He shook his head, watching her, keeping his face dull and unresponsive.
She sighed and hugged herself, looking around. “What am I to do?” she muttered. “I can’t leave Indio out here by himself.”
Apollo struggled not to let surprise show on his face. Who or what was Indio?
“Go!” she said forcefully, suddenly enough that he blinked. She pointed a commanding finger behind him.
Apollo fought back a grin. She wasn’t giving up, was she? He slowly turned, looking in the direction she indicated, and then swiveled back even more slowly, letting his mouth hang half open.
“Oh!” Her little hands balled into fists as she cast her eyes heavenward. “This is maddening.”
She took two swift steps forward and placed her palms against his chest, pushing.
He allowed himself to sway an inch backward with her thrust before righting himself. She stilled, staring up at him. The top of her head barely came to his mid-chest. He could feel the brush of her breath on his lips. The warmth of her hands seemed to burn through the rough fabric of his waistcoat. This close her green eyes were enormous, and he could see shards of gold surrounding her pupils.
Her lips parted and his gaze dropped to her mouth.
“Mama!”
The hissed word made them both start.
Apollo swung around. A small boy was poised on the muddy path just outside the thicket. He had shoulder-length curly dark hair and wore a red coat and a fierce expression. Beside him was the silliest-looking dog Apollo had ever seen: a delicate little red greyhound, both ears flopped to the left, head erect on a narrow neck, pink tongue peeping from one side of its mouth. The dog’s entire demeanor could be labeled startled.
The dog froze at Apollo’s movement, then spun and raced off down the path.
The boy’s face crumpled at the desertion before he squared his little shoulders and glared at Apollo. “You get away from her!”
At last: her defender—although Apollo had been hoping for someone a bit more imposing.
“Indio.” The woman stepped away from Apollo hastily, brushing her skirts. “There you are. I’ve been calling for you.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Apollo noticed the child didn’t take his eyes from him—an attitude he approved of. “Daff an’ me were ’sploring.”
“Well, explore nearer the theater next time. I don’t want you meeting anyone who might be…” She trailed away, glancing nervously at Apollo. “Erm. Dangerous.”
Apollo widened his eyes, trying to look harmless—sadly, nearly impossible. He’d hit six feet at age fifteen and topped that by several inches in the fourteen years since. Add to that the width of his shoulders, his massive hands, and a face that his sister had once affectionately compared to a gargoyle’s, and trying to appear harmless became something of a lost cause.
His apprehension was borne out when the woman backed farther away from him and caught her young son’s hand. “Come. Let’s go find where Daffodil has run off to.”
“But, Mama,” the boy whispered loudly. “What about the monster?”
It didn’t take a genius to understand that the child was referring to him. Apollo nearly sighed.
“Don’t you worry,” the woman said firmly. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Harte as soon as I can about your monster. He’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
With a last nervous glance at him, she turned and led the boy away.
Apollo narrowed his eyes on her retreating back, slim and confident. Green Eyes was going to be in for a shock when she found out which of the two of them was tossed from the garden.
Chapter Two
The king had a great army and with it he marched across field and mountain, subjugating all the peoples he met until at last he came to an island that lay in an azure sea like a pearl in an oyster shell. This he conquered at once and, seeing how beautiful the island was, sent for his queen, and caused a golden castle to be built there for their home. But on the first night he slept in that place a black bull came to him in a dream…
—From The Minotaur
For a man who owned a pleasure garden, Asa Makepeace certainly didn’t live in luxury—if anything, he sailed perilously close to squalor.
Apollo finished climbing the three flights of rickety stairs to Makepeace’s rented rooms the next morning. Makepeace lived in Southwark, which was on the south bank of the River Thames, not terribly far from Harte’s Folly itself. The landing held two doors, one to the right, one to the left.