“Sota is unique,” I said carefully. “And you know there’s no surveillance around me… You don’t have to tell me who sent the message, just point me in the right direction. That way, your discretion will be intact and I’ll leave you alone.”
Merry looked at me as though debating if I was worth the trouble. We weren’t friends. At best, we were business associates. She was probably wondering how far I would push this.
“Job came from Istvan—unlikely real name.” She scratched at her neck. “I get you location code, you track. Then no more.”
A code would be enough to narrow down the sender’s vicinity. It should be easy enough to track down an Istvan from there. Finding the sender would lead me to the fae. He had to be involved with the message to have known when to shoot Crater.
Merry whipped a datastrip off her desktop and swept her finger across it, leaving behind a six-digit number. “There. Go.” I scooped up the strip and memorized the number. “And do your job!” she called as I pushed through the drape.
The assault of hot and spicy smells wrapped around me. Whooping fans, distant clangs of metal on metal, and the chatter from stacked containers accompanied my walk deeper into the sinks. I flicked my collar up, kept my chin tucked in, and moved among the drifters. Anyone down on their luck usually got washed into the sinks. The homeless, the unemployed or the unemployable, or those system-wide drifters who had never had a home to call their own. There were plenty of vultures here too. I passed by brightly lit sex parlors, pawn stores, beggars and bars. One of the most popular bars was The Boot, a mismatch of modified containers stacked together like kids’ plastic blocks and arranged over various floors. A lot of business went down in The Boot, most of it illegal. I pushed through the swinging steel doors. Heading toward the bar, I caught sight of my reflection in the dozens of mirrors hanging on one wall. There had to be roughly fifty people in the main bar—where I’d just entered—now fifty-two, including me and the tail I’d picked up after leaving Merry’s.
He wasn’t the most discreet of tails. The guy had a limp and wore overalls dirtied up with grease from boring machines. I’d turned into The Boot as a final check, and sure enough, there was his reflection in the patina-marred hanging mirrors, pushing through the doors and scanning the crowd for me.
“Hulia.” I leaned on the bar and waved over the dark-skinned, bright-eyed woman behind the bar. Double eyelids flickered at the sight of me.
“Kesh!” She finished pouring a customer a drink and then slinked my way, shoulders and hips swaying rhythmically.
“Hey, Hulia… Is Kampa working?”
“Sure, she is.” She grinned and poured me a drink. “She’s around here somewhere. You lookin’ for a little action, Kesh?” She raised an eyebrow and grinned like she’d just won a bet. “Didn’t know you swung that way, darling. Ask nicely and I bet she’ll do you for free. We’ve all been wondering what’s under that coat of yours.”
“You’ll find out the day you tell me what you really are, Hulia.” She wasn’t human, of that I was certain.
She chuckled and leaned in. “What I am would blow your little mind, Kesh Lasota.”
“Is that a promise?” It was harmless banter, the same teasing we had tossed both ways all the years I’d been coming to The Boot. I couldn’t say Hulia’s words didn’t draw me in. Curiosity was a weakness of mine, and there was something about Hulia that made her… irresistible.
“For you, darling, you know it.” She giggled and, spotting Kampa, waved her over. “Get that drone of yours to film you two in action and I can make you a pretty sum.”
I recoiled and pulled a face.
“Too much?” She shrugged. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“Hey, Kesh.” Kampa leaned a hip against the bar and examined her long nails. Nanotek glistened on the tip of each finger, working to finish each nail’s polish in a glossy red. She had already had them work on her face, smoothing away lines. “About that… thing,” she murmured, averting her gaze, “you did… It worked, so, yah know… thank you.”
That thing had been a particularly nasty low-life stalker who had figured “no” didn’t apply to him. I’d made sure the right kind of evidence—most of it legitimate, some of it fabricated—found its way to the right kind of marshals to get him off her back and put down for a few rotations. That thing wouldn’t be bothering her or anyone for the next couple of decades.
