Steel's Edge te-4

by Ilona Andrews

  She would have to kill again. She knew what she had signed up for when she demanded to come with him. Now wasn’t the time to get squeamish. “It’s a sound plan,” she said. “How large a crew do you expect me to kill?”

  “The ship they will be using is likely fast, maneuverable, and unremarkable. I’m betting on a brigantine or albatross, which means fifteen to twenty people at most. Will it be an issue?”

  That was a complicated question. “No. No issue,” she told him.

  Richard stood up. “I’ll wait outside the door for you.”

  He took his sword and stepped out.

  In that moment, when she found that red spark inside, she had known exactly what the consequences would be. Her life as a healer was over. Her life as an abomination would be brutal and devoid of sympathy or warmth, but probably short. It would be worth it, she told herself. If no other child ever had to cry the way Tulip had because the slavers had taken someone from her, it would be worth it.

  * * *

  THE corpse lay on a table, a large male about ten years older than Jason but with a similar skin tone. The flesh on the corpse’s cheek bore the same pattern as the scar on Jason’s face.

  The corpse looked fresh. Was it a rival, a long-standing enemy? Or more likely, some man off the street who happened to resemble Jason Parris. Charlotte exhaled quietly. She had walked into this world on her own. She would deal with it.

  Richard leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. The crime lord sat next to the corpse in a chair. Miko leaned against the wall as well, as if mirroring Richard, one leg bent, her foot propping her up. She was a strange girl, quiet, her narrow face calm, but there was this odd hint of unpredictability about her, as if she was just waiting for the right moment to stab someone.

  The disfigurement on the corpse’s face looked red and fresh. The marks on Jason’s face were more than a year old.

  “How will you age the burn?” Charlotte asked.

  “We have a necromancer,” Jason said. “She will age it. Is there anything you need to heal me?”

  She shook her head.

  The aftereffects of fatigue were still there, pooling in her bones, but she’d recovered much faster than she had expected. If she had healed sixteen people yesterday, she would be in bed, unable to move. But now, she felt . . . refreshed. Relieved, as if some heavy physical burden had been lifted off her shoulders. The irony.

  Healing is a noble sacrifice, Lady Augustine’s voice instructed from her memories. Harming is a selfish perversion.

  The burden wasn’t truly gone, Charlotte reflected. She had simply traded the pressure created by the imbalance in her magic for the weight of murder on her mind.

  “So this healing, is it a special talent?” Jason asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Some magic can be taught.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Yes. Flashing can be taught and improved through practice, even for someone from the Broken, assuming they have any magic at all. Healing can be made more efficient, but you must be born with the talent.”

  Jason was looking at Richard. “Your sword thing is a flash, isn’t it?”

  Richard nodded.

  Jason looked at her. “I’ve seen a lot of strange magic shit here but never what he does. I asked him to teach me, but he won’t.”

  “You do enough harm as it is,” Richard said.

  Jason grinned. “Aww, you hurt me, old man.”

  Richard raised his eyes to the heavens. “I’ve unleashed you on this poor unsuspecting city. I simply feel sorry for the cutthroats of Kelena. If I teach you to flash, there will be none of them left.”

  “I don’t need flash for that.” Jason touched his scar. “Let’s get on with it.”

  Charlotte took a chair and set it in the beam of light spilling through the high window near the ceiling. “Sit, please.”

  He sat down. Charlotte stepped closer, turning his face with her fingertips to better view the scar in the light. A second-degree burn, extending into the reticular dermis, the deep layer of skin that cushioned the body against stress. She’d healed worse.

  She raised her hand and let the golden sparks of her magic sink into his skin. He held completely still, his unnerving gray eyes steady.

