Rone kicked the door shut loudly to announce his approach.
A warm but stern voice called from the bedroom, “That had better be you and not an overzealous salesman, Rone.”
Rone smiled. “What if I’m selling cash?”
“You realize the absurdity of that statement, yes? One moment. I’m dressing.”
Rone pulled out a dining-table chair with his toe and plopped down on it, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. Sleep stirred in dull colors behind his eyelids. Maybe he’d pass out on the couch for a bit before heading home. He wasn’t in the mood for more jumping, or wasting money on a cab.
His mother came out a moment later, brushing her hair. She wore a smart but simple cotton blazer and skirt.
“You working today?” His mother took a shift three times a week for a lobbying firm near the Innerchord, where all the government’s lackeys congregated to act important. She filed papers.
“Yes, so I don’t need your charity.”
Rone reached into his pocket and grabbed half his stack of cash, then plopped it on the table. “Too bad.”
She set down the hairbrush and planted her hands on her hips. “Rone, I mean it.”
“You know I’ll just stuff the landlord’s pockets if you don’t take it.”
Adalia Comf sniffed and rolled her eyes. “Take half of it.”
“That is half of it.”
“Then divide it again. Why did I spend all that money on private education if you’re not going to use it?”
Rone snorted and divided the stack, splitting it too high to the top. He shoved the smaller “half” into his pocket, crinkling the bills. He splayed the rest in his fingers like a magician presenting the end of his trick.
His mother leaned forward and took the money. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “You stink.”
Taking his collar in his hand, Rone sniffed it. “Sorry.”
Adalia frowned and pulled out the chair beside him. Sat. Apparently he didn’t stink badly enough to drive her away. Her dark eyes stared squarely into his. “Do you want to explain to me why you’re gallivanting in the sewers again?”
He shrugged. “Work?”
“Mm-hm. And what exactly did you do all night? Don’t try to feed me a tale that you got up especially early to barge in here at the crack of dawn as a surprise.”
Rone grinned and spread his arms. “Surprise!”
His mother sighed. “I worry about you.”
“I’m whole and hale, Mom.”
“For now. Thank you for looking out for me, but be careful what you get involved in. There are dark corners in this city, waiting to eat up a nice boy like you.”
Rone barked a laugh at that. He couldn’t help it. His mother still liked to think well of him.
His mother pinched his arm.
“Ow!” He drew back. “It’s fine. Nothing scandalous or dangerous.” This last job was on the easy side of the spectrum, so he wasn’t lying.
“And that’s why you’re so open about it?” Shaking her head, she added, “What would your father say?”
His mirth died. “He’s not my father.”
“Biology, Rone.” Before he could retort, she held up both hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. But families are permanent. Remember that.”
Rone sucked in a deep breath and expelled it all at once, pushing his rising anger out with it. “Yeah, I know.” He stood, leaned over, and kissed his mother’s forehead.
“Ugh.” Adalia waved her hand in front of her nose. “Use the bath before you leave. You smell like an armpit.”
Rone smirked. “Then I’ll fit right in with the rest of the city.”
Sandis’s desperate need to fit in kept her from gawking as she walked the streets of Dresberg. She’d been taken outside by Kazen often enough, but being aboveground by herself, in the daytime, was near dreamlike. Like the whole thing was a rumor she’d suddenly discovered to be true. A feeling not unlike nostalgia brimmed her thoughts. Nostalgia, and urgency.
Kazen would have found her missing by now. She didn’t have much time to disappear.
Little had changed in Dresberg since Sandis was fourteen, but she found herself getting turned around anyway. Her attention kept focusing on people rather than places. She didn’t want to find any familiar faces. A familiar face would mean a grafter. It would mean they’d already caught up with her.
