The Devil's Teeth (Ravenwood Mysteries #5) Read online

  "Which are more meaningful: the names we are given, or the names we choose for ourselves?" he mused to the ceiling.

  "A child is unformed," she stated. "I think the Chinese tradition of giving a child a milk name until they reach maturity is a fine idea."

  "But then we come back to your question: does the name shape the child? Even a milk name?"

  Isobel toyed with a lone cufflink on the table beside the chair. She thought of Atticus Riot. Left with only an acronym after his mother hanged herself, he had named himself. Riot had chosen 'Atticus' because he fancied it sounded important, and he had plucked his surname straight from a penny dreadful. A street urchin aspiring to greater things.

  "I think not. We take names that suit us," she said.

  "Captain Morgan. Huckleberry Finn. Charlotte Bonnie. Am I forgetting any?"

  Isobel tapped the cufflink on the table. "Violet Smith."

  "Ah, yes, your slap-happy prostitute disguise."

  Isobel nearly snorted with laughter. She hadn't expected it, but she schooled her reaction. She had no intention of revealing anything to Dr. Bright.

  "Why Violet?" he asked.

  She lifted a shoulder. "Arthur Conan Doyle chose that name for a number of his 'women in distress'. Faceless women, lacking character or resolve."

  "But you were hardly helpless."

  "A flower seller once told me that violets are thieves. A flirty flower that comes and goes as it pleases. It suited the disguise."

  "Is that how you generally choose your names?"

  "I don't put much thought into it."

  "Ah."

  Isobel narrowed her eyes at his profile. That “Ah” had sounded very knowing, but she refused his bait.

  "How is the shoulder?" he asked again.

  "It hurts."

  "So sorry. A bad slip in a tub, wasn't it? The same arm as your twin."

  The alienist did not look at her. She did not answer. But he kept talking, musing to himself. "No doubt it was the strain of the trial. Distracted lately?"

  With boredom, she thought.

  Julius rubbed the bridge of his nose. His next words were said with a sigh. "How much time do we have left?"

  "You could end this now," she suggested.

  "Do you enjoy dodging my questions?"

  "I'm required to be here for an hour, twice a week. I am not required to answer your questions."

  "You were quite talkative the other day." Julius turned his head to look at her. "What was it? You were dreaming excessively of your fiancé—Atticus Riot—and cucumbers. Large cucumbers."

  Isobel suppressed a sigh. One of the drawbacks of sending Lotario in her place was the things he tended to say. "I'm not in the mood today."

  "For cucumbers or Atticus Riot?"

  Isobel searched him for any sign of innuendo, but he had turned back to the ceiling. She might have thought him asleep accept for a single finger tapping the other, like a ticking clock, or maybe a tune.

  "For talking," she said. In the weeks she'd been there, she had been scheduled for twelve sessions. She had only been present for five of those. Lotario had sat in for the rest. Sometimes she talked, and sometimes she did not. And just to confuse the good doctor, Lotario had done the same. Tried and true tactics that kept people guessing.

  "Another brown study, is it?"

  "I'm incarcerated. What do you expect?"

  "How many more days?"

  "One hundred and seven."

  "Not near as bad as it could have been."

  Doctor Bright's gentle reminder tightened her throat. Isobel's world had nearly ended when Parker Gray burst into the courtroom. Lotario had thrown himself in front of the bullet meant for her, and he'd nearly died for it. "No." The single word was clipped and hard.

  "You don't do well with confinement?"

  She did not answer.

  "I don't either," he admitted.

  "You assumed the name Bright to conceal that you were in prison?" It wasn't a serious question. Isobel had only aimed to get under his skin. She never expected an answer. Let alone the truth.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact. As a child."

  Isobel leaned forward. "What crime did you commit?"

  "I wasn't my older brother."

  Stone and bars shattered in her mind's eye, replaced by something more sinister. "A relative locked you up."

  "My turn," he said quickly. "Are you looking forward to your nuptials?"