  The damage was extensive. She sank into the task of repairing the tissue destruction. When a body sustained an injury, specialized cells, which the Broken doctors called “fibroblasts” and the College healers called “suture cells,” sprang to the rescue. They moved into the wound and began secreting collagen, traveling within the clot until finally they anchored and closed the gash. The moment this anchoring took place was determined by many factors, and when the process went on too long, it led to the buildup of fibrous tissue and sometimes, if the scars formed on organs, fibrosis, which could be fatal.

  The scar itself was comprised of the same collagen fibers as the regular skin, but instead of crisscrossing, these fibers aligned in the same direction. She had to soften the stiff tissue of the scar and then painstakingly shift the collagen fibers within the skin to approximate its normal basket-weave pattern. It was slow, methodical work. Facial scars required precision—the symmetry of the face was at stake. The room, Richard, Jason, all of them faded. Only the injured tissue remained, and she focused on realigning it.

  As if through a wall, she heard muffled voices.

  “You’re getting your scar healed, and you’ve procured a body double,” Richard said. “Why the sudden need to appear dead?”

  “The Mirror is taking an interest in me,” her patient answered.

  “What did you do?”

  “Many things, none of them good, but none of them concern the spooks either. They’re watching me, and I don’t like it.”

  “I warned you, Jason,” Richard said.

  “Don’t lecture me, old man.”

  “You’re expanding too fast and killing too many. Violence attracts attention.”

  Jason sighed. “In case you failed to notice, I’ve been doing pretty well.”

  “The Five Gangs are frothing at the mouth trying to put you on the bottom of the ocean, Rook has placed a bounty on your head, and now the Mirror’s agents are watching your house. Your definition of ‘well’ is troubling at best.” He suddenly smiled and affected a slight accent. “‘I do not think that word means what you think it means.’”

  He was obviously quoting something he and Jason seemed to know that she did not.

  Jason grinned. “Ha, she ain’t a princess, and you wish you were that good a swordsman.” He turned to Charlotte. “How do you stand him?”

  “He sleeps by the door with his sword to keep me safe,” she told him. “Don’t move.”

  Finally satisfied, she withdrew her magic and took a step back.

  He looked good. It was one of her finer restorations. Relief washed over Charlotte. She could still heal. She had lost none of her skill or power. She hadn’t realized until now that she’d been afraid taking lives might come at the cost of the primary purpose of her magic. She knew it didn’t preclude her from healing; she just wasn’t sure if her control or precision had been compromised.

  The post-healing fatigue wrapped around her, making her dizzy. Jason touched his face. The scar had aged him, but now she could see his face more clearly, and Charlotte realized he was still a young man.

  Miko stepped up and offered him a mirror. Jason looked at himself. His eyes widened.

  “Magic hands,” he said. “That’s a very valuable talent. Almost makes a man regret that he doesn’t own it.”

  “Touch her and lose your fingers,” Richard said, his voice casual.

  Jason looked at her. “Come work for me. I’ll take better care of you.”

  “No.”

  “See, the problem with Richard is, he doesn’t know how to treat a woman. You have to take care of women properly. A woman is like a horse.”

  Dawn Mother, not one of those. “How so?”

  “When you want to tame a horse, you offer her an app
le. She has to get used to your scent and your delicious apples before she’ll let you put the bridle on her. Soon, if you ignore her, she’ll follow you waiting for a handout. If you keep bringing her treats, eventually she’ll let you ride her.”

  Mhm.

  Richard was leaning against the table like a dark shadow, his pose relaxed, his lips smiling, but his eyes watched Jason with complete focus. Like a wolf sighting his prey, she realized.

  Jason smiled, displaying even white teeth. At her position on the wall, Miko rolled her eyes.

  “All I’m saying is I have plenty of apples,” the crime lord said. “You should give it some thought. You’d like my apples.”

  Charlotte leaned closer to him. “Jason, whoever told you this nonsense isn’t your friend. Women aren’t horses, or dogs, or cats. We’re human beings, and the sooner you figure that out, the less likely you will wake up with Miko’s knife in your throat.”

  He stared at her.

