Tangled Webs by Lee Bross
To my Dad, who showed me that life is too short not to chase your dreams.
I miss you every day.
Lord Huntington made his way through the crowded ballroom with the poise and elegance of an over-fattened Christmas goose.
Arista watched, in no hurry to reveal her presence. She smiled, a languid movement that did not betray the way her heart thumped in her chest. The element of surprise worked in her favor on nights like these. She could almost hear his heart pounding from across the room. Every few seconds he tugged on the edge of his cravat, an outward sign of his agitation.
Masked people spun by in a rainbow of dizzying colors. Excitement filled the air of the ballroom, causing bursts of laughter to erupt spontaneously around her. It did not matter if you were rich or poor, as long as you could afford the price of admission. Only at the public masquerades did the aristocracy mix with commoners without care; here, the rich dressed as milkmaids and the poor as queens.
For Arista, it was the perfect opportunity to conduct business.
Dressed in black silk, she blended into the background, unremarkable. Adorned only with a simple black mask, among all the other masquerade characters, she garnered little interest. No one ever approached her for a dance. Curious glances were met with a frosty stare or folded arms. With so many willing partners, she was soon forgotten.
The ones who’d had previous dealings with Bones knew her, though they pretended otherwise. They stayed far away. And if they happened too close, or met her stare by chance, Arista never missed the contempt in their eyes. She was good enough when they wanted something, but otherwise she meant nothing to them.
Arista’s gaze never lingered on any one person for too long, either, even as she kept the nobleman in question within view. Her clients didn’t often try to run, but when they did, she needed to be ready.
This part, the predatory rush of stalking her prey across a crowded ballroom, was most satisfying. Anticipation buzzed in her head. She glanced casually over the masked guests until she spotted him again.
The nobleman moved cautiously along the outer edges of the crowd, away from the throng of people. If he was planning to try and sneak out, he should have chosen a less obvious costume for the evening. The bobbling points of his bright jester hat made it easy to keep him in sight.
Moments earlier, a servant had delivered a discreet note to Lord Huntington with only two words written on the small card.
Library. Midnight.
A quick glance at the enormous grandfather clock to her left told her it was only a quarter till. Lord Huntington still had fifteen minutes to try and do something stupid.
You make a deal with the devil, you pay the price.
They always seemed to forget that part.
Arista ran her fingers over the familiar shape of her knife, safely strapped to the outside of her thigh and hidden under yards of satin. It gave her comfort. Courage. Sometimes all it took was the threat of the blade to encourage compliance. But there had been a few times, unfortunate as they were, when Arista had been forced to use it. That fact alone made her a target. Powerful men did not like to have their control stripped away, especially by a woman in a mask. They would not hesitate to stick a blade in her gut if they knew her face beneath the mask. If they ever found her alone.
Desperate aristocrats dealt with Bones out of necessity, not choice. They dealt with her, with the infamous Lady A, who collected payment for the poor choices they’d already made.
Bones was a “fixer,” a trader of information—or more often, secrets—in exchange for money. Now seventeen, Arista was the face of his operation, a pawn he had molded and groomed to use in a society he could not navigate. If they knew she was merely a marionette, they would not be so wary of her.
In the past year alone, Bones had obtained more than enough secrets from the London aristocracy to bring them to their knees. But that wasn’t all he wanted. He wanted their indebtedness.
Bones wanted to own them all.
And when he did, his need for Lady A would end—something she tried not to consider. The future was an abstract place to Arista, though she often spent hours at the docks, watching the ships come and go and wishing she could change her own life. She found it safer to exist only in the present. That mindset had kept her alive so far.
Lord Huntington glanced around furtively, then made a sudden move toward a set of open patio doors. Arista sighed. So it was going to be like that, then.