Other clues about him were coming together, forming a sad, lonely image. North heaped way more responsibility on himself than necessary, shouldering the guilt and weight of other people’s actions. No one had come to his office in all the hours she was there today. Even Willa had nearly passed by without a second look, until she spotted Sera. A glance at the next office over saw regular visitors for work or meetings or even friends looking to share their break together. Sera had explored his house over the last few weeks and aside from staff, who were paid to be there—and when pressed couldn’t tell her a single useful detail about their employer—there wasn’t a trace of another soul.
There was a portrait of his family in a long line of portraits. She knew because it was the newest. Two parents and three children, the taller sullen looking one she guessed was a young North. There were no other pictures of them and Sera had wondered if he still spoke to his siblings, though his parents must have passed away if he was living in the family home alone. Or so she assumed.
Sera stepped out into the street when she reached her stop, thanked and paid the driver, and entered the shop. A little bell chimed as she entered. She passed through a wall of scents sticking to her like webs.
Alone, any of them might have been nice, but not all at once. Florals clashed with woodsy, musk and earthy and sweet all fighting to be the most pungent. Her gaze caught a label for ‘evergreen’ and she was tempted to reach for it, but stopped. Savoring the scent of Kieran North directly was one thing, she could hardly plug her nose every time he approached her, but seeking it out and spending actual money to keep that scent with her was a bit too close to pining than she liked.
Sera quickly found Seth’s special hair tonic and returned to the fresh-air of the street. She should have caught a cab back to the Winter Court, but she spied a modiste across the street, haloed by the brilliant hues of a distant sunset. In the window was a gorgeous dress of pale pink silk taffeta with a woven lace pattern, tiered, scalloped edged skirts, and a bodice embroidered with dark, emerald beads. The color would suit her perfectly, the fit exactly right for her proportions. She’d never had a dress of her own before, one tailored just for her.
Sera lingered by the window, wondering if there was any point going inside. She counted the notes North had given her under the guise of ‘wages’—a ridiculous ruse to make sure she had money, but then, she also hadn’t refused and there was athoughtfulness to the gesture that she did not want to think too hard about.
It was a decent sum, more than she’d ever had all at once. Still, was it wise to spend it on a dress that she didn’t need? She should stash it for a possible late-night escape with Seth. This kind of money could mean the difference between a park bench and a bed. Past Sera would have already spent the money, but she had Seth to consider now. Resolved to be responsible and knowing that looking would only make it harder to walk away, Sera turned from the shop.
She raised her hand to hail a cab. Exploring the finer side of the city lost its appeal. It wasn’t as fun when she was trying to be responsible.
Traffic was busy and no one stopped for her, so she walked a bit further and stood on tiptoes while waving her arm. As her eyes searched the street for an unoccupied carriage, a warning sensation bloomed in her spine.
She lowered her arm. Her skin was hot, sensitive to every brush of material or tickle of the breeze. Sera cast a quick look around. The street was active with people coming and going from shops and work, parents toting children and ladies balancing parasol’s on their shoulders. The thunderous hustle was suddenly distant to the rush of blood in her ears.
She backed away from the curb. The feeling that eyes were on her hadn’t faded.
A hand descended on her shoulder.
“Sera Blair.” A voice, somehow both gruff and slimy sent hot breath in her ear.
Sera lunged away from the larger person attempting to trap her, breaking the hold on her shoulder. She sprinted blindly, dodging pedestrians until the crowd forced her toward the last place she wanted to be: down an alley with no exit and no one to hear her scream.
“Blast it,” she swore. A wood fence blocked her further retreat. She was behind a row of shops, and she’d tried each door as she fled further into the hidden shadows of the alley. Locked. Locked. Locked. Infernal blast it, this was supposed to be the nice part of town.
She chanced a loud knock on each, hoping to draw attention, but she was more desperate to put distance between her and the three figures that had entered the alley behind her. Looking around, Sera observed the layout of her surroundings. Panic threatened to distract her, but her mind was never calmer than when calculating. As she proceeded further into the dead end, she began to manipulate whatever was in reach.
Quick, precise adjustments to a ladder and a stack of building supplies. She snatched up a broom and used the handle to shift a bucket resting on some planks above her head. There was a balcony above, with another mop or broom of some sort and clay pots holding plants. When she could move no further, she tore her eyes from a tower of barrels to get a read on her pursuers.
She didn’t recognize their faces, but they knew her name. Not a good sign.
“Now, don’t try anything stupid. We’ve got orders,” the middle one spoke first, a man. A demon with a red tint to his skin and horns jutting from dark hair. Black consumed the whites of his eyes, leaving only the burning gold of his irises. Sera focused her impulses. If she wasn’t careful, her plans might be sensed. She clung onto the desperate desire to survive.
“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong person. Who’s Sera Blair?” she asked, keeping her posture neutral. She poured her thoughts into a steady mantra ofdon’t die. The repeated desire was vague and believable, and should conceal any other fleeting idea that popped into her head. Likedon’t recognize me.
Her question gave them pause. The three exchanged quick glances. Pulse still pounding in her ears, she used themomentary shift in their focus to check her math. Sera ticked through the chain reaction she’d set up, doing her best to determine mass and various angles. She had precious seconds before they started for her again.
“No, that’s her. I’m sure of it,” said the one on the left, a woman that could be human or guardian—though, knowing Cole, it was likely to be a guardian since they were more powerful. Her dark hair was cut short and shaved on one side.
“Boss said, ‘a pretty lady with black hair.’ Did you bring the picture?” The one on the right, another woman with black and gold eyes and the trace of green pigment near her ears and the edges of her fingers marking her as a grimm. Another being that sensed desires.Perfect.
The demon ruffled through his pockets. They had a miniature? Sera never sat for one, so Cole must have had that sketched from memory. It would be endearing if it wasn’t creepy and a little deranged.
Sera scooted closer to the small tower of barrels. Triangles and numbers popped through her thoughts as she attempted to decipher the weight distribution. She just had to reach the base of the structure before they noticed or sensed her intent. While she tallied, movement above caught her eye. A shadow flickered over the rectangle of sky not blocked by buildings. Somewhere on the roof.
Sera checked to see if anyone else had noticed, but their attention was on identifying her.
The demon procured the miniature and unfolded it. He held it up so that the other two could lean in and compare her face to the drawing. Sera smiled and gave a little wave, halting her movement toward the barrels.
“Yeah, see? It’s the spittin’ image,” said the demon.
She was out of time. If she leapt, she’d make it in one move. Sera threw her weight at the tower, slamming into the closestbarrel. Pain erupted in her side, but she could deal with bruises when she was safe.
The load bearing barrel shifted and offset the balance of the tower. The entire structure teetered until the top barrel tumbled over and hit a loose board. Which knocked over the ladder. Which hit the bucket. Which rolled to the edge of the balcony. Which knocked the broom handle. Which crashed into the largest pot. Which tipped precariously along the lip of the balcony wall.
