by Kate Elliott
I tugged up my blouse, already pulled askew by our headlong flight. “Luce has seen it often enough when we shower! Touch it! I was born from a human woman just as you were!”
With a trembling hand, Luce touched her forefinger to my navel. “Yee must be some manner of behica. Or a…witch.”
A creature was hiding in the shadows, watching us. Darkness coiled. I heard measured breathing like ghostly bellows as it waited to pounce if I said what I should not.
I grabbed Luce’s hand. “I’m not, Luce! I’ll never harm you or anyone at Aunty’s. But I can’t speak of what is secret.”
Her lips parted into the admiring infatuation that afflicts only the young and innocent. I had seen it on Bee’s face often enough, although never directed at me. “Yee’s a secret mage!”
“You’re no mage,” said Kayleigh. “And if you hurt my brother, I’ll dig your eyes out with a spoon. And eat them.”
I could not help myself. I laughed, and when I laughed, the listening darkness melted away like a huge shadow dog. Neither Kayleigh nor Luce saw it go, loping away on four long legs into the night. Good riddance. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but my eyes won’t taste that good.”
Kayleigh’s lips curled toward a smile, and I remembered how much I had liked her when we had walked together across a snowy landscape, fleeing the village of Haranwy. Before I’d realized she had been leading her brother to me even knowing he thought he had to kill me. Maybe it wasn’t just her who felt resentful.
“Peace, Kayleigh,” I said. “Maybe we can start over.” Then I looked away, to allow her space to consider the offer. “Luce, I’m lost. Can you lead us home?”
She took my hand with a proud smile. “This way.”
When we reached the boardinghouse, Aunty Djeneba and Brenna hugged and scolded us. Luce staggered through an incoherent and disjointed tale, and I interrupted and said, “A riot broke out when the wardens came through the batey stands with lamps.”
“They seek unregistered fire banes with lamps,” said Uncle Joe gravely. “I reckon they hope to bully the radicals into shutting they mouths. It will not work.”
The night came alive with drums speaking across the length and breadth of Expedition Territory, bursts of mountainous noise rising only to be asphyxiated by ominous valleys of quiet. Wind moaned along the roof, dragging the sounds of street battles in and out of windows until Djeneba’s brother and her sons came up from the jetty where their fishing boat was moored and told us to shutter the windows and net the roofs, for the weather was about to turn bad.
I was glad of the work, for I had grown restless. When I pressed my hand to my locket, I felt Vai’s warmth, but he could have been anywhere. After the gate was closed, I paced. I drank the dram of rum Uncle Joe offered, and then a second larger dram, for I simply could not sit still.
A rap came at the gate, regulars too nervous to sit at home in darkened compounds. They informed us of what we already knew: The gaslight in Passaporte District had been choked off at the Gas Works, as punishment. We lit candles and lamps. Younger men arrived, bruised and cut, eager to regale a receptive audience with an exuberant tale of how they and a pack of sailors had fought off the wardens down by the jetty. A fire had broken out and been extinguished by a fire bane of unheard-of power, which had spurred the wardens into a further frenzy of head-bashing and arrests.
Their tale was thirsty work, and I felt obliged, asking them questions about the location and extent of the possible fires, to drink rum with them, for my mouth was dry. My batey-playing admirer and his kerchiefed friend arrived without their crude companion; they had been down at the Speckled Iguana where lay wounded men.
“I have to go there,” I said, my mind churning with visions of Vai all beaten and bloody and of Bee’s head floating in a dark well. If Vai was hurt, I had to rescue him. If I knew where Drake was hiding, I could offer him upon Hallows’ Night. I would become a killer, like my sire. So be it.
Uncle Joe said, “Yee stay here, Cat. Yee’s had too much to drink.”
“I really have to go.” I drained another slug of rum for courage and went to the gate. They could not stop me as my admirer and his friend followed me out.
23
I gripped my pagne in a fist and hauled the cloth to my knees so I could better stride. “What is your name again?”
