These rooms were my home. I was being forced to leave, and that made me angry. Now all I wanted was someone to take it out on.

Tarsilia had come upstairs with me, my self-appointed bodyguard for the morning. Piaras was downstairs opening the shop. Garadin had left once I promised him that I would get myself to one of Markus’s safehouses. It wasn’t a lie. At some point during the day I was sure I’d find my way to a safehouse. I needed answers, and answers were difficult to come by when you were hiding. By no stretch of the imagination was I that good a sorceress even on my best day, strange amulet or not.

Boris darted around my legs and ran straight for his basket by the fireplace, no doubt to make sure his favorite toys were still there. Satisfied, he began kneading the old blanket I used to line his basket. At least one of us was going to get some sleep.

“Could you keep Boris with you for a few days?” I asked Tarsilia. “I don’t want him here in case someone gets really serious about breaking in.”

My landlady shrugged. “He stays with me most days anyway. Are you going to put a seal on the doors and windows when you leave?”

I hadn’t thought of that. As much as I disliked the thought of anyone in my rooms, using a sealing spell would just make any potential intruder think there was something inside worth taking—like the amulet hanging quietly around my neck.

“I don’t think so. No one will actually expect me to be staying here. If I’m not here, no one else should come sneaking around. Unless it’s Ocnus, then you can just sic Piaras on him.”

“You know how to spoil an old woman’s fun, don’t you?”

I went into the bedroom to change clothes and gather what I would need over the next few days. Nothing appeared to have been moved in here, either. I looked over at my dressing table. My one and only mirror was where I had left it—face down. When it came to getting from one place to another, Gates weren’t the only alternative to the front door. Mirrors would work in a pinch, and some sorcerers made a specialty out of spelling things through them. The one mirror I had was small and wasn’t on my wall. I’d seen firsthand the kind of nastiness that could make its entrance through a big wall mirror.

I took off the blood-stained clothes as carefully as I could. The leather jerkin was a total loss. The shirt could be washed, but I wasn’t going to be here to do it, so the shirt would have to go, too. Everything else was salvageable. As much as I would have liked to, I didn’t think sending a bill to the goblin embassy to replace my favorite jerkin would be a good idea. From what Tarsilia had just told me, I was sure I’d get other chances to collect.

I chose a blue shirt and my favorite brown leather doublet. It was my favorite because it had steel links woven between the outer leather and inner lining. It wasn’t light by a long shot, but those steel rings had saved my bacon on more than one occasion. The doublet also had leather sleeves, better for hiding what I wasn’t leaving my rooms without—a pair of slender daggers in forearm sheaths. They were also some of my favorites, for the same reasons. I topped it all with a pair of short swords strapped to my back. They fit nicely under a cloak, and wielded nicely in tight spaces. I now felt armed enough to set foot outside my front door.

“How close of a look did you get at the shamans?” I called to Tarsilia through the partially closed bedroom door.

“As close as I needed to. Those two were fresh from under a rock. Alix, Parry, and I took turns standing watch. He’s nice to have around the house when undesirables come to call.”

I found two clean shirts and put those in my pack along with my other things. “Did he go home with Alix?”

“Of course. But he told me he was just going to walk her home.” She chuckled. “He can put on the airs, but he’s no gentleman.”

I smiled and buckled the leather strap on my pack. “I think that’s what Alix likes about him.”

I came out of my bedroom and tossed the burlap sack with my ruined clothes next to the door. I flopped into a chair. Boris decided I was now acceptable for physical contact, and after a tentative sniff, rubbed his head against my hand, demanding to be scratched. I obeyed.

“A lovely couple,” Tarsilia concluded.

I knew she wasn’t talking about me and the cat. To her credit, she didn’t say anything else, or toss any meaningful glances my way. In this instance, even I could read her mind. But regardless of what Tarsilia wanted for me, it didn’t change my reality. The men I attracted didn’t have rooms or homes. They had lairs. Or lived in an island fortress and gave guided tours of the dungeons for fun.

I had a spotty history as far as the opposite sex was concerned. Any and all of my prior relationships had been at the mercy of my family, or more accurately, at the mercy of my family name. There was no middle ground. Men either ran for the hills when they heard who my family was, or they were just using me to get in with my uncle. Sissies or scoundrels—that was all I’d gotten in the past, and I didn’t want either one. I grinned at a couple of particularly pleasant memories. A couple of those scoundrels hadn’t been half bad at first.

Tarsilia had brought the sugar knots upstairs with us. She popped one in her mouth. She could do that all day and never gain an ounce. The thought of food made me remember something. I grumbled under my breath.

“What is it?” Tarsilia asked.

“I’m supposed to meet Alix for lunch today.”

“You’re afraid she won’t remember?”

“No, I’m afraid she will. Considering what’s happened, she’d be better off not showing up. I don’t want to attract more attention to myself than I have to. Having lunch with Alix might not be the smartest thing for me to do right now.”

“You don’t want to sit in an outside café at midday?” She finished off another knot and wiped her fingers on her work apron. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Replaced by survival instinct. Though a public place might be safe. Generally sorcerers don’t blow each other away at high noon in a public square.” I stopped. “I just described a duel, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” Tarsilia grinned. “Mind if I join you two? Sounds like fun.”

Dueling is forbidden in the city, but that doesn’t stop sorcerers from doing it. And a watcher’s meager salary doesn’t exactly inspire local law enforcement to get between two sorcerers bent on obliterating each other. The chronic offenders are usually mediocre talents fighting over a choice client—or looking to enhance their reputations. Charlatans don’t have the talent to survive a duel, and a mage doesn’t want to be bothered with such childish pastimes. Of course there are exceptions. Then there are the suicidal types—mediocre talents who try to goad a mage into a duel. I guess they think it looks good for them to