“You’re welcome.” I picked up my drink and gulped half of it down. A pleasant warmth filled some of the emptiness Sota’s theft had left me with. I would have liked to stay, maybe share a few drinks, but my tail would probably be calling in backup soon. “I need to call in that favor.”
Kampa straightened. “Oh?”
“You see the stiff by the table in the corner?”
“The old guy on his own, pretending he can blend in like a whore at a virgin ceremony?”
“Go keep him company while I slip out the back?”
Scarlet lips broadened into a wide smile. “My pleasure,” she purred. The tek she wore in her hair and inside the seams of her clothing shimmered into action, simulating long lashes, slightly wider eyes and fuller lips. I watched her sashay her way over to my tail and pour all her alluring self into his lap. He wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.
“You in trouble?” Hulia quietly asked.
I shook my head and pushed away from the bar. “Just a little unwanted attention. I’ll catch you later.”
Crater’s men didn’t think much of me if they’d sent one guy with a limp to track me down. Hopefully, they would continue to think little of me. Their mistake would sure make my life easier while I searched for the fae.
I stepped out into the narrow alley behind The Boot and blinked into the purplish light, adjusting my eyes to the contrasting shadows and glare. A silhouetted figure lumbered toward me, shoulders almost touching the containers stacked either side of him.
To my right, another figure swaggered forward, his knuckles dressed in steel.
Ah. Not so stupid. Limpy had been the decoy.
I reached inside my coat. “You guys sure you want to do this?” My whip uncoiled, spilling sparks around my boots. Magic tingled across the back of my hand and up my arm, urging me on. The men didn’t answer and kept on coming.
Time to get my hands dirty.
“I didn’t kill your boss.” I stepped forward, placing myself in the middle of the alley. The light from my whip sent my shadow dancing on the metallic walls. The guy on my left peeled his coat back and freed a pistol. His lips pulled back in a snarling smile.
“So who did?” Knuckles grumbled. “The tooth fairy?”
“Some kind of fairy,” I muttered. Nobody would joke about the tooth fairy had they met the terrifying origin of that myth.
I eased more magic into the whip. These guys were easily twice my weight and probably strong enough to punch me through a wall—if they could catch me.
I tightened my grip on the whip. “Here’s what’s about to happen. You surrender, and maybe I don’t put you down? How does that sound?”
“Sounds like you’ve taken too many hits to the head, Messenger.” Lefty snickered. While he taunted me, he lowered the pistol. “So why don’t you come along nicely with us, eh?” His lips parted, and his stubby tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips. “Maybe you come nicely and we don’t have to rough you up some?”
I chuckled dryly. “I hate to disappoint you.”
“The night’s young. We’re just getting started,” Knuckles said, picking up on Lefty’s lascivious glances.
They stopped within arm’s reach, one on either side of me, leaving nowhere left for me to go. Oh, what a fragile little messenger. How would I ever escape the mean and scary thugs?
I stomped on Lefty’s foot. He jerked forward, swinging wildly for me. I sidestepped. And Knuckles’s glowing fist hit his pal square in the face. Lefty grunted, and blood spurted from his nose. I kicked high, jabbing my heel into Knuckles’s gu
t. While he bowed over, I cracked my whip open and looped it around an iron strut braced across the alley above. Hauling myself out from between them, I planted both boots on the wall, kicked out, and freed the whip from the strut, landing on all fours. I sprang forward, away from Crater’s men.
Knuckles snarled something behind me, but I was already out of the alley and darting across the sinks’ ramshackle streets into a narrow, shadow-filled gullet. Electric heaters buzzed, slung like streetlamps outside of shanty homes.
None of the homeless cared who I was or why I was running. Few bothered to look up as I dashed past.
“Hey!” Knuckles’s shout echoed after me. I’d lose him in the sinks, as long as I kept switching back—
I slammed into a wall that hadn’t been there a blink before, and I would have bounced right off if the wall’s arms hadn’t clamped around me.
“Easy there, lady.”
