The Peculiar Pets of Miss Pleasance Page 5

  She had assumed that after what happened with Charles, she would never want to be within two feet of another man who wasn’t in the shop simply to buy a crow. But Thom was so very, very different. There was a bluff honesty about him that reminded her of a particularly loyal dog, and yet the way he looked at her, the way his breath sometimes caught around her—well, she felt it, too. There seemed nothing underhanded about him at all, as if everything to be seen was on the surface, all of it genuine. And she knew, deep down in her bones, that Casper was nothing but trouble. But she wasn’t ready to throw him out yet, not when he was putting such effort into getting his act together. And not when he was paying so very well. Every time she saw him, she saw Bertram, so filled with hope and promise. And yet always failing, despite his good intentions.

  Looking down at the street below, she tried to imagine who had stood there, aiming an incendiary device at her window. A Copper strolled by, swinging his billy club, and although she didn’t approve of Coppers, she assumed his presence was at Thom’s request. A flash of color farther down the walk caught her eye, and she noticed two daimons glance at the Copper and scuttle nervously into an alley. Despite what she had told Thom, the daimons were spreading, and not all of them were as kind and harmless as Reve.

  As much as Frannie hated to admit it, her daimon friend had been right about Casper being trouble, that was for sure now. And yet things had been good since he’d arrived, mostly because it had coincided with Thom. The tube of coins didn’t hurt, either, and she would have to write some letters and see about getting some more exotic beasts into the shop; the bigger or stranger the creature, the bigger her profit. Overall, despite the nagging irritation of Casper and the fire, she felt hopeful and giddy, a lightness of spirit she hadn’t known since Bertram’s passing.

  With a smile, she snapped one of the flowers out of the vase on the table and tucked it behind her ear. As she turned her head back and forth, admiring the small white rose, there was a knock on the pet-shop door. It was too early for customers, and she hurried downstairs, riddled with curiosity.

  Casper had beaten her to the door and was holding a plain brown box tied with twine and punched at intervals with air holes. It was unmarked aside from the shop’s name and address, but there was nothing unusual in that. Several of her sources were a bit underground, and many of the creatures she carried weren’t commonly available—or, technically speaking, legal.

  “What is it?” he asked, and she decided to indulge him. Bertram had always loved opening the boxes and seeing which strange new pets had arrived mysteriously from foreign climes.

  She returned his grin. “Open it and see.”

  Casper set the box on the counter. Quick as a child at a birthday party, he untied the twine, crumpled up the paper, and flipped open the lid. She almost laughed at his confusion.

  “A lumpy pillowcase?” He poked a finger into the box and jerked it back quickly with a shudder when the cloth writhed. Frannie knew well enough what it was and chuckled at his inborn fear. Many Londoners had never seen a single live snake before they visited Needful Creatures.

  She leaned past him and plucked the bag out of the box, unwinding the string to dump the contents gently onto the scarred wooden counter that she’d played behind as a child. She snatched back her hand right before the coiled green serpent struck.

  “Jesus Christ, what is that thing?” Casper stumbled back, too.

  “A viper of some sort.” Frannie kept a fair distance as she admired the smooth green scales, slender face, and vicious fangs of the prettiest and deadliest snake she’d ever seen.

  “What do we do about it?”

  Frannie fetched one of the big, empty glass cylinders that housed her reptiles. She always had a few ready in back, and she also kept a forked stick to help get the more reluctant snakes into their new homes. The lazy pythons and boas never gave her much trouble, but this fellow . . .

  “Stand back. This could be messy.”

  She placed the cylinder in just the right spot and swept the little snake into it with one smooth, confident swoop of her stick. It plunked angrily against the mossy bottom of the terrarium and struck the glass wall. Frannie set the snug-fitting mesh into the top of the cylinder and placed it on the counter. Venom dribbled down the glass, reminding her that the jewel-pretty creature within was more than a bracelet-sized treasure.

  “Dang, girl. You’re fearless.”

  “Animals can smell fear, you know. Just as women can smell desperation.”