My nice admirer had a merry grin and that was something on a cheerless night with anger and fear stalking through the streets. “Bala. This is Gaius.”
Kerchiefed Gaius had a frown like a barge.
“I’m perfectly harmless,” I said, daring Gaius with my gaze to say otherwise.
Gaius snorted. “If yee say so, Sweet Cat. Yee have that man strung on a leash, or else he have yee strung likewise, I’s not sure which.”
“I do not! I am a perfectly respectable gal. It is not my fault I was married against my will.”
“That is one rumor we have heard,” said Bala. “Hearing it for true lend a new smell to the rose, don’ it?” he added, to his friend.
“If yee call that a rose,” Gaius muttered.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” My fingers tightened on Bala’s arm. He was a bigger man than I had thought, a full head taller than me and with shoulders that might bear the world on their breadth. His friend with the Roman name and a mass of hair in locks under the kerchief was almost as tall but stockier. For an instant, I wondered if I was safe with them, but then I reflected that should they trouble me, they would have to answer to Aunty Djeneba, Uncle Joe, and the rest of the neighborhood. “Sometimes people say I talk too much.”
Gaius made a noise like a choked-off laugh.
Bala said, “Yee have a lovely voice, Sweet Cat. Now, gal, shall we meet wardens in the street, yee shall stand back and let us take care of them.”
I removed my hand from his arm. “I can take care of myself in a fight. Do you doubt me?”
“There is the tongue,” said Gaius to Bala. “So I told yee.”
“We shall walk quickly and keep silent,” said Bala with the smile of a man seeking to keep the peace.
I fumed as a thousand wickedly cutting barbs of splendid insults came and went unspoken on my tongue. The Speckled Iguana lay about fifteen blocks away, on the other side of the Passaporte market, whose stalls and grounds lay empty but for the winking eyes of rats bold in the darkness and the leavings of crushed shells that had not been swept up. Clouds veiled the sky, making the intermittent noise of struggle seem both far and close, hard to gauge.
As we skirted the edge of the market, Gaius spoke in a low voice. “Yee meant it, did yee not, Sweet Cat? That yee would fight. Is it true, that story about yee and the shark?”
“Why would I have told it otherwise? Do you think I am a liar ?”
Perhaps my voice rose sharply. Bala touched my arm. “I see many a shadow at guard.”
Belatedly it occurred to me that the wardens might have staked out the Speckled Iguana, if they knew it for a haunt of radicals and troublemakers. Instead, the local men had staked out their ground, flanking the area with clusters of men bearing muskets, pistols, and machetes, the favored blade of the countryside. Lamps burned on the porch and in the windows of the inn, by which I knew Vai was either not there, or was dead.
I ran up onto the porch, colliding with an older man who was no taller than me but twice as wide. A patch covered his right eye, and a horrendous starburst wound had turned his right cheek into a pitted and scoured puckering of ropy white scar tissue. He yanked me to a halt.
“I’ll be smited by Bright Reshef if you aren’t the daughter of Lieutenant Tara Bell. For you look very like her, but for the hair and the color of your eyes.”
“Ja, maku,” said Bala, who with Gaius loomed behind me. “What is with the hand on the gal?”
“Is the maku bothering yee, Cat?” asked Gaius.
I stared at my interlocutor. My mind seemed caught in a roof-shattering gale. He saw the stamp of my mother’s face in my own. I wanted to demand
of him how he knew her, but as I tried to focus the splintering spray of my thoughts, I hung on to one concept: Tell no one. Keep silence.
“Drake is here,” he said, as if he had gleaned my mind with a rake and pulled forth a nugget. “He’s in the back room with the wounded. He has been wondering where you fetched up.” He looked over my companions, unimpressed by their stature. “I see you found protectors.”
“Let me go.”
He raised his eyebrows as if to suggest I was being overly dramatic, but he let go. “Do not say you shall deny whose daughter you are? I fought beside Lieutenant Bell.” His Iberian lilt pitched out like the ring of a trumpet. “In the Parisi campaign, when we took Alesia.”
