Calder moved ahead of me, checking corners with the paranoia of someone who’d survived too long to ever be foolishly imprisoned. The Crook wasn’t far, but hunters prowled inpairs, their boots striking cobblestones in rhythm. We pressed ourselves into doorways, behind rain barrels, anywhere that offered cover as they passed.
“More patrols than usual,” Calder murmured once a pair had moved on.
“They’re scared.” I pulled my dark green hood lower. “A Phoenix on the loose? According to Wickett, they’ve been tearing this city apart looking for her.”
We turned down an alley that reeked of old fish.
The familiar stench of the Crook meant we were close to answers. Close to Eda Mire and whatever impossible solution she might offer.
A shadow moved at the alley’s end.
Calder’s hand found his blade as I held my breath. But the shadow resolved into a drunk shifter, stumbling past without even noticing us.
We waited another heartbeat before continuing.
The Gilded Pestle’s sign creaked in the wind, barely visible in the darkness. But the snake painted on it seemed to watch us approach, and warm light leaked from beneath the door. The store never closed, not really. Death didn’t keep business hours.
Calder knocked. Three taps, pause, two taps, pause, one.
“Shopping for something nice?”
Every muscle locked as Wickett stepped from the shadows into the moonlight, and my mind immediately clocked our likely violations: leaving without permission, a witch sneaking through the city after dark, approaching potential criminal establishments. Three rules, probably more if he were creative with interpretation.
Out of nowhere, the image of Katarina’s blood spreading across grass flashed in my mind, and suddenly I realized I didn’t know how to act around him. If I were the quiet subordinate I’d made myself be at work, he’d never believe it. If I struck toohard, he’d get pissed. But one thing Wickett never seemed to play with was rule breaking. He was unbending when it came to the law. Still, he’d suspect far worse if I were suddenly demure.
“Well.” The word came out steadier than I felt, my mouth running on pure defensive instinct. “This is awkward. We were just discussing how much we missed your cheerful personality. Must have skipped the part on the clipboard that said we were prisoners.”
“How incredibly uncharacteristic of you, little red witch.”
“Come on, Wickett. It’s been days since the Oracle’s attack. Vitoria’s out there somewhere, and we’ve done absolutely nothing to find her.”
He moved closer, that predator’s grace making my skin prickle. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you’re more concerned with following daddy’s rules than actually accomplishing what we’re bound to do.” I stepped forward, closing the distance he’d begun to claim. “I’m tied to the same oath as you now. We have thirty days, or we’re all dead. So back the hell off and let us do our job.”
Wickett began circling, slow and deliberate, forcing Calder and me to turn in order to keep him in sight. “Your job? Your job is to hunt with the team. Not sneak off into the Crook at night like you’re planning some kind of?—”
“Some kind of what?” Calder growled.
My voice was steady, but growing soft, exactly what it needed to be for him to hear me. “Escape? Rebel? Or maybe we’re just trying to talk to the one person in this city who might actually know where our target is.”
“You have no idea who runs this shop. What grace my father extends to the monster within is simply because she alone knows how to get the most valuable runes. But there’s a darker side to this little store—whichwillinevitably be shut down. As soon as we can track down all her associates.” He stopped directlyin front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “You have no idea what you’re walking into.”
“And you have no idea what I’m willing to do to find her.”
“Don’t I?” His eyes dropped to where water was unconsciously pooling at my feet, drawn by my anger. “You’re emotional. Reckless. You’ll get yourself killed before?—”
Calder moved. “You kids let me know when you’re done bickering.” Without warning, he stalked past us both, his enormous frame cutting through our standoff. His boots struck the cobblestones with finality as he reached for the door handle.
I watched his shoulders go rigid. Saw his hand freeze on the worn wood. Heard the single word that stopped my heart as the door swung open far too easily.
“Fuck.”
Chapter 18
Syneca
The dead keep their secrets, but their blood always tells the truth.