  “You asked me what I want. I want to crush the slave trade. Having a fling with you doesn’t appeal to me. You’re handsome, but you’re too inexperienced and too arrogant to be good in bed. Having ridden many horses doesn’t make you a good rider; it just proves that you can’t recognize a good one or don’t know how to keep her. You’re too young for me, and in ten years, when you improve, I will be too old for you. So let’s not speak of this again.”

  A thin, high-pitched sound came from the wall. Miko was snickering.

  Jason turned in his chair and looked at her, outraged.

  She giggled some more.

  The crime lord blinked and turned back to Charlotte. “Some people would be worried. Words like that can get your throat slit.”

  “Some people don’t realize healing can be done in reverse,” she told him. “Why don’t you ask Voshak what he thinks about that?”

  Richard stalked across the floor and came to stand by her side.

  “You’re as crazy as he is,” Jason growled.

  “Now you’re getting the idea,” Richard said.

  “Even if we sack the Market and you get your information, what can you do?” Miko said suddenly. “You’re only two. The slavers are hundreds.”

  Richard grimaced. “I know. It’s a shame, really. I would’ve liked to give them a sporting chance, but sometimes life simply isn’t fair.”

  Charlotte smiled. You had to admire the man.

  “Your face is restored to its former beauty.” Richard turned to Jason. “Are you going to hold up your end of the bargain?”

  Jason rose and pulled the hood of his cloak over his face. “I’m on it, old man. I remember. You said the ship lands at midnight. Where is he planning to dock?”

  “Teal Inlet.”

  “Meet me two miles north of it tonight at ten.”

  He left the room, Miko in tow.

  “What now?” Charlotte asked.

  “Now we go to the city,” Richard said. “I have contacts here. We’ll need them for tonight.”

  * * *

  IN the daylight, Kelena didn’t look any better, Charlotte reflected, walking with Richard along the canal. It smelled the same, too. At least the dead body was gone, probably swept out to sea by the tide. They had left the dog at Jason’s house. She didn’t the see the harm in his coming, but Richard pointed out that if he bit someone, they would likely be drowned in the nearest canal. They locked him in a room with a cow femur from Jason’s kitchen.

  Richard turned into the narrow alley between the houses, barely wide enough to let them move side by side. The alley opened into a small courtyard, formed by the tall walls of surrounding buildings. Another, much wider alley to the right led from the courtyard, and three men blocked it. They didn’t look friendly.

  Her throat tightened. Her pulse sped up, and an uncomfortable heaviness filled her chest. Charlotte swallowed, but the tightness refused to dissolve. There was going to be a fight.

  It’s just a physical reaction, she told herself. It’s just fear. Her anger and outrage had numbed her yesterday, but that armor had melted during the night. She was very much aware she was alive. She was afraid.

  Charlotte squared her shoulders. She had to handle it.

  The front man, hard, large, bald, with swirls of dark tattoos running over his pale scalp, grinned. His lips stretched unnaturally far, showing a mouthful of two-inch-long fangs. Spiked strips of metal covered his knuckles.

  His magic washed over her, grating against her skin like a handful of sharp sand. A familiar revulsion drowned Charlotte. Her fear spiked in response. The man had been modified with illegal magic, the kind the Dukedom of Louisiana used for the Hand, its covert agents. She’d dealt with it before. A modification made its recipients stronger, faster, and more deadly. It also robbed them of their humanity and was nearly always impossible to reverse.

  Charlotte focused on the two friends of the alligator-mouth. The one to the left was tall, armed with a short mace tipped with a fist-sized chunk of metal. The one to the right, leaner and probably faster, carried two knives. The red rash on the knife fighter’s neck indicated a case of advanced luries, which is what happened when one had sex with unhealthy partners without protective measures.

  Of the three, the modified alligator-mouth man posed the biggest threat. Charlotte felt the magic stir inside her. It yawned, stretched, like a cat rising from a nap, and licked its teeth. Infection wouldn’t be fast enough. She’d have to tear into them and try to cause organ failure.

