jackets.
The day wore on. I watched Darla leave, pulled down my hat when she looked my way. Hooga dipped his hat to her, and she darted smiling out into the street in a swirl of long purple skirts.
Ronnie Sacks paid her no attention whatsoever. I revised my estimate of his taste and intelligence down a few notches. Then I turned in triumph, hailed a cab and gave the driver directions. He took in the cut of my jacket and the turn of my hat and didn’t blink an eye when I mentioned House Avalante.
I had the cabbie leave me a block from the House itself. I stepped down onto the sidewalk, tipped him and watched him go.
Then I was alone. All alone on the Hill and the sun was falling fast. The tall old oaks that shaded the lawns at noon were now engulfing the whole neighborhood in shadow. I’d spotted a marble bench on a corner, across from the tall iron gates that marked the entrance to House Avalante, and I made my way toward it.
The lawns smelled of fireflowers and fresh-cut grass. Here and there gardeners worked, clipping and trimming and mowing. They kept their gazes on the ground and if they saw me they never let me know it.
I consoled myself with reminders that not all the rich houses about me were peopled with halfdead. And even those that were, I knew, were not about to venture forth, daylight or dark, and pursue the neighbors or the help with fork and knife in hand. Vampires might lay snoozing mere feet away, I knew, but these were rich snob vampires, and such behavior is considered gauche.
No, places like Cambrit—where the rich and the powerful are likely to break their fast—curfew breakers are plenty, and under the terms of the law, fair game.
I found the bench, sat, admired the lazy way the grass tossed and blew in the wind. Two lawns away, a trio of children laughed and screeched and ran, tossing a ball back and forth while a white poodle wearing a long red ribbon darted yapping among them.
The coward sun sank. A maid appeared, herded the children inside. The gardeners stopped now and then to squint up at the sky.
About the time they began to gather their tools, a cab—a clean black glass-windowed cab, from the good part of town—rattled up to the curb, and my own Mister Nervous Hat climbed out, coins in his hand for the driver.
He saw me. I grinned, stood and yelled for the cabbie to hold for another fare.
Nervous Hat gulped and dropped a pair of jerks.
I stepped over, bent, scooped them up.
“Here you are, Ronnie,” I said, handing them to him. “How are things with all the Sacks, these days?”
The driver, who by now knew something was up, snatched the coins away and scowled.
“I ain’t got time for this,” he growled, producing a wrought-iron truncheon from beneath his seat and banging it down hard beside him. “I’m leavin’. You want a ride, get in.”
I doffed my hat to Ronnie in a grand gesture of farewell. “Do tell your masters I said hello,” I said, as I opened the cab’s door. “They’ll be pleased to know you kept me company today.”
Ronnie Sacks stepped back, face going crimson, gobbling back a useless denial.
I replaced my hat and closed the door.
As the cab pulled away, I saw movement in the windows of House Avalante. A door opened, and a tall figure clad in black emerged to stand in the deep shadows of the wide front porch.
Ronnie watched me go. He knew they’d seen, knew they’d watched me waiting on the bench all afternoon. He didn’t look happy. I guessed he’d have some explaining to do, to those who perhaps lacked both mercy and shame.
I grinned and hummed and admired my face in the glass all the way home.
Chapter Six
The weeds and cracked bricks of Cambrit were quite a letdown after the quiet lanes and stately manors of the Hill. I arrived home well before Curfew, impressed my driver with a tip, and heard Darla’s laughter from behind Mama’s door before I reached my own.
I paused, smiled and adjusted my hat before knocking.
“Who’s
The day wore on. I watched Darla leave, pulled down my hat when she looked my way. Hooga dipped his hat to her, and she darted smiling out into the street in a swirl of long purple skirts.
Ronnie Sacks paid her no attention whatsoever. I revised my estimate of his taste and intelligence down a few notches. Then I turned in triumph, hailed a cab and gave the driver directions. He took in the cut of my jacket and the turn of my hat and didn’t blink an eye when I mentioned House Avalante.
I had the cabbie leave me a block from the House itself. I stepped down onto the sidewalk, tipped him and watched him go.
Then I was alone. All alone on the Hill and the sun was falling fast. The tall old oaks that shaded the lawns at noon were now engulfing the whole neighborhood in shadow. I’d spotted a marble bench on a corner, across from the tall iron gates that marked the entrance to House Avalante, and I made my way toward it.
The lawns smelled of fireflowers and fresh-cut grass. Here and there gardeners worked, clipping and trimming and mowing. They kept their gazes on the ground and if they saw me they never let me know it.
I consoled myself with reminders that not all the rich houses about me were peopled with halfdead. And even those that were, I knew, were not about to venture forth, daylight or dark, and pursue the neighbors or the help with fork and knife in hand. Vampires might lay snoozing mere feet away, I knew, but these were rich snob vampires, and such behavior is considered gauche.
No, places like Cambrit—where the rich and the powerful are likely to break their fast—curfew breakers are plenty, and under the terms of the law, fair game.
I found the bench, sat, admired the lazy way the grass tossed and blew in the wind. Two lawns away, a trio of children laughed and screeched and ran, tossing a ball back and forth while a white poodle wearing a long red ribbon darted yapping among them.
The coward sun sank. A maid appeared, herded the children inside. The gardeners stopped now and then to squint up at the sky.
About the time they began to gather their tools, a cab—a clean black glass-windowed cab, from the good part of town—rattled up to the curb, and my own Mister Nervous Hat climbed out, coins in his hand for the driver.
He saw me. I grinned, stood and yelled for the cabbie to hold for another fare.
Nervous Hat gulped and dropped a pair of jerks.
I stepped over, bent, scooped them up.
“Here you are, Ronnie,” I said, handing them to him. “How are things with all the Sacks, these days?”
The driver, who by now knew something was up, snatched the coins away and scowled.
“I ain’t got time for this,” he growled, producing a wrought-iron truncheon from beneath his seat and banging it down hard beside him. “I’m leavin’. You want a ride, get in.”
I doffed my hat to Ronnie in a grand gesture of farewell. “Do tell your masters I said hello,” I said, as I opened the cab’s door. “They’ll be pleased to know you kept me company today.”
Ronnie Sacks stepped back, face going crimson, gobbling back a useless denial.
I replaced my hat and closed the door.
As the cab pulled away, I saw movement in the windows of House Avalante. A door opened, and a tall figure clad in black emerged to stand in the deep shadows of the wide front porch.
Ronnie watched me go. He knew they’d seen, knew they’d watched me waiting on the bench all afternoon. He didn’t look happy. I guessed he’d have some explaining to do, to those who perhaps lacked both mercy and shame.
I grinned and hummed and admired my face in the glass all the way home.
Chapter Six
The weeds and cracked bricks of Cambrit were quite a letdown after the quiet lanes and stately manors of the Hill. I arrived home well before Curfew, impressed my driver with a tip, and heard Darla’s laughter from behind Mama’s door before I reached my own.
I paused, smiled and adjusted my hat before knocking.
“Who’s
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