Lord Day and Lady Night

21. In the Dark of the Night

"...'is name is DeLacy. Abrehan DeLacy."

The name meant absolutely nothing to Amy. But, glancing at Patrick, she realized that it meant something to him all right, which scared her. People like Lord Patrick Day would not know people who held little power. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Patrick?" she asked, keeping her voice calm and controlled. Or at least trying to.

"'e lives down in Somerset. Very old nobility. Gives large amounts to charity." He swallowed. "Very respectable."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb 'ere," Amy stated, "and say dat respect ain't entirely deserved."

She glanced down at Whitlock, raising an eyebrow.

His face twitched. "Oh, 'e's respectable all right—above ground. Below...not so much. 'e...'e's one of da worse ones."

"Ye 'ave da gall," she hissed, "ta call somebody worse? 'ow can someone be worse dan what goes on 'ere?"

He looked at her, his face expressionless. "Most of da clients come 'ere ta get a girl every two, maybe three years. DeLacy sends 'is men ta get fresh merchandise every two months. More often if 'e's feeling...excited."

Amy felt like vomiting. Preferably in the face of the asshole they were talking about.

"What do you mean?" she squeezed out between her teeth. Although she already knew. Oh, how well she knew.

"I went over dere once, on a 'delivery'. Everythin' for elite clients, right?" A corner of his mouth twitched without the least bit of humour. "I...'eard stuff. Screams. Cracks."

Patrick leaned forward, his eyes burning. "Ye went down ta 'is dungeons?"

"Dungeons?" He gave a dry chuckle. "'e don't need no dungeons!"

"But..."

Amy had a lot of things in her life. But the look Whitlock gave the three of them then and there made even her want to crawl out of her skin.

"Who do ye think I'm talkin' about? Some two bit gang leader from devil's acre? Dat's Abrehan DeLacy! DeLacy! 'e don't need ta lock nobody up. 'e can just 'employ maids' and 'aid unfortunate orphans', and 'e's got more supply of girls dan 'e could ever wish. And if any of dem ever wanna get away...well, da local magistrate is an old friend of da family's. 'e surely wouldn't mind signing a few papers givin' da lord guardianship over some 'poor, mentally disturbed children'."

"Bhenchode!" Karim growled what was either a curse or, in this case, a quite likely conjecture.

"What's gonna 'appen ta Leona?"

The voice that came from behind them made Amy's head jerk around. "Flo! Ye shouldn't be 'ere! Ye shouldn't—"

"—'ave 'eard dat?" she finished her sentence. Then, without a blink, she turned her searing gaze back on Whitlock. "What. 'appened. Ta. 'er."

And he told her.

It made Amy want to stuff the little girl's ears. To hell with that, it made her want to stuff her own ears, ears that had heard things that would shock devils and make demons faint. When he was finally done, silence hung over the room—until it was broken by a metallic click.

Glancing up, Amy caught sight of Patrick cocking his pistol. His eyes were unfocused, as if not looking at anything in particular, but Amy knew better. He was seeing Abrehan DeLacy.

"Well," he said, his eyes blazing coldly. "Now we know what to do."

Right then and there, she loved him.