Maybe I was still a little out of my mind from the pain relief because I leaned forward and said conversationally, “I thought you might be the Shrouded Mage.”
“The Shrouded Ma…” Zakary blinked. “Oh! You mean the Shrouded Killer.”
I refrained from rolling my eyes, but only barely. So the mages had a different name for him. The Reds had used their law enforcement compositions to prove the killer was a mage, but of course the mageborn wouldn’t want to acknowledge that fact every time they referred to the criminal.
Zakary blinked at me several more times as he absorbed my meaning. “You thought I was an infamous killer who stalks the lower city for his victims, and you therefore rantowardme.”
“I was going to run away,” I said, “but then I heard the sounds of a struggle. I was running toward the victim, not the killer.”
“A meaningless distinction if they were locked in a struggle at the time,” he said dryly, but he looked impressed.
My insides warmed, my chest tightening in response to the warmth of admiration in his eyes.
“Thankfully for both of us, they were just ordinary thieves,” I said, aware that the Shrouded Mage wouldn’t have been run off so easily.
Zakary grimaced. “I might have had a better chance against one mage than three commonborn, actually. I didn’t think I would be so easily overcome, but I’m not used to fighting so many at once. They kept me too busy to retrieve a composition in the first few seconds, and then…” He gestured toward the arm that had been broken.
I shook my head, unconvinced. “If the Shrouded Mage was an easy target, law enforcement wouldn’t still be hunting him after all this time.” I sighed, hating the thought of the menace who was casting a shadow over the lower city. “If you ask me, you were extremely fortunate.” I cast an eye over him, trying to picture him without the dirt and blood. “You’re a good fit for the kind of victims he targets.”
Zakary’s eyes lit up. “You think so?”
I stared at him. Did he have a death wish? He’d been too quick to heal himself for that to make any sense.
I wanted to linger and question him further. I’d never had a conversation this long with a mage before. But I could feel a clock ticking in my head. My guests would have already arrived. I took a step backward toward the mouth of the alley.
“Those three definitely weren’t the Shrouded Killer,” Zakary continued. “The law enforcement mages have already established that he works alone. These ones were just copycats.”
Once again his speech patterns marked him as a mage. Among the commonborn, we just called law enforcement the Reds, not bothering with their official title. His words kept broadcasting that he was out of his element, so it was no wonder he’d gotten into trouble—wandering the streets of the lower city without a single clue.
But his conclusion interested me. “What do you mean by copycats?” I could afford to linger for another minute or two.
Zakary’s mouth twisted. “They wouldn’t be the first, unfortunately. Once the actions of a repeat criminal become known, some people see a terrible sort of opportunity. They think that if they make their crime match the shrouded killings closely enough, then law enforcement will assume it was the Shrouded Killer and not come after them.”
My mouth fell open, anger filling me. “But that’s awful!”
He gave a wry smile. “Yes. But I’m guessing people who are willing to kill don’t have a lot of scruples.”
I screwed up my nose, but I couldn’t deny his logic. “It’s a good thing I came along when I did.”
I edged another step backward.
“You’ll at least let me walk you to your home?” He looked perturbed. “What if my pain composition doesn’t last long enough, and you end up collapsing partway there? You were injured saving me, and I can’t just walk away without being sure you’re going to be all right.”
I couldn’t help another flood of warmth at his genuine concern, but I couldn’t arrive home not only injured, but with a mage in tow. My family were going to be shocked enough, but they would be furious if they grasped the full extent of my reckless actions.
“That’s all right,” I said hurriedly. “It isn’t far.”
I took yet another step toward the freedom of the street.
“Wait!” Zakary leaped forward and grasped at my sleeve. “I can’t just let you walk off with a piece of wood sticking out of your arm!”
I pulled away instinctively, and my already damaged shirt tore further, sending a small item tumbling to the ground. I gasped and lunged for it, but my injured arm hampered my movements, and Zakary got there first.
The apologies on his lips died as he took in what he held in his hands. He looked up at me slowly, and I took another step back. But I couldn’t actually flee. Not while he was still holding the folded and sealed parchment.
Leaping forward, Zakary clamped an iron hand around my good forearm, pulling it forward so he could examine my wrist. It was conspicuously clear of the intricate pattern of dark skin pigmentation that would have marked me as sealed.
I wasn’t sealed, and we both knew it. And that made the letter in his hand a serious crime. The sides of the alley caved in on me, extinguishing the last ember of hope I had been clinging to so desperately.
