Assassin's Blood

by Marina Finlayson

  Raven grinned in appreciation of this sally. “No, no, I insist. Ladies first.” He sketched an elaborate bow.

  “Chicken.”

  He flapped his elbows like wings. “Bok bok bok.”

  Taking a firm grip on the vodka, I marched up the steps and onto the veranda. Raising my fist, I rapped three times on the door.

  Raven took an ostentatious hold on the veranda post and winked at me. “Just in case she decides to start another earthquake.”

  I turned my back on him, listening to the sounds within the house. Footsteps approached the door, followed by the sound of a bolt being shot. The door swung open, revealing Yriell’s diminutive form, her grey hair wild as usual. A piece of twig was snarled in it just over her ear, and I almost reached out to remove it but thought better of it.

  Her eyes, the warm brown of rich soil, lit on the bottle of vodka and brightened. “Is that for me?”

  “I thought we might share it.”

  “Beware Greeks bringing gifts, they say. Is there a price attached?”

  “We’re not Greeks, and this is a bargain offer,” Raven said. “Not only do you get this top shelf bottle of hard liquor, you also get our scintillating company. Two for the price of one, in effect.”

  She scowled at him. “You’re as full of bullshit as your father.” But she opened the door wider and stepped back so that we could enter. Then she led the way towards the long kitchen table at the back of the large main room.

  Yriell’s house looked like a bellbird and a magpie had shacked up and built a home together. Every flat surface was covered with tiny marvels: bottles full of oddly shaped things, bunches of herbs dried and fresh, more books than you could poke a stick at, and containers of every kind and colour. As Princess Orina, sister to the king, she could have had apartments in the palace and a dozen servants, but she preferred her own happy chaos to the upheavals and political drama of the Court.

  “Glasses in the cupboard,” she said, gesturing with a vague hand at one of the overstuffed cupboards.

  Raven opened the door gingerly, lest the contents come cascading down on his head, and extracted three glasses while I opened the bottle.

  Yriell plonked herself down in one of the seats at the table and watched us expectantly. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’ve come purely for the pleasure of my company?”

  “Not purely,” Raven said, setting the glasses down on the table and taking his own seat opposite her. “Although, of course, your company is a major draw. We also have a kind of two-for-one deal going on. We get to enjoy your marvellous company while also scouring your formidable brain for something that might help us with our current problem.”

  She groaned. “Of course there’s a problem. Has my royal brother sent you? What has he screwed up this time?”

  “He didn’t precisely send us,” Raven said.

  I poured three generous nips of vodka and passed the glasses out. Yriell lifted hers in salute. “To my useless brother, long may he reign.” Then she knocked back the whole lot in one go and pushed her glass toward the bottle again in a not-so-subtle hint for a refill.

  I obliged, of course. That was what it was for. “Actually, we’re hoping to do something about the Night Vipers.”

  “That’s a ballsy move, girl. You and whose army?”

  I glanced at Raven. “Just the two of us, at this stage.”

  “We’re on a reconnaissance mission for the king,” Raven said.

  Yriell barked a short laugh. “Why, is he sick of you already? Messing with the assassins seems like a fast way to get yourselves killed.”

  “We’re not messing with anybody,” I said. “Just checking things out at this stage.”

  Raven nodded. “It will be up to King Rothbold what he decides to do with whatever information we manage to gather.”

  She shook her head. “You’ve got rocks in your head, the pair of you. But go on, I could do with a laugh. What have you done so far?”

  We took turns filling her in on our attempts to track down the assassins’ headquarters. She grinned appreciatively when I recounted how easily our contact had managed to evade me at Town Hall Station.

  “You’ve gotten soft,” she said to Raven. “You’re too used to relying on those birds of yours.”

  “My friends do have their limitations,” he said, watching her with those midnight eyes. It occurred to me that he looked rather like a bird himself. His head was tipped to one side, his dark eyes fixed on her face, full of a lively curiosity.

