TWENTY-EIGHT

SYLAS WAS WAITING FOR SIGNA IN HER SUITE. SHE NEARLY DARTED back into the hall at the sight of his head bobbing up from the side of her bed, smothering the surprised yelp that burned in the back of her throat.

“How is Miss Hawthorne?” was the first thing he said. The question was enough to soften the sharpness of her tongue.

“The antidote worked,” she answered, glancing down the hall to ensure they were alone before she shut and locked the door. Coolness flooded the room when she stepped in, and she scowled when she noticed why. Sylas had climbed the willow tree again and had left the balcony doors open for a quick escape.

“One of these days we’re going to get caught.” There was no place for iciness in her voice. Exhausted though she was, Blythe had been saved, and it was thanks to his help.

“We haven’t been found yet.” Sylas grinned as he took a seat upon the edge of her bed. Signa’s stomach warmed at the sight of him there. She tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly aware of the smell of sickness upon her, and of how in need of a bath she was.

“I want to thank you for your help,” she began, skin sweltering despite the cold. “I know I’ll be paying you, but even so it means the world. It’s a precarious situation, and my cousin can use whatever help she can get.” When she sat upon her chaise for fear that sitting too close to him might inspire certain… ideas, Sylas stood and moved to the chair before her.

“I’ve pulled the logs of all those employed at Thorn Grove, as well as any who were let go within the past year.” Sylas motioned to a thick stack of papers that he’d already placed upon her writing desk. “I was unable to find anything in the ones I looked through, but perhaps your luck will be better. Take care not to have them found. I imagine it’d be difficult to try and explain how you acquired them.”

Signa nodded, and though she was eager to get started on poring over them, it was a task that would have to wait until after a night’s rest. Should she try to read them now, she doubted she’d be able to see straight. She wanted only a bath and to change out of her heavy attire prior to Death’s midnight arrival. But before that, while Sylas was present, there was something she’d been wondering about ever since Percy’s accusation.

“Why is it that you agreed to help me, anyway?” The words came out in a flurry, and Signa wasn’t certain why her heart was pattering so hard beneath his observation. “Even with the money, do you not worry for your reputation? Nothing good would come of you being discovered.”

It didn’t take so much as a moment of consideration before he answered. “Speaking frankly, Miss Farrow, there’s not much left of my reputation to maintain.” He watched her eyes as they fell to his boots, wondering at the polished leather of such fine quality. He shifted his feet to one side, as though doing so might retire the boots from her inspection.

“I am not a selfless man,” he admitted. “I would not put myself in this position unless there was something more concrete for me to gain. Just know that, by helping you, I will obtain the resources I require to help someone that I care for very deeply.”

Signa wished she had water to quench the sudden parchedness of her mouth. There was such fervency to the way Sylas spoke; such a raw passion that Signa immediately stewed with jealousy for whoever could command such affection. She gave her cheek a quick pat, trying to will some of the heat from her skin. It wouldn’t do to allow herself to be so taken with Sylas when there was another who held his affection already. She couldn’t help that she found him handsome, or that she enjoyed his company. They’d simply have to be friends, then. Friends, and nothing more.

Besides, Sylas wasn’t the only one who Signa too often found her thoughts wandering off to. There was another man she was anxious to see again, though it wasn’t thoughts of friendship she had in mind.

“Whatever your reason, I appreciate it all the same, Mr. Thorly.”

Sylas looked as though he were glowing from within at the praise. “Just Sylas is fine,” he said. “And of course, there’s no thanks necessary. I’ll keep an ear to the ground and will be in contact should I hear anything informative.”

There was more she wanted to ask, and more details she wanted to compel him to share. But with midnight a mere hour away, there wasn’t time. She stood, and Sylas mirrored her example, taking the hint that this meeting was over.

“Have a wonderful night, Sylas.” She folded her hands in her lap, wondering if she should try to look more affronted that he’d sneaked in through the window, and less like his doing so thrilled her.

Sylas made his way toward the window and hauled himself onto the willow tree as respectfully as one could do such a thing. When he was secure he turned back to her, moonlight glinting in his eyes. “Have a good evening, Miss Farrow. I’ll be in touch soon.”