competitor sits two blocks west of here.” He paused, again rubbing his scruffy chin. “The best-known private collector is Kodiak Sandrovich, though he don’t keep a shop.”
Excitement flooded my veins. Sandrovich’s reputation should make him easier to find.
“Thanks. I guess I’ll go check out your competitor’s goods.” I took a step toward the door, then swiveled on my heel to address him once more. “In case I don’t have luck at the other place, any chance I could get in touch with this Sandrovich fellow?”
The proprietor’s eyebrows shot up; then he snorted a laugh.
“Gentlemen like him don’t rub elbows with the likes of us. He sends a dogsbody around once a week to see what new pieces we’ve got on sale. But there’s no point in bothering with that. If he’s got your dagger, it’s gone for good. Mr. Sandrovich keeps what he buys.”
I nodded and walked outside, noting the column of locks upon the shop’s front door and the grated interior door that could be swung shut for added protection. I desperately hoped the next shop would have the Anlace because I didn’t think I could break through these types of security measures, and a wealthy private collector would indubitably have much the same.
My thoughts went unbidden to Zabriel, and a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. He’d had his own set of lock-picking tools, but when the subtle approach had failed on Evernook Island, he’d blasted through a door with his pistol. My cousin had been bold and a bit reckless, characteristics that had no doubt attracted him to the pirate’s life.
If he hadn’t been so bold and reckless, perhaps he’d still be alive.
I sighed, ever-present sorrow rising from my gut to squeeze my heart. I had always heard that a loved one survived in memories, but at the moment, it seemed to me that memories were more of a curse than a blessing. But you don’t have to let them consume you. You know how to find relief. I shivered, the desire to fly, to soar, to escape, so strong that I would have abandoned my mission if I’d been closer to The River’s End pub. I glanced at my arm, almost feeling the prick of the needle, the flow of the liquid Cysur into my veins, the heady rush of euphoria it brought. The sensation was intoxicating—better than Sale, better than the best food I’d ever tasted, better than the sweetest kisses. My palms began to sweat and itch, for the primal urgency of my need was both exhilarating and frightening.
A tug on my elbow jolted me back to reality.
“So where are we goin’ next?”
I stifled a groan at the sight of Frat. How did he always appear at my side?
“We’re not going anywhere. I’m spending a nice afternoon in the business district.”
“Not so. I saw you ’xamining those knives. You’re lookin’ for somethin’ particular.”
“I don’t think that’s your business. And why is it you always show up? I told you to quit following me.”
“Nothin’ sinister ’bout it. I likes ya, and you need watchin’ over.”
I huffed. “I don’t need someone watching over me. You’re more likely to need help than I am.” In spite of my irritation with him, I truly didn’t want him to come to harm. “Speaking of which, have you heard of the Fae-mily Home? It provides food and shelter to injured and needy Fae.”
Now it was Frat’s turn to huff. Poking himself in the chest with his thumb, he declared, “I ain’t injured or needy. I told ya—I does quite well for meself.”
“Then go do quite well somewhere else. And stop trailing me. It’s annoying.”
He blinked at me a couple of times, then took a step back, and I felt as though I’d squished a bunny.
“Wait,” I said, catching him by his enormous coat before he could leave. “I’m sorry. I’m just not in the best mood today.”
“Then ya should quit usin’ Black Magic. Gives ya a hangover of sorts and makes your mood bounce ’round.”
My crossness instantly reemerged, proving his point. Still, he knew way too much about my life and had no call to interfere in it, even if he was right.
“And how would you know the way Black Magic makes someone feel?”
“Seen enough of its dirty work. Fae and humans alike ruined. And more deaths lately—overdoses most say, but I ain’t so sure. Scarlets are takin’ more notice than usual. You may have seen ’em hangin’ ’round the shelters, trackin’ folks. Somethin’s up sure and certain. It’s one of the reasons you need watchin’.”
“For the last time, I don’t need anyone watching over me. And just what do you mean by one of the reasons?”
“Someone’s trailin’ you, only it ain’t me.”
“What?” My eyes snapped to the people behind Frat, looking for someone out of place. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Course ya don’t. Guy’s good. You got to be followin’ the follower to catch on.”
I nodded, pulse racing. “What does he look like?”
“Stocky sort, dressed to blend in. Can’t say much more—’e wears a hat low over ’is face.”
I nodded, considering the description. It didn’t fit Tom or Farrier. And why would a Constabulary follow me, anyway? They’d be under orders to arrest me. Who, then? Realizing Frat was staring at me, I patted him on the head.
“Thanks for the information—I’ll keep my eyes open. But I really do have to be on my way. Alone.”
Frat shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He tipped his hat in his usual fashion and sauntered away. I watched until he disappeared from view, then turned and walked west at a quickened pace. After half a block, I glanced over my shoulder but saw no sign of trouble.
The next shop was much like the first—major security, but no Anlace. And, again, the name Sandrovich came up but no information about where he lived. How was I to locate him? I’d have to stalk the area to find the dogsbody—he might lead me to his master’s home. I sighed, and fretfully tugged on my hair. I was once again considering sneaking into someone’s house, only this time I had neither the finesse nor brute force to carry it out. On the other hand, I might have the connections to get what I needed.
I took a roundabout route to the Fae-mily Home, deliberately ducking in and out of crowds and stopping in doorways to look behind me. Though I saw no one matching the description Frat had given me, I waited for darkness to descend before stealing into the alley and through the door that led to my room. I was surprised but pleased to find Fi had left a lamp burning on the small stand next to the bed.
Though my stomach was grumbling, I fetched Illumina’s diary, trying not to think about the drawing it contained, and tore out a sheet of paper. Settling on the bed, I began to write the note I had already composed, my request couched in innocuous language in case it fell into the wrong hands.
Dear Gwyneth,
I am in pursuit of a relic that was much loved by our mutual friend. I hope to present it as a gift to his mother, who will soon be arriving for a visit. I’m having difficulty obtaining it, however, as its access is restricted. I’m hoping you might recommend someone with the special skills to help me negotiate its release. Time is of the essence.
Gratefully yours,
A
Satisfied with the content, I folded the note and tucked it safely in my pack. More tired than hungry, I crawled into bed and extinguished the lamp.
I awoke sometime later, clammy and quivering, with the distinct sensation that I was being watched. Lying still, I examined the room, my gaze landing on a shadow in the corner near the washbasin. I stared at it, barely breathing, trying to determine its shape and size. Images of Sepulchres,