Chapter 3
“Never turn down good tea or good conversation. Both are balms for the soul.”
- Lady of the Locks - book of Psalms
Idressedin my second-best outfit, combed my hair, then slung a worn leather satchel over one shoulder after making sure it was fully stocked. I never left home without a small tool set, my bag, and at least one dagger. You never knew what you might discover when you went for a walk.
After a final examination to verify I was free of metal shavings and dust, I locked up my home and headed out. What could Oss want? I doubted he called me over for tea and comfort. He’s more likely to interrogate me over crumpets and offer to stab my ex. That thought added a pep to my walk and had me almost smiling for the first time since I’d heard news of Justin’s upcoming heir.
It was a bit of a walk to reach Oss’s new place. Last month, he had gleefully abandoned his sad lodgings at the Lock Tower for Hawthorne’s fancy townhouse in the Fourth Quarter. If anyone deserved a step up in the world, it was Oss. He might be a cranky, stabby asshole, but I’d never had a truer friend.
A street musician strummed a guitar, filling the air with sweet music as vendors and craftsmen set up their wares for the morning market. I waved to the ones I knew and ignored the gawkers. Dating a duke had inspired more than one tea party of gossiping men and women. My sales surged at the first rumor of our romance and were bound to surge again at news of our breakup. I might not appreciate the attention, but I wouldn’t turn down the money those nosy bastards brought in. Soon I would be yesterday’s news and struggling to stay afloat again. Oddly enough, I made almost as much money from poor people who saved up for their kid’s birthday, as I did from the gossipy social climbing carnivores who were no doubt eager to toss me aside after they fed off the news of my breakup.
Traversing the square, I kept an eye out for pickpockets. My section of town was safer than the poorest quarter, but that didn’t make it crime-free. More money meant more people ready to take it from you. My street rat days served me well in avoiding urchins with sharp eyes and nimble fingers.
The air held the oppressive weight of an oncoming storm without a cloud in the sky. Had releasing the magic from below truly left so much presence upon the wind? I would have to ask Oss if he had the same sensation when he went outside. We hadn’t known what to expect, but when it was either free the magic or watch Keys explode, a decision was reached with little debate.
Halfway across the Lock Tower courtyard, I spotted a shadow moving. I slid my right hand into my pocket, fingering the leather-wrapped handle of my throwing knife. The small dagger wouldn’t help against a large group, but it could make the difference between my throat cut or my hard-earned money taken.
My heartbeat doubled before I spied a familiar shaggy blond head emerging from the darkness. His thin body showed more dirt than skin.
“Affie?” My relief over seeing a friend instead of an assailant faded when I caught sight of his face. There hadn’t been a large bruise on his right cheek the last time we’d met, nor that bright red knife wound bisecting his forehead. “What happened?”
“Life.” Affie’s whispery voice, the sound of pain and sorrow, wafted over to me. The magistrate’s psycho brother had sliced Affie’s throat open, taking most of his voice and leaving behind a large scar. The magistrate never found his brother’s body, but Oss’s smug smile clued me into the asshole’s fate.
“Come with me to Oss’s. We’ll get you some food,” I urged.
Sometimes I could coax Affie into one of our places to sleep for a night or two and get a full meal. Unlike Oss and I, Affie couldn’t work. As a seer, his visions struck him at any time or place, not a talent conducive to holding down a job especially if you didn’t want every power-hungry politician in the city to use you for their own selfish reasons. Affie’s magical abilities caused him a lot of trouble especially on the streets. From my research on seers, they never saw danger to themselves and Affie didn’t prove to be the exception to that rule.
“I saw him again.” Affie didn’t indulge in social niceties. It took enough effort to speak; conversational platitudes were beyond him.
“Who?”
Affie’s dark eyes began to glow an eerie silver.
Fuck.
“He hides in self-made shadows and moves pieces to feed his hunger.”
“What does he hunger for?” I kept my voice calm, almost indifferent. If I pressured Affie to speak, he would stop. Sometimes with the right tone, Affie would expound on what he’s seeing.
“Power.”
Not helpful.
I scratched at the back of my neck, searching for the right combination of words to draw more of the vision out. “Who do you see?”
My stomach churned and the hair on my arms rose in warning. I might not appreciate what he had to say, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t important to hear. I was not afraid to admit that sometimes Affie freaked me the fuck out.
“You are the only one who can save the shamed.” He grabbed my wrists, digging his sharp dirty fingernails into my skin. “Please help them!”
“Who? Who are you talking about” I rotated my wrists, trying to break free. Affie tightened his grip.
He ignored my question, still trapped in whatever vision had urged him to hunt me down. “You will learn. If you do not pull them into humanity, they will remain humanity’s lost.”
Before I could demand clarification, or drag Affie to a doctor, he fainted.
“Damn it, Affie.” I lifted him up and draped him over my shoulder. I staggered a few steps before finding my balance. My metal work helped add muscle to my lean frame, at least enough to carry a starved seer a block or two.