Typical. Some guy wanted to be the hero? I shoved against the man’s chest and spotted the golden star of the law pinned to his coat. A marshal. Really? Of all the people I could have run into, it had to be a lawman.
Turning my head away, I checked behind me. Knuckles wasn’t there. The law had probably spooked him. Marshals were good for that, at least.
“Get your hands off me,” I snapped, probably too harshly.
His grip eased. I pushed out and quickly stepped around him. No need for a fuss. I’ll just be on my way.
What was a lawman doing in the sinks? They almost never ventured down here.
“Wait a second,” he drawled.
With my back to him as I picked up my pace, I discreetly recoiled my whip and tucked it inside my coat.
“Hey, girlie.”
What did he just call me?
“Stop!” he barked.
I stopped. Shutters on the nearby containers rattled closed. Yeah, go on, cowards. Hide from the lawman.
I heard his boots crunch on gravel, and then I saw that wall-like chest again. The marshal’s star winked. He wouldn’t drop this. I would have to look him in the eye and have a conversation. Hopefully, words would be enough. I’d already assassinated a terrorist today. I didn’t want to add a marshal to that list.
“The sinks are no place for a lady.”
I snorted. “Luckily, I’ve never been one.” I flicked my hair out of my eyes and looked up. By cyn, he was way too pretty to be anywhere near the sinks, let alone be wearing a marshal’s star. I’d seen tek-shifters pretty themselves up, and they’d still only been half as handsome as this marshal. Hair as black as onyx and green eyes that looked to be laughing even though his mouth held a firm, authoritative line. It wasn’t authentic. Nobody was that good-looking without enhancements.
“Do you need an escort?” he asked.
Was he for real? I raked my glare over his pretty-boyness. “Do you?” His long coat reached to his dark boots, keeping the sinks’ metallic dust off his clothes. His coat likely hid various weapons. Was he as quick of a draw as I was?
A spark of something ignited in his eyes. I wasn’t sure if I’d pissed him off or if he was secretly laughing. Poking him some more would yield interesting results, but every second I wasted was another second Crater’s men would use to outflank me.
He studied me, my face, my coat, taking his time, reading every inch. If he liked what he saw, his expression showed no sign of it. He stepped aside, graciously sweeping a hand out. “It seems I misjudged you.” His voice—smooth, and warm, and curiously arousing—could have melted steel. And didn’t he talk all proper-like. Mr. Marshal was well educated.
The sinks would eat him alive. Good riddance. I strode on by him, ignoring the tiny pang of regret that I likely wouldn’t get to admire that face again.
I’d managed a few steps when he raised his voice, asking, “Do you have a license for that whip?”
Oh, he’d spotted my discreet concealment. I walked on without missing a beat. Carrying any weapon in public required all manner of background checks. Checks I had neglected to take. “Do you have a license for all that pretty, Marshal? There must be a law against allowing that sexy out in public.”
He didn’t reply. My steps slowed. Don’t look. Don’t look. He wants you to look. Keep going. Leave right now.
Just one peek. It would be a crime not to.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Trash tumbled, and the spark of a shorted-out cable hissed beside a dumpster. But the alley was empty. Impossibly, the marshal had given me the slip. My steps faltered. He couldn’t have gone far. He’d been there just moments ago… I scanned the narrow alley but found no traces of him, or anyone.
It was probably for the best. If my luck held, that would be the last I ever saw of him.
Striding on, I put the encounter behind me. Whatever he was doing in the sinks, he had better get in and out quickly.
Would I just walk away and leave the pretty boy to get stabbed and left in a gutter?
My pace slowed.
I didn’t have time to babysit the suicidal pretty boy.
I checked my ocular map for Merry’s location code coordinates. The sender, Istvan’s zone, was a few quick tram rides away. I had some time to check that the marshal wasn’t about to get stabbed in the back. Shiny stars like his often turned up on the black market, usually tarnished with blood.
I stopped. Looked back. Still nothing.
He’d be fine.
I flicked my collar up and headed out of the sinks. The marshal was on his own.
