Crater’s men didn’t think much of me if they’d sent one guy with a limp to track me down. Hopefully, they would continue to think little of me. Their mistake would sure make my life easier while I searched for the fae.
I stepped out into the narrow alley behind The Boot and blinked into the purplish light, adjusting my eyes to the contrasting shadows and glare. A silhouetted figure lumbered toward me, shoulders almost touching the containers stacked either side of him.
To my right, another figure swaggered forward, his knuckles dressed in steel.
Ah. Not so stupid. Limpy had been the decoy.
I reached inside my coat. “You guys sure you want to do this?” My whip uncoiled, spilling sparks around my boots. Magic tingled across the back of my hand and up my arm, urging me on. The men didn’t answer and kept on coming.
Time to get my hands dirty.
“I didn’t kill your boss.” I stepped forward, placing myself in the middle of the alley. The light from my whip sent my shadow dancing on the metallic walls. The guy on my left peeled his coat back and freed a pistol. His lips pulled back in a snarling smile.
“So who did?” Knuckles grumbled. “The tooth fairy?”
“Some kind of fairy,” I muttered. Nobody would joke about the tooth fairy had they met the terrifying origin of that myth.
I eased more magic into the whip. These guys were easily twice my weight and probably strong enough to punch me through a wall—if they could catch me.
I tightened my grip on the whip. “Here’s what’s about to happen. You surrender, and maybe I don’t put you down? How does that sound?”
“Sounds like you’ve taken too many hits to the head, Messenger.” Lefty snickered. While he taunted me, he lowered the pistol. “So why don’t you come along nicely with us, eh?” His lips parted, and his stubby tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips. “Maybe you come nicely and we don’t have to rough you up some?”
I chuckled dryly. “I hate to disappoint you.”
“The night’s young. We’re just getting started,” Knuckles said, picking up on Lefty’s lascivious glances.
They stopped within arm’s reach, one on either side of me, leaving nowhere left for me to go. Oh, what a fragile little messenger. How would I ever escape the mean and scary thugs?
I stomped on Lefty’s foot. He jerked forward, swinging wildly for me. I sidestepped. And Knuckles’s glowing fist hit his pal square in the face. Lefty grunted, and blood spurted from his nose. I kicked high, jabbing my heel into Knuckles’s gut. While he bowed over, I cracked my whip open and looped it around an iron strut braced across the alley above. Hauling myself out from between them, I planted both boots on the wall, kicked out, and freed the whip from the strut, landing on all fours. I sprang forward, away from Crater’s men.
Knuckles snarled something behind me, but I was already out of the alley and darting across the sinks’ ramshackle streets into a narrow, shadow-filled gullet. Electric heaters buzzed, slung like streetlamps outside of shanty homes.
None of the homeless cared who I was or why I was running. Few bothered to look up as I dashed past.
“Hey!” Knuckles’s shout echoed after me. I’d lose him in the sinks, as long as I kept switching back—
I slammed into a wall that hadn’t been there a blink before, and I would have bounced right off if the wall’s arms hadn’t clamped around me.
“Easy there, lady.”
Typical. Some guy wanted to be the hero? I shoved against the man’s chest and spotted the golden star of the law pinned to his coat. A marshal. Really? Of all the people I could have run into, it had to be a lawman.
Turning my head away, I checked behind me. Knuckles wasn’t there. The law had probably spooked him. Marshals were good for that, at least.
“Get your hands off me,” I snapped, probably too harshly.
His grip eased. I pushed out and quickly stepped around him. No need for a fuss. I’ll just be on my way.
What was a lawman doing in the sinks? They almost never ventured down here.
“Wait a second,” he drawled.
With my back to him as I picked up my pace, I discreetly recoiled my whip and tucked it inside my coat.
“Hey, girlie.”
What did he just call me?
“Stop!” he barked.
I stopped. Shutters on the nearby containers rattled closed. Yeah, go on, cowards. Hide from the lawman.
I heard his boots crunch on gravel, and then I saw that wall-like chest again. The marshal’s star winked. He wouldn’t drop this. I would have to look him in the eye and have a conversation. Hopefully, words would be enough. I’d already assassinated a terrorist today. I didn’t want to add a marshal to that list.
“The sinks are no place for a lady.”
I snorted. “Luckily, I’ve never been one.” I flicked my hair out of my eyes and looked up. By cyn, he was way too pretty to be anywhere near the sinks, let alone be wearing a marshal’s star. I’d seen tek-shifters pretty themselves up, and they’d still only been half as handsome as this marshal. Hair as black as onyx and green eyes that looked to be laughing even though his mouth held a firm, authoritative line. It wasn’t authentic. Nobody was that good-looking without enhancements.
“Do you need an escort?” he asked.
Was he for real? I raked my glare over his pretty-boyness. “Do you?” His long coat reached to his dark boots, keeping the sinks’ metallic dust off his clothes. His coat likely hid various weapons. Was he as quick of a draw as I was?
A spark of something ignited in his eyes. I wasn’t sure if I’d pissed him off or if he was secretly laughing. Poking him some more would yield interesting results, but every second I wasted was another second Crater’s men would use to outflank me.
He studied me, my face, my coat, taking his time, reading every inch. If he liked what he saw, his expression showed no sign of it. He stepped aside, graciously sweeping a hand out. “It seems I misjudged you.” His voice—smooth, and warm, and curiously arousing—could have melted steel. And didn’t he talk all proper-like. Mr. Marshal was well educated.
The sinks would eat him alive. Good riddance. I strode on by him, ignoring the tiny pang of regret that I likely wouldn’t get to admire that face again.
I’d managed a few steps when he raised his voice, asking, “Do you have a license for that whip?”
Oh, he’d spotted my discreet concealment. I walked on without missing a beat. Carrying any weapon in public required all manner of background checks. Checks I had neglected to take. “Do you have a license for all that pretty, Marshal? There must be a law against allowing that sexy out in public.”
He didn’t reply. My steps slowed. Don’t look. Don’t look. He wants you to look. Keep going. Leave right now.
Just one peek. It would be a crime not to.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Trash tumbled, and the spark of a shorted-out cable hissed beside a dumpster. But the alley was empty. Impossibly, the marshal had given me the slip. My steps faltered. He couldn’t have gone far. He’d been there just moments ago… I scanned the narrow alley but found no traces of him, or anyone.
It was probably for the best. If my luck held, that would be the last I ever saw of him.
Striding on, I put the encounter behind me. Whatever he was doing in the sinks, he had better get in and out quickly.
Would I just walk away and leave the pretty boy to get stabbed and left in a gutter?
My pace slowed.
I didn’t have time to babysit the suicidal pretty boy.
I checked my ocular map for Merry’s location code coordinates. The sender, Istvan’s zone, was a few quick tram rides away. I had some time to check that the marshal wasn’t about to get stabbed in the back. Shiny stars like his often turned up on the black market, usually tarnished with blood.
I stopped. Looked back. Still nothing.
He’d be fine.
I flicked my collar up and headed out of the sinks. The marshal was on his own.
Chapter 3