  "I'm in an asylum."

  "And Alex Kingston walked free."

  She ground her teeth together.

  "Does it worry you—marrying another man so soon after?" he asked.

  "My relationship with Atticus Riot is none of your concern."

  "You spoke of him during your last session."

  "I was in a rare mood."

  "As well as the session before. Not so rare, is it?"

  She raised her brows in a kind of shrug.

  "Do you often experience drastic mood swings?"

  "Isn't that what alienists like to call 'female hysteria' and 'wandering wombs'?"

  Julius chuckled. “’Female hysteria’ is a vague, all-encompassing term for complexities that my colleagues don't want to bother themselves with. 'Male hysteria' is just as prevalent, if not more. I'm afraid the male of the species is prone to the worst kinds of mood swings."

  She looked at him in surprise.

  "I study human behavior. I would be useless if I were prejudiced in favor of my own sex."

  "If only society viewed the world with such a scientific eye. When women fly into rages or break down in tears they're committed for hysteria. While men who lose their tempers and beat their wives are called firm."

  At the word beat, Julius flinched. He went back to his original topic. "Are you concerned that you're leaping from one marriage to another?"

  Isobel ignored the question, and countered with an observation. "Your mother favored you. It must have been your father who locked you in the shed."

  Julius sat up, and planted his feet on the floor. "How did you know?"

  She gave a dismissive wave. "Given root cellars store food, a shed seemed the most logical choice."

  "How did you know it was my father?" he demanded.

  "You're jovial, uncoordinated, not corpulent, but hardly athletic. Definitely not the strapping young man in the photograph you keep tucked away behind your desk. You are kind, and that is hardly a trait most fathers appreciate in a son. Mothers on the other hand…"

  The look in his eyes made her hackles rise. "Does your twin's behavior trouble you?"

  "It troubles me when others ask," she shot back.

  "I'm not referring to his carnal desires."

  Isobel matched the doctor's sudden chill. It radiated from them both. He had pricked her nerve in return, and he had known precisely where to place his barb. Was he threatening her twin?

  Lotario lived on a knife's edge, and she would kill to keep her brother from falling off that edge.

  Julius relaxed, his features softening "I'm an alienist; not a judge. I only want to understand. And I can't do that unless people talk to me."

  "Why meddle in minds?"

  "Why meddle in crimes that don't affect you?"

  Isobel stared, and Julius stood abruptly. "Thank you for your time. It was most insightful." He left her sitting in his consulting chair.

  4

  A Flurry of Telegrams

  A magnifying glass tried to murder me. Qd4 -B

  * * *

  Crazed patient? Kxc2 -R

  * * *

  No. Twine. Qc3 Check -B

  * * *

  Death by reflection. Unique. kd1-R

  * * *

  A reference to my appearance? Having second thoughts? Qxd3 Check -B

  * * *

  No. You? ke1 -R

  * * *

  JB is having them. Bc3 Checkmate. -B

  * * *

  Is it possible I’m getting worse at this game? -R

  * * *
/>   I could be getting better. -B

  5

  A Legal Matter

  RIOT

  "Sign here."

  Atticus Riot looked to the two young girls at his side. Sao Jin glared, and Sarah Byrne fidgeted. Jin's jaw was set, as usual. But Sarah… he couldn't quite pin her unease.

  "You look like you're having second thoughts," he said to Sarah.

  "Mr. Amsel will be my uncle," she whispered. "Now it won't be right to marry him."

  Riot swallowed down a laugh, as did the woman across from him. Donaldina Cameron cleared her throat and folded her hands on the desk, but amusement danced in her eyes.

  "I'm afraid not, Sarah. But I think Lotario is a confirmed bachelor."

  "The newspapers said you were, too," Sarah pointed out.

  "I was. Plans do change. However, I think Lotario will make a better uncle than husband."

  Sarah's shoulders slumped. "I suppose."

  "Your heart will mend, child," Donaldina said.

  "With your permission?" Riot looked to each girl in turn. Both nodded.

