“I’m very scared,” William told her. “Are playing cards a real nuisance in your part of the Edge?”
She snickered.
“Shooting cards is dumb,” he told her. “What is he, five? Or is he doing it to get women?”
Cerise waved her hands. “Never mind. You have two choices: you can either stay here and let them hunt you down while you look for your doohickey, or you can come with me to my house and wait until this blows over. We can probably smuggle you out once this mess dies down.”
He wanted to jump up and down and pump his fist. “To your house? In the swamps?”
“Yes.”
Play it cool, play it cool. “Hmm.”
Cerise glared at him, her dark eyes bright. “What do you mean ‘hmm’? You think I invite just anybody to our family home? If you’d rather be dead because you decided to play the hero and save me, you’re welcome to it.”
“What about your family? Won’t they mind?”
“Until we get my parents back, I’m in charge of my family,” she said.
The road broke through the trees, and they entered a small town. Wooden buildings, some on stilts, some on stone foundations, formed narrow streets. Somewhere to the left a dog bayed. The air smelled of food and people.
“Decide, Lord Bill. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” he said.
“We might get killed along the way,” she said.
“Nice of you to mention it.”
“My pleasure.” She pointed left. “Come on. Zeke’s place is over there. We have to go that way anyway, and the more people see us together now, the better. It will reinforce the idea that you’re working for me. And we can get rid of that awful thing.”
He won. He won, he won, he won. He could see the method in Declan’s madness now. Playing a hero had its advantages.
“I happen to think the fish head is an impressive specimen,” William told her.
“It stinks.”
“You wore a jacket full of rancid spaghetti for three days.”
“It was a disguise! Nobody pays attention to homeless people in the Broken.”
“Why were you in the Broken?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
She stuck her chin in the air and strode down the street. He snuck a glance at her ass—it was a remarkable ass—and followed her.
EIGHT
ZEKE Wallace’s shop occupied a large wooden structure that in the Broken would’ve been a barn. In the Edge, it must’ve passed for a respectable storefront, William decided, since it had a giant gator head above the door and a sign that said ZEKE’S LEATHERS under it.
William swung the door open and remembered to hold it for Cerise. The inside of the store was cool and dim. A long counter sliced the floor in half, offering a variety of knives, gator leathers, belts, and assorted junk. A man sat behind the counter next to a large crossbow.
William glanced at him, evaluating. In his early forties, lean, probably still fast. Skin like a walnut—weathertanned and lined. Hair, once black, now neither here nor there, worn on the longer side. Hooded dark eyes.
Their stares met. “What can I do you for?” the man asked.
“Looking for Zeke,” William said.
“I’m Zeke. What are you and your lady looking for?”
Cerise turned to him. “Hi, Zeke.”
Zeke flinched.
It lasted half a second, a mere flicker across the man’s face, but William caught it: eyebrows raised, eyes wide, lips stretched back. That was the one human expression he was very familiar with—fear. Zeke Wallace was afraid of Cerise.
The man recovered fast, in the same breath. “Hello, Ms. Mar. And how are you this fine evening?”
“Good, thank you.” She wandered down the counter looking at the knickknacks.
William raised the fish head. “I need this stuffed.”
Zeke looked at the head. “That’s a Gospo Adir eel.”
Cerise grimaced. “Yes, and he’s very proud of killing it.”
“The Sect won’t like it,” Zeke said.
“Can you do it or not?” William let some growl into his voice.
Zeke frowned. “Fish mount is a tricky thing. You have to scrape the meat out from the cheeks and skull and then soak the thing in alcohol to get the rest of the meat to harden. I don’t do them, but my nephew, Cole, has done some on occasion.”
“If it’s a question of money, I have it.” William pulled one of the Mirror’s coins from his pocket and tossed it to Zeke. It looked just like a normal coin, except for the engraving of the Adrianglian lion. The lion on the real coins had three claws, not four.
