Nine Shillings

Taking Tea

London - 1842

Elizabeth looked up at me and took a sip of tea from a delicate teacup. I sat down at her table without being invited. She called over a waiter for another cup for 'her friend', he set one in front of me and poured some tea.

Once he'd gone, I said, 'This is genteel.'

'You found out Brandon has been seeing me then,' she said and straightened her cup in its saucer.

I tutted. 'Last time we met you said we were alike. Now you're insulting me.' I touched my chest. 'I'm hurt.'

She shook her head. 'Brandon will always crawl back to me'

I held her gaze. A muscle in her jaw twitched.

She looked away. 'Are you going to say he tells you everything and you have no secrets?' She sighed. 'He tells me everything too.'

'The more you persist the more you reveal the lie.' I mimicked her sigh. 'And I credited you with some guile.'

'I credited you with not being prone to romantic delusions.' She took a bite of sponge cake.

'Oh, I just give incredible suck.'

She choked on cake crumbs.

'It was well worth taking the time to find his pleasures.' I swirled my tea. 'Of course, Bran's greatest pleasure is knowing he's completely safe. You did rather go the opposite way.'

She dabbed her lips with her napkin. 'A real man doesn't need a woman to protect him.'

'I was hoping "real" men were imaginary.' I peered over the lip of my cup. 'Alas.'

'If you're not worried about me, you should be worried about Josef.' She leaned forward and whispered, 'Bran was his whore.' She sat back, chuckling. 'I don't suppose he told you. Too ashamed he took it up the arse.'

I exhaled deeply from my nose and reminded myself she'd identified Bran as my weak spot and was laughing at him to needle me. 'The only shameful thing I can hear is your blathering.' I smiled. 'I'm sure you've taken it up the arse in your time.' I folded my arm on the back of the chair and linked my fingers. 'People like what they like, nothing wrong with that.'

Her lips thinned. 'You're a wicked bitch.'

People at the surrounding tables glanced at us but it wasn't good manners for ladies to stare.

'You tied Bran up naked and left him all night for Mrs Stapleton's mother to find. I know how difficult it is to tie a vampire up and keep them there.'

Either you needed some kind of binding imbued with magic or wires that cut instead of snapped which were easier to acquire. If a person was really vicious they could taint them with quicksilver; it was more toxic to supernaturals than humans, the right amount could burn the skin on contact without killing. Bran still had the scars.

She smiled. 'Did he tell you he cried?'

My hands warmed, steam rose from my tea, and the lid of the pot rattled as if the tea was bubbling. Elizabeth frowned at it.

I took a breath and pushed my rage down into its box before I did something less subtle, like crush my teacup. 'I protect my own.'

She put her fingers to the lid of the teapot. 'And if Bran's former mistress turns up murdered. who do you think they'll look at?'

'That requires they find you.'

She sipped her tea. 'Threats of violence are for those too unintelligent to think of better.'

'Says the woman who tortured her lover.' She was lucky I didn't know what she'd done to her daughter, I doubted she'd be speaking.

'You have to admit the wire was genius.' She took a bite of cake. 'Of course, it wouldn't have worked if he hadn't let me tie him up.'

I flexed my fingers before my cup cracked. I'd slipped and she'd seen my temper, she couldn't have recognised my magic.

'I could give him everything he wanted and he still wasn't up to much, sexually,' she said, stirring her tea. 'Half the time he just lay there and let me get on with business myself, didn't even look at me.'

Beneath the table I clenched my hands, my knuckles cracked, blood trickled where my claws cut. Inside I stamped down on my magic box.

She dropped the spoon and it clattered against the saucer.

Energy snapped between my hands and I bumped the table at the shock.

People murmured about unladylike behaviour.

I couldn't do it. If I stayed trying to outplay her my temper would snap; if I lost control of my magic, I couldn't be sure I'd only strike her.

'I know, Brandon,' she said. 'He would've made you promise not to hurt me. The question is: how long can you keep it?' She saluted me with her teacup.

I drew in as much breath as my corset allowed, it creaked against the strength of my chest. I flexed my fingers, my claws retracted, and my palms burned as the punctures healed.

Her smile said she thought she'd won. 'Poor Brandon does so value promises.'

I got to my feet, rested my fingertips on the table and leaned towards her. 'I'm a woman of my word.'

And I wouldn't be outplayed again.