  Riot applied his pen to the documents.

  "And here," the attorney said.

  Riot crossed his T's. There were quite a few in his name.

  The attorney looked to Riot as he pushed the papers towards Donaldina. "After your wedding, Mrs. Riot can add her own signature with the judge as witness."

  Well accustomed to the process, Donaldina Cameron signed as witness without prompt, and the attorney added his own signature and an official stamp.

  "Congratulations, Atticus. Sarah Byrne Riot and Sao Jin Riot are officially your daughters." There was a fair amount of relief in Donaldina Cameron's voice. She looked like she had narrowly escaped a noose. If Riot hadn't adopted Sao Jin, the girl would have ended up at the mission.

  "It's that simple?" Sarah asked.

  "Thankfully, and unfortunately," Donaldina said. "Legal documents aren't required to adopt a child. But the papers help if there's ever a dispute. Keep those documents safe, Atticus. If the adoption papers for my girls were ever destroyed, every tong in the city would have their pet attorneys drawing new ones in under a day. And their pet judges would hand the girls straight over to slavers."

  Jin shifted.

  "I know," Donaldina said, nodding to the girl. "It's horrifying. But that's what we've been dealing with for years now. Until laws are changed," she looked heavenward, "I can only try."

  "It goes both ways," the attorney said. "These legal papers ensure that children remain with families who will care for them."

  "Small blessings," Donaldina said. "Girls, may I speak with your father for a moment?"

  Jin scowled and stomped out of the office, while Sarah beamed, practically skipping out.

  "Congratulations, sir," the attorney said, although his tone was contrary to his words. After he left, Donaldina sat back in her chair, looking pleased.

  "You couldn't resist, could you?" Riot asked.

  "I never thought I'd see the day you settled down. With a wife and two daughters, no less."

  "I'm not married yet." Riot smiled. "I never thought I'd see the day either. We're not precisely what you'd call a traditional family."

  "No," Donaldina agreed. "Sarah is lovely. But Jin…" She faltered.

  "Is spirited?"

  "That's one way to put it." Donaldina leaned forward. "Atticus, you're in for trouble."

  "Have you ever known me not to be in for trouble?"

  "That's the only reason I agreed to this. That, and I'm not sorry to wash my hands of the girl. She seems to have taken to Miss Amsel, and you, as well." There was a question in the statement.

  "Jin reminds me of myself at that age."

  Donaldina raised her brows. "Your humor is so dry, I'm not always sure when you're edging towards sarcasm."

  "I'm serious."

  Donaldina looked at him for a moment, searching for that elusive humor. In the end, she took his word. "Well, whoever took you under their wing, I'm grateful."

  "Tim shanghaied me."

  "I'm afraid you'll have to keep shanghaiing as an option for Sao Jin. I've seen it a hundred times. A child can be so badly damaged that she'll strike out at those trying to help her. Jin is currently on her best behavior, but that's only because she doesn't want to go to China. As soon as Mei leaves, Jin will get comfortable and begin acting out. Worse than she has already."

  "Bel and I are hardly proper parents, so it's a good fit. We'll take each day as it comes."

  "Miss Amsel is a remarkable woman."

  "Don't you mean perfectly suited to be Jin's adoptive mother?" he asked.

  Donaldina laughed. "Maybe so. I wish the Riot family many… adventurous years."

  "And you, Dolly?"

  Color rose to her cheeks. "There is a gentleman, but…" She looked around her office and sadness shadowed her eyes. "Who would save these girls?"

  Jin and Sarah were sitting on opposite sides of the large entrance hall when Riot entered. Sarah, dark-haired with a spattering of freckles to match, looked sullen, her usually bright eyes puffy and red. Riot stopped in the center of the room.

  "Did something happen?" he asked.

  Jin didn't look up. She held a small clay jar in one hand, and scratched at her forearm with the other.

  "Jin said the only reason you adopted us was because you feel sorry for us," Sarah answered.

