Enough faint light filtered from shaded windows and closed doors to illuminate her. She looked smaller and so much older than Simon remembered, and it struck him hard. Years ago she had been adorned with grand jewels and opulent fabrics, and yet even those had barely been able hold in her audacious and flamboyant manner. Now her garments were gaudy rags of torn lace and soiled silk. When her pale eyes alighted on his form, she must have seen the shock in his expression because she pulled her shabby cloak tighter, concealing her embarrassing attire.
“Beatrice.” Simon smiled at her.
A frail laugh slipped from garishly painted lips. “You remembered.”
“Of course.”
“You’re the only man who ever called me by my real name.” Despite her gratitude, she glanced nervously at the darkness surrounding them.
Simon laid a gentle kiss on her pockmarked cheek, which had once been porcelain. He gestured to the man behind him. “May I introduce Nick Barker, a good friend. Nick, this is Marie d’Angouleme, grand duchess of the theater, queen of the West End, and thief of my heart.”
Her features relaxed in friendly greeting, but there was unease in her eyes, the mark of a woman betrayed too often by sweet words and hasty promises. Her hand plucked at Simon’s sleeve. It lingered on the material with practiced intent. “This doesn’t seem your usual attire. Dressing for the neighborhood?”
“You might say that.” He studied the even more shabby condition of the former demimondaine. It seemed incredible, as if she were dressed for a part in a play. “What happened, Beatrice? How did you come to this? You had everything.”
“Yes, I did once,” she said wistfully, regarding his tall frame. “But a wrong turn here, a twist of fate there.”
“What about your magic?” Simon asked. He noticed her worried gaze dart to Nick, but he gave her a reassuring nod. “You were quite skilled.”
Beatrice shrugged with a wan smile before stepping back into the shadows once more. “As with all things in my life, I made missteps there too.”
“You should have come to me earlier.” He reached into his coat. “How much do you need?”
“Jesus God, Simon.” She glared at him in anger. “I’m not asking you for money.”
Annoyed, Nick demanded, “What is it you want if not that?”
Ignoring the accusatory barb, her hand alighted on Simon’s chest, her finger tracing a strange symbol on his shirt. She actually shivered although Simon didn’t think it had anything to do with the cold. Her skin turned abruptly pale beneath the cheap rouge. “I have a … customer. An aristocrat named Lord Oakham. Do you know him?”
“I’ve heard the name,” Simon replied.
“He isn’t a regular, but not a stranger either. I was with him last night and, afterward, I saw him fall into an argument with another man on the street not far from here. About what I do not know. But I saw …” Beatrice faltered, fear overwhelming her countenance. Her shuddering grew worse, her voice lowering.
Simon brushed a soothing hand across her forearm. “What is it, Beatrice? I will help you if I can.”
She steeled herself with the same determination that Simon had seen her use before stepping out alone onto the stage. “I saw him transform into a beast and slaughter that man.”
“You saw Lord Oakham murder a man?”
Beatrice shook her head violently. “No. Just what I said. One moment, he was a lord and the next he wasn’t. He changed his shape, Simon. He became a monster.” Her eyes rose to meet his. “Do you believe me? I wasn’t drunk. Nor am I now.”
“Have you seen him since?”
“No, but it’s worse,” Beatrice stammered. “Lord Oakham saw me witness the event.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Simon struck a cavalier pose. “Well, let’s simply shift you away from here. I would take it a kindness if you would stay at my home at Gaunt Lane for as long as you need.”
Beatrice paused, looking at his face for signs of hesitation, but there were none. Even so, she shook her head. “Dear Simon, I don’t fear for my own life. But someone should know. Someone who I hoped could do something. I thought of you.”
Without warning, a huge shape fell among them, bearing Beatrice hard to the ground and batting Simon and Nick roughly to the side. A massive animal snapped its long jaws and clamped onto Beatrice. Her terrified scream lay heavy in the fog. Simon scrambled to his feet, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop the great beast as it twisted its head and ripped through the woman’s shoulder.
“No!” Simon screamed.
A menacing growl rolled loud, hammering the men’s ears as a pair of red eyes punctured the black veil of night. The creature rose on canine hind legs, tall and loose-limbed, to a height of eight feet. Its snout was almost the length of Simon’s forearm. Saliva and blood dripped through the long sharp teeth in its open jaws. The hair on Simon’s arm rose as his breathing deepened and energy flooded his body.
“Damnation,” muttered Nick. Then he snapped his fingers. A flicker of flame sprouted from his fingertips, lighting the gloom. The stench of blood mingled with the distinctive musk of wet fur. “Don’t rush in. Don’t be stupid.”
“It killed her!” Simon yelled.