Then I saw his face. His expression was not the one of gratitude, or even surprise, that I had expected. Instead, his mouth twisted grimly and his eyes glittered dark.
“I don’ know whether t’strangle ye or laugh at ye, Evaline.” In his normal mellow tone, those words might have been laced with humor. But tonight, I could tell he was deadly serious.
I didn’t know how to respond, so I launched into a diatribe of fury and fear. “Is that all the thanks I get? Saving your miserable life? You couldn’t have hoped to fight him off. He might not have looked like much, but the UnDead—did you even realize he was a vampire?—they’re strong, much stronger than men. He had you in his thrall, and he’d have drained you dry then left you for dead.”
I drew in my breath to continue railing at him and realized he’d chosen to laugh at me. But it was a sharp, biting laugh. “Ah, then. Ye were worried on me, were ye, luv? I s’pose it’s some cons’lation for interfering wi’ me business.” “Your business? What do you mean your business?”
“Your business? What do you mean your business?”
But Pix just shook his head, his mouth a thin, dark line in the drassy light as he began to walk out of the alley. “Wot’re ye doin’ ’ere in the rook’ry? Oy reckon the same as ye was doin’ in and about the fightin’-club yesterday.”
“How did you know I was at Nickel’s?” We walked abreast down the passage.
Irritation still rolled off him and he shrugged. “An’ ye didn’ see me neither then, luv? Ye looked right a’ me.”
I mentally reviewed the scene at Nickel’s. Then I stopped, my mouth falling open. “In the corner—that was you, hitting the punching bag.” Oh, I definitely remembered him now. My stomach gave a quick little flip when I recalled how I’d admired his powerful, bare torso. How fast and hard he pummeled the man-sized bag.
“Aye.”
“How did you know I was going to be there? Were you following me?”
Pix lifted his brows. “Per’aps I should ask ye the same question—for ye arrived after me, didn’t ye, luv? An’ why shouldn’t a bloke be practicin’ ’is side-jabs if ’e wants to?” He glanced over at me sidewise, his expression turning flinty. “Does yer beau know ye was checkin’ up on ’im? Gabblin’ into ’is affairs? Bloody ’ell, Evaline, a’ least if yer gonna find a nobby bloke, can ye pick one who’s nay up to ’is ears in debt?”
It took me a moment to realize what he meant. “Mr. Ashton is not my beau. He’s a suspect in a murder investigation.” Blast. I sounded like Mina. She must be rubbing off on me.
“’E’s not yer beau, is ’e? Sure looked it to a one-eyed violin player.”
“I was interrogating him for the investigation.”
“While ye was ’anging onto ’is arm like ye couldna walk?” Pix scoffed. “Gawkin’ up like ’e’s a god? I didn’t expect ye’d taken up wi’ the likes o’ that cove if ye knew ’e was a bad ’un. But I’ve been known t’be smack wrong.”
There was a brittle note in his normally smooth voice. “Take up with? I wasn’t—” I stopped and stared at him. I couldn’t make out any of his features except the impression of eyes and mouth. A silvery gleam wove through the edges of his thick, dark hair. It made him look almost angelic.
I held back a snort. Pix. Angelic. Those two words didn’t go together. “Is that why you’re vexed with me?”
His low laugh was devoid of humor. “Vexed is too pretty a word t’describe ’ow I’m feelin’ wi’ ye, luv. Ye broke one a m’best cove’s fingers, ye paraded ye’self into th’ rookery like ye’ ’ad no care fer yerself, causin’ fights and disruptin’ the place—”
“You,” I said from between gritted teeth, “practically begged me to come find you when you interrupted us, playing that blooming violin.”
“If’n I’d’a wanted ye to find me in Vauxhall, luv, ye would’ve,” he said tightly. “But I didn’t.”
“What were you doing there anyway?”
“Now, luv . . . ’ow many times do I ’ave t’tell ye . . . there’re some things ye jus’ don’ want t’know.”
I wanted to stomp my foot. “You could use a music tutor. Your playing sounded like a cat squalling.”
“Listen, luv. I don’ need n’more crippled blokes. Ye leave a blind trail be’ind ye, Evaline, and ye take risks ye don’ need to. Some day ye’ll fin’ yerself in a fine chancery. Stay away from m’rookery, luv.”
“That’s a likely chance.”
He sighed. “Don’ I know’at, ye darly female.”
I shook my head. The man was impossible. “One thing I did find out in Smithfield is that La société has returned to London. But I haven’t been able to determine where they meet, or where the vampires are living.”
“Aye.” Pix’s voice was ironic. “An’ if ye wouldn’na come flyin’ in on me ’n’ Fagley tonight wi’ yer pointy stick, I’d’a squeezed the split from ’im and ye’d know all ’bout it.”
“What?” I couldn’t understand his slang half the time, but I was pretty sure he’d just called the vampire Fagley.
He stopped and looked at me, frustration oozing from him. “I’ve tol’ ye, luv, I deal in information. It’s m’business. An’ ye came blastin’ in on a very delicate predicament and spleefed it all t’hell.”
“You knew he was a vampire.” I couldn’t help but feel a bit foolish . . . and aggravated.
“O’ course I did. D’ye take me for a complete nobber, Evaline?” He shifted, moving the lapel of his overcoat to reveal a silver cross pinned to the inside.
Right. “What else do you know? Where they stay? Where La société is?”
“Not as much as I ’oped.” He lifted a brow at me. “But I did d’scover the name o’ the UnDead wot’s leadin’ the rest of ’em. Frenchman named Gadreau. ’E’s got ’imself a mortal woman wot serves ’im. She ’as a pet spider wot she keeps in a cage. An’ they frequents th’ Pickled Nurse.”