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CHAPTER TWELVE

Fog swirled around Josey’s ankles as she dashed across the slick cobblestones. The night’s cold went right through her nightgown. She had to find help. But who would aid her? She didn’t even know where she was. Shabby buildings leaned over the street like drunken titans. Where were the streetlights? Impenetrable darkness swathed everything.

She went to the nearest door and found it locked tight. The windows were dark. She pounded on the thick timbers, but didn’t wait for an answer. The killer would be right behind her. She dared not glance over her shoulder. If she saw him, chasing behind her like the shadow of Death incarnate, the fear would paralyze her.

A faint clink of metal echoed in the fog somewhere ahead. Josey couldn’t identify the sound in the dark, but she was past caring. Anything was better than falling back into the clutches of her father’s murderer.

She ran toward the noise. Her breath came in short gasps. A nimbus of spectral light illuminated an intersection of three streets. At their nexus stood a man holding a lantern, the point of a pike glittering above his head.

“Who’s that?” he called out.

Tears sprang to Josey’s eyes as she made out the black coat of the night watchman’s uniform.

“Help me, please!” she cried.

The watchman raised a hand to his lips. A whistle’s shrill call cut through the gloom and fog. More watchmen appeared behind him. Josey staggered toward them. Leather-clad arms caught her as she swooned. Piercing eyes stabbed at her from behind steely faceplates.

“She ain’t no Gutters wench,” said one. “Think she’s the one we was told about?”

“What’s your name, girl?” asked another, rolling his r’s with a thick western accent.

Josey drew in a deep breath. Her heart bounced hard against the inside of her ribs. “I am Josephine…of the House Frenig. Please, help me.”

The westerner nodded. The stripes sewn onto his sleeve marked him as a higher rank than the others. “We’ve been looking for you, m’lady. Your disappearance has caused quite a stir.”

Josey allowed herself to nestle in his arms. She wanted to cry. It was over. She was safe. Then she remembered what the killer had done to the men in her father’s bedchamber.

“There’s a man after me!” she said. “He’s dangerous. He killed my father.”

“You’re safe now, m’lady. Can you walk?”

“Yes, I think so.”

She leaned on the watchman’s strong arm and let him escort her down the street. The lantern-holder led the way. She glanced over her shoulder, but there were only fleeing shadows. She let out a cleansing breath. He’s gone. He can’t get me now. But I’ll see him hanged, for Father’s sake.

Caim. That was his name, the name of a dead man. She tried to convince herself it was over as the watchmen fell in around her, but the memories of her trials buzzed inside her head like a swarm of cicadas.

* * *

There was no sign of the girl at the intersection of Winder and Silverpike Row.

A night fog had rolled in from the bay to blanket the cobblestones. Two shapes slouched in the alley across the way. He couldn’t tell if they were drunk or dead, but both were decidedly male and not his girl. He’d heard footsteps running in this direction, but the fog caused weird echoes, making noises difficult to pinpoint. He wished Kit would return with some good news. He was a blind man searching for a hare in a field of willowtails.

His foot burned where he’d been bitten. His toes squished with every step as his boot filled with blood. Was it envenomed? Probably not. A snake that big would pump out enough poison to kill a herd of warhorses. He tried not to think about it.

A glowing shape appeared from a nearby alley.

“Did you find her?” he asked.

Kit shook out her silver hair. “She’s not in Buckwald Den or Dyer’s Lane. I doubt she could have gotten farther than that before me.”

Caim shifted his weight to his good leg. The pain was moving up his calf.

“Is it bad?” Kit glanced down.

“Not bad enough to stop me. We have to get her back. We can’t have her wandering into the wrong hands.”

Kit rested her fists on her slim hips. “She’s probably already facedown in some alleyway. The ragpickers will find her body tomorrow. You need to forget about her and get back inside so I can take a look at that foot.”

