Ghostlight (The Reflected City Book 1) by Rabia Gale (i can read with my eyes shut TXT) 📗

a ghost she no longer counted as a member of the polite society Trey kept at arm’s length. He pushed on. “So you see, Miss Trent, your first impression of me was the correct one. I am quite disagreeable.”

She didn’t answer. Glancing down at her, Trey saw a look of serious sympathy on her face. The expression sent a frisson of recognition through him, though he couldn’t remember why.

“It gets lonely, doesn’t it,” she said softly, “holding the world at a distance?”

Before he could respond, Miss Trent’s attention shifted. With a muffled exclamation, she darted ahead to where a cart stood in the street, surrounded by interested onlookers. “Stop it! Stop mistreating that unfortunate child at once.”

She hurried past the spectators, not noticing how the large right sleeve of her cloak dragged through the arm of a small man in a leather apron.

The brutish man in work-stained clothes did not, in fact, refrain from cuffing the cringing boy he held by one ear. Miss Trent’s vehemence was entirely wasted on him. Trey thought he’d better intervene before her wrath turned her into some grey-skinned hag with bat wings.

“You there!” Trey hailed the man. “What are you doing to that unfortunate child—I mean, that boy?”

The man craned his head towards Trey in bug-eyed surprise. “’E’s a thief, mister,” he said self-righteously. “Snatched an apple off me cart. I’s got to disc’pline ’im, see. Right useless piece of work, ’e is.” He shook the unlovely child who howled something to the effect that Tommy made him do it, it wasn’t his fault, and other details Trey had no interest in pursuing.

“Discipline!” exclaimed Miss Trent, flushed with indignation and still showing no signs of growing fangs. “That’s not discipline; it’s just taking his own nasty temper out on the boy!”

“Put the boy down, man. I can hardly hear myself think above his yowling.” Pain throbbed behind Trey’s eyes. He glared at the gathered onlookers and asked in a glacial tone, “Don’t you people have somewhere else to be?” At which point, they remembered several pressing appointments and dispersed, some in haste, others reluctantly.

The carter released his captive, who looked as if he would take to his heels. Trey prevented this by putting a hand on the urchin’s thin shoulder. The boy’s sharp-featured face was pinched under the grime.

“Hungry, are you?” he asked.

A wary look crept into the urchin’s eyes. His gaze flicked from Trey’s face to focus on something beyond his shoulder—

He was looking at Miss Trent. He could see her. Trey’s hand tightened and the boy yelped.

“Answer the gent, you!” The carter raised his hand to smack the boy, only to be stopped short by Trey’s cold glare.

“Yes! I’m ’ungry, sir,” said the thief in a rush. “’Twas only one apple, sir, and ’alf-rotted, too.”

“Now look ’ere,” roared the carter, anger suffusing his face at these aspersions cast on his fruit.

“How much?” snapped Trey.

“Beg pardon, sir?”

“Never mind,” muttered Trey. He fished in his pocket and came up with a copper coin. He tossed it at the carter. “Take this for your trouble. I’ll deal with the boy.”

The carter stared, first at Trey, then at the coin. Then he shrugged, as if washing his hands off the whole business and turned to his cart.

“My lord,” Miss Trent broke in, “I think we ought to—”

“Just a moment, Miss Trent!” said Trey. “I believe I’ve just volunteered to deal with this boy.” Just like I made you my problem, he thought ruefully.

It must be the effects of the Peacock’s brandy. He was normally not so quixotic.

Trey looked down at the urchin whose gaze was flickering back and forth between his two benefactors, eyes full of alarmed suspicion. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Jem, sir.” The boy straightened to attention.

“Well, Jem, I’m not in the habit of bailing out thieves, no matter what their age. But I’ll give you a chance to earn your keep. Lying and stealing won’t be tolerated, you will submit to a bath, and you’ll have to work. But in return you’ll get a warm place to sleep and food to fill your belly. What do you say? Be quick about it—I haven’t the time.”

Indecision warred in the boy’s expression. Trey waited. Finally, the urchin took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Aye, sir. I’ll do it.”

“Good boy.” Trey released his grip. “First thing, go to Hopechurch Street. You know where it is?” At the boy’s nod, Trey took a piece of paper from his pocket. He brought it to life with a touch. A strand of aether, shimmering grey, coiled itself into a series of runes, sinking into the fibers. Trey folded the missive into a complex shape, pressed his thumb into the place where the folds met. A sizzle and the Shield insignia appeared in fiery colors, holding the message shut.

“Golly!” Jem’s eyes went wide. Miss Trent, ghostly and glimmering and hovering a few inches off the pavement, looked on with interest.

“You know the Quadrangle?”

Jem blanched. “That place where they muck about with dead people and ’venging sp’rits and such?”

“That’s the one.” Trey’s grin was malicious. “Take this message to a man named Morgan who works there. You’ll have no trouble getting someone to point him out.”

“What then?” The boy’s expression was suspicious.

“Then you do as Morgan says. Congratulations, Jem. You are now a civil servant, the God-Father help us all.”

“You didn’ say that at first!” squawked the boy.

“Changing your mind?” Trey arched his eyebrows.

“’Course not. You said warm bed and full belly, right?” Jem snatched the message and stuffed it down his ragged shirt. “I’ll be there.” He glowered at Trey. “’Sides you got yer hands full ’ere, dontcha?” He ran off before Trey could say anything else.

Trey eyed the urchin’s departing figure, wondering if he would regret this. Morgan would give him an earful, no doubt, for saddling him with the boy. But people who saw apparitions were rare to begin with. It wasn’t every day you ran into a seer.

Boy disposed of, he