Zeke snapped the coin out of the air and looked at it. “Right. Well, you know what they say—money fixes everything. Like I mentioned, fish mounts are tricky, and there’s a couple of ways to do them. I’ve got some samples in the back. If you pick out what you want, we can talk price.”
He headed to a small door. William followed. They went into the back room and Zeke shut the door.
“I expected you yesterday,” he whispered.
“We ran into some sharks,” William said.
Zeke grimaced. “Figured it had to be something like that. That’s Cerise Mar out there. I about broke my head trying to think up a way to get you close to the Mars, and you walk into my store side by side with her like you’re bosom buddies.”
William sat on the edge of a table. “What’s the story with her family?”
“They’re swampers—native Edgers. A big family, very old, land rich, money poor. They’ve got themselves a family house out in the swamp. People call them Rats behind their back, because there’s so damn many of them and they’re poor and mean. The Mars aren’t afraid of blood or lock-up, and they hold a grudge like it was their family treasure.”
Zeke glanced at the main floor through a peephole in the door. “The Mars are feuding with their neighbors, the Sheeriles. The Sheerile family isn’t that big—mother and three sons, but they’ve got money and use a lot of hired muscle. The old woman runs the whole thing, jerks her sons around like puppets on a string. Rumor has it, Gustave Mar and his wife, Gen, disappeared a few days ago and the Sheeriles were involved. That’s a hard trick to pull off. Both the Mars and the Sheeriles are Legion families.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they have old magic,” Zeke said. “The families take root from the ancient Legion marooned centuries ago in the swamps. The Sheeriles would’ve needed help to take Gustave alive. Lagar Sheerile is very good with his blade, but Gustave is one mean sonovabitch. His daughter is of the same stock—if you get in trouble with her, don’t count on any mercy. A guy on the Sheeriles’ payroll says the Hand was involved in the whole thing.” Zeke frowned. “She’s getting impatient.”
Things were clearer but not by much. “Anything else?”
“That’s all I’ve got. If I need to reach you, where will you be?”
“In her house.”
Zeke’s eyebrows crept up. “You got invited to the Rathole? You must be a miracle worker.”
William hid a smile. Sure, he was.
Zeke pulled the door open. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
“It’s all yours,” William growled.
Cerise looked up from the counter. “Are you done?”
“Yes.” William nodded.
“Zeke, can we use your back door?”
“Sure thing,” Zeke said.
A moment later they were outside, and William inhaled the scents of the swamp town swirling around him.
“Took you for everything you had?” Cerise’s eyes laughed at him.
“I held my own.”
“Sure you did.” The back of the shop faced the Mire, and Cerise headed straight for it. “Our ride is this way.”
“We have a ride?”
“My cousin,” she said. “Come on, Lord Bill. We’ve kept him waiting long enough already.”
“GENEVIEVE …”
The soft i
nsistent voice reached through the fog clouding her mind and tugged on her, demanding attention.
“Genevieve …”
Slowly Gen opened her eyes to the blurry world wrapped in a shroud of light too bright for her dilated pupils. The pain came slowly, from some dark well within her. It built on itself, growing dense and heavy. Hot claws ripped into her insides, and the world reeled and shuddered. A face blocked her view. It seemed ridiculously large, bigger than her, bigger than the room, darker than light.
“Can you hear me, Gen?”
“Yes,” she whispered through the tortured tempo of her breathing. She knew this voice. She knew it very well.
“Your daughter, Cerise, went to the Broken and came back. Why would she do that? Tell me.” A hand stroked her hair, and the voice came again, gentle, friendly, caring. “I know you’re tired. Tell me why Cerise went to the Broken, and I’ll let you rest. Come on, darling.”
Her dry cracked lips moved, shaping the words. “Go to hell, Spider.”
The pain swelled larger and suddenly burst like a fiery explosion. Her ears filled with the ringing of countless bells. The fire slid down into her chest and lower to scald her legs. It scorched the skin, melted the muscle, and sank its teeth into the bone. Instinctively she tried to curl into a ball, like a newborn, but couldn’t. The world spun in chaos, faster and faster with each rise of her chest, as if fueled by her breathing. Gen Mar retched and sank into oblivion.