  With one raised eyebrow, she turned her attention to the snake’s packaging. There was no card within, which was unusual. No bill, no label, no indication whatsoever of the creature’s place of origin. Frannie’s boots clipped across the striped boards on the way to the door. When she opened it to peer up and down the street, she was surprised to see Thom headed for her at a determined pace, in trousers, suspenders, and work shirt, streaked all over with soot. His hair was sweaty and falling down from its tail, his cheeks red and his gloves singed around the edges. A bludrat darted for his leg, and he punted it back into the alley without slowing down.

  Frannie’s heart nearly leaped out of her jacket. At first because Thom looked so competent and avid and focused on her. But then because she saw the badge gleaming on his chest. Surely he couldn’t be a Copper. And he had been inches away from her closet, alone in her room! Had he opened the door, and then the secret door? Was that why he was striding toward her, eyes snapping?

  But no. That couldn’t be it. He was smiling.

  She found her tongue and shouted, “Good heavens, Thom. Has something happened?”

  His eyes crinkled up, and she realized his agitation was of the positive sort. “Are ye free, lass? I’ve found one of your wee corbies, but he willna come to me.”

  Her last crow! The creatures were altogether too clever, and she had despaired of finding the last of her big birds gone loose. When she turned back to face the shop, Casper was doing his best to look responsible, almost like a small boy hoping to please.

  “Go on,” he said. “I can handle it here.”

  “But you don’t know anything—”

  He held up a small leather book. Modern Practices in Animal Husbandry was picked out in gold leaf on the cover. “I’ve been studying,” he said.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be playing harpsichord for loose women?”

  He grinned. “No until after dark, darlin’.”

  She sighed and tried to hide her answering grin. “Fine. But don’t try to sell the kittens or puppies without me here. They go to approved homes only.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Aye-aye, sir.”

  “We have to hurry,” Thom urged, and she flipped the sign to “Open” and closed the door behind her.

  It was a strange feeling, being out and about with the door unlocked and her not behind it. Such a thing hadn’t happened in years, and it made her feel both nervous and somehow liberated. She hadn’t seen the streets of London at this time of morning since Saint Ermenegilda’s Day, and she wished she had worn heavier boots. It had been drizzling recently, but then, it drizzled nearly constantly. Her long-dead great grandfather had told her stories when she was a little girl about how London had once been a bright, clean place with white walls and sparkling cobblestones and good-natured horses pulling jewel-toned carriages. Gazing at the gray pervading every surface and mirrored by the low, thick clouds, stepping in puddles of filth, it was a hard thing for Frannie to imagine.

  Thom led her into a darker section of the city, and she hurried to keep up. She mostly kept to the well-lit, working-class areas, avoiding High Street and Darkside and the heart of the Daimon District. She got along with them fine and had never had a problem with any of Maisie’s lodgers, but the scent of magic made her more than a bit queasy. Frannie preferred her stolid London life and the creatures of the natural world, and although a baby dragon or roc chick or unicorn braid might pass through her hands, she never kept anything like that for any longer than she h
ad to. The wee charm on the roof was the only magic she didn’t mind, and that was because it had been there for longer than she’d been alive.

  There were plenty of areas of town she avoided, and it wasn’t long before she realized that Thom was leading her toward one of them, albeit using a circuitous route.

  Hyde Park.

  More specifically, Dueler’s Green.

  Frannie froze, and Thom stopped to stare at her curiously.

  “Goose stepped on your grave? Ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t go . . . there. To Hyde Park.”

  “It’s a goodly chunk of London, lass. And the crow is over just a bit, on a monument. I can see it from here, all puffed up and full of itself, aye?”

  Frannie gulped for breath and wrung her hands, only then realizing that she’d worn her thick leather shop gloves onto the street, a great faux pas. She could indeed see the crow perched atop a low stone fence, preening for some children walking with their nanny and a great wolfhound that looked mildly familiar and had probably been kept in one of her bins as a pup. The exceedingly rich would pay a mint for the giant, short-lived creatures to guard their children from bludrats on the streets and bludbunnies along the seemingly idyllic greens of London’s only natural park.