She pulled the hood of her stolen coat tighter around her head and paused under an eave as a wagon driver whipped his horse and shouted at passersby to get out of his way. Many shouted back—one even threw a broken cobble at him. It went wide. Sandis filled her lungs with a deep breath and looked up, attempting to gain her bearings. She vaguely remembered which bank Kazen had taken her to less than a day ago. Her life depended on finding it.
Checking the street—the faces—one more time, Sandis hurried across the road, feeling the mortar between each cobble through her thin shoes. An older woman made eye contact with her; Sandis looked away. There—she recognized that key shop. She knew where she was. She could do this.
She wiped clammy hands on her pants as she wound around the block, crossed another street, and took a shortcut down an alley—only to find it closed off at the end, a new building shoved into the space. She retraced her steps. The bank was on the eastern edge of the city in District Two, so she at least knew which direction to travel. She hiked up a hill, staying close to the storefronts, weaving through people milling about between their factory shifts. Everyone in Dresberg worked in factories. Sandis and her brother had, too, before Kazen. The poor manned the lines, the middle class managed the poor, and the rich owned the lot of them.
The sun peeked between clouds, its color a mustardy yellow from the smoke. Brighter than usual. Sandis stared at it a long moment, until her eyes burned and watered. She so seldom came outside during the day. She’d always loved the sun. No matter how hard things got, the sun was a bright constant against the city’s smoke and fear.
She blinked her eyes clear and saw a tip of bronze over the high wall that surrounded the city. It belonged to the Lily Tower, where the head of the Celesians, the Angelic, lived. It was the only structure that rivaled the size of the Degrata, the building at the center of the Innerchord. The government tower was rumored to be the tallest building in the country. Perhaps that was why the Lily Tower sat outside the city walls. To forbid contest. Alys had said a person could take refuge there, even if the scarlets wanted them for a crime. It was a right granted to the Angelic on behalf of God—the Celestial—one not even the triumvirate dared take away. Could Sandis hide there? Would they hurt her if they discovered she was a vessel, or simply kick her out?
The tolling of a clock-tower bell startled her forward. It was warm outside, but Sandis clutched the coat around her, feet moving as quickly as the crowds allowed. By the time the clock rang the next hour, she’d found the bank. She stretched her sore calves before heading in.
The first thing Sandis did was search every face inside the building. She wasn’t sure what Kazen had done to the bankers two nights ago . . . and she’d rather not dwell on it . . . but she did need to ensure no one here recognized her.
All were strangers. She pulled down her hood and smoothed her hair before approaching the first teller. She kept her chin up and shoulders back. Tried to emanate the quiet confidence that simmered around Kazen like heavy perfume.
“Pardon me,” she said to the woman. She looked tired but well kept. Possibly the same way Sandis looked, for she hadn’t slept since her escape. “I made an exchange of gold here last week, and my records don’t match my receipt.” Sandis had practiced this story all night long and into the morning. Practiced a more Kazen-like dialect so she’d sound like someone who went around making exchanges in gold. “Might I see the record?”
The teller looked her over. Sandis wished she could hear her thoughts. “What is the name on the account?”
“Talbur Gwenwig.” It was the first time she’d said t
he name aloud. Chills ran down her arms. When the teller looked up again, Sandis added, “He’s my uncle.”
He very well could be. Though as far as Sandis knew, her parents had no living siblings. Her heart beat quicker.
“One moment.” The teller rose from her chair and disappeared through a door in the wall behind her. Sandis licked her lips. Heard another person enter through the heavy front door and glanced behind her—a stranger. Relief engulfed her in a cold embrace. She faced forward. Tapped her toe on the gray-tiled floor, caught herself, and stopped. Wrung her hands together. Glanced around again. The shadowed stairs in the corner were the same ones she and Kazen had taken to the earlier “meeting.” Part of her wished Ireth had allotted her memories of it . . . but perhaps it was better if she didn’t know. Some of the things she’d seen, things she suspected . . .
Don’t think about that now.
