Stuart laughed, quiet but throaty. “I suppose it should not. But tell me, Miss Vesper, did it not surprise you to see me here?”
“It surprises me to see anyone other than myself in my cab,” Klio replied, then decided against being coy. “Nonetheless, your faction hasn’t sought my services in the past, so yes, your appearance is unexpected.”
“It’s an appropriate time for unexpected actions,” Stuart murmured. “You’re aware of the Game?”
Klio peered through the darkness to study Stuart’s features. He looked to be a young man, with dark hair curling at the nape of his neck and an unlined face like porcelain, but Klio knew better. His kind bore the semblance of youth well past the age that death took most mortals. Stuart was likely a century older than she, if not more.
Rather than speak, Klio nodded. A test to reveal whether the warlock had cast a spell that aided his sight in this dark enclosure.
The corners of his mouth turned up in approval. “I’m sure you’ll understand the Coven’s interest in the outcome of the Game.”
“As all the factions are,” Klio said. “Whoever wins the Game determines the course of this nation.”
“This fractured nation.” The pleased note in Stuart’s voice faded. “We have thrown our lot in with the Union and a future of free enterprise in the West, while our adversaries hope to expand their plantations beyond Texas and Missouri. We are particularly concerned that this war does not cost us the significant investments we’ve made. We want to ensure that none thwart our victory.”
Klio leveled a sharp gaze at Stuart. “The Game prohibits any attempts upon the lives of the players.”
“I’m aware of that, Miss Vesper.”
“You do know what kind of work I do, do you not, Mr. Stuart?” Klio was beginning to lose patience. The night’s job, while not executed perfectly, was complete, and this pompous warlock was wasting time that she could have spent toasting success with Whitby, then indulging herself in a warm bath.
“Very aware,” Stuart replied. “And you are the best at what you do. That is why I’m here.”
“Mr. Stuart —”
Hearing the edge in Klio’s voice, Stuart dipped a hand inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “My superior would like to hire you as a means of protection.”
Klio took the envelope, curiosity winning out over her reservations. “There are others who specialize in that service.”
“Mr. Cromwell believes you are more suited to the task than a simple guardian,” Stuart said. “If a threat to our player arises, you will be able to recognize it more ably than anyone. Killing a player is forbidden, as you’ve said, but sadly our less honorable peers have proven in the past that they have no qualms about disabling a player.”
Klio had no doubts that, honor or no, the Coven had done its share of disabling in the past.
“You’ll find all the details of our proposal in that envelope.” Stuart leaned toward her with an easy smile. “Mr. Cromwell humbly requests a reply by the week’s end.” When Klio failed to respond immediately, he sighed, sitting up. “If the generous compensation doesn’t prove enough, then perhaps I should appeal to your sense of justice.”
“What do you mean?” Klio asked.
“Your man.” Stuart nodded toward the front of the cab, to Whitby. “He’s a freedman, is he not?”
“Of course he is.” Klio bristled. “This is Massachusetts, not Mississippi. And Whitby is not ‘my man,’ he’s a dear friend.”
When Stuart showed obvious pleasure at having provoked her, Klio regretted her quick words.
“I would never suggest a lady such as yourself could tolerate the barbarism they so quaintly refer to as the ‘peculiar institution,’” Stuart said. “The Coven forbade slaveholding before the colonists decided to declare their independence, you know.”
“Yes.” Klio also knew that the Coven’s power had always been concentrated in the North, making its involvement in plantation farming and the slave trade limited from the first. For her own part, Klio found the “peculiar institution” abhorrent, and not simply because of her friendship with Whitby. She did not, however, respond well to Stuart’s attempt to leverage his position by exploiting her moral convictions. She turned the envelope over in her hands. It was weighty for a contract. Perhaps Mr. Cromwell had included part of the promised payment as a show of good faith. She’d be a fool to turn away good money. With the war escalating, the world could easily devolve into chaos.
“Good.” Stuart gave two smart raps on the roof of the cab, and it slowed to a stop. “Mr. Cromwell looks forward to receiving your reply.”
“One question before you go, Mr. Stuart,” Klio said as Stuart drew back the curtain.
“Please.” Stuart’s smile was as icy as the blue of his eyes.
It took far more than a cool gaze to ruffle Klio. “Who is your player?”