The Dream Thief, Kari Kilgore [reading well TXT] 📗

Mr. Norwood nor any of the other spouses ever argued about payment, or the prices she charged. At least none of the houses she visited more than once. A husband, or a wife, who argued about such things would lose the services of Ms. Loretta Schofield—permanently.

"Of course you may," Loretta said. "I know I can trust you, Roma."

The older woman grinned, looking years younger despite the powders and potions caked onto her skin. She made a show of arranging her fashionably cumbersome rust-colored dress before she swept through the broad lattice-topped archway toward the back of the house.

Loretta took in a deep, perfume-free breath as soon as she heard the door to Mr. Norwood's study close. If the lady of this fine house hadn't wanted to take the thing with her, Loretta would have insisted.

She knew it was like any other treasure she mysteriously found, created in the night from whatever substance floated down out of the Aether and through a Builder's mind at the Ministry of Manifestation. It could just have well have looked like an ancient pocket watch, a stolen sheaf of top-secret military papers from Stensue, or a bundle of pressed flowers from a long-ago first date. All of the fake trinkets she peddled came from the same place.

The fact that the occupants of this particularly wealthy household were happy to believe she'd somehow procured the petrified left hand of a deformed child—a child with seven perfect fingers and a double-jointed thumb—was more than enough for Loretta to want the damned thing far away from her.

These negotiations between Mr. and Mrs. Norwood could go on for ages even though the outcome was never in doubt. Loretta stood and walked around the room, looking at the more conventional collection displayed all around her. Every little bit of information helped in her line of work.

Coin was never an object inside the walls of these fine old houses, by far the finest and most elaborate in all of Waldron's Gate, probably in all of Alterra. Loretta knew which houses held Directors, but what they directed made no difference to her. She was much more interested in what they, and their spouses, desired.

A burst of giggly, girlish laughter floated from the back of the house. Loretta rolled her eyes and continued her investigations. No matter how desperately her clients longed for anything new to set them apart from their peers, their routines inside their own homes rarely varied. She didn't want—or need—to know the particulars.

She knew the rittern would be forthcoming, and that she had at least another ten minutes to wait. She gathered her heavy black skirts and stepped closer to the fireplace.

The mantels might seem to hold the most important items in any of these houses, and in this case that meant the most expensive. The most expensive things the residents were willing to have on public display, at least.

Mrs. Norwood kept her decor fresh and surprising, with something different out on every visit. It never occurred to Loretta that Roma might have done that to impress her with what she already owned.

The only thing that ever impressed her in her clients' houses was the payment and how quickly it moved into her hands. The current seemingly careless arrangement of gems and stones, including a precious dragon stone, red at the heart and blue around the faceted edges, made no impression. She'd seen the real treasure vault only a few weeks ago, during her last visit.

That generally took at least four deliveries, sometimes more, but the people eager to engage Loretta's services were always just as eager to share what they already had. The premise was to make sure she understood what sort of things they liked, and of course to make sure there was no duplication. She never had any doubt that these wealthy collectors were as excited to show off to her as to any other trusted guest. Quite likely more so.

Her quick eyes and quicker mind noted the color scheme in this public area of the house: warm violets, yellows, and tans. The Norwoods had carefully, if not consciously, reproduced that same palate in the most private room in the house, but they'd shifted the hues.

That room, hidden behind a massive bookshelf filled with real, and rare, books, was decorated in much deeper purples, golds, and browns. The lighting in that secure inner room was tasteful yet effective. Every single macabre curio was displayed to its best possible advantage.

On the wall opposite the fireplace, Loretta found another clue to the hidden desires of this most demure and socially acceptable couple. A huge shadowbox, larger than Loretta could have lifted by herself, was filled with perfectly lifelike insects, every one pierced through with a color-coordinated enameled pin.

Some of the specimens were too foreign and strange to have come from nearby, and Loretta wondered if some of them had come from far distant corners of Alterra. She wasn't the only one trading in such strange and exotic items, even if she was by far the most successful.

Loretta had the advantage of never being limited by her clients' desires or their imaginations. She was only empowered by them.

She was leaning closer to a display of what looked like pressed flowers and leaves, wondering if any were of more dubious origin, when she heard the study door open.

Loretta settled herself on the sofa, arranging her skirt and her features appropriately. Not too eager, not too concerned, and definitely not showing too much leg. Polite interest was far more effective than smug certainty, and flirting wouldn't get her anywhere with Mrs. Norwood. With some of her neighbors, certainly, but not here.

Loretta had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep that carefully distant expression when Mr. Olsen Norwood walked in.

Mr. Norwood, Director of the Post for all of Alterra, Loretta reminded herself. He was not overly tall or large or even overly bald or pompous-looking like so many Directors were. This man was past middle age