  “Well, then, pour me another drink and tell me what it is that you think I can do for you. This should be good.”

  I took a deep breath. This was the moment. She would either laugh and continue taking the piss out of us but help us, or she’d decide that it was all too much effort and become affronted at our daring in laying yet another burden on her slight shoulders. “I was hoping you knew a way to make me invisible. I can’t see how else I can stay close enough not to lose him the next time.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Invisible, is it? Well, at least you’re not asking for anything difficult.”

  Relief washed over me. “It’s not difficult?”

  She roared with laughter. “I’m shitting you, sweetheart. Of course it’s difficult. Otherwise every fae and his bloody mother would be traipsing around unseen, sticking their noses in where they aren’t wanted.”

  “But not beyond someone of your inestimable skills, surely?” Raven suggested, smiling.

  Yriell directed a disgusted look at me. “Is he always such a kiss-ass?”

  “He thinks he’s pretty charming.”

  Raven drew back, affronted. “I am charming.”

  I held up an impatient hand. I didn’t want to listen to his blathering anymore; I was more interested in what Yriell had to say.

  “Well, there are potions …”

  “Yes?” I sat forward eagerly.

  “But they’re finicky bloody things. Always some limitation. You have to remain in contact with the earth, or they stop working if someone touches you, or they can only be used at night in a dim light. And what’s the point of that? If the light’s dim enough, you’re practically invisible anyway.” She got up and pulled down a thick book with a worn leather cover. It had clearly seen a lot of use; the spine was half broken and several yellowed pages were hanging out of it. She flipped through, muttering to herself. “This one might work. But not if you’re meeting him in the city. Too much iron will screw with it.”

  I sighed. “We don’t know where we’ll be meeting him yet.”

  “Well, that’s a bummer. Because this one will take me two days to brew.” Her finger tapped on the page and she got a faraway look in her eyes. “Unless …”

  “Unless what?” I could see our chances for success slipping away here. Yriell had always come through for us before, but she wasn’t a miracle worker. Nevertheless, stubborn hope filled me as I watched her think.

  “Pour me another drink.” She got up and headed for the door that led down to the caverns below her little cottage.

  Raven half got out of his seat. “Should I come, too?”

  She waved dismissively at him from the top of the dark stairs. “I won’t be long.”

  I refilled her glass as instructed, then topped up Raven’s. I couldn’t have any more if I wanted to be able to ride when we got out of here. Faint sounds echoed up the stairs—the clinking of glass bottles, the occasional noise of something heavy being shifted. A good ten minutes went by before Yriell reappeared, a triumphant expression on her face.

  “Found it! I knew I had it somewhere.”

  “A candle?”

  I’d been expecting something a little more impressive. She set it on the table in front of me—a thick white candle inside a clear glass bowl. The opening at the top of the bowl was just wide enough to allow someone to light the candle. It looked like something you would buy in the home décor section at Target for five bucks.

  “What does this do?” />
  She sat down and drained her glass with obvious relish, then grinned at me, pleased with herself. “It’s a light-weaving candle.”

  Raven sat forward, a gleam of interest in his eyes. I stared at the plain white column of wax, confused. Light-weaving was a skill that some Day fae possessed, allowing them to bend light around objects—usually themselves—to render them invisible. It was an active thing, something you had to perform in the moment. How was this lump of wax meant to perform magic?

  “I’ve heard of these,” Raven said, “but I never thought I’d see one. How did it come into your possession?”

  Yriell grinned. “That’s a long story, involving two chickens, a bottle of rum, and some very bad decision-making by a certain Day fae who shall remain nameless. I didn’t think I would ever find a use for it, but there you go. Just shows you should never throw anything out.”

  I snorted. The candle was probably worth a fortune. As if anyone would throw something like this away. “But how does it work?”

  “It’s not rocket science, girl. You light the candle, and as long as you’re holding it, you’re invisible. If the candle goes out, poof! You’re visible again. Pretty simple.”