The teller returned, carrying the very book in which Sandis had seen the name. She wanted to jump across that desk and grab that book, flip through its pages until she found it . . . but she clenched her hands at her sides and forced herself to remain calm. As calm as she could be, at least. Any information, anything, would help her find—
“There’s no exchange for Talbur Gwenwig in here.” The woman flipped a page, then another. “You said it was last week?”
Blood drained from her face. “Y-Yes, last week.”
She’d seen the name. Talbur Gwenwig. She was sure that was it. The writing was burned into her memory like a brand.
The teller shook her head. “I . . . oh. Hmm.”
Sandis grabbed the edge of the desk and leaned in. “What? What is it?”
The teller set the book down. “There’s a page missing.” She fingered the tiniest nub, almost too small to notice, at the bottom of the book. The remnants of a page torn out.
Sandis stared at that nub for too long. Missing? How could it be missing? It had been there two nights ago—
Her blood turned cold. Kazen hadn’t taken it out, had he? But why would he have? She’d been so careful not to stare, and he still thought she couldn’t read . . . didn’t he?
Yes, she was being paranoid, surely. He’d come here on business related to his accounts, not the gold exchange.
But one often had to be paranoid, with Kazen.
The teller began opening drawers full of files. She searched through one twice. “I don’t see an account here under Gwenwig.” She clucked her tongue. “Let me ask my supervisor.” She stood and disappeared behind that door again.
Sandis grabbed the book and turned it toward her, scanning the pages, searching for her surname. It wasn’t there. She touched the nub. Nothing.
Had Kazen expected her to come here looking for Talbur Gwenwig?
A hard beat of terror pulsed in her chest. Sandis dropped the book as though it were hot iron and backed away from the desk. Turned around, scanned faces. She thought she felt Kazen’s cold fingers on her neck and jumped.
The need to leave pressed in on her.
She ran out the door, back into the city. Searched for him—her master. Spotted the dark-scarlet uniform of a police officer instead.
A reminder that it was illegal to be involved in the occult, as the Celesians called it. Illegal to be what she had been forced to become.
Sandis turned the other way and jerked up the hood of her coat. Bumped into someone as she hurried away, but her apology caught in her throat. Where would she go? Where else could she find the name?
What if it didn’t exist?
No. Don’t think that. She knew what she’d seen. This unknown relative had to exist, or else she had no one to turn to. Nowhere to go. She certainly couldn’t go back, not without severe punishment for both herself and the others.
She had no hope. She needed hope.
The library? Could she search for the name there? Unless Talbur Gwenwig was a politician or mentioned in a newspaper, the library wouldn’t help, but it was a start, wasn’t it?
Her stomach tightened and growled. She kneaded a knuckle into it. She’d have to steal food to eat. She had no money. She had nothing. She checked the pockets of the coat, but they were empty save for a slender pocketknife and a charcoal pencil.
She glanced up and ventured down a less crowded street. How would she do it? Go to the market and palm an apple? If she was caught, she’d have no space to run—the market was always crowded. Maybe no one would notice her stealing in the thick of the throng . . . or they would, and they’d grab her and see the script, and then the scarlets would arrest her or a grafter spy would report her . . . She’d either have her neck in a noose or between Kazen’s hands.
She swallowed, and her belly protested at the emptiness of it. It might be better to go to prison, where they could only hurt her body, than back to Kazen. He knew how to hurt her outside and inside. Like when Kaili had angered him that day three years ago—Sandis still didn’t know what she’d done—and he’d forced her to watch while Galt shoved some sort of awful poison down Rist’s throat, making him vomit over and over until blood spattered his lips. Sandis hadn’t seen it, but Heath had. Kaili hadn’t spoken to any of them for nearly a month after that.
Kazen would never have their bones broken or skin torn. That would lower his vessels’ ability to summon high-level numina, or leave them unable to host at all. But anything that didn’t leave a mark was fair game. Galt often leered at her and the other women. Kazen would never let him ravish any of them; being virginal was another vessel requirement. But maybe, in his anger, Kazen would permit other things . . .