Blessed Tanit, how my heart wished to hear the tale! But I was too cunning to reveal myself to him! I drew myself up, matching him eye to eye.
“I came for a drink, for the walk has made me uncommonly thirsty. Bala? Gaius? I quite forgot my coin, so you shall have to buy me a shot of rum.” I swept past the man and into a spacious common room crammed with noisy, sweaty, angry men.
“Yee stick close by us, Cat,” said Gaius as Bala pushed to the bar. “I don’ like this crowd. Yee should be getting home and not drinking any more, for I reckon drink make yee reckless.”
The situation would have struck me as amusing—my admirer and his skeptical friend turned into watchful guard dogs—had I not just then seen a flash of bright red hair where a door opened behind the bar.
The old soldier came up beside me and raised a hand to draw James Drake’s attention. “He shall want to talk to you, lass. I hear you may be carrying his child.”
I slapped him.
He grunted, but although I had slapped him hard, he’d barely been staggered.
I thought: That wasn’t very effective. So I slugged him, right beneath the curve of his ribs. He doubled over, gasping and—strangely—gurgling as with choked amusement. As a shocked murmur spread out like a ripple, he said, “Your mama taught you to hit, did she? Oof !”
His laugh was a booming chortle whose mirth made me want to strangle him. Gracious Melqart! James Drake! If he had seen me, he would come out. I did not want Vai humiliated by the whole world—or at least every man now staring at me—seeing me with Drake. When in doubt, attack.
I shoved up to the bar, heedless of the men I elbowed aside, and tweaked Bala’s sleeve. “I have to go back and check the wounded. Wait for me. I don’t want to go home alone.”
His interested smile sharpened gratifyingly, and I smiled, for he really was an appealing fellow, but I had to get past that door before James Drake walked out of it, so I hopped over the bar, grabbed a shot glass clear with white rum and drank it down in one swallow, then sidestepped the surprised bartender and thence past him through the still-open door. I shut the door behind me to see a long room filled with shapes lying all a-tumble on the floor or atop long tables on which, on kinder nights, folk might dine and chatter on about politics and batey. Tonight I heard only moans.
By lamplight, Drake bent over a man whose stomach had been opened by a gash, its gaping lips revealing the moist mire of intestines. An old woman with blood splashed across her apron and a serious-looking Taino man whose age I could not guess worked side by side at another table, she sewing shut a gaping shoulder wound with needle and thread while he pressed the ragged flesh together with steady hands. For a moment, I was sure I saw sparks trembling at his lips and a smear of ember light, but when I blinked, I realized I was just reeling. I braced myself with a hand on the door, in case any cursed fool tried to barge in after me.
“This one can’t be saved, for I give you my oath his spirit is already one step out of his flesh,” Drake said.
The Taino man said, “Take him, then. How many can you save with him?”
“One, for certain.” He indicated a man whimpering with the bleats of a person trying to be stoic in the face of unrelenting pain. What appeared at first glance as a kerchief was a leaking mat of blood and, beneath it, the white flag of exposed skull. Drake spread fingers over the wound.
Heat swamped the room, sticky and sumptuous, like sweet pudding that coats the lips until you must lick them clean for the sake of your craving. A kernel of desire swirled in my gut. I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a sighing exhalation.
The woman glanced at me, then at Drake. Blessed Tanit! A skin of glowing fire, not flames but a gleam like coals, washed down the body of the man with the belly wound. His chest arched up, although his mouth made no sound. Drake’s hand, on the other man’s bloody scalp, turned white-hot, and then I blinked, for it was too strong a light. Had I only imagined it? The first man now lay as if dead, life burned out of him.
Drake removed his hand. “He will live.”
I groped behind me for the latch, for I wanted nothing more than to get out of this room with its ashy stench of death and hope. But Drake was as fast and determined as a shark. One moment he stood halfway across the room with his gaze turned to me, as if to decide whether I was worthy prey, and the next he had crossed the space between us and taken hold of my hand. The candles flared. The other two looked up, but none of the wounded men did, and I thought: Maybe they’ve been drugged so they can’t know some men are being killed to save others.
