Page 93 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

And it seems “later” will be much later, because Doyle wants to treat his guests to a hunt. He’s eager for Bishop to see their forest, since one potential plan is to buy this property, raze the house, and build fresh.

Bishop doesn’t want a hunt. He especially doesn’t want to leave me in a strange house while he’s off chasing deer in wolf form. But this is part of Doyle taking his “measure.” He needs to know who he’s working with. At least, with all the wolves joining the hunt, only the women will be at the house, which Rufus agrees seems safe enough.

Also, I wouldn’t mind getting to know the women and seeing whether any useful alliances can be formed there. Their time with the Cambrian Pack might be coming to an end, and I’d hate to see them unceremoniously dumped on Bishop’s advice. I’d like to know whether they’ll have a place to return to if they’re sent away. And after Trevelyan, Ann and I also worry whether these girls are really staying here freely.

The wolves are gone. Bishop asked me to go around the house after they all supposedly left. If I found a lingering wolf, I needed to decide whether he posed a threat. As far as I can tell, they’re all gone, though of course I’ll keep my guard up.

When I told Ann I wanted to get to know the Cambrian women better, I expected she’d be pleased with the plan. After all, she mentioned being concerned about their situation. But apparently being concerned doesn’t necessarily mean wanting to spend the evening with them.

I think she’s worried it’ll come off poorly—the fancy ladies of the Albion Pack deigning to socialize with the Cambrian “strumpets.” Now that Ann has been properly outfitted and actually let me style her hair this morning, I can see her point even better.

When I first met Ann, I hadn’t paid enough attention. I chastise myself for that now, even if I acknowledge that I was being held captive, and when I thought of Ann at all, I was only fretting about how much she disliked me and whether she could make my situation worse.

Had I paid more attention, I’d have realized her accent indicated she hadn’t been recruited from the London streets. It’s not as crisp as Bishop’s, but it’s on the level of Oliver’s. They would have both received fuller educations than most Pack wolves, and I’ll bet Ann’s mother made sure her daughter and her little brother spoke like a “proper” Englishwoman and Englishman, as her mother probably did before her. Which means, yes, when you take Ann out of her dowdy “invisible maid” disguise, the Alpha’s granddaughter bursts through.

So now I’m trying to figure out how to be friendly to the Cambrian women without Ann and me seeming like highborn ladies on a charity visit. Fortunately, the girls themselves solve the problem when the dark-haired girl from this afternoon shows up with a bottle of gin and invites us to join them.

All right, she actually seems to challenge us to join them, waltzing in to where Ann and I are talking, waving the bottle and saying, “I suppose you’re too good for this.”

“Oh, I never turn down a drink,” I say, rising from the settee. Then I see Ann’s face and inwardly wince, remembering how rough her morning had been.

“Ah, right,” I say with a grin. “My poor cousin might need to abstain. I fear I took her out drinking last night, and she may have had a very rough morning.”

“I’ll have a glass,” Ann says.

The girl swings the bottle from her fingers. “Uh-uh. Two-drink minimum.”

I’m about to make another joke to save Ann, but she says, “Two then.”

“All right.” The girl puts her fingers in her mouth and lets out an ear-piercing whistle. “Come on, girls. We’re having a drink with the ladies.”

THIRTY-THREE

There are five “girls,” not one of them older than me, which is a painful reminder of how short a profitable career is for women like these. In a high-class brothel, older women can be very popular for their sophistication and experience. That’s because men who frequent those places are looking for more than a quick poke in an alley. Men who do want a quick poke usually aren’t too fussy about the age or appearance of their partner—the cheaper, the better, if all they want is release.

“Cheap,” though, also means the women make very little money. For women in lower-class brothels, age is directly linked to earning potential. Men want them young—sometimes horrifyingly young—and they want them pretty, which can be a by-product of youth, one quickly lost to a harsh life.

The Cambrian women may seem uncomfortably youthful to me—between eighteen and twenty-two—but from talking to women in brothels, I know that they’d already be at the age where they start looking for something more secure. Pack life would provide that.

Here they can work exclusively for a select group of men with a little light housework on the side. In return they never need to worry where they’ll find their next meal or bed. And maybe, if they’re lucky, they’ll catch the eye of a high-ranking wolf. That’s why the Albion Pack women weren’t allowed to consort with the inner circle. It kept their position in the Pack very clear and immutable.

While I don’t get the sense that any of these five has captured either Doyle or Jesse yet, they’ve obviously established their own hierarchy. The two who brought our tea are the highest ranking. The dark-haired girl—Hanora—is the leader. The light-haired one is Ruby. As for the other three, when I ask their names, Hanora only waves and says “They don’t matter,” which makes the situation crystal clear. I might have pushed politely, but it was equally clear that the other three didn’t care to share their names.

Hanora pours us all a glass, and we claim seats, lounging as much as we can lounge in our corsets.

“You’re a witch,” Hanora says to me.

I can’t judge her tone, so I keep mine neutral. “I am.”

“Are you both witches?”

I shake my head. “We’re related by my paternal side.”

Hanora only waits, as if she doesn’t see what difference that makes.

“Witches are descended from other witches,” I say. “My witch blood comes from my maternal side.”

Hanora waves her glass at Ann. “That’d make you nothing, wouldn’t it? Since werewolves are only men?”