hoping for a treat.
The exterior wall rose only a couple feet taller than the interior corridors, and Amaranthe pulled herself over it without trouble. With his long, gangly limbs, Books made it look difficult. She decided to leave him out of tasks that might require athletic prowess in the future. He was definitely not a field man.
“What are the odds of locating an unlocked door before your chum’s goons find us?” Books asked.
“I don’t know, but I need to talk to her before we try to escape.”
“That didn’t go well last time.”
“She thinks I’m collaborating with Hollowcrest to murder people,” Amaranthe said.
“And does her opinion of you ultimately matter?”
Amaranthe climbed the stairs to the main walkway. “She has a lot of connections in the city. She knows where our hideout is, as evinced by the delivery of the note. If she wants to give us trouble, she could sabotage our cause, maybe end it altogether.”
“You’re not going to emulate Sicarius, are you?”
“Assassinate her?” Amaranthe shuddered. “No.”
From the walkway, she squinted up at Mitsy’s office. Darkness behind the window obscured all interior details. She could not tell if anyone had observed the escape.
“You don’t need to come with me,” she said.
“Someone has to trail after you and pull you up to safety when needed.”
Amaranthe gave him a bemused smile. “Thank you.”
The door behind the bettors’ cage was not locked. Amaranthe paused with her hand on the knob. The last time she entered, Ragos had let her through. She had only known him for a few minutes, but he had seemed a decent fellow. Nice smile. Had the beast killed him or had it been Hollowcrest’s medical zealots from the dungeon? And why did Mitsy think they came from the same source? Amaranthe felt certain Hollowcrest was a traditionalist, not someone who would flirt with the unnatural, and Akstyr believed that creature of magical origins. She shook her head. Only one person could answer her questions.
She pushed the door open. Empty stairs rose to the catwalk. Amaranthe and Books climbed them and crossed to Mitsy’s office. Books leaned heavily on the railing, limping now that his blood had cooled. The rumbling of machinery thrummed through the empty building. Below, pieces of the maze glided about the corridors, making and breaking routes.
At the office door, Amaranthe pressed her ear to the cold metal. Though she heard nothing, her nose caught an earthy scent like decomposing leaves.
Books crinkled his nose. “What is it?”
“Caymay,” she said.
“Which is?”
Mildly surprised he had not explored the city’s drug offerings during his months of depression, she said, “A mood-altering mixture concocted by one of Stumps’s turn-of-the-century gangs. Taken orally, the substance is deadly, but you can burn it to inhale the fumes. It dulls pain, but it tends to leave one volatile.”
“As opposed to the paragon of serenity she was before?”
Again, the door was not locked. Amaranthe opened it slowly. No lamps burned in the office, and only ambient light from below filtered through the window. A haze blurred the air, and the earthy smell intensified.
Amaranthe lifted a hand to stay Books. “Stand watch in case any of the bouncers are still around.” She stepped inside and walked around a couple boxes but did not see anyone. “Mitsy?”
The clutter in the room had not changed, though two open bottles of wine on the desk had been added, both liberally sampled. In a bronze bowl, a stick of compressed caymay burned like incense.
“I’m not working for Hollowcrest,” Amaranthe said. “Yes, I lied to you last time, and I’m sorry. I didn’t think I could trust you. But we have a common enemy. We could work together to end the threat to your gang. Mitsy, are you in here?”
A rustle came from beneath the desk. Amaranthe tensed. Mitsy’s head rose over the edge, hair disheveled, eyes swollen.
“You killed him.” Mitsy hiccupped. “You.”
“No.” Amaranthe spread her arms to show she had no weapon. “Let’s talk. I’m not armed.”
“I am.”
Mitsy lifted a loaded pistol clear of the desk and leveled the weapon at Amaranthe. Mitsy’s finger flexed on the trigger.
Amaranthe dropped in anticipation. The pistol fired. The ball zipped over her head and pierced the window with a loud crack, leaving a web of splintered glass. The pungent scent of black powder smoke mixed with the caymay.
With a knife in hand, Mitsy clambered over the desk and launched herself. Amaranthe slid to the side. More agile than expected, Mitsy threw out an arm and hooked Amaranthe around the neck. They went down in a tangle.
Amaranthe slammed an elbow into Mitsy’s ribs and scrambled to her feet first. Once up, she hesitated. She didn’t want to kill Mitsy, just subdue and question her. But how could one reason with a drugged-up crime boss?
Her hesitation gave Mitsy time to find her feet. She crouched and charged, knife leading. Amaranthe should have evaded the attack easily, but her heel caught on something. She landed on her back on a pile of folders and papers. Stacks of boxes loomed, blocking escape routes. The knife flashed.
“Look out!” Books yelled.
Mitsy raised her arm over her head. Amaranthe kicked her in the stomach. At the same time, Books rammed into Mitsy’s back. His weight sent her tumbling over Amaranthe’s head. Folders rained down from the pile.
Amaranthe rolled to her feet and turned, fists up in anticipation of another attack.
Mitsy did not rise. Face down on the heap of clutter, she did not move at all. Blood pooled beneath her, soaking scattered papers.
“Mitsy?” Amaranthe asked, a sick feeling creeping into her belly.
She edged forward and turned Mitsy over. The knife protruded from her chest, and she was not breathing.
Books hissed. “I didn’t mean to…”
Amaranthe kneeled back, shaking her head slowly. “Not again,” she whispered.
First the enforcers, now a woman she had gone to school with. How many people were going to die on her quest to help the emperor? Maybe she was the wrong person for this mission. She rubbed her face and sighed. Though she had chosen the task for herself, she could not bring herself to walk away from it. It was her only chance for…
What, Amaranthe? What do you hope to gain from this? A pardon? A reward? Recognition? She stood up without answering her mind’s nagging questions. If her motivations were that selfish, she did not want to admit it, even to herself.
She stared at the body. I’m sorry, Mitsy. We were never friends, but I didn’t want this.
Amaranthe set her jaw. She still owed Mitsy a favor.
I’ll find the creature that killed Ragos, and I’ll get rid of it. I swear it.
Chapter 15
B efore dawn, on the icy dock outside of the cannery, Amaranthe tightened her boot laces. Despite chilled fingers, she took the time to ensure each loop was the same size and tails of identical length hung free from each knot. She wished Hollowcrest’s minions hadn’t taken her spiked leather training shoes-and everything else she owned.
She grabbed her mittens, stood, and jumped in surprise when Sicarius coalesced out of the darkness. No hint of pink brightened the sky over the distant mountains, so she could not see his face, but then it rarely expressed much anyway.