Chapter 3
I stood outside the glittering pyramid made of shimmering metals and translucent plastics, and wondered if the universe had a sense of humor at my expense. First, a death threat via messenger, and then this…
Smartly dressed people milled up and down the entrance steps. Beside the grand entrance, the name of the corporation that owned the building was carved into a shiny slab of stone, proclaiming its permanence.
Arcon.
Istvan had sent the death threat from Arcon headquarters.
Arcon—the same company that had hunted me and, after failing to catch me, deemed I didn’t exist. The same company whose state-of-the-art surveillance and security washed off me daily.
Wonderful.
I set myself up in an eatery across the street and browsed the datanet for any Arcon staff members called Istvan. Sure enough, Istvan was on the payroll. But it was worse than I imagined. He wasn’t some grunt holed up in the basement. He signed the company’s checks. Istvan Larsen was Arcon’s CEO.
I fell back in my seat and squinted at the ostentatious pyramid through the window. Why was Arcon’s CEO sending illegal death threats via the underground messenger network? And why did he want a mineworker, on the other end of the Calicto demographic spectrum, dead? Men like Istvan Larsen and Crater didn’t mix. But something had caused them to cross paths. Did Crater have something on Istvan? Or something on Arcon? If that was the case, surely there had to be a tidier way of assassinating a mineworker than sending a fae after him. How could Arcon’s CEO contact a fae, let alone convince him to kill for him?
All the questions set my thoughts spinning. I was missing something. I was missing a lot of things. None of this made any logical sense.
Doesn’t matter, I reminded myself. I’m not here for the whys and what-fors.
Istvan was my connection to the fae who had Sota. A fae I was going to put down. He wouldn’t be smiling when I caught up with him. He’d surprised me. That wouldn’t happen again. When we next met, I’d be ready.
Opening my palm, I tapped the contact link for Arcon.
“Good day, this is Arcon Systems. How may I direct your call?” a polite female voice asked.
“Hello.” I polished my accent into something more like the marshal’s fancy talk. “I’m Lucy Walker with the Calicto News agency. We’re running a story on Arcon’s failure to detain the criminal behind the Crater assassination. Would Mister Larsen be available to comment?”
Much call holding and transfe
rring ensued, but I eventually secured a meeting with the top man himself. I was to meet him in twenty minutes, leaving little time to smarten my appearance. It was a good thing I’d come prepared. After checking I was alone in the restroom, I shrugged off my coat, turned it inside out and tugged it back on. The rows of mirrors above the sinks reflected my image back at me. Time for a change. Marching into Arcon in my messenger garb would likely get me arrested.
A tap of my palm and my ocular display sent an array of possible appearances across my vision. I selected one and watched the coat go to work. Its length reeled in, pulling up to just above my knee, while wrapping me in the illusion of little shoes, office pants, and a slim-fitting jacket. The illusion wouldn’t stand up to physical scrutiny, but I didn’t plan on getting too close to Larsen.
I smiled. The girl in the mirror smiled back as her short hair grew out and turned white. I twirled the ponytail around my fingers, plucked a chrome stiletto from a hidden pocket inside my coat and used it to pin my hair up. There, perfectly respectable. Whaddyah know, I was a lady.
A gaggle of school children was being led around Arcon’s foyer when I arrived at the front desk. They giggled, shoes squeaking against Arcon’s shiny floors, while their teacher pointed out the sculptural facets of the building’s cathedral proportions.
“Mr. Larsen will be right down, Miss Walker.” The receptionist beamed. Her nameplate read Caroline Ludo. “While you’re waiting, would you please apply your thumbprint to the scanner?”
“Sure.” I pressed my thumb to the little scanner on the desk. The light blinked red. I tried again. Another blink. “It doesn’t appear to be working.”
“Oh, let’s take a look.” She swiped a few fingers across the scanner. “Try now.”
I obliged, with no luck.
“Huh, now isn’t that strange,” Miss Ludo remarked.
Shoot the Messenger Page 3
