of people across the road drew my attention. The group was centered in front of the home I’d invaded a few short hours ago, mutterings rising and falling while they watched and waited...But for what? I’d expected the guard to report the incident, but why so much fuss? The circumstances might be unusual, disturbing even, but not worth the time of an investigation, especially when I was sure my victim couldn’t describe me. He hadn’t gotten a good look at me last night, and considerable time had passed since he’d been involved in my arrest.
The door to the guard’s home swung open and two Constabularies strode out into a semicircular area their comrades had cleared of civilians. The first was broad-chested and walked with an intimidating side-to-side motion, his shoulders leading. Before he raised his silvering head, I recognized him as Constable Marcus Farrier, the man who had led the inquest into Evangeline’s suicide. Experience told me he was businesslike and callous, having professed in the middle of the Fae-mily Home that he gave not a care for my friend’s fate.
The second Constabulary was Farrier’s much younger partner, Officer Tom Matlock. My breath hitched and I sank onto a storefront bench, watching him peruse the curious who had gathered round, afraid his gray eyes would find me. Despite my altered appearance, he would recognize me if I was foolish enough to give him the opportunity. Even though he had twice before refused to arrest me, I doubted I would be granted leniency this time, especially with Constable Farrier at his side. Besides, I feared if Tom even looked into my eyes, he’d know where I’d been finding comfort of late. And I didn’t think I could bear it if the affection and respect he held for me turned into disdain.
Though common sense urged me to flee, my gaze remained fixed on Tom. He had pristine posture and was taller than Farrier by a few inches. Both of them wore the scarlet uniforms of the Governor’s men, though Farrier’s insignia and the hat he clutched under his arm were significant of his higher rank. A breeze picked up, and Tom’s dark hair flitted over his forehead. An urge to reach out and touch it, enjoy its softness, filled me, calling forth the memory of the kiss we had shared, how warm his body had been, how he’d moaned against my lips, how his hands had skimmed my waist, and the tingling sensation his touch had generated inside me.
I could easily have gotten lost in my thoughts, but a snippet of conversation stole my attention. Two women were ambling away from the scene, freely speculating about what might have occurred.
“You’ve seen the old crone what lives there. I saw her crying with my own eyes, I did. Right like she had a heart!”
“Even an old crone is bound to grieve over a murdered son. Especially one what cared for her.”
I was on my feet in an instant. Rushing forward, I grabbed the arm of the woman closer to me without considering how she might react. She swiveled toward me, eyes wild, looking ready to shout or scream. I released her at once, and her posture relaxed, perhaps because I was young enough to be her daughter.
“Did you say someone was killed in that house?” I demanded, sounding a bit like an interrogator.
The woman whose arm I had clutched nodded, her lips compressing into a thin line. “Why d’you think all those Scarlets are out in force? They take care of their own, they do.”
“Seems someone broke into the house and done in the son,” her companion added. “Don’t know how, don’t know why, but on my word, they’ll confirm it all before the day’s out.”
Vertigo revisited me, and I swayed on my feet. The women glanced at each other, then helped me to the bench. Having fulfilled their charitable duty, they hurried on their way, wiping their hands on their skirts as though I might be diseased.
Forcing my breathing to slow and deepen, I tried to ward off panic with reason. The women had to be wrong. News was always distorted before facts were released, and rumors spread faster than weeds. I hadn’t caused the guard serious injury. I had scared him, yes, but he was alive and talking when I left.
But that was before I’d sought out a needle. I racked my brain, trying to remember the rest of the night. What if I’d reentered the house under the influence of Cysur Naravni? What if I had hurt the man during the time I couldn’t remember? I vehemently shook my head. No, the idea was preposterous. And yet, the alley in which I’d awoken was in the guard’s neighborhood.
Another terrible thought entered my head. I had spitefully left the guard tied. What if he had struggled to free himself and tipped over the chair? Could the sash have tightened enough to choke him? Had his mother returned too late to give him aid?
The bell tolled the half hour, and I again looked across the street. A group of Constabularies had just emerged from the house carrying a stretcher upon which was strapped a black-covered form the approximate shape and size of the guard I’d attacked. Remorse hit me like a lightning strike—there was no longer a chance the women were wrong about the man’s fate. A wave of trembling rolled through me, and I stared at my hands. Was there blood on them?
Unable to bear the sight of the guard’s corpse being hauled out of the home, I bolted.
THE PRIVATE COLLECTOR
When my side hurt so badly I could run no farther, I halted and put a hand to my face. It was wet with tears. I stepped into the shadow of a building, struggling to stop the flow. But the more I tried to suppress my emotions, the more they insisted on release. Mortified by my loss of control, I was seized with a desire to bang my head against the stone wall behind me, believing pain might jolt me out of my fit. I had never felt so wretched in my life.
What I needed was a friend. But it wasn’t Shea who came to mind, or even Tom. It was Fi. Whatever her limited means, I could count on her to give me assistance and comfort, and I was in greater need of both now more than ever before.
A pair of Constabularies walked past me on the street, and I held my breath. When they were a safe distance from me, I straightened my cloak and hastened in the direction of the Fae-mily Home. The guard’s death had shaken me, but I couldn’t let it pitch me into stupidity and panic. Though my missing connection to Nature now felt like a gaping black hole, and the thought that I might be a killer made me sick to my stomach, no one could connect me to the crime. I was safe unless I gave people cause to suspect me. I was safe and, despite everything, could continue my search for the Anlace.
When the Home came into view, I momentarily halted, then slunk down a side road and approached the alley from the other end. I groped in my pack for the key Fi had provided to the back entrance, excavating it from the bottom with a handful of dirt and lint, and let myself inside. Grateful for the warmth that rolled over me, I entered the room I had been given and softly closed the door. The accommodations were exactly as I’d left them. Nature bless Fi.
I abandoned my things, quickly washed up, then decided to chance breakfast. I was light-headed and heavyhearted, and I hadn’t eaten anything since the meal Fi had provided the last time I’d been here. I padded down the hallway to the dining room and peered past the buffet tables into the kitchen, craning my neck to see into the near-empty entryway. Nothing looked or felt abnormal—definitely no apparent signs that Luka Ivanova or his men were here. The tension left my neck and shoulders, and I followed a few insouciant Fae stragglers into the dining hall. There wasn’t a lot of food left, but I grabbed a few muffins from a fresh supply the cooks had added to a serving plate.
Tairmor published a newspaper—several, actually, thanks to a human invention called the printing press—and a copy of one of them had been left on a breakfast table. With a nervous glance about the room, I picked it up and went to take a seat in a corner, aware that as journalistic competition had grown, so had the outrageousness of the opinions committed to ink.
The front page bore the chronicle’s handle: The Dragon’s Blood Meridian. I scanned the bold-faced headlines, none of which reflected the news that should have been there—news of an investigation into the barbaric experiments conducted on humans and Fae alike on Evernook Island. Though information about the destructive fire itself could hardly have been suppressed, the activities