The Masked City by Genevieve Cogman Page B

roil in her stomach. But she was going to use it, not let it control her. ‘Can we please not waste time? Kai might be in great danger right now.’
    ‘Probably,’ Vale agreed. His anger seemed to have ebbed, just as hers had risen. He gestured her to a chair. ‘But to take action on the spur of emotion, without full information, would be as unwise as I was a few moments ago. Please, Winters. Sit down. Tell me what you know. It’s quite obvious that you know
something
.’
    Irene sat, folding her hands in her lap. ‘Does the name Guantes mean anything to you?’ she asked. ‘Probably in connection with the Fae, possibly in connection with Silver.’
    ‘Hmm.’ Vale strode briskly over to one of his big scrapbooks that bulged with newspaper clippings and filed notes, flipping through it. ‘Grant: the Covent Garden riot and flood. Guernier: the perfume murderess. Guantes … Guantes: no, nothing in here. The name is familiar, as a new arrival to London from Liechtenstein, both he and his wife, but I don’t have anything definite on them as yet.’ He slammed the book shut and dropped into the chair opposite Irene, folding his long body forward to focus on her. ‘Tell me more, Winters.’
    Irene ran through the events of the last couple of days: the auction, the brawl, the scarcely seen watcher, Silver’s warning and her own investigation. She barely noticed the housekeeper or the tea the woman had brought. She was focusing on providing Vale with every last bit of data, everything that he might be able to use. While she had her own plans for searching elsewhere if necessary, outside this world, Vale was the local expert, and she wanted his expertise.
    He listened to her, only interrupting with a couple of questions, until she came to a stop. Then he nodded. His hands were curved around his cup of tea, but he hadn’t drunk from it.
    ‘Your turn,’ Irene said. Her anger had ebbed a little and now focused itself on more long-term planning. ‘I’m assuming that you’ve just returned from hunting for Kai. Please tell me everything you know.’ She was aware that Vale, as London’s leading private investigator, was the one who normally made such requests of his clients. He knew it, too, and his mouth quirked drily in what was almost a smile.
    ‘You are correct, Winters.’ Vale put down his untouched tea. ‘I was called out this morning quite early, on a case that I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss. However, it became clear that my presence was not necessary. Whatever had impelled the Inspector to summon me …’ He frowned.
    ‘A deliberate attempt to distract you, you think?’ Irene suggested.
    Vale nodded. ‘Given subsequent events … In any case, I returned here to find that Strongrock had come by. He was met at the door by a street urchin, who directed him to an address in the East End. Fortunately, one of the newspaper vendors was close enough to hear the details. I followed.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘I was too late.’
    ‘What
happened
?’ Irene demanded.
    ‘You must understand that I assembled the facts after the event.’ Vale’s tone was corrosive, but this time it was a self-directed bitterness. He was clearly blaming himself just as much as she was, Irene realized, though with less cause. ‘It was not difficult to follow his trail. Once he arrived at the address where he thought that he’d be meeting me, another man - disguised as a Scotland Yard constable - redirected him to an address half a mile away. This was an old warehouse, where I was supposed to be investigating a murder. On the way he was lured into a side alley, by an apparent assault on a helpless innocent. He was struck down and rendered unconscious by a combination of superior numbers, Fae magic and drugs. From there, he was taken - elsewhere.’
    ‘That’s quite a convoluted trail,’ Irene said thoughtfully. ‘Why not just direct him to the location of the kidnapping? Or simply try to overpower him inside