Warcry ignored me and started jamming poles into the canvas.
I tried to decide whether to hang back and let him struggle or stop him from poking a bunch of holes in his tent. The first was less likely to start a fight, but ultimately, I couldn’t stand to see him tear up a decent piece of gear we’d just bought.
“Here.” I snatched a pole away from him and found the rivet its top spike went into.
Red Burning Hatred flames flickered down Warcry’s shoulders, and I caught sight of a clenched fist. I braced myself. Instead of punching me, though, he stepped back and let me work. I relaxed a little and started tying the stakes off, but didn’t drop Dead Reckoning.
“The bollix was she doing fighting Jianjiao pugs on that backwater?” he growled. “What do they have on her?”
I shrugged. “Maybe she just wanted an affiliation.”
“Nah, that ain’t her. She’s a devious bint, but she’s her own devious bint, ain’t she.” Warcry shook his head. “She wanted to get out from under everybody. Piss off away from Qaspar-7 so she wouldn’t have to answer to anyone. It was the whole reason she started fighting.”
With him being in a talkative mood, now seemed like as good a time as any to ask something I’d been wondering.
“Is she the reason you burnt down that orphanage?”
The sudden shift in Warcry’s attitude was jarring. He smirked up at the fading stars.
“Just ’coz she’s a Name-grabbing whore don’t mean we never had any fun together.”
First Day on the Job
BY THE TIME I FINALLY kicked my boots off and stepped into my tent, the little bit of sky you could see through the canopy was turning blue. The canvas floor felt cool through my socks, but you could already tell the day was going to be another scorcher. I brought my boots inside—I’d learned my lesson about leaving stuff unattended around gangsters—then I spread out my bedroll in the far corner of the tent, next to one of the mesh screens. Hopefully, if the breeze picked up, I’d get a little air.
Sushi swam over and nipped at the covers.
“Isn’t it too hot for that?” I asked her.
“Covers are comfy. Sushi’s tired. Grady holds them up for her.”
I lifted a corner for her to snuggle under. She curled up and let out a long sigh, like it’d been a rough day in her little fish world, and she was glad to finally get some shut-eye.
I could relate, but I didn’t lie down yet. I was covered in blood and sweat and gore, and I didn’t want to track all that into the bedroll.
I dug through my pocket until I found the reel ring, then ripped off two of the cleaning scripts. The first one I stuck to my clothes, then poured a little Miasma into the script to activate it. My plan was to do the clothes, then myself, but immediately, my entire body and everything I was wearing became clean.
I whistled. “That is a fantastic all-over clean.”
“Grady stops talking now,” Sushi said in an annoyed voice from the bed. “Sushi sleeps. Grady should sleep, too.”
It seemed like good advice, so I stuffed the spare script back into the reel and took it.
That night, I dreamed about Gramps reading to me, a book called Ol’ Buddy Boy from when my dad was a kid. Even though I’d gone to live with Gramps after Dad went to prison, and I was already old enough to read myself, I still liked to climb up in his easy chair and listen to his gravelly voice read about the cowboy who called his dog ol’ buddy, ol’ pal and buddy boy. I’d forgotten that was why Gramps started calling me buddy boy in the first place.
At the edges of the dream, I felt too hot to breathe and like I was wearing a Transferogate stuck on constant siphon. Sitting there listening to Gramps was simple and safe, but I knew I had to get out. I didn’t belong there anymore. Not after all the things I’d done.
As if I were swimming up from the bottom of a well wearing concrete shoes, I forced myself through the layers of dream and sleep until I woke up.
Bright daylight cast leafy shadows onto the canvas of my tent. The burning in my Dragon script tattoo was back down to its usual simmer, and the ache in my knife scars was just a dull throb.
“Grady’s awake!” Sushi’s mismatched brown and blue eyes appeared in front of mine.
I grunted and pushed the little fish out of my face so I could sit up. The blankets were soaked with sweat, and my hair was plastered to my forehead.
“I need you to stop with the Lost Mirror stuff for a little while, Sushi,” I said.
“Grady’s sad?”
“No.” My skull felt like a pressure cooker without a vent, like it was ready to blow. It was ten billion degrees inside the tent, and no air was coming through the screen. I had to get out of this oven.
My head spun as I stood up.
Sushi swam up in front of me. She rolled slightly to the right, cocking her whole body like a dog cocks its head.
“Grady’s mad?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” I snapped.
She backed up a little.
“Crap. Sorry.” I grabbed my head, trying to stop the spinning. “Just give me a couple days without the dreams, okay?”
A red so dark it was almost black filtered in at the edges of my vision. I heard Sushi replying, but her voice sounded muffled, like I was hearing it through earplugs.
By some miracle, I found my pants and hauled them on as I staggered outside.
Immediately, the haze cleared, and I felt like I could breathe again. It had to be at least twenty degrees cooler out there. I went to the creek, splashed a bunch of water