“So here you are. I have been looking for you for weeks now, Cat.”
I twisted my hand out of his. “I haven’t been looking for you!”
“Why, Cat, I think you are drunk.”
“I don’t like you, Drake. I just came here to say that.”
Was that twitch amusement or anger? “That’s not what you said before.”
“I was drunk before.”
A curling warmth crept up my arm as he smiled. “Where are you staying?”
“Why do you think I mean to tell you?”
“You had better tell me after all the trouble I’ve gone to for you!”
All the burning wicks snapped out. Just like that.
“Ah,” whispered Drake, and he smiled.
Out in the common room, the buzzing conversation ceased as if it, too, had been doused.
The Taino man cursed against the darkness, and a single candle feebly wavered to life, just as, beyond the wall, men started talking all at once and in heightened voices.
I pressed my free hand against my blouse, feeling for the locket’s curve. I found the thread of him along the chains that bound us. He was nearby on the street, and it belatedly occurred to me that he had gotten home and they had told him where I had gone and this was the inevitable result.
Drake still had hold of my elbow, pouring into me a fierce forceful need that was the fire of his magic. Never let it be said I lacked ways to extricate myself from any awkward situation, for I knew exactly what Bee would do in this one.
“I’m going to throw up!” I pretended to gag.
Drake released me and jerked back.
I hauled open the door, slipped through, and slammed it shut. Men were cursing, trying to make light. With a sweep of my cane, I cleared every mug on the long counter, sending them crashing to the floor as I jumped over.
“Wardens!” I shrieked. “Run! ”
They were not stupid men in the Speckled Iguana. Not many panicked, but enough did to stir the big room and make it hard for them to get order. That made it easy for me to wrap shadows around myself and weave my way unremarked through the clamor and out the doors.
He had paused across the street, hidden by the night. Of course he saw me, although others did not. I raced across the street.
“We have to go!” I whispered hoarsely, trying to grab his arm but missing entirely.
He began walking so quickly I had to trot to keep up, me wrapped in shadow and him hugging the darkness until I wondered if he was using illusion to mask himself, for none of the men loitering nearby took the least notice of us.
I said, “Just think! We could sneak around all over the place and no one would ever see us.”
Men looked around, gazes questi
ng like those of scenting dogs.
“Did yee hear that?”
“I see no one.”
Vai took hold of my hand and we ran until I was breathless and laughing as we slowed to a walk in the deserted market.
“Catherine, all the shadows in the world will not hide you if everyone can hear your voice.”
Catching him by surprise, I shoved him against the wall of one of the empty market stalls. Someone sold spices here during the day. The rich perfumes of cinnamon and nutmeg lingered, and I licked my lips to savor them. “Have I ever told you you’re uncanny handsome?”
“Catherine, you are drunk.”
He tried to step away from me, but I leaned into him. The rise and fall of his chest caressed me. I was enchanted by his glower.
“I could just eat you up,” I murmured in what I hoped was an intimate whisper.
He turned his head away, so my lips brushed the prickly hairs of his decorative beard; he gripped my elbows. “Catherine, if you cannot respect yourself enough not to throw yourself at me while swilled in rum, then could you please respect me enough not to treat me as if I were a man willing to take advantage of a woman who is drunk? Because I am not that man.”
I nuzzled his throat. “You wish you were that man.”
“No, I don’t wish I were that man.”
I ignored his frosty tone in favor of rubbing against him. “Your body wishes you were that man.”
He shoved me away so hard I fell flat on my backside.
He muttered a curse, extending a hand. “I didn’t mean for you to fall. My apologies.”
I giggled as I reached for him. “You’re only angry because you’re aroused.”
An icy curl of wind kissed my nose as he pulled back his hand without touching mine. “You may think with your body, Catherine, but I. Think. With. My. Mind. I am going home. Are you coming with me, or are you returning to your friends at the Speckled Iguana? Because you can be sure I will not stop you from going where you wish.”