Caim squinted down each street and tried to pierce the darkness for any clue that might lead him in the right direction. The events of the past twenty-four hours had ripped him from his comfortable life and sent him veering into unknown territory. He didn’t like the feelings of unease and doubt knocking around in his gut.

“Kit, what was that thing back at the apartment? Did it come from me? My gift…powers…whatever they are, they’ve been acting strange lately.”

Kit floated a few inches off the ground, her outline blurring with the fog. Her eyes turned dark and unfathomable, the way they did when she didn’t want to pursue a subject. She could be downright obstinate when she chose to be. He stared back until she finally relented.

“It’s called a queticoux,” she said. “And no, it didn’t come from you. At least, I don’t think so. They’re rare. I’d never actually seen one up close before. They live Beyond.”

“Beyond?”

“Beyond the barrier separating this world from the Shadowlands.”

Caim gripped his knives tighter. She was talking faerie realm nonsense again—ghouls and goblins, bogeymen who abducted children and left changelings in their place. Ridiculous. But you’ve seen the shadows yourself, haven’t you? He ground his teeth together. His thoughts were scattered in a hundred different directions tonight. Shadows. Mathias. Spoiled rich girls out alone in the dark. He had to focus.

“Okay. So how could such a thing cross over?”

“It couldn’t.” She twirled a finger through her hair. “Not on its own. It would need help to cross the Veil.”

He pretended to know what she was talking about. “You mean like sorcery?”

“I suppose.”

“How could a High Town lord’s daughter do that? She didn’t strike me as a witch. Hell, if she knew magic, why didn’t she use it to escape?”

Kit shrugged. At the same instant, a keening whistle cut through the night like a siren’s wail. It sounded like it came from Three Corners. Caim started running. Kit didn’t need to be told; she skittered ahead of him like a shiny pebble across a smooth, black pond. A filament of concern threaded its way into Caim’s chest, winding tighter around his insides with every painful stride as the whistle led him farther away from the Processional and High Town.

* * *

Josey shivered.

Her feet felt like blocks of ice on the freezing cobblestones. The four watchmen stood tall around her. Their hobnailed boots rang loud upon the street, a comforting sound in the late hours of the night. She was protected. Safe. Her father’s killer couldn’t touch her now. By morning she would back at home, wrapped in familiar surroundings. A new sense of courage settled over her. She had survived kidnapping at the hands of a vicious lunatic, navigated the treacherous streets of Low Town, and found succor. After she settled her father’s affairs, she was determined to put her life back in order. Perhaps she would obey his dying wish and leave Othir, go to Navarre or Highavon. Maybe even find a suitable husband. After this night’s events, the idea of remaining in this city had lost its allure.

Ensconced in her thoughts, Josey didn’t realize the direction they were taking until a muted roar caught her ears. It sounded like a forest of leaves rustling in a windstorm. The streets had become even more fog-clogged, the cobbles shrouded under a wispy mantle, but she could tell they were heading away from High Town, away from her home.

She spoke up. “Where are we going? I live on the Esquiline.”

The lead watchman removed his helmet. Tall and sturdy, he cut a fine figure in his uniform. He possessed a rugged face, but kind in its own way. His bright hazel eyes gleamed in the lantern light, and Josey found herself wishing he was noble born. With regret, she pushed her thoughts away from that direction. Any man she married would come from a proper family to suit her station.

“Orders, m’lady. We’re required to report to our station commander.”

He said this with natural aplomb, but tossed a wink to one of his comrades. Josey’s throat tightened painfully. Could it have been a twitch or a trick of the light? No, she had seen it. Something whispered in the back of her mind. Caim had said the soldiers at the manor had been after her, but she hadn’t believed him. How could she? Who would believe the words of an admitted killer over the honor of the Church’s duly appointed officers? Her father had been a great champion of the law. Yet as she walked among her guardians, she took notice of their silence. Shouldn’t they be trying to reassure her? Why hadn’t they asked for the identity of her kidnapper? They hadn’t even made a cursory search for Caim. Her stomach flipped in sickening loops.

