It was hard to misinterpret that, especially when he added, “No conjurer, including Alterra, may know by word, action, or deed that you once . . . cared. You did care, didn’t you?”
I nodded. He knew I’d felt friendly toward Finn during the games. It wasn’t a secret.
He stared at me like a hungry lizard watching an ant. “I think you may still care. I don’t feel it, but . . . you may. Trust me, if you do, I’ll taste it. I’ll find it. I enjoy tasting suffering, Mari. If you care for the conjurers, then it will pain you to harm them. I enjoy that. So, please. Feel free. Care for them. Do you know why I let Justice fight me?” When I didn’t answer, he smiled. “It’s because he suffers with what I make him do. His suffering tastes like bitter herbs. I wonder what yours will taste like.”
I remained silent, and Jagger nodded.
“We’ll see. You taste like mine. You act like mine. I’m going to enjoy watching your descent. I promise I’ll make it fun for you. So, Mari, no conjurer by word, action, or deed may know you once cared or that you still care. Go.”
I sped away from Hell Gate, leaving the denizens to feast until glutted and drink until half-dead. With one look, I knew Rou would stitch up Justice and Griff would carry him out of the hall. They’d make sure he didn’t suffer an “accidental” death during the celebratory melee.
Now I was staring at Finn’s bedroom window, wishing the figure behind the curtain would push it aside and look out into the mist.
The omnibus was strapped in its sling on my back. It was large, with a thick barrel as long as my arm. Justice could hold it with one hand and fire, but I had to hold it with two. Plus, it kicked like a mule. Justice claimed it left bruises on your shoulder girdle, a little kiss for a job well done.
The omnibus was Jagger’s favorite creation. It was a personal projectile launcher that shot a dozen high-powered missiles made from Furtig, gunpowder, ground bone, and Jagger’s blood—a nasty concoction capable of causing massive explosions that burned through anything.
Except . . .
I narrowed my eyes on the window.
A Smith’s blue fire shield.
On our trip north, Justice had shot us with an omnibus and Wolfgang had shielded the car. It had blocked the explosion.
I smiled.
If that was Finn, then he could stop the omnibus.
He was a conjurer now, wasn’t he? That was what I’d heard. He was the Smith now. The wearer of the crown. A powerful, ruthless, horrible conjurer.
An itch trailed up my spine, and the wind tugged at my braid. Someone was watching me. The spider-crawling-up-my-neck sensation pointed to the river’s edge. Maybe it was a water spirit or a figment. Maybe it was someone sneaking toward the Night Den. More likely, Jagger had sent someone to spy.
He would want to make sure I did the job right.
I expected his eyes on me—I just didn’t expect him to be so obvious.
I sighed, and the fog skittered back, shying away from me, as I stepped forward.
The Night Den was quiet. That was illusion though. Behind the brick walls and beneath the ground, there would be hundreds of people gathered.
Maybe Cora.
Maybe Luvic.
Maybe Finn.
The omnibus was heavy on my back.
I pulled a thunderer free. It was as small as a toy jack, but heavy with sharply pronged metal. Similar to a flash-bang but made by Jagger, thunderers caused a blinding flash and a deafening boom. They were a good way to either catch or divert attention.
I looked left, then right.
No one was on the street, just me, the fog, and my anonymous watcher.
Holding my breath, I launched the thunderer at Finn’s bedroom window. The glass shattered. Shards rained and smashed against the concrete.
A bright flash. A violent boom.