  "Do you believe that?" Riot asked.

  "No."

  "Then don't let anyone tell you otherwise." He gave Sarah a quick wink, and she smiled. He inclined his head towards Jin, and Sarah took his hint, turning to her sketchbook.

  He sat beside Jin on the bench. "Did you say goodbye to Mei?"

  Jin nodded.

  "Is that her ointment?"

  Jin looked away.

  "Jin," he said softly. "Are you sure you don't want to go with her?"

  "I knew it. You want me to go," she bit out.

  Riot sighed, and turned his hat in his hands. "I want what's best for you. So does Bel. You might like China, or you might hate it. But it's your choice. Once you make that choice—you best put your all into it." He let the words settle, and watched her scratch at the skin under her large sleeve. Bel had told him that Jin was covered in scars, and the skin on her forearms was raw with scratches, scabbed over, and scratched again. "Bel and I have made our choice—and we'll put our all into it. I promise you that."

  Jin looked up, her eyes smoldering. "You only feel sorry for me. I am a pathetic dog."

  Riot gently took the jar from her hands, and unscrewed the lid. The green substance smelled of herbs and earth. "As a pathetic dog once upon a time myself, I can attest to the fact that, with a little care," he dabbed his fingers in the jar, and smeared some of the ointment over a scratch on the back of her hand, "we can amount to something. And maybe even one day, have friends."

  He closed the lid, and handed it back to her.

  "You do not own me," she said defiantly.

  "The papers are to keep you safe. That's all."

  Her lips pressed into a taut line.

  "I'm not replacing your father," he said gently.

  The girl flinched as if he'd slapped her. Riot had cut right to the heart of the matter. She tried to speak, but couldn't. Her knuckles turned white around the jar.

  With a growl, she stood. "I will stay."

  He extended his hand. "Your all," he said.

  Jin hesitated, looked him straight in the eye, and gripped his hand with strength. "My all." They shook, sealing the promise.

  Riot held the door open for the girls as they left 920 Sacramento. The papers against his chest were a different kind of responsibility—one he had never felt before. And he wished Bel were there.

  They started up the hill in silence.

  "What if Captain Morgan does not marry you?" Jin asked after a time.

  "Then I suppose you're both stuck with just me."

  Sarah took his arm. "Hardly stuck, Mr.—" She tilted her head.
"Should we call you Pa now?"

  "Whatever you like, Sarah. Though I feel like I've aged decades in an hour."

  "You are old," Jin stated.

  "Jin! He's not that old."

  "I am not calling you father."

  "Call me A.J."

  Jin wrinkled her nose. "I will call you Din Gau."

  "I'm not fond of that name," he said.

  "Why?" Jin craned her neck to look up at him, puzzled.

  "What does it mean?" Sarah asked.

  "Rabid Dog," Jin said proudly.

  Sarah mouthed the words in shock. "I like Pa better."

  "Boo how doy gave him that name," Jin said. "Hatchet men fear him, because he kills them all."

  Riot swallowed. He tightened his grip on his stick, focusing on putting one foot in front of the next. Sarah squeezed his arm. "I don't like that name either."

  "Why not?" Jin asked. "One day I'll kill boo how doy, too."

  Riot didn't respond. He only watched the girl out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out if she were baiting him, or serious. Sao Jin was hard to read. Even for him.

  Sarah's eyes widened. "Did you really kill those men?"

  "Vengeance is a bitter draught," Riot said. But he wasn't looking at Sarah. He said it to Jin. "But yes, Sarah. I have more blood on my hands than I'd like to think on. I take the safety of the innocent personally."

  "No one is innocent," Jin bit out.

  "Maybe so, but some can use more help than others."

  "Sounds like a knight to me," Sarah said. "There's nothing wrong with that."

  The bite of a memory dug into his back. The blow of a bullet hitting chain mail armor under his coat—a protective tactic hatchet men used to great success. It was the only reason he was still alive.

  "Are you all right?" Sarah asked.