Sandis shook her head. Sidestepped to avoid a boy leading a skinny goat by a rope. Stop thinking about it.
The library. She could try the library. And food . . . Could she go to a restaurant, order something, and then flee before she paid? Or would she be asked to pay first? She’d never been to one. Perhaps she could try it, and if she had to pay first, she could claim she’d left her wallet at home and leave before anyone suspected her.
Yes, that. She would do that. Repay the establishment someday, if she could. But she had to eat. Just this one time, until she could find Talbur Gwenwig and explain herself. He’d take her in, surely. Even as a servant . . . She would work for free, for his favor. Anything to keep her from sleeping on the streets. Anything to protect her from Kazen and—
She stepped into a tavern, and the smell of goat cooking on a spit immediately reminded her of Heath. She bit her lip to keep her empty stomach from heaving. Her appetite nearly left her . . . but she needed the energy. Weakness would make her slow. She’d be caught for sure.
She scanned the room. There were few people there at this early hour—taverns made their money on the nightlife. Wooden booths lined two of the walls, and small round tables featuring an array of cards and gambling games took up the center of the floor. The far wall had a small bar with an overweight, bald man standing behind it, picking at a sliver on a shelf holding glasses. The slack in his forehead told Sandis he was disinterested in his work, and the shadows beneath his eyes whispered he hadn’t slept much the night before, either. A small nook behind him led to the kitchen, where the smell of Heath wafted into the room.
Kolosos.
Sandis swallowed. Eat first. Think later.
She studied the two other guests—a young man, perhaps midtwenties, counted money in a booth. A steaming mug sat beside him. His posture was relaxed, his knees apart. Confident, especially since he was counting bills in plain sight, though the droop of his shoulders said he also lacked sleep. An older gentleman with a long mustache sat two booths behind him, holding a newspaper in one hand and a roast chicken leg in the other. The ferocity with which his teeth dug into the flesh, paired with his too-tight hold on the paper, whispered he was frustrated about something, perhaps angry. Sandis needed to keep her distance from him, but her focus returned to his food.
Her mouth watered.
“Hey, you.”
Sandis jumped and clutched her coat to herself. She
turned toward the voice. The first man had stowed away his money and was staring at her with frank interest. She didn’t recognize him from her life before, and it was obvious he wasn’t a grafter. No physical signs of being a mobsman, at least not for the Riggers, Skeets, or Aces.
To her surprise, he smiled. “Skittish, are we?” He tilted his head toward the bench across from him. When she didn’t move, he held up his hands and said, “If you want to sit by yourself, by all means . . .”
Sandis shouldn’t talk to him. Shouldn’t connect him to her. Yet in a moment of panic—or perhaps desperate need for kindness—she hurried to the bench and sat. Let out a breath. “Sorry.”
The man glanced at her hand—checking for a ring? Oh. She touched her hair, tucked it behind her ear. She wasn’t used to that kind of interest, minus the leering looks Galt often cast her.
“Little early for a drink, isn’t it?” he asked. He was trying to be funny. If not for the crinkles on the sides of his eyes, Sandis might not have picked up on it.
She glanced at his mug. “You’re the one drinking.”
He smiled again and tilted the mug toward her so she could see its dark contents. “Cider, I swear. What’s your excuse?”
Sandis fiddled with the button of her coat. Was someone supposed to come by to take her food order? “I’m just getting a bite to eat before my shift.”
“Where at?”
“The firearms factory.” It would be easiest to answer his questions as if she were still fourteen and normal. Better for keeping track of what she said.
“Which one?”
“Helderschmidt’s.”
The man folded his hands and leaned his chin on them. “Isn’t that District Four? That’s a ways away.”
Sandis stiffened. Did he not believe her? But he didn’t look at her in an accusing way. He looked at her the way Rist looks at Kaili.
Smoke & Summons Page 4
