distance.
Gavriel followed her gaze. “What is it?”
She didn’t reply at first. Her pupils were huge. Then she said, “Something isn’t right.”
The hair on his nape stirred as he watched a line of violet blood trickle from Rowan’s nose. A second later, Gavriel heard the rattle of wheels. A coach rounded the corner, drawn by four caracal cats. They were running flat out, the muscles of their flanks bunching and lengthening.
He took a startled step back. The coach bore down, veering towards the curb. Then Rowan flew into him and they both went sprawling into the flowerbed. She twisted at the last moment to ensure he landed on top, sparing his injured wing.
Their faces were inches apart. Her scent, the one that had been distracting him since the moment they met, even from across a room, grew dizzyingly strong. Smoky vetiver and the earthbound stillness of oakmoss, with a hint of almond blossoms.
Gavriel wrenched his gaze away, turning his head in time to see the coach thunder through the space he had occupied a moment before.
His heart pounded, partly from the near miss, mostly from her warm body beneath him. His left knee pressed between her legs, and he had a powerful urge to take a strand of her pale hair between his fingers and test its softness. To caress the smooth skin of her cheek. How plump her lower lip was, like a ripe summer berry?—
It must have only been a few seconds before she pushed him off and chased down the coach. Still stunned, Gavriel pulled himself together and followed. The whey-faced driver stood at the end of the block stammering apologies. When he saw a cypher and angel approaching, his terror redoubled.
Rowan ignored him and strode up to the snarling cats. She allowed them to sniff her hand, then scratched them beneath the chin. Their tails stopped lashing. One began to purr, a calming rumble.
“Since you nearly ran Lord Morningstar down, you may take him to his residence,” she said in a colder tone than Gavriel had ever heard her use.
The driver was happy to oblige. “I’m terribly sorry, my lord,” he said, wringing his hands. “They went wild. I’ve never seen such a thing. Normally, my girls are the sweetest darlings. Perhaps they caught the scent of a rat . . .”
Gavriel assured him that he did not blame the caracals. Rowan, stone-faced, gave the address of the townhouse on Boulevard Dos Safiras. As the coach started off at a normal pace, she said softly, “There’s a residue of ley on those cats. Someone riled them up.”
He had guessed as much. “How did you know?”
“Most people with witch blood can sense the lingering magic of a spell.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he said evenly. “How did you know the coach was aimed at me?”