CERISE strode down the twisted path, listening to the chorus of Edge cicadas seesawing in the underbrush. Night had claimed the Mire. It came on padded feet, soft and cautious, like a swamp cat, with its ears raised and its eyes opened wide. The reds and yellows of the sky burned down to deep indigo and purple. To the left the lazy, wide expanse of Deadman River stretched into the gloom. As the cooling air drained warmth from its calm current, the last of the nightweaver dragonflies streaked to the water, prickling the surface to snag water fleas in their chitinous claws.
She loved the night. The world seemed bigger somehow, the sky vast and endless, the soft darkness full of possibilities and excitement. Yeah. Right now excitement was the last thing they needed. Jogging down the path in hopes of watching Lord Bill trip on a stray root was as exciting as she wanted it to get. So far he hadn’t stumbled once. It was like the man could see in the dark.
He went through Kent and his thugs like a sharp knife through a ripe pear. Didn’t even break a sweat. She’d never seen anything like it. Kaldar once took her to an action movie in the Broken and she’d laughed the whole time at the ridiculous punches and kicks she could see a mile away, but she had to admit, the fights did look pretty. William’s fight didn’t look pretty. It was terrifying. He moved on liquid joints, so fast and sure, she just stood there and watched him until he was done.
She wished she could’ve watched again, in slow motion this time. He could’ve killed them all with his bare hands. He looked like he might have enjoyed it, too. And after all of that, he trotted over with a “Wasn’t I cool?” look on his face and tried to make her laugh. I left you one. Heh. He wasn’t even winded.
She glanced at the sky for a second. It spread above her, vast and cold. Why now? she asked in her head. Why couldn’t I have met him a month ago, when I could flirt, and laugh, and didn’t have to worry about sending the family to the slaughter?
She looked at him. Lord Bill trotted down the road, soundless, like a night shadow. She couldn’t hear his steps, and she’d spent a lifetime listening for odd noises in the swamp.
If he is that good with his hands, I wonder how he is with his blade.
She could beat him. Of course, she could beat him. But it would be interesting to see what he could do up close.
She should’ve left him in Sicktree. That would’ve been the smart thing to do. But she never claimed to be smart. He knew the Hand and was willing to fight it, and that was good enough for now. She would sort out her own feelings later. When they were safely inside the Rathole, and she was clean and had a plate of food and a mug of hot tea.
It took all of her will not to laugh when he’d refused to give her money up front for guiding him to Zeke. It was such an Edger thing to do. He still hadn’t paid her either. She killed a snicker. She bet Zeke took all of his money and Lord Bill was too proud to back out of the deal.
William stopped. One moment he strode next to her down the narrow path between the cypresses and the next he froze, caught in mid-step. His hand went to his blade.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.” He stared at the old cypress up ahead.
Heh. He had found Urow. Cerise breathed a sigh of relief. She’d figured Urow was all right when she saw Lagar’s men on the road. If they’d known where he was, either the lot of them or her cousin would be dead by now.
“Come out,” she called. “He sees you.”
A huge gray shade peeled itself from the cypress. Urow stepped onto the path. He wore blue jeans, no shirt, and no shoes. As if on cue, the moon rolled out from behind a ragged cloud. Silvery light bathed Urow’s gray skin. He stood five feet tall and seemed nearly that wide across his shoulders. Huge slabs of muscle lined his massive chest and biceps. His left arm was human. His right was at least six inches longer, with thicker longer digits. Black claws tipped his fingers and toes.
William stared. She didn’t blame him. Urow would give anyone pause, especially in the dark. His looks won him no friends, but nobody was in a hurry to become his enemy either.
Cerise walked over to him and gave him a hug. “How are you?”
Urow hugged her back, patted her gently. “What took so long?” His voice sounded like it came through a gravel grinder.
“We had a date with the sharks.”
Urow glanced at William. “Who’s your friend?”