  She wanted that crow back. But more than that, she wanted to go home and have a good cry, now that she’d seen the green where Bertram had died.

  Thom looked from her to the bird, concern and kindness written in the lines around his eyes. “If ye can’t get any closer, I’ll try to shoo it over to ye. It’ll come once it sees you, aye?”

  She sniffled and nodded. “Most likely.”

  “Stay here, then. We’ll get it somehow. If you’re all right?”

  She nodded again but had run out of words.

  He was clearly uncomfortable leaving her alone, but he was good enough to believe her. Walking a wide circle, he disappeared into the wild undergrowth that was, Frannie had heard, far less wild than elsewhere in the world. Not much grew in London unless one knew just the right secrets—which Frannie, luckily, did.

  The bushes rustled just behind the crow, and it gave a loud squawk and flapped awkwardly to the ground. She had been worried about this bird in particular, as it preferred to roost in her rafters and leave white streaks down the other birds’ cages. For that reason, she kept one of its wings clipped, which meant that it couldn’t fly free and was in even more danger than the other released birds. It was amazing that it had lasted this long in a city as dangerous as London.

  Thom burst onto the green, flapping his arms and shouting in a thick Scottish brogue, much like the one the mynah had used after spending the night in his care. The startled crow turned its head, screeched, and flopped ungracefully into the air, cartwheeling across the grass with Thom in hot, flappy pursuit. The wolfhound started barking, and the children started laughing, and before she knew what was happening, Frannie herself was chuckling, right there with her boot toes on the hated green of Hyde Park.

  Just then, the crow must have finally spotted her. With a loud squawk of relief, it ran at her in an odd, hopping gait, wings outstretched and mouth open. She knelt with a broad smile and offered the arm of her worn tweed jacket. The creature leaped onto her, and she stood, stroking its ruffled feathers and murmuring about how handsome it was, despite its recent fall from dignity. Crows liked that sort of thing.

  Thom walked up at a more sedate pace, his cheeks still red from fighting fires all night . . . or from having flapped after a crow in London’s most popular park. As he passed the giggling little girls, he gave a silly bow, causing them to double over with laughter. Frannie was trying very hard not to laugh heartily herself. It took a big man to debase himself publicly for the sake of one rangy old crow.

  The crow drew back just a bit as Thom approached, but the fireman was a lot less scary when upright and not hollering.

  “You’re going to have to send me another bill,” Frannie said. “I’m getting to think you’re a hard man to repay.” She began to walk away from the Green, away from Hyde Park. Without questioning her, he took his place by her side.

  “It’s been a long time since I made myself useful.” He pulled the tie out of his hair and shook it loose before putting it back in place, and Frannie’s stomach did a little flip. It was almost as if Thom had no idea of how handsome he was and, frankly, didn’t care, and that was worlds away from the sort of fellow she was used to.

  “Not useful? But you fight fires. You’re the only thing that keeps this entire city from going up in flames!”

  He snorted. “To tell ye the truth, I don’t know if that’s so much a wish to be useful as a sort of self-destructive behavior with a silver lining.”

  “And the badge?” She gestured at the copper pin on his suspender.

  He waved a hand. “Eh, I investigate fires. It’s mostly an honorary title that involves doin’ more paperwork than the other lads. Workin’ with the Coppers isn’t my favorite thing to do, ye ken.”

  Frannie breathed a tiny sigh to herself. She didn’t much like him having anything to say to the Coppers, but at least he wasn’t one of them. She barely stayed afloat as it was. If the Coppers ever found out about her secret, she’d lose everything. The crow must have noticed her attention wandering, as it squawked in her ear and flapped its wings.

  “I know, I know. You’re a grand lad. Now, can it.”

