Page 42 of A Deal with the Devil

Brutus smiled. He was easy with his smiles. “MacLeod mentioned a girl.”

“MacLeod gossips like an old granny.”

“Don’t let my old granny hear you say that.”

“I don’t have a death wish, Brutus,” Devil said drily. Everyone in the family was roughly the size of a horse. Granny Brutus, as she was known, was in fact sitting in the corner with a cup of tea and her knitting.

“You’re pulling your punches!” she shouted at the prizefighters. “Don’t make me come in there and show you how it’s done.”

Devil inclined his head in her direction, all lordly courtesy. Because he wasn’t an idiot. “Granny Brutus.”

“Why, it’s the very Devil himself.” She grinned. “Have you brought me any stories?”

“He’s sweet on a girl,” Brutus supplied.

“I will take out your other kneecap,” Devil muttered.

“Oi, if she’s focused on you, she’s not focused on me.” Brutus shrugged as if he did not adore his grandmother. He only liked to see everyone squirm when she crooked her gnarled finger at them imperiously. Even Devil came when she summoned him, to his men’s great delight.

Until she turned on them, of course.

“Who’s this girl?” she demanded. Her hair was still thick and braided in a white crown on her head. Queen of the Rings. The lines around her eyes were deep grooves, put there by decades of grins and glares.

“There’s no girl.” Kitty was a woman. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“There should be a girl.” Granny Brutus scowled. “I need help to keep you lot in line.”

Devil kissed her papery cheek. “You manage just fine on your own.”

“She’s not one of those debutantes, is she? Too young to know better and drowning in perfume?”

“No.”

“Hah, so there is a girl.”

Devil did smile that time. “Your younger fighter just let his guard down. He drops his elbow.”

It was the only thing likely to distract her, and it worked. She stood up, jabbing her knitting needle in the direction of the ring. “Oi, you wet noodle. Where’s your center?”

Brutus shook his head, grinning. “Sacrificing the young, are we?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Granny Brutus marched inside the ring, jabbing her elbows and punching the younger fighter hard enough to crack his nose. Brutus winced. “Granny, go easy.”

“Ha!”

Devil shook his head. “If they survive, there’ll be none stronger. Or wilier.” The second prizefighter—as yet undefeated—landed on his backside when Granny went for his kneecaps. “MacLeod said there was trouble?”

Brutus nodded. “Back door was off its hinges this morning. And the shipment of liquor was stolen before it even got here. Footpads.”

“Footpads taking on a cart bound for the Sins?”

“Could be a coincidence. Ordinary hazards.”

“Could be.”

“But you don’t think it is.”