The Strangely Beautiful Tale Of Miss Percy Parker Read Online Free PDF

Michael.”
    “Evening, Alexi,” Rebecca Thompson echoed from within.
    “Evening, Headmistress.” Alexi nodded as he climbed into the carriage, removing his hat, dark eyes flashing with banked fires. He loosened the signature red cravat about his throat as the moonlight fell through the carriage windowsonto those striking features his friends hardly ever saw fixed in anything but unbreakable concentration.
    “Bon soir,” said a soft French voice across the carriage.
    “Evening, Josephine,” Alexi replied, nodding to her as well. “Do you have your piece?”
    Josephine indicated she did, holding up a small canvas wrapped in paper.
    Josephine Belledoux was an artist whose impressive credits included a painting in nearly every major English museum and countless private residences. However, no one seemed to remember her name. Her shimmering, calming pictures produced such a profound effect that they were immediately forgotten…and thus never removed. And there were other effects. The British Museum owned a few of her paintings, the work fulfilling vigilant duty to the Crown in keeping the treasure of the empire free from spectral disturbance.
    Josephine had grown into the sort of beauty that could prompt a war. Tonight, her shocks of prematurely white hair were wound into the elaborate coiffure atop her head. Those bold streaks had been there as long as any could remember, since that very first day on the bridge. Out of respect, no one had ever asked why, and Josephine never told.
    Alexi closed his eyes and felt within himself for the Pull. The Guard all knew that unmistakable alarm of spectral disturbance. His mind coursed the streets of London, as if tracing a specific drop of his own blood; the massive arteries of London were superimposed upon his own, and wherever there was a spasm, there was his destination.
    Rebecca watched Alexi’s brow furrow in mild strain. Alexi’s inner cartography was keen, but her own was unmatched.
    “South of Holborn…north of Embankment this evening. Am I right?” He eyed her.
    She smirked. “Indeed you are. Impressive.” Each of the six tried to outdo the others on pinpointing their subjects, not only to an address but often giving a specific floor and room. Once, Rebecca had even identified the victim’s attire.
    The carriage cleared the countryside and was soon rattling through the dark, bustling streets of London, in and out of gaslit avenues both wide and narrow before slowing on Fleet Street.
    “Prepare ye!” Michael’s merry voice sounded from above.
    Screams usually alerted The Guard that they had arrived. So it was this time: strangled cries and intermittent bestial growls came from a shattered window a few stories above. A crowd had gathered, murmuring low and excited. The Guard’s carriage stopped nearby, and Vicar Michael Carroll descended from the driver’s seat to help the ladies disembark. He took particular care with Rebecca, and made sure to linger on her arm for a bit longer than mere friendship would require, but Rebecca didn’t notice; her attention was on Alexi, as usual. A raven was hopping on the roof of the carriage and making noise.
    Lord Elijah Withersby stood upon the dim, cobbled street pretending to be a bystander, but his fine, rich clothes screamed that he didn’t belong. At his side stood a hearty, dark blonde Irishwoman wearing a modest dress and a distant smile. She still had an incredibly long Catholic name that had been shortened to Jane.
    Once assembled, The Guard formed a line and took hands, and Frederic the raven flew to the window. Something magical was undoubtedly present. A wary cry came from the window above.
    Alexi’s commanding voice pierced the evening, a single word plucked on the lyre of an ancient language known only to The Guard. The foreign declaration reverberated down the street, and the eyes of the six gleamed too brightly as they turned to gaze upon the bystanders. One by one, as if tired or bored, the crowd wandered