Poison Tree

She nodded. “I promise.”

CHAPTER 5

THE ONYX HALL had once been a theater, though it had long ago been gutted and stripped down to a skeleton. The sca olding that had once supported lights and rigging almost eighty feet above the proscenium stage was now only ever occupied by one person.

Christian Denmark leaned against the back wall, comforted by the inky darkness that was never pierced by the dim lights that barely illuminated the main level.

He had been awake for three days straight, training with Pandora. His entire body ached, his head pounded, and his skin was still occasionally streaked with ashes of heat, cold, or simply searing pain. Entering into the deep trance required to resettle his energies was proving nearly impossible, but at least at this hour the Onyx Hall was quiet. Most Onyx jobs happened under cover of darkness, so members rarely faced the morning light.

He had thought that such trials would end after his initiation several months earlier, but

Pandora never stopped pushing. Was near immortality worth the price?

Most people disregarded their other senses as long as their eyes were working, but the leader of Onyx, named Kral, believed it was crucial for members to operate using at least ve senses—six, if they could manage it. The Hall was kept in darkness so thick that even a shapeshifter or witch could make little use of what light might become available. Therefore, Christian noticed immediately when the door opened, admitting a band of light.

A member would have stepped inside and closed the door, but in this case, the light remained long enough that Christian chose to investigate. He scrambled down the sca olding, memories as old as he was letting him know where each bar or beam was without any assistance from his eyes. He dropped the last twenty feet, absorbing the impact without damage, and crossed toward the still-open door.

There were two visitors. One hung back in the doorway; Christian kept his eyes averted from the morning sunlight streaming in around her and turned his attention to the other one, who had walked toward the assignment board.

Any member was welcome to view that board, but the way the other woman lingered in the doorway made it seem more likely that these two were not supposed to be here. He crept closer, sliding up the crossbow hanging at his back so he could balance it on his arm.

A shape shot past him in the darkness, barking frantically. The red Labrador retriever wasn’t much of a guard, since he would sooner lick than bite, but Christian smiled nonetheless as the woman at the board stiffened and turned toward the dog.

And laughed.

He froze in the darkness, unbelieving, as he watched her try to calm the exuberant dog, saying things like “Hi to you, too. Get down. No—” She gave up, and her tone sharpened as she gave the command, “Ringo, sit!”

Ringo sat, though his tail never stopped playing percussion on the oor: Thump, thump, thump! Christian’s heart felt like it was doing the same thing.

He didn’t stop to wonder, or think, or watch his back, or question, or even to take an instant to practice any of the self-control that was so crucial for his survival as both a member of Onyx and as a Triste. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Alysia’s waist to pull her forward, partly in a friendly greeting along the lines of a hug and partly because he needed to touch her to convince himself that she was real. The words that came out of his mouth—“Alysia, long time no see”—were ridiculously understated compared to his racing thoughts.

The controlled words and tone were a product of more years than he could count of being careful about what other people saw and heard from him. Hearing his own voice startled him back to reality. Alysia was here, but she wasn’t alone—and what was she doing here?

“And this is …?” he asked as Alysia pushed him away with a seemingly sad smile. The gure in the doorway still hadn’t stepped forward enough that he could see her. Did she know that, at this hour, the light pouring in around her made her featureless to anyone who wished to preserve any night vision?

“Christian,” Alysia said, her voice perfectly even, “this is Sarik, an associate of mine from

SingleEarth.”

SingleEarth! He had a million questions he wanted to ask.

“It’s nice to meet you,” the other woman said.

Despite the polite words, she did not step forward or o er to shake his hand. Clearly, she wasn’t a threat; she wasn’t even brave enough to enter the building. She didn’t matter.

“Why are you here?” he asked Alysia.

It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask. What he wanted to know was why she hadn’t been there for the past two years. The last time Christian had heard anything about Alysia, there had been a two-million-dollar price on her head. The only thing that kept him from demanding answers immediately was that he didn’t know what game Alysia was playing—

yet.“We’re here on SingleEarth business,” Alysia answered.

He tensed almost imperceptibly as she reached into a pack she was carrying, but the only weapons she retrieved were useless without a crossbow: three Onyx bolts.

“Do you recognize these?”

He did, instantly. He could even tell how old the restone was, and who had made it, which gave him all sorts of theories that only confused him more. “They’re ours,” he replied. “Pandora made the firestone.”

“How can you tell?” the other woman—what did she say her name was?—asked.

Stupid question. Firestone could only be made by Tristes, and any Triste could read the signature left on it.

“Why bring these to me?” he asked.

Alysia hesitated, which was when Christian realized how stupid he had been.

Alysia hadn’t come here looking for him. If anything, she would have picked this hour because she knew when the Hall was normally empty. She hadn’t wanted to see anyone—

or be seen herself.

Was this the rst time? Or had she been here dozens of times, even hundreds? Like him, she was a third- ranked member; she had access to private contracts that could be accepted and fulfilled in complete secrecy.

Alysia looked to her cohort, and the other woman cleared her throat as if nervous.

“As Alysia said, we’re here from SingleEarth,” she said. Her voice was smooth like a politician’s, with a meaninglessly friendly tone and a bland Midwestern accent. “Three of our people were attacked this morning with these weapons. Alysia recognized them and said that someone from here was probably responsible.”

Christian’s patience was running out fast, making him recall all the aches he still carried in his body. “Alysia is probably right,” he answered. “What’s your point?”

Her carefully controlled tone broke, long enough for her to snap, “Our people could have been kil ed, and—”

Genuinely surprised, he interrupted, “Whoever did this missed?”

“They didn’t miss,” she bit out, before taking a step back, swallowing tightly, and getting her voice under control. “Alysia understands the logistics more than I do, but she thinks the archer didn’t intend to kill.”

There were plenty of people in SingleEarth who might have had enemies from their previous lives—Alysia was a prime example—but Christian couldn’t imagine a contract going up to harass SingleEarth’s members without a kill intended. Alysia’s information was probably good, if she was telling the truth, but since Christian couldn’t imagine her in

SingleEarth, he had no idea whether she had any reason to lie.

“The shots were professional, easily third-rank,” Alysia said, “but I’ve never heard of a third-rank member of Bruja who would take a job where there’s no risk, no glory, not even a body left behind—nothing but panicked, unarmed SingleEarth members.”