Shouts rose and fell in the distance as they passed down an avenue of boarded-up storefronts. Noisome odors mingled with the fog. A stream of brown water trickled across their path, dammed at the center by a large lump. Josey put a hand to her mouth and swallowed as she made out the body of a dead dog, its fur matted and crawling with maggots. Pottery crashed on the street behind them. Throaty laughter cackled in the dark. The watchmen brandished their weapons as they hurried her along.

She clutched the leader’s arm. “I am not feeling well. Might we head to High Town at once?”

None of them answered. They turned onto a new street, and a gust of fresh salt air met Josey’s nose. She drew in a deep breath to clear the miasma of the streets from her lungs as cobblestones gave way to coarse wooden slats. A boardwalk wended between a row of long whitewashed buildings to her right and the black void of the open sea. The briny air sang with the slap of waves against worn pilings and stone quays. Tall masts of ships secured in their moorings swayed to the roll of the breakers, empty as beggars’ bowls.

Josey slowed as the watchmen started down the boardwalk. Their leader tightened his grip on her arm.

“Sir, unhand me!” she shouted aloud in the hope that some sympathetic ear might overhear.

The watchmen laughed, all chivalry dropped from their demeanors. Josey bit down on her tongue as the leader leered at her. How could she have imagined kindness in his brutish eyes? He dragged her along with alarming ease.

At first glance, the harbor was empty of people. Then, a point of yellow light appeared over the spit of an ancient wharf. As she was drawn closer, Josey made out a gang of men gathered under the light. Their coarse laughter echoed through the night air. Josey’s legs shook as she spied the symbol emblazoned on their tunic. She would have fallen if she wasn’t held up.

Every man wore the golden sunburst of the Sacred Brotherhood.

The lead watchman thrust Josey into the circle of light. Tears ran freely down her face as cruel gazes raked her body. Why was this happening to her? Wasn’t it enough that she had lost her father? Must she also be molested by these brigands? She knew what these men lusted after, and knew she was powerless to fight so many of them. She looked around, hoping to spot some passerby, someone who would hear her screams, but they were alone. Her stomach twisted into knots as she realized she should have listened to her father’s killer.

A tall man shouldered his way through the crowd. Josey sobbed as a familiar face appeared.

“Markus!”

She tried to go to him, but rough hands threw her down on the pier’s hard boards. Josey stared up at Markus, her lips parted in a silent appeal. Spots of blood showed on the bandage wrapped around his neck. One look into his eyes told her that she would find no succor with him. Suddenly, she was terrified for Anastasia.

Markus ignored her. “Where did you find her?” His voice was low and coarse, like grinding millstones.

“Three Corners.” The westerner grinned at Josey in a way that made her insides tremble. “She ran right into our arms.”

“Anyone follow you?”

“Nah. The streets were empty. What’ll we do with her?”

Markus pulled a sloshing green bottle from inside his coat and thrust it at the watchman. “Go take a walk and forget you saw her.”

“Wait!” Josey wailed, but the watchmen marched off without giving her a second glance.

Once they were gone from sight, Markus signaled to the others. “Get rid of her. No mistakes.”

Josey bit her lip. A scream fluttered in her throat, but her mouth refused to work. Her fingernails scrabbled across the wooden spars.

A broad-chested Brother with a shaggy red beard stepped forward. “Hell, we can’t waste a cunny like that! I’ll have a crack at that before we finish her off.”

A raucous chorus of chuckles greeted the pronouncement. Josey backed away as Red Beard reached for the ties to his baggy breeches. A wall of sturdy legs halted her retreat. She shut her eyes and prayed harder than she’d ever prayed before, for deliverance from this horrible night, for the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, even for death before she must succumb to this nightmare.

