Astrid Snow whirls fully toward me with a startle. Only now do I realize I’d taken a step closer, and this one wasn’t so silent. Our eyes lock, and my mind empties of all reason. I don’t recall why I was momentarily confused. All I know is that my heart feels as if it’s been torn in two, for no other reason but the agonizing urge toprotect. But protect what? The kitten in the murderer’s arms?
No.
My breath catches as the impossible answer crawls to the forefront of my mind.
The urge is to protecther. The girl I’ve been sent to kill.
I clench my jaw to fight the overwhelming instinct, one that has no place invading my good sense. Whatever magic she has, it’s messing with my mind. My emotions. And it still has me in its grip. For a split second, I feel as if I’m a cub again, small and helpless in a rapidly changing world, where the safety of my forest home is replaced with iron traps and blood—
“Can I help you, sir?” Astrid Snow’s voice cuts through my stupor. It isn’t a gentle sound. It’s a harsh tone laced with suspicion, at odds with the sweet aroma I breathed in a moment before.
It’s enough to clear my mind and remind me who this girl really is.
A murderer. My target. My ticket to freedom.
With a deep breath, I stand tall and tear my gaze from her. My eyes land on a couple strolling up the path along the wall toward the mouth of the alley. The man looks our way and tips his straw hat before meandering on.
Damn. It’s too busy to act now. Too bright.
The realization is almost a relief.
“No, Miss,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice steady. “I am only cutting through.” Since I’m full fae, I can’t lie, which means I must follow through on my statement. I keep my distance as I pass swiftly by. Still, the smell of apple blossoms nearly robs me of my wits all over again, even with the waste bins so nearby. Every step I place between us sends my muscles uncoiling and provides a respite from the strange hold her magic had on me. I wasn’t prepared for that.
But I will be next time.
And therewillbe a next time. I know where she works. I’ll find out where she sleeps. I’m already getting an idea of which buildings in the hotel she most commonly frequents. All I need is the cover of darkness and a moment to get her alone.
As I stalk away from Department Lust, I realize that even though I saw her face—or whatever glamoured countenance she conjured—I still have no idea what Astrid Snow looks like.
3
ASTRID
I’ve seen plenty of handsome faces in my day—something that comes easily when I can stare without being noticed—and the man marching away from Department Lust is no exception. However, there’s something dark in his handsomeness, in the sharp edges of his jaw nearly hidden behind his overgrown beard, in the cruel curve of his full lips, in the angry shade of copper tinting his slightly mussed hair, in his broad, towering build.
His presence was startling when I first found him leering behind me in the alleyway, but I was more put off by his curled fists, his tense shoulders, the way he stared at me as if he’d expected to find me there. It’s a rare thing for me to be noticed as anything other than a vague figure, especially before I’ve made eye contact. Perhaps the kitten had been what first caught his eye and not me. But what kind of lunatic sees a kitten and does anything but melt into a puddle of absolute bliss? I’d been too startled by his presence to get a clear read on the impression I made on him, but he seemed to be wound tighter than a clock.
“Maybe he’s allergic,” I whisper to the cuddly ball of fluff wriggling in my arms before casting a final glance at the man’s retreating form. His hands uncurl finger by finger before he shakes them out at his sides. My lips quirk into a half grin. “Or maybe he just needs a tumble with one of Madame Desire’s courtesans.”
The kitten makes no reply, of course, for she’s just a regular kitten, not a fae creature. It isn’t always easy to tell the difference between the average animal and a fae in their unseelie form, but I’ve learned the hard way that fae are far less amenable to being petted by random strangers. Kittens, on the other hand, accept pets just fine. Not only that, but they don’t seem the least bit affected by my magic. As far as I can tell, they don’t see me as a mirror like humans and fae do. Which is why—in my esteemed opinion—animals are better than people.
Forgetting the handsome stranger, I crouch beside the waste bin and set down Madeline, the white kitten. Mama Cat looks up from her plate of salmon I got from the butcher at Gluttony this morning, giving me a grateful meow before returning to her meal. The other three kittens, whom I’ve named Abernathy, Natalie, and Grigg, scramble up my skirts for their turns to be petted. My smile widens as a hum of euphoria ripples in my chest. The way I feel around animals is better than even the temporary high I get from my Crimson Malus tincture. I’ve always felt this way. Animals—and the feel of fur and soft textures in general—have a way of calming me like nothing else. It’s probably because my earliest memory is of the fur pelt my father wrapped me in when he first held me. What preceded that is far less pleasant, but thankfully I don’t remember it. All I know is my water sprite mother gave birth to me, tolerated me for less than a year, and then left me on the bank of her lake for my father to find.
The thought has my emotions slipping toward anger, so I lift up Grigg, an orange tabby who looks just like Mama Cat. I bring him to my cheek and nuzzle his soft fur while Madeline climbs up my back and onto my shoulder to nibble the ends of my hair. Mama Cat must be doing her duties to keep them groomed, for they all seem rather clean and well-kept for a family of strays. Still, I wish I could do more for them. “I could probably sneak you into Department Sloth,” I say to Grigg, but even if I were to take the family of cats into my tiny room at the hotel, I know they don’t belong indoors without better accommodations.
My lady’s maid, Marybeth, was always reminding me of this fact whenever I thought about sneaking a pet into the palace. Queen Tris would never allow it, of course, but that didn’t stop me from plotting. Always the voice of reason, Marybeth made sure my plots remained in the realm of fantasy. She’d remind me how much trouble I’d be in should Tris ever catch me bringing animals into her palace. When that didn’t work, she’d bring up the childhood stories I’d told her…and their disastrous consequences.
I can’t count the times I snuck furry creatures into the house when I was younger, hoping I could keep them without Father noticing. Even when I did manage to hide them from his knowledge for a day or two, the evidence would eventually show up. Particularly the messes. Animal waste and nibbled bedsheets were only the half of it. The worst was when an injured squirrel—who clearly didn’t need my care as much as I’d thought—found her way into Father’s studio and nibbled two sketchbooks, four tubes of paint, and the corner of his current portrait commission. When Father found the critter invading his most sacred workspace, he laughed. Actually laughed. He delivered his scolding with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. It made me feel guiltier than if he’d yelled.
Grief plummets my stomach, opening a chasm so vast that not even the four kittens climbing all over me can lift my spirits. I run my hands over my silk skirt, focusing on the smooth texture to distract myself from the oncoming wave of sorrow, but that doesn’t work either. Even as I try to force thoughts of Father’s loss from my mind, my previous musings about Marybeth remain, reminding me of how much I miss her.
She was more than just my lady’s maid. She was my friend. The only true friend I’ve ever had. As a human girl, she related to that side of me. Since I’d come from living amongst a primarily human society only to be thrust into life in a palace teeming with fae, she was a comfort to me. She had a way about her that encouraged me to open up, always asking gentle questions and listening to my answers with quiet curiosity. When I finally took the risk and told her about my magic—something I’d sworn off doing after such actions wreaked havoc on my life in the past—she accepted me. No suspicion. No sudden awkwardness. I hate that I had to leave her behind, but we both knew she couldn’t run away with me. We’d have drawn more suspicion as a runaway pair. Not to mention the fact that Marybeth can be recognized by physical appearance. Unlike me.
Instead, I’m alone.
Alone.
Closing my eyes against the well of tears that have sprung there, I reach into my skirt pocket and pull out my vial.