  “The man with the strange teeth is enhanced with illegal magic,” she murmured for Richard’s benefit. “The one with knives has a swollen groin.”

  He blinked. “Thank you. I’ll take it under advisement.”

  She’d never done a direct unhealing before. Infection, yes, but nothing that caused internal bleeding with the exception of her slip with Elvei. A coppery taste appeared on her tongue. Adrenaline.

  The alligator-mouth realized that his toothy display wasn’t having the desired effect. “You’re lost,” he called, his voice deep.

  Richard kept walking. She followed him, the dark currents spinning inside her.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll show you and your bitch the right direction.”

  “So kind of you,” Richard said, and then he moved.

  One moment he was next to her, the next he had smashed his hand into the alligator-mouth’s throat. The man jerked back, and Richard twisted him over his arm, driving the full weight of his opponent to the ground. Before the leader landed, Richard hammered a kick to the macer’s knee. The cartilage crunched, the leg bent the wrong way, and the man crumpled. Richard caught the mace, pulled it from the falling man’s hand, and pivoted to the knife fighter. The handle of the mace danced in his hand, sinking solid blows—head, solar plexus, groin—and the knife fighter dropped to the ground, curling into a ball.

  Alligator-mouth surged to his feet and lunged at Richard, hands out, jaw gaping. Richard knocked his right arm aside, locked his hand on the man’s wrist, jerking it down, smashed the mace handle against the nerve cluster at the base of the man’s exposed neck, and hit him again just below the jaw.

  The big man staggered, as if drunk, waved his arms, fighting desperately to remain upright, then half sat, half fell on the ground, his eyes dazed.

  Charlotte closed her mouth.

  It happened so fast, she didn’t even help. She had simply stood there. The healer in her cataloged the injuries: one traumatized throat, one tear to the posterior cruciate ligament of the knee—a partial at the very least. A full tear was more likely with impaction of the anterior aspect of the femoral condyle against the anterior aspect of the tibial plateau. Richard had kicked the attacker so hard he knocked the bones of the leg together, bruising the femur and tibia. A full tear would mean a healer like her or a ligament graft, because once that ligament ripped completely, no surgeon could sew it back together. Two concussions—one mild, one severe—one sprained neck, one sprained arm, multiple bruises, and three dignities irreparably damaged. All
in less than five seconds. And he hadn’t even unsheathed his sword.

  Richard approached her and held out his hand. Shell-shocked, she rested her fingers on his, and he helped her step over the bodies into the narrow alley leading from the courtyard.

  Talk, she told herself. Talking makes you appear confident. She couldn’t afford to let him know that he’d shocked her. She had to appear cool and collected because that’s what he needed in a partner. “I thought Jason would better control his territory,” she said. Her voice sounded normal. She’d expected it to shake.

  “They were probably his men,” Richard said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You humiliated him,” Richard said. “This was the way he showed his displeasure.”

  “I suppose you’ll now point out that this is the result of me speaking for myself.” Just try it . . .

  “That would be satisfying for me, but not entirely accurate. I’ve visited the city on four occasions since he took control of the Cauldron, and he prepared a lovely surprise for me every time. The hardest was an Erkinian woman. We fought for three full minutes, and I thought she’d kill me.”

  They seemed to have a love-hate relationship. Jason admired Richard—she’d read that much in his face and the way he looked at him—and wanted his approval, while at the same time resenting Richard for it. “Jason has father-figure issues, doesn’t he?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Richard sighed.

  “In that case, it’s good that you’re a human Cuisinart,” she said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “A Cuisinart. It’s an appliance from the Broken. You put vegetables into it, push a button, and it chops them into tiny pieces.”

  Richard frowned. “Why would you need an appliance to chop vegetables? Wouldn’t it be easier to chop them with a knife?”

  “It’s meant to save time,” she explained.