“His name is William. He’s from the Weird. I found him in the swamp and he followed me home.”
Urow’s black eyes took William’s measure. “Did you feed him?”
“Yes.”
“There’s your mistake. That will do it every time.”
The blueblood hadn’t moved.
“This my cousin Urow,” she told him. “We keep trying to get him to work less on strong and more on tall, but he doesn’t listen.”
Urow tossed back the mane of coarse black hair and grinned, showing a mouthful of serrated teeth. William’s face showed nothing. He simply waited, his attention focused on Urow.
Urow squared his shoulders, flexing. Just what she needed. Two knuckleheads in a tough man contest. She had to nip it in the bud. Urow outweighed William by at least two hundred pounds—her cousin weighed four hundred and then some, none of it fat, but Urow got along on brute strength and a loud roar, while William threw Lagar’s crew around and made it seem effortless, like he was playing. Like he hurt people for fun.
“Stop trying to pick a fight with the blueblood.” She patted Urow’s arm. “He’s my guest, and besides, he isn’t the jumpy type.”
She turned to where Urow’s boat waited, tied to the cypress knees. He’d brought the smaller of his cargo boats, the smallest size that could be pulled by a rolpie without being tipped over. They’d go fast, and after the cramped canoe, extra room felt like a luxury.
“Is the blueblood coming with us?” Urow asked.
“He is.”
“To the house?”
“Yes.”
He chewed that over. “Are you sure?”
She let a note of steel slip into her voice. “Yes, I’m sure.”
A rolpie popped out of the water. Cerise leaned over and patted the brindled head.
Urow frowned. “It might be a mistake. We don’t know him.”
Cerise turned and looked at him, copying her father’s stare as best she could. It must’ve worked, because Urow clamped his mouth shut.
“If you have an issue with the way I make my decisions, you can take it up with my father, when he’s back. Until then, I run the family and what I say goes. Now will
the two of you get into the boat, please, before I take off and leave you standing on the shore?”
* * *
THE boat sped across the brown water, sending shallow waves to lap at the nearest shore. William stood against the rope rail, resting on it but not really leaning. At the stern, Cerise sank to the bottom of the boat, leaned over, and skimmed the water with her fingertips. Her face seemed lighter, as if she had been carrying a heavy pack and had finally dropped it. He decided not to tell her how close he’d come to shooting her cousin in the throat.
Urow, whatever the hell he was, sat at the bow, guiding the Nessie wannabe with his reins and sulking. He smelled odd. William wrinkled his nose. Not a changeling, definitely, but not all human either. Something strange. If William had been wearing fur, the scent alone would have made his hackles rise.
“Any news of my parents?” Cerise asked.
“Nope.” Urow grimaced. “A woman was killed near Dillardsville. She had claws between her knuckles. Bob Vey said she shot a web at them. It hardened on their skin and ate away half of his nose. He looks like a Gospo Adir skull now.”
“Serves him right,” Cerise murmured. “Bob is a scum-bag of the first order. Last year he beat Louise Dalton bloody because she wouldn’t spread her legs for him.”
Urow nodded, shaking his black hair. “That’s what I said. I bet Louise is laughing now.”
A long narrow island loomed ahead, on the left. In the bright light of the moon, the cypresses and slash pines crowding the shore stood out, etched against the river.
“What are you?” William asked.
Urow glanced at Cerise. “He doesn’t mince words, does he?”
She laughed. “What are you talking about? Subtle is his middle name.”
“I’m half-Mar, half-thoas,” Urow said.
“What’s a thoas?”
“The moon people,” Cerise said.
“The swamp elders,” Urow said. “The mud crawlers.”
“They are an odd race.” Cerise slumped against the short rope rail. “Some think they may have been human at some point, but they look different now. We don’t know if they came from the Weird or from the Broken. They live deep in the swamp and don’t like people much. Something about the full moon mesmerizes them. That’s about the only way to see one—deep in the swamp, staring at the full moon with glowing eyes.”
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