Moriarty's Musician

Siding with the Angels, Part 6

Annabelle dropped her hands. "So I'm not a mouse, but a depressed bird caught in your fancy cage."

Moriarty smiled and took the tray off the bed. "Here you go, little bird," he said, holding out the tray to her. She reluctantly took it from his hands and watched as he went over to the table and collected the other tray.

"Let's get these downstairs for Megan," he said.

Annabelle sighed and followed him out the door. They walked in silence and when they reached the kitchen, Moriarty set his tray on the table. But Annabelle continued on to the sink, and adding a squirt of dish soap to the basin, began filling it with hot water.

Moriarty's brow raised as he sauntered over to her. He leaned his hip against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest, focused his eyes on the smile slowly inching its way over her mouth. "Now what are you doing? Wait—don't tell me. I don't want to know."

Annabelle laughed as she slipped the dirty dishes into the soapy suds. He inclined his head. He couldn't recall hearing her laugh before. He liked it.

She motioned with her hand to the cabinet beside his head. "Excuse me."

His brows drew together as he moved out of the way and watched her open the cabinet and pull out a drying mat.

She set it on the counter beside the sink. "Could you bring me that other tray?" she said as she plunged her hands into the water.

He obediently brought the tray over and set it down next to hers. Leaning against the counter again, he looked down at her submerged arms. "Why are you doing the dishes, Cinderella? I have servants, remember? It's what they do."

Annabelle gave him a sideways glance, cleaned the plate with her wet cloth, rinsed it, then placed it on the mat. With a loud "hmm," she reached past him, took a small towel off the ledge and pushed it into his chest.

"You can dry," she said, her eyes twinkling.

He made a face as he took the towel, picked up the wet plate and started wiping it. "Tell me again why I'm doing a servant's job?"

"Really, James, all your questions are extremely tiresome," Annabelle teased in her best Irish accent. She rinsed off another plate and handed it to him.

He smiled as he dried the plate. Who would have thought mundane chores could be this enjoyable?

"You know, you'd care more about people if you tried to understand what they're going through," she said. "My father told me that a strong leader was one who intimately knew the people who worked for him."

Moriarty chuckled as he took a glass from her wet hand. "I highly doubt Magnussen meant doing the dishes for them."

He smiled as he looked at Annabelle's bent head as she cleaned another plate. She was so naive, his lovely, little bird. "Don't you think your father had other motives for wanting to know more about them?"

She looked up at him, pursed her lips, then went back to her task. "Why must you always be so cynical? You think the worst of everyone."

"Because, sweetheart, that is what I do. That's what keeps me alive." He wiped the glass dry and set it down on the mat. "What do you think your father meant by knowledge is power and using it will make you invincible?"