The Treasure Keeper

She'd decided to skip her daily routine at the Palais Royal. She'd return to her original plan, the one she'd been following before she'd caught that single phrase about the sanf. She'd consumed enough coffee to last her a lifetime, anyway.

Three feet from the rounded-glass window the shadow turned to follow her, still not speaking. Not leaving. But it was him, no doubt. She recognized that stance, relaxed and tall and proud. The span of his shoulders, the curl of his hair.

A man in a teal surtout and scuffed boots at the ticketing desk was quarreling with the clerk, flourishing a sheaf of papers and speaking with his hands in that way Zoe had noticed was particular to the French: wide, emphatic gestures that managed to be both elegant and slightly dangerous for anyone standing too near. She was inside the office now, out of the sun but too far from the fire crackling in the hearth on the other side of the room to be warmed. The chairs, the walls, the very floor: Everything stank of people and hay and stale garlic.

An enormous framed map on the wall showed the maze of Paris, circles and circles of streets with black lane spokes fanning out in every direction. It was covered in glass, smeared with fingerprints. Two small girls and an older boy stood beneath it, sharing a sweetmeat with guilty glances.

The shadow emerged like a slick from the eastern corner, even more of him than the window had revealed.

After one quick glance Zoe turned and faced ahead. She was next in the queue. Finally next.

'Yes, which province?' intoned the agent, without glancing at her. He was busy stamping the sheaf of papers the man had given him, marking whatever it was with bright red ink, one page after another after another.

'I beg your pardon. I'm here to inquire about a passenger that might have been through a few months past.'

The clerk snorted a laugh, still without glancing up. He was middle-aged and potbellied, and his wig badly needed to be floured.

'We are the largest yard in the city, Madame. We have many passengers.'

'Mademoiselle,' Zoe corrected, and smiled when his eyes flicked to hers.

'Mademoiselle,' he repeated, and set down his stamp. A frown line made a vertical crease between his eyebrows; his fingers were ink-stained, set lightly upon the book of tickets beneath his hands. 'We have many passengers,' he said again, with a shade more courtesy. 'I'm afraid there is no way to discover who has come and gone.'

'This man would have hired a coachman from you. He was English, and had a private carriage.'

The clerk shook his head and spread his hands, his mouth pursed. 'It is impossible, mademoiselle. There are record books, of course, but we cannot allow the public—'

'Oh, but I'm not the public,' she said, lowering her voice but still smiling. 'He's my brother. It's a family matter, you see. Please, monsieur. I'm . desperate to find him.'

At the edge of her vision she saw the shadow shift along the frame, sliding closer.

'I'm sorry.' And the clerk truly did look sorry, the vertical frown deepening, color stealing in a hot flush up his neck. His fingers did a fretful tap across the ticket book. 'It cannot be done.'

'You don't have it,' said the shadow in blunt English. 'Give it up. It's not your Gift.'

The varied skills of the drdkon threaded through the tapestry of their bloodlines like brightly woven strands of silver and gold, stronger in some families, weaker in others. Most of the menfolk of the shire could still Turn, less than a handful of the women. But everyone heard the music of the stones and stars. Everyone knew how to hunt with talons or simply guns; how to lope through the forests unseen; how to taste the flavors of the wind; to feel the coming rain humid along their skin, or the bright full moon rising in their blood. Barring Zoe's own strange talents, it wasn't usually difficult to predict which child would grow to inherit the best of their ways; their lineage was, after all, strictly controlled. But one of the few Gifts that eluded prediction, time after time, was that of Persuasion. The ability to direct the Others to a dragon's will merely by using her voice.

And Rhys was right. It wasn't her Gift.

Damn it.

'Please, mademoiselle. I must—I must help the next customer. My most profound apologies.'

'Of course. If only there was someone else I could speak to. Someone perhaps to show me the books .'

Like a trained dog responding to a cue, the man glanced swiftly over his shoulder, to a half-cracked door revealing a rectangle of wainscoting and pale blue wallpaper. The plaque on the door was speckled brass. It was etched in scrolled lettering:M. Racine.

'It cannot be done,' the clerk said once more.

Zoe bowed her head in acquiescence, moving meekly aside. The woman in the black bonnet pressing close behind her huffed audibly and stepped up to the desk. The girl dragged behind watched Zoe with solemn chocolate eyes.

'A noble effort,' said the shadow. 'Well played. Now go home.'

She winked at the girl and walked away, easing around the line of impatient travelers, back into the brilliance of the day. She paused to take a breath of non garlic air, and a bay being led by a groom close by shied away with a squeal of white frost, hauling the man with him through the mud.

Time to go. Yet once back at the street Zoe did not turn left, the way to Tuileries. She went right instead, very quickly, past the tavern that had a spill of journeymen lounging menacingly upon its steps. Past the cigar shop with the broken bell over its door, leaking the bouquet of dried tobacco from the chinks in the jamb. Past the china dealer, and the stay maker, until she found just what she was looking for.

The next storefront was empty; she'd taken good note of that on her way to the coach yard. From the peeling paint on the sign she guessed it had once been the establishment of a tailor, but the windows now were covered in soot, and the few shelves that she could see inside had been cleared. It had the advantage, moreover, of a back door in the alley just around the corner and a lock that had corroded into flakes. She could smell the rust of it, even from here.

It took only a quick glance around and a squeeze of the latch for the door to give way. And she was safely inside before the journeyman who had ambled up to follow her could discover where she'd gone.

Dust coated everything. The light from the windows in the front room was positively brown; combined with the cool damp air it gave her the sensation of stepping into a cave. A very musty cave.

She crossed to a table pushed askew against the back wall and lifted her arms to remove her pins, and then her hat. When she peered aside to make sure the windows were truly out of the line of sight, her right shoe crunched against glass.

'This isn't home,' said a voice nearby, very dry.

Zoe bent down to examine the glass more closely. A shattered mirror. Of course. And Rhys, the smoky darkness that shimmered from piece to piece.

'It isn't,' she agreed, stepping away, beginning to pull at her gloves.

'Forgive me, I can't really tell,' he said. 'But isn't it a bit brisk for disrobing?'

She paused and arched a brow at the largest shard. 'Not that you're complaining, my lord?'

'Not in the least. But Zoe . What are you doing?'

'Kindly don't look.'

'What?'

'Don't. Look.'

'Are you disrobing?' The shadow seemed to grow darker, thicker, agitated across the broken glass.

'I am. Fine, then. Go ahead and look. It hardly matters anyway.

She wore a chemise dress of long-sleeved lavender merino, stylish and warm and relatively simple. No hoops, no bustle to hinder her, only a tube of fitted cloth and a wide gray satin sash that tied beneath her breasts. It was dreadfully daring, but for all its modish fashion, she'd purchased it for only one reason, that it was easy to slip on and off.

She glanced down at the pieces of mirror, running her fingers along the sash.

'Are you watching?'

'Oh, yes,' he said, low.

'Excellent.' And she let her Gift loose, every inch of her becoming transparent.

The shadow did not move. Nor did he speak; perhaps she'd finally shaken him speechless. But she could see