don’t find her.”
Deirdre once again reached out for the miniature, and Tristan produced it without saying a word, watching as the little man took the portrait and studied it with slowly widening eyes.
“The angel,” he whispered reverently.
Tristan felt his heart speed up with sudden excitement, and Deirdre pounced on the words, her green eyes shining. “You’ve seen her?”
“I seen ’er. Last night in me dream. The demons was chasing ’er.”
Tristan’s hope instantly deflated. Demons? Obviously the man wasn’t quite right in the head.
“Demons?” Deirdre asked gently, pressing for more.
“The devil’s minions.” Mouse gave an emphatic nod. “’E’s back, you know.”
“Who?”
“The devil. The ’orrible, scarred devil.”
At his words, Deirdre seemed to stiffen, her face going chalk-white, and Tristan had to wonder what Mouse had said to cause that sort of response. To him, it all sounded like the mad raving of a Bedlamite.
“The devil sent ’is demons after the angel because she saw,” Mouse continued.
“Saw what?”
“’is sin.” The little man glanced back over his shoulder, then laid a dirty finger over his mouth in a silencing gesture. “I saw it, too. But the devil can’t find out. ’E can’t find out what I saw or ’e’ll come after me and throw me in the deepest pit of ’ell.”
Deirdre reached out and caught his arm, her expression anxious. “These demons. Did they catch the angel, Mouse?”
“Oh, no. Angels ’ave wings, they ’ave. She flew away.”
Tristan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Damn it,” he hissed, taking a step closer to the two of them. “We’re wasting our time here. The man is quite obviously insane. Surely you’re not putting stock in anything he says?”
But Deirdre ignored him, her gaze intent on Mouse. “And you’re certain the angel you saw and the angel in the picture are the same?”
“’Course I’m certain. You don’t forget seeing an angel. I even picked up one of ’er pretties.” He ducked a hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a long length of ribbon, the silky lavender material shining against the filth of his skin as it unfurled on his palm. “See? She dropped it when she flew away.”
Tristan felt himself go ice cold as he stared down at the all too familiar object in the rat-catcher’s hand. Familiar because he’d bought it for Emily himself, one of a matched set he’d given to her as a present when he’d first returned home.
“It’s hers,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he fought to keep the panic that was bubbling up inside from overwhelming him. “It belongs to my sister.”
Chapter 9
D eirdre felt her stomach lurch as Tristan’s words registered, and she stared down in fascinated horror at the bedraggled ribbon curled in Mouse’s hand.
Was it possible? Had Emily already run afoul of Barnaby Flynt?
Aware of the tension emanating from Tristan, she took a step closer to the rat-catcher, struggling to keep her voice calm and even. “Where did you find this, Mouse?”
“I told you. The angel dropped it.”
There was a low growl from behind her, and the next thing she knew, Tristan had lunged forward and seized Mouse by his collar, lifting him up until his feet dangled well above the cobblestones.
“Where did you get that ribbon?” he gritted out, his face red with fury. When the rat-catcher failed to answer, simply looked up at him, goggle-eyed, he gave him a shake for good measure. “Damn you! Where?”
Mouse let out a mewling cry and began to claw at the large hands wrapped in the material of his shirt. Sally, sensing the threat to her master, began to weave in and out of Tristan’s legs, barking furiously.
“Tristan!” Alarmed, Deirdre reached out and caught hold of his elbow, giving it a hard tug. “Put him down!”
He didn’t appear to hear her. Violet eyes blazing, he gave Mouse another shake. Pale and limp, the little man resembled nothing so
Deirdre once again reached out for the miniature, and Tristan produced it without saying a word, watching as the little man took the portrait and studied it with slowly widening eyes.
“The angel,” he whispered reverently.
Tristan felt his heart speed up with sudden excitement, and Deirdre pounced on the words, her green eyes shining. “You’ve seen her?”
“I seen ’er. Last night in me dream. The demons was chasing ’er.”
Tristan’s hope instantly deflated. Demons? Obviously the man wasn’t quite right in the head.
“Demons?” Deirdre asked gently, pressing for more.
“The devil’s minions.” Mouse gave an emphatic nod. “’E’s back, you know.”
“Who?”
“The devil. The ’orrible, scarred devil.”
At his words, Deirdre seemed to stiffen, her face going chalk-white, and Tristan had to wonder what Mouse had said to cause that sort of response. To him, it all sounded like the mad raving of a Bedlamite.
“The devil sent ’is demons after the angel because she saw,” Mouse continued.
“Saw what?”
“’is sin.” The little man glanced back over his shoulder, then laid a dirty finger over his mouth in a silencing gesture. “I saw it, too. But the devil can’t find out. ’E can’t find out what I saw or ’e’ll come after me and throw me in the deepest pit of ’ell.”
Deirdre reached out and caught his arm, her expression anxious. “These demons. Did they catch the angel, Mouse?”
“Oh, no. Angels ’ave wings, they ’ave. She flew away.”
Tristan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Damn it,” he hissed, taking a step closer to the two of them. “We’re wasting our time here. The man is quite obviously insane. Surely you’re not putting stock in anything he says?”
But Deirdre ignored him, her gaze intent on Mouse. “And you’re certain the angel you saw and the angel in the picture are the same?”
“’Course I’m certain. You don’t forget seeing an angel. I even picked up one of ’er pretties.” He ducked a hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a long length of ribbon, the silky lavender material shining against the filth of his skin as it unfurled on his palm. “See? She dropped it when she flew away.”
Tristan felt himself go ice cold as he stared down at the all too familiar object in the rat-catcher’s hand. Familiar because he’d bought it for Emily himself, one of a matched set he’d given to her as a present when he’d first returned home.
“It’s hers,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he fought to keep the panic that was bubbling up inside from overwhelming him. “It belongs to my sister.”
Chapter 9
D eirdre felt her stomach lurch as Tristan’s words registered, and she stared down in fascinated horror at the bedraggled ribbon curled in Mouse’s hand.
Was it possible? Had Emily already run afoul of Barnaby Flynt?
Aware of the tension emanating from Tristan, she took a step closer to the rat-catcher, struggling to keep her voice calm and even. “Where did you find this, Mouse?”
“I told you. The angel dropped it.”
There was a low growl from behind her, and the next thing she knew, Tristan had lunged forward and seized Mouse by his collar, lifting him up until his feet dangled well above the cobblestones.
“Where did you get that ribbon?” he gritted out, his face red with fury. When the rat-catcher failed to answer, simply looked up at him, goggle-eyed, he gave him a shake for good measure. “Damn you! Where?”
Mouse let out a mewling cry and began to claw at the large hands wrapped in the material of his shirt. Sally, sensing the threat to her master, began to weave in and out of Tristan’s legs, barking furiously.
“Tristan!” Alarmed, Deirdre reached out and caught hold of his elbow, giving it a hard tug. “Put him down!”
He didn’t appear to hear her. Violet eyes blazing, he gave Mouse another shake. Pale and limp, the little man resembled nothing so
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