Read Online The Interminables by Paige Orwin - Free Book Online Page B

tangles. “What on Earth were you thinking?”
    â€œIstvan–”
    â€œA note? How could she have known anything about the devices? Why leave a pie? This is ridiculous! You’re not really going to meet her, are you?”
    Edmund tried to push the other man away, shivering at the proximity. “I’m not. The Hour Thief is.”
    The shadows of feathers flared. “That’s hardly–”
    â€œIf she has information, I want to hear it. If it’s a trap, it’s a trap. I’ve been through worse.”
    Istvan snorted. “Oh, of course you have.” He turned away, throwing his hands up. “You know, Edmund, I wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do.”
    â€œNo, you just go ahead and tell me,” Edmund agreed. He checked his watch again. It was almost eleven. “Istvan, can I at least trust you to stay clear? She said to come alone, and I don’t want to start this off on the wrong foot.”
    â€œEdmund–”
    â€œCan I trust you?”
    The ghost crossed his arms. He glanced at Grace’s name, with the scratched-out mistake beside it, and then back to Edmund. He’d never liked her, and the feeling had been mutual, but he was what he was, and all of his favorite holidays involved the remembrance of one war or another. He seemed almost as disappointed as he was angry.
    â€œSo we’re finished here, then?” he asked.
    Edmund nodded. He’d come, he’d climbed, he’d commemorated. Grace wouldn’t have wanted him to wallow in misery when there was a new lead to follow. “I think so,” he said.
    Istvan looked away again, sullenly. “This is all a bit sudden, isn’t it?”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    The ghost sighed.
    Edmund turned his pocket watch between his fingers, not looking back at the skull wall. Seven years of mourning. That was enough, wasn’t it? That was enough for anyone.
    Even Grace.
    â€œI’ll tell you how it goes,” he said. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
    Istvan muttered something to the contrary in Hungarian. Edmund pretended he hadn’t heard.

Chapter Six
    E dmund sat by himself in his usual corner at Charlie’s. It wasn’t quite noon, but he’d made sure to arrive early, clad in his full regalia. He’d taken the time to wash it again, just in case the gas smell lingered.
    Unlike Istvan, he preferred to make a more pleasant first impression.
    It was a quiet lunchtime. Pairs and loners straggled through the doors. A party of workmen took up most of the center tables, dirt-spattered and soaked through. A couple of women in what looked like East Command fatigues sat at the bar. Edmund wondered how they’d gotten through the spellscars, and what they were looking for this time. Most of the people left in Big East were there because they couldn’t leave, they wanted something, or they were too stubborn for their own good. Anyone from outside – sent by the federal government, no less, or what was left of it – had to be wanting something.
    The coat rack near the door dripped puddles on the floorboards. The same people as always strolled along in the windows outside, their streets whole and dry. Rain drummed on the roof.
    Edmund checked his pocket watch. Noon, on the dot.
    A woman stepped through the door. Raindrops rolled off her umbrella as she folded it. She was tall, fair-skinned, and dark-haired, and wearing a style of dress beneath her artfully unzipped coat that matched the era outside. Yellow. Plaid. It looked good on her; brought out her smile. She looked at his booth – directly at him – and started over, weaving between tables like she’d been there a hundred times before. Like she belonged there.
    Lucy.
    He stood, adopting a well-practiced smile of his own as she approached. His hat was already off, set on the seat near the wall, and booths didn’t have chairs to