R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

I looked at the savory pie in my hand. Just minutes before it had tasted lovely. Now I couldn’t bring myself to take another bite. Besides, the urchin was studying it so intently, I couldn’t help but wonder when he had last eaten. “Here,” I said. “Would you like it? Being followed has made me lose my appetite.”

The boy’s eyes lit up, but he stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled his left foot. “Well, I ain’t all that hungry. But it’d be a sin to let it go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, absolutely. Probably a mortal one.”

“Well in that case…” the urchin said. Then, with much eye-rolling to let me know he was doing me an enormous favor, he snatched the pasty and gobbled it up in two enormous bites.

Which gave me a smashing idea. “I’ll give you another pasty if you keep following the bloke after I’m gone and see where he goes,” I offered.

Again, he shuffled his feet and tried to look bored, but the effect was ruined when his stomach growled. “’Spose so. Since I got nuffin’ better to do.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Right then. Here you go.” I handed him another pasty, feeling back in charge now that a bargain had been struck and the situation dealt with.

He stuffed the meat pie into his jacket. “When I finds out, should I come by yer museum?”

“Oh. Er, no.” I wasn’t sure Flimp, the watchman, would let him in. Besides, however would I explain him? “But I’ll be at Charing Cross Station again tomorrow. Around the same time. Could we meet then?”

“See ye then,” he agreed.

I watched him slip off into the shadows between the buildings. Frankly, it felt good to have someone on my side for a bit. Even if it was only a pickpocket. At least someone was covering my back.

I squared my shoulders and started walking down the street. I tried very hard not to think about being followed, but it was difficult. Doorways loomed like gaping maws, and the windows seemed to watch me as I passed. The streets were deserted, except for the old lamplighter who’d begun to light the lamps, which glowed feebly against the thick puddles of fog that descended upon the streets. The sludgy fog also did odd things to the sounds of the street, making the steady click of boot heels behind me all the more noticeable. I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded as if they were drawing closer.

Just as I was preparing to run the rest of the way back to the museum, I heard the rattle of a carriage. I glanced over my shoulder. I knew that brougham!

I weighed my options: being followed through the streets of London by a menacing stranger or catching a lift with Grandmother Throckmorton. It shouldn’t have been such a difficult choice, but then, you don’t know my grandmother.

I took a step toward the carriage, waving at the driver. It took him a moment or two to recognize me but then he pulled over. When the carriage had stopped, I rapped on the door. Inside, a curtain was yanked aside to reveal the arrogant beaked nose of my grandmother.

She frowned at me, scrunching her mouth up tight as if she’d put too many lemons in her tea.

I glanced over my shoulder. The footsteps had grown silent. Had my pursuer given up? Or was he waiting in a doorway somewhere just outside my line of vision? Would he follow Grandmother’s brougham? Would Sticky Will follow him ?

The driver jumped down from his seat. “Hello, miss,” he said as he opened the door for me.

Grandmother poked her head out. “Well, hurry up then. You’re letting all the cold air in. You can explain yourself once you’re inside.”

I clambered in and perched myself on the edge of the seat opposite Grandmother Throckmorton. It was never a good idea to get too comfortable around her.

She thumped her cane on the floor of the carriage. “I demand to know what you are doing out here unchaperoned.”

I squirmed on the seat, suddenly aware of how grubby I must look. “Father sent me round to pick up something for dinner.”

“Unattended?” She was well and truly shocked, as I knew she would be. “And just where is your governess?”

She had left months ago. Bored out of her mind, she’d claimed. She had been hoping for tea parties and dancing lessons, not clattering around in an old museum.

But if Grandmother Throckmorton knew that, she’d find me a new governess by luncheon tomorrow. “She, um, went to visit a sick relative,” I said.

Grandmother peered down her nose at me and sniffed. “Hmm. Is that mother of yours home yet from her gadding about?”

I gritted my teeth. “Yes. Mother just returned from Egypt this afternoon.” Grandmother Throckmorton always says the most awful things about Mother. She thinks Mum is far too modern and unconventional. “She found some absolutely wonderful artifacts,” I said in her defense.

“Hmph. Rummaging around in dusty old tombs. Can’t imagine there’s very much that’s wonderful in there.”

I clenched my fists but didn’t rise to the bait. After all, Grandmother Throckmorton had just rescued me from my pursuer, even if she didn’t realize it.

“When is that scamp of a brother of yours due home?” she asked.

“Tomorrow.”

The carriage rolled to a stop and the footman opened the door. Staring straight ahead at no one in particular, he announced, “We’ve reached the museum, ma’am.”

I leaped to my feet. “Thank you ever so much for the ride, ma’am.”

“I should think so,” she said. As I scrambled down out of the carriage she called out, “I’m going to speak to your father about that governess of yours.”

Bother.

I MADE IT BACK TO THE MUSEUM just as darkness swallowed up the streets of London. Shivering, I climbed the front steps and slipped inside just before Flimp locked the door for the night. I thought briefly about trying to coax Mother and Father out of the workroom, then realized the fastest way to get their attention was to entice them with the smell of food.

As I headed down the dim hallway that led to the staff rooms, a dark squalling blur shot out of the shadows. My heart leaped into my throat as the blur attached itself to my shoulder with a vicious yowl.

I was halfway to apoplexy before I realized it was not a true demon, only Isis. I still couldn’t believe I’d botched things so badly.

Her little heart was pounding as fast as mine was and her claws were firmly enmeshed in my coat. Her ears lay flat against her head and her eyes swirled madly in their sockets. “Isis, shh. It’s all right. Here, let’s get you a bite of sausage, shall we?” I wrestled a bit of meat out of one of the pies and held it out to her. She paused and her eyes cleared, just for a second, and I caught a glimpse of my old cat. Then the wild look was back and she hissed at me before launching herself back into the shadows, where she streaked away.

I had to fix my cat. Soon. If I could catch her, that is. And if I could find a way to de-curse her. Was that even possible? Finding out would be my first order of business after dinner.

I reached the staff breakfast room that we used as a family room and got busy unwrapping the food, hoping the delicious aroma would reach my parents.

Two minutes later, Father poked his head in the door. “Back already, Theodosia?”

Already? It felt like I’d been gone ages, what with being followed and all, but I just said, “Yes, Father.”

“Excellent.” He came into the room and put the kettle on. “Mum’s on her way up.”

“Was she really in a lot of danger on this trip?” The question popped out. I hadn’t even realized I’d been thinking it until it landed on the table like a flopping fish.