Markus produced a coil of rope and tossed it on the ground. “No messing around. Just kill her and get it done with. She’ll wash out with the tide.”

The men grumbled, especially Red Beard, but they grabbed Josey and set to binding her arms and legs. A rusty iron weight was produced and secured to her ankle. The men carried her down the short dock. One of her bearers took the opportunity to knead her buttocks. Josey’s sobs had grown to near convulsions, but the waves crashing against the pilings drowned out her mews. She tried to kick and only succeeded in making them laugh.

“Be quick about it,” Markus rasped. “And slit her throat before you dump her off the end.”

“Let me do it,” a skinny Brother said. His ropy lips turned up in a grin as he pulled a long dirk from his belt.

They put her down on the weather-worn boards, and someone yanked back her head. Josey lifted her eyes. Stars sparkled overhead, blurred by her tears. She panted in terror. This can’t be happening! But it was. She was going to die.

Josey braced herself for the touch of the steel. The waiting seemed to last for ages. Then, something warm spattered the side of her face. The hands holding her let go. Boots pounded on the pier. She lifted her bound hands to wipe away the wetness. Three Sacred Brothers sprawled on the slats, bleeding out their wretched lives. The rest watched the night with their swords out.

Caim!

She knew right away it was him. Her suspicion was proved correct when Red Beard fell at her feet with his throat sliced open. A sliver of bloody steel flashed in the dark and was gone, only to reappear on the other side of the melee to drink again.

Josey struggled with her bonds. If she could get free while they fought, she might be able to slip away in the confusion. Her gaze fell on the slim dagger sheathed on Red Beard’s belt. She scooted over to his corpse. Suppressing her revulsion, she caught hold of the leather-wrapped hilt and tugged the knife free, then began sawing at the thick rope that bound her wrists. Strand by strand the rope parted. Though the blade was sharp, her range of movement was limited and she had to hold the knife at an awkward angle. Josey sobbed with relief when the last piece gave way; she went to work on the loops binding her ankles.

The fighting continued around her and more men died. Caim was out there, killing to save her. For the second time, if he’d told the truth. Josey’s head spun. She ought to be terrified out of her mind as the man who had killed her father, or would have killed him, battled her present captors. And yet, she was calm. Something had changed within her. The darkness didn’t frighten her as before. She brushed the thoughts away. Caim was an admitted killer. Why would he care to keep her alive? He must know she would go straight to the authorities, the proper authorities, as soon as she was free. He had to have an ulterior motive, some secret he was keeping from her.

She almost cut her leg as the dagger slipped and sliced her nightgown. She concentrated on severing the rope’s last fibers. Once free, she scrambled to her feet. Her escape from the pier was blocked by the melee. From what she could see, only Markus and a handful of his men remained, but it would only take one to notice her and finish the job.

As Josey took tentative steps toward the edge of the combat, a shadow emerged from the dark. It swept past the swarm of men, evaded their attacks, and raced down the wharf on whisper-quiet steps. Hard gray eyes peered from the depths of a deep hood. Josey was relieved in a way she’d never thought she would be. Caim grabbed her around the waist as he ran by and snatched her off her feet.

“Wha—!”

He leapt.

For one marvelous moment they were airborne. The bay breeze swept up her hair in its cool fingers as she floated in the night sky. She clutched Caim about the shoulders, and let her fingers roam over the play of powerful muscles beneath his black shirt.

The steely twang of a bowstring broke the spell. Josey felt the impact as Caim jerked like a giant fist had punched him in the back. The force of the blow knocked their trajectory askew. Instead of a graceful landing, they hit the dark waters like two falling stones.

The impact knocked the breath from Josey’s lungs. She gasped, and icy seawater flooded her lungs as their combined weight pulled them under the surface. She struggled against Caim’s grip, but his arm remained locked around her waist.

Her limbs grew heavy; her thrashing slowed. She screamed out her last precious bubbles of air as the choking abyss closed around her.


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