  I shook my head in wonder. I had no idea how such a thing could be, but I didn’t need to understand Day magic to follow those instructions. “Got a match?”

  She wagged a reproving finger at me. “Not so fast. This is a one-time use gadget only. Light it when you need it and make sure you don’t blow it out too soon, because there’s no relighting this sucker.”

  Troubled, I contemplated the squat little candle in its glass bowl. “What if it blows out accidentally?” I had a feeling that the grey-eyed assassin wouldn’t take well to discovering he was being followed.

  Yriell shrugged. “Then I guess you’re screwed. But that’s why it’s in a bowl. You should be pretty safe. So, do you want it or not?”

  “We want it,” Raven said. “It is a princely gift.”

  “Not so fast, Mr Smooth Talker. Let’s think of it less as a gift and more as a payment in advance.”

  He regarded her warily. “A payment for what?”

  “Who knows? Maybe I’ll need a big, strong man like you to mow my lawn. Let’s just say you owe me a favour. Both of you.” She waved an airy hand. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

  I glanced at Raven. He didn’t look altogether happy, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. Unspecified favours were dangerous obligations among the fae. Even though I trusted Yriell, it made me uneasy to have such a thing hanging over my head. But what else could we do? We were kind of short on options.

  I closed my hands possessively around the glass bowl, pulling it towards me. “We’ll take it.”

  9

  The raven croaked: a harsh, unmistakable sound. I glanced up into the branches and closed my book with a sigh. I’d been killing time in the gardens of the sith, waiting for Raven to ring me with news of our next appointment with the Vipers.

  But of course Raven wouldn’t do anything so mundane as use a mobile phone if he could make an extravagant gesture instead. His insistence on meeting in person the other night instead of talking on the phone had been bad enough, but this was ridiculous. And here I’d thought I was the paranoid one.

  The bird croaked again and fluttered down from its branch onto the grass by my chair. A tiny scrap of paper was tied to one leg.

  “How did you get in here, then?” The sith’s wards would normally prevent animals from entering, yet I had no doubt that this was one of Raven’s messengers. I would have noticed before if we had resident ravens. The wards must have somehow recognised the bird’s connection to Raven, who had an open invitation. “Can I have that, please?”

  Cautiously, I stretched my hand out toward the bird. Up this close, that beak was enormous, black and hard. A phone call would have been so much better. A text, even. Then I wouldn’t have to risk life and limb to get this stupid message.

  The black wings fluttered as the bird hopped up onto the arm of my chair. It took a huge effort not to flinch away, and I stared straight into its strange white eye, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. But it stood patiently while I untied the piece of paper as fast as I could, then hopped back to the ground and began picking at the grass, looking for insects, as if it did this every day. For all I knew, it did. It certainly seemed well-trained.

  My hands still shaking, I unrolled the tiny scrap. Circular Quay 9pm. Observe only. “Only” was underlined several times, and I smiled. Raven had been very particular on that point. One would almost think he didn’t trust me.

  When we’d said goodbye the night before, he’d put both hands on my shoulders and given me his most serious look. “You only have to follow him. Don’t engage. Don’t do anything risky. Just follow and see where he leads you.”

  “I know. We have to report anything to the king, and he will decide what to do,” I parroted.

  His coal-black eyes searched my face. “You say that almost as if you’re a reasonable person—and yet I know you.” His eyes softened as one hand lifted. His knuckles grazed across my cheek in a gentle caress. “Not as well as I would like, of course.”

  I stepped back from the intensity of his gaze, shrugging off his hands. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with this Raven. I preferred the mocking one who was never serious. “I can follow orders.”

  “Really? Just as well as your friend Allegra, I’m sure.”

  I shrugged. “Well, things turned out all right for her, didn’t they?”

  He stepped closer again, crowding me up against the bike. We were outside The Drunken Irishman, where he’d told me to drop him. I had no idea where he lived or whether he even had a home in the mortal world. Heavy rock blared from the open door. Randall mustn’t be working tonight—that wasn’t his style at all.