  She looked at Thom out of the corner of her eye as they walked the streets of London, him just the slightest bit behind her. It was a position of politeness that made her feel cared for but not overpowered. Had he draped an arm around her waist or slipped her hand onto his elbow, she would have bolted like a frightened finch. It was the sort of thing Casper would have done. But Thom’s presence, as it was, was comforting. No urchins plucked her sleeve, no dandies doffed a hat. She actually enjoyed the walk, despite the fact that her companion had gone silent and the crow was full of itself again and well aware of an audience. She would have to find it a proper magician, and fast.

  Back at the shop, Thom hurried ahead to open the door for her. When it wouldn’t open, Frannie was just as surprised as he was.

  “That’s not right,” she muttered, checking that the “Open” sign was facing the street. She knocked, but Casper’s voice didn’t answer. She patted her pockets and sighed. “And I haven’t brought a key.”

  Thom looked up the face of the building, as if he might scale it. “Is there a door on the roof?”

  Frannie startled and shook her head a little too quickly. “Also locked, and higher than it looks. But we can go around back. I keep a hidden key.”

  He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. She walked past Maisie’s lodging house and turned the corner after the recently closed haberdashery that was, so far as she knew, still empty. They kept the back alley swept out and as empty as possible to discourage bludrats, but something about the dark, closed-in passage always made Frannie uneasy. Thom moved just a little ahead of her without asking, and her heart rate slowed a bit—that is, until a dark form moved into the alley up ahead.

  “Bonjour, darling,” a dusky voice called. “I was hoping you might stop by.”

  The crow squawked on Frannie’s arm as Reve stepped languidly into sight, shades of ink and twilight rippling over the daimon’s skin as if she couldn’t decide whether to match the stone wall or the shadows.

  “Hello, Reve, dear,” Frannie called, and Thom relaxed at her side.

  She set the crow on her shoulder, hoping it wouldn’t ruin anything, and turned her back to block her activity with wide skirts. After counting the correct number of bricks, she withdrew her hidden key, unlocked the door, and put the key back. Thom and Reve had turned away politely, keeping a natural distance from her and from each other.

  “Do come in,” Frannie said, opening the door and gesturing into her warm, lamp lit kitchen. The crow squawked and flapped as Reve walked in, followed by Thom. “I’ll be just a moment.”<
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  As Frannie passed through the parlor to deposit the creature in its usual cage, she noticed a hastily scrawled note on the counter. Written in pencil on the brown paper from the snake, was:

  Sorry. Emergency. Had to go do business. Will pay you back. JCS.

  She gave a huff of annoyance. What kind of emergencies afflicted musical prodigies? At least the fool had locked the door on his way out.

  When she returned to the kitchen with an arm still achy from carrying the crow, she found the daimon and the Scotsman quietly watching each other. To Frannie, Reve looked like any other daimon, if more stylish. She was tall and slender, with dark hair worn always in a bun at her nape, and her skin changed colors to indicate her feelings. She had a long, prehensile tail, a trait all daimons shared, but Frannie didn’t really see it anymore. She had known Reve so long that the beautiful daimon was simply herself, and although Frannie had never asked which particular emotion Reve fed on, she knew it must have been something positive.

  “Reve, this is Thom Maccallan, the firefighter who stopped the fire from destroying the house. Thom, this is Reve, one of Maisie’s lodgers next door and also a very talented seamstress.”

  Reve smiled and gave a graceful, theatrical curtsy, and Tom nodded politely.

  “He has never met a daimon before, I think,” Reve said with a coy smile.

  “I’m afraid not,” Thom said. “Have ye come from Paris, then?”

  As the conversation continued in pleasant tones, Frannie was gratified to see that Thom was well-mannered and curious. She’d seen so much prejudice when her customers met the occasional daimon leaving Maisie’s house. Frannie herself had grown up in a pet store that catered to all types, from the richest of Pinky lords to the most dashing of Bludman magicians to daimons of all shapes and colors. She had learned over the years that the color of one’s skin or the sharpness of one’s teeth had nothing to do with the warmth of one’s heart. Reve was one of her favorites and might have been a good friend, had Frannie had the wisdom to seek the daimon’s company.