Lilith Saintcrow - The Damnation Affair

The Chinoise girl raised a dripping hand, and soap bubbles drifted free into the breezy kitchen. It was a simple charm, meant to amuse, and Cat answered before she could help herself. Her own fingers tingled, and the mancy slid free—light glinting between the bubbles, striking rainbows glittering-sharp as diamonds.

Cat’s Practicality was in light; Robbie’s had been…well, otherwise . Light was a very acceptable Practicality in a young lady, indeed, and the Chinoise girl’s Practicality was plain as the bubbles drifted on the swirls and eddies of clear air. For a moment the two charm-streams intermingled, light and water a happy marriage—not like air and fire, or fire and water, though true fire Practicalities were rare, and a good thing too. Metal and earth Practicalities were common, and wood was eminently respectable for a gentleman but not a young lady. A stone Practicality was considered rather boorish, for it meant one could pass paste jewels for real; a mechanical one was almost as bad as being in trade. New Practicalities shaped themselves as Science and mancy moved forward.

Soon, there might even be Disciplines, as in Englene and the Continent.

The bubbles popped, the rainbows drained away, and Cat found herself facing a pale, heavily pregnant Chinoise girl in a dun frock, who refused to quite meet her nominal employer’s gaze.

In short order there was breakfast on the table—Cat gave it to be understood that she wished to eat here instead of in the postage-stamp parlour, and perhaps the girl looked relieved? With a modicum of gesturing and facial expressions, Cat asked if the girl had eaten breakfast yet; receiving a small shake of the sleek dark head, she marched to the cupboard with what she fancied was great determination, fetched a second plate and cup of thick, durable earthcraft, and set it down on the small table as well.

In any event, Cat tucked in with a will, and there was even strong fragrant tea.

Their first breakfast passed in companionable silence, and the Chinoise girl looked rather less pale and peaked by the end of it. Cat settled back with a cup of tea—the cup was actually porcelain, and painted with blue flowers, very fine save for its lack of matching saucer—while the girl collected the dishes and returned to her washing.

So far the morning had proven very satisfactory indeed. The breeze was fresh and smelled of sage, fragrant tea and bacon aromas filled the kitchen, and Cat was beginning to feel almost quite again when a shadow fell across the back step.

The Chinoise girl whirled, inhaling sharply. Her little hand flashed out, grabbed a knife that looked more fit for repelling pirate boarders than cooking, and hissed something in her native tongue. Cat let out a pale shriek and started, almost dropping her cup, and Jack Gabriel peered over the half-door, reaching up to his hatbrim. His hazel eyes were bright and wide, and he ducked a glowing ball of heat drawn from the stove.

“For God’s sake, Li Ang, put that away. Figgered I’d—well, hello, ma’am. Pleased to see you looking better.”

Heat raced furiously up Cat’s cheeks. “ Sir! I am not even dressed! Were you never taught to knock before entering a house?”

“I did. Don’t reckon you heard me.” He took this in, and actually, of all things, smiled . “That thing you’re wearing could qualify as a winding-sheet, miss. Avert ,” he muttered, right away, flicking his hat to brush away bad mancy or ill-luck. “Beg pardon, ma’am. I’ll wait in the parlour.”

Cat, her heart pounding, swallowed a most unladylike urge to shrill like a harridan. Her mother would know exactly what to say to this man to cut him to size. “Very well,” she managed stiffly. “Perhaps you would care for a cup of tea, while I arrange myself.”

He shrugged, leaning lazily on the half-door. Li Ang had gone back to washing, and Cat suddenly noticed the girl’s ankles were swollen. Definitely a chair, and some provision must be made for the baby as well.

“I prefer coffee, but thank you kindly. I’ll wait.”

“I was unaware I had an engagement today,” she floundered.

“Thought you might like to see the schoolhouse. But I can understand if you’d rather rest, ma’am. Yesterday was prob’ly enough to turn a lady’s nerves to ribbons.”

What a gruesome image. Thank you, sir. “I am made of sterner stuff than most, sir.” Why was she possessed of the sudden feeling that she was coming off very badly in this conversation? “Good morning.”

“Morning.” He didn’t say another word as she retreated, crimson-cheeked and acutely aware she was practically barefoot . Her bare ankles were brazenly revealed. And she was in a nightgown , of all things, in the kitchen with a servant.

And the day had been going so well.

Li Ang offered him two biscuits and some leftover bacon on a plate; he took it, so as to be mannerly. Besides, his breakfast had been bolted before dawn, and now he couldn’t even remember what he’d shoveled in before heading out to ride the charter-circuit with a sore-headed Russell Overton. “How you feelin’?”

She shrugged. She understood far more Englene than she could speak. Not much escaped those dark eyes of hers, either. She returned to her work, moving slowly, and Jack sighed, leaning against the door while he reflectively chewed on the bacon. He gave it a few minutes’ worth of silence, to let her get comfortable.

And also to let himself think about the schoolmarm. Bare-ankled and lost in a nightgown that looked big enough to swallow two or three of her, with her dark hair anyhow and falling out of its braid. He hadn’t seen a woman like that in a few years.

Not that it would help him to think about it. He’d spent years not thinking about women at all, and more years trying to forget one particular woman.

It never got easier.

“Any trouble?” he finally persisted, after giving her a decent time to compose her nerves.

Li Ang looked into the washsink like it held gold dust, shook her head. The long braid of glossy black hair bumped her back. She rinsed a plate, then half-turned, pointed at the hallway, and nodded once, decidedly. “Good,” she said, in a high, thin, piping child’s voice. She thought for a moment, finding the word in her mental storehouse. “Good charm.” Another nod. “Good sense.”

Well, that was as close to an unqualified vote of confidence he’d ever heard Li Ang utter. He felt the need to qualify it himself, so she wouldn’t think he was…what was he? “Bit prim, that miss.” Kind enough, though, and didn’t lose her head in Hammis’s parlour. “You! Take him outside.” Least she’s practical.

Made of sterner stuff, eh? Well, we’ll see. Been too quiet around here. May be another attack soon. “Keep the doors bolted,” he finally added, taking a bite of biscuit. She made them doughy, did Li Ang. For all that, they were food, and he didn’t want her to feel poorly. He’d refused to eat her cooking once, and her face had crinkled like she might cry. He still felt a mite guilty over that. “Darkmoon comin’ up.”

Li Ang shrugged and brought him a tin cup of water, which he swilled gratefully. He wished for some coffee, but Miss Barrowe hadn’t precisely offered, and Li Ang was probably mad at him for scaring the bejesus out of her. That knife had come within a hair of being flung, and he had a healthy respect for her aim. “Hate to scare her away,” he added, mostly because he suspected the Chinoise girl liked having him make some noise so she could be sure he wasn’t sneaking. “Hard enough gettin’ a schoolmarm out here, and the young’uns is right savages.”