  “She wasn’t taking on the Night Vipers though, was she?” Raven pointed out. “Just don’t do anything stupid. Please, Sage.”

  I put my hands against his silk-clad chest and shoved. “You’re a fine one to talk. You’re the king of stupid decisions and reckless behaviour.”

  He smiled lazily. “Exactly, and I don’t want anyone else usurping my position. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I promise.”

  He caught my hands in his, checking them both ostentatiously. “Just making sure you didn’t have your fingers crossed when you said that.”

  Then he’d pressed a kiss into one palm and walked away, leaving me staring after him.

  Now, I eyed my reflection in the bathroom mirror at Circular Quay Station, wondering what to make of that kiss. A joke? A bit of light-hearted fun? Or something more?

  My own confused brown eyes stared back at me. Raven’s moods were as changeable as the wind. How was anyone supposed to keep up with them? I gave a mental shrug. Time to think about that later. Right now, it was ten minutes to nine, and it was time to turn into the Amazing Invisible Woman.

  I pulled the light-weaver and a box of matches out of my backpack, biting my lip. Should I be holding the candle when I lit it? How soon would the invisibility take effect? Somehow, something that had seemed perfectly cut and dried around Yriell’s kitchen table was no longer so simple. I should have asked more questions—but then, would Yriell have answered? Did she even know?

  There was only one other woman in the bathroom with me, which was some kind of miracle, as Circular Quay was a busy station. It was snuggled up to the ferry wharves, as well as being right in the heart of tourist central. The great steel arch of the Harbour Bridge reared out of the night on one side, and the winged sails of the Opera House on the other. There was always a mass of people coming and going, whatever the time of day or night.

  I put my backpack back on and checked that my pistol was still settled comfortably in my shoulder holster, hidden under my jacket. Raven would freak if he knew I’d brought it. Lucky I’d be invisible, then. Its weight against my body just made me feel more comfortable, and he’d never have to
know. Unless, of course, he went in for a kiss this time when I met up with him later. Best not to think about that possibility.

  The light-weaver sat on the plain white sink, and I opened the matchbox with hands that trembled ever so slightly. From excitement, of course. At least, it was better to believe that. I could hear the other woman ripping toilet paper out of the dispenser in her cubicle, so it would be best to get this over quickly, while I still had the space to myself. Witnesses were the last thing I needed. I could just imagine how quickly the assassin would ditch this assignation if people started screaming about magically disappearing women.

  The tiny flame fizzed and trembled on the end of the match as I picked up the light-weaver. Holding my breath, I shoved the match into the glass bowl. A moment later, the wick flared into life.

  Shit. I could still see the candle. And myself. The match burnt out, and I dropped it into the sink. Behind me, the toilet flushed, and I looked up.

  And nearly dropped the light-weaver.

  There was nothing in the mirror. No reflection. Well, there was a reflection—of the dryers on the wall behind me—but not of the nervous brown-eyed girl who’d gazed back at me a moment before. I had ceased to exist.

  I let out a shaky breath. Well, that was handy. I could still see myself, still see the all-important candle—but no one else could. At least, I assumed so. I waited a moment for the woman to emerge from her cubicle. She walked straight past me to the basins and washed her hands, then inspected her teeth, completely unaware that I was standing within arm’s reach. In fact, I had to take a quick step out of the way when she turned towards the dryers.

  I let her open the door, then followed her out into the night. Here, I had to keep my wits about me. It proved more difficult than I’d expected to move through the crowds without bumping anyone, since no one gave me any space. Plus, I had to keep one eye on the candle at all times, terrified that it would suddenly blow out and leave me exposed. I wouldn’t like to try this in peak hour.

  Raven was standing at the water’s edge, not far from a busker perched on a box pretending to be the Statue of Liberty. I eyed the busker’s fake torch enviously—at least he didn’t have to worry about it going out.