She hesitated there at the base of the stairs, too long perhaps, because he leaned forward, as if he’d suddenly spotted her. She held her breath, prepared to run, but then realized he was gazing past her. Oriana glanced over her shoulder and felt her throat tighten.

Thank the gods she had the veil to hide her face.

The man striding toward her along São Francisco Street was dressed elegantly, a tall hat on his head and a polished cane in his hand. His frock coat and pinstriped trousers could pass for a gentleman’s garb, although he was actually a businessman. A handsome man in his late forties, he had only a touch of gray at his temples. He passed her with a tip of his hat and walked up the steps to meet Heriberto.

Oriana pressed her hand against her stomach and closed her eyes. Her father hadn’t recognized her, not with a veil hiding her face.

She made up her mind quickly, walking around the edge of the church grounds onto São Francisco Street. She leaned against the wall of the first house before casting a glance back.

It could be a coincidence. That was possible.

She laughed to herself and shook her head. She would have to be an idiot to believe this a coincidence. No, the only reason she could accept for her father to come so far from his home was to meet with the man.

So Heriberto was aware her father lived in the city. She had fervently hoped that he didn’t know, but Nela had commented last night about not divulging information to Heriberto, so apparently the prohibition against communicating with the exiles didn’t apply to him. It had been foolish to hope that her father, with his successful business and human lover, would have escaped Heriberto’s notice.

Then again, it meant that her father dealt with Heriberto on his own. Perhaps all her worries for his sake had been misplaced. She had feared that if Heriberto knew, he might turn her father in to the Special Police. It was the sort of underhanded thing Heriberto would threaten to get his way. But he hadn’t. Why not?

Realizing she’d been in one spot long enough to garner the attention of patrons of the small café, Oriana pushed herself away from the wall. She made up her mind quickly, going up the first flight of steps but not up to the next level to the church. She walked to an inward corner of the wall and paused there, almost directly under where Heriberto stood. She wrung her hands together, hoping she looked like a woman left waiting for a lover who never showed. She held her breath.

“. . . and I wouldn’t tell you if I did,” her father was saying. Snapping, actually. He was angry.

“You will tell me if you hear from her,” Heriberto said flatly, as if he had the upper hand.

“Or what? What more do you want? More money?”

Money? Her father was paying Heriberto? For what?

“I know your secret, Adriano,” Heriberto answered. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out about her?”

Oriana took a quick breath and didn’t catch what her father said in response.

“You want to keep your girl safe,” Heriberto said then, derision in his voice, “you’ll do what I say. I know where she lives.” Again, Oriana couldn’t make out her father’s response. Heriberto’s voice reached her ears clearly, though. “If Oriana comes to you, you tell me. You find out where she is, I want to know directly.”

Why was Heriberto suddenly looking for her? On Sunday he’d willingly given her two weeks to report in, yet now he needed to find her? Why so soon? Her father was speaking above her head, but Oriana couldn’t make out anything. She pressed her hands together, pacing again. When she turned in the direction of the café, she noted a woman watching her from one of the tables. The woman didn’t bother to look away when caught staring.

Oriana turned back, her pulse pounding in her ears. She couldn’t panic. If she were to run, it would be a sure sign she wasn’t supposed to be there. She doubted she could outrun Heriberto anyway, not in these pinching shoes. So she let her pacing take her back toward the stairwell, losing any chance of overhearing the conversation. The woman was still watching her, but Oriana kept her head down, trying to look . . . troubled. Not difficult at the moment.

She turned as if she’d finally come to some decision and briskly headed back the way she’d come. Even as she walked away, she felt the unknown woman’s eyes on her back.

Her temples throbbed. She’d attracted someone’s attention, something she couldn’t afford to do. The woman must have been watching Heriberto first, and spotted Oriana eavesdropping on his conversation. Who is she?

Oriana glanced over her shoulder, but didn’t see anyone in pursuit. The woman was bold enough that she hadn’t even tried to hide her appearance. She had thick brows and very hard eyes in a pale oval face. Dark hair pinned up neatly. Well dressed, but in stern black with a high collar. Her square jaw hinted that she could be a sereia, although something indefinable had been . . . off about her. Oriana would definitely recognize the woman should she see her again.

If the woman was watching Heriberto, the most likely explanation was that she was his superior, perhaps checking up on him. But Oriana had met most of those who currently spied here and in Sintra, to the south, and she was certain she’d never seen that woman before.

CHAPTER 14

Duilio had dropped by the house prior to dinner to return the sketch he’d borrowed from Miss Paredes, only to learn that she’d gone out. Cardenas didn’t approve, of course, but Duilio managed to convince the man that Miss Paredes had gone out to run an errand for him.

Unfortunately, a note from the young boatman, João, prevented him from staying for dinner. Erdano had left a message requesting Duilio’s company, but neglected to tell João the reason. Since Erdano seldom demanded his presence, Duilio thought it best to find out what his selkie half brother had on his mind.

Erdano currently sprawled on the bench at the tavern, watching one of the waitresses. In human form he made a very large man, taller than Duilio by a hand and half again as broad. They didn’t resemble each other much, save about the eyes. He didn’t look back to Duilio when he said, “Tigana says Aga saw a woman on the water, a woman with webbed hands, so she sent her to you.”

“Yes,” Duilio said, not bothering to mentally untangle that sentence. “Tell Aga I appreciate her acuity, please.”

Erdano cast a perplexed look at him then, heavy brows drawing together in an exaggerated fashion.

Poor choice of words. Erdano didn’t read or write. Erdano’s father hadn’t seen any use for such things, and had won out over their mother’s urgings. Sometimes Duilio forgot that. “I appreciate that Aga was paying such close attention,” he clarified. “The woman with the webbed hands will be very helpful to my investigation.”

“Oh.” Erdano took another swig of his beer and licked his lips. “She’s a sereia, right? Is she pretty?”

Conversations with Erdano always followed this course. His brother had numerous females in his harem, but was perpetually eager to add more. “Yes,” Duilio admitted reluctantly. “She’s attractive.”

In the corner a woman sang about the old days when the Portuguese had conquered the world, accompanied by a man strumming a guitar. Erdano could find this sort of establishment as if he sensed them with his whiskers: crowded and a little run-down, excellent fish soup, salted cod served on platters of questionable cleanliness, plenty of beer, and appealing girls. Vastly different from the café Duilio had visited with Joaquim that morning.

Duilio glanced at the waitress his half brother watched so avidly, a petite but buxom girl with dark hair and eyes that tilted upward. She wended her way gracefully through the crowded room with a tray perched on one hand. Erdano didn’t seem to prefer a specific type of woman; they all interested him. And even dressed in a set of rarely washed clothes and with his long hair uncombed, Erdano attracted them in turn. Women seemed to find him irresistible. Selkie charm, Duilio thought wryly.