Stolen Petals Read Free Page A

Shantytown. "Better place to stake out targets. Also, not as much upkeep when I'm out after a bounty." The excuses dried on her lips like the stale reminder of what they were. "Well, thank you for the walk home. I'll await your message for the next rendezvous," she said stiffly, pulling away from him.
    He grabbed her hand and lifted it, brushing his lips over her glove. "My pleasure, Miss Embrees." His voice had a rich fluidity to it when serious that surprised her. Moments later however, the mischief returned to his eyes as he strolled away.
    Viola wanted a bath. The night had been nothing but reminders of her past, leaving her feeling cheap—a tart dressed in silks. He'd made her self-conscious and thrown her off her game like no one else. All the more reason to corner Claude Brownetree and collect this bounty as fast as possible. Edward Van Clef's mere presence threatened everything she'd built, but the haunted gazes of the barmaidens at the Rusty Scupper were caution enough. She'd never return to that
life.

Chapter Three
    The tap on the door resounded all through her three-floor apartment. She heaved a sigh and placed the herbs she weighed on the counter. Viola dusted the stray skullcap from her dress, a tailored gray affair, and strode to the door.
    The mechanical sparrow glinted in the sunlight as it took off, wings shuttering like a hummingbird's. A more efficient mode of delivery couldn't be found. An envelope lay on her front stoop, one she had a suspicious inclination about. The contents of the letter were simple.
    Tonight, the station at 6pm. Dress indecently.
    — The Fox
    Viola's cheeks burned. Even though she understood his implication—petticoats thrashed about and made sneaking impossible—of course the scoundrel would word it that way. He probably snickered while he wrote the note. However, she wanted those plans from him, which meant she'd have to play, at least for now.
    She hiked her skirt up and strode to the top floor. Unlike the meticulous cleanliness of her bar, her bedroom was a different story. Clothes formed piles in every direction and her scattered shoes created an obstacle course. She reached into the bottom drawer of her cherry wood dresser and pulled out leggings and a tunic, both black. While being a lady fit her everyday persona, the Brass Violet dressed for practicality.
    She pulled her hair into a tight bun and slipped two chopsticks in, the sharp and pointy ends great for last resorts. While chances were this would be a quick scour, she'd be a fool if she didn't plan for an incursion. She rolled out a long black panel of cloth, checking the pockets and straps for the important things: rope, lockpicks, and climbing dust. Satisfied with the contents, she wrapped the panel around her like a short skirt, tying it closed with a brown sash. While she'd made great strides to be a lady, she took pride in her abilities as the Brass Violet too. Not just anyone could survive in her line of work.
    Her cup of tea lay unfinished on the kitchen counter. The bergamot fumes wafted her way, tempting, but she hadn't the time. Not if she wanted to beat the Fox there before nightfall and indeed, she did. Better she had the first view than he.
    Viola locked her front door and turned the security lock, a mess of gears which needed the right combination to open. Testament to her skills as a poisoner, if an intruder broke it or put in the wrong combination, a quick acting dosage of aconite sprayed their way. After the first couple dead men were found outside her house, the rest learned to stay away. With a relaxed stride, she made her way to the sub-bus.
    London's main sub-bus's route stood out in the distance, slicing through Shantytown like a beam of light. The transport, a high-speed train, ran underneath a thick convex walling of geosynthetic resin that stretched the length of the system. Interior lights glowed through, making it contrast the darkness of night and the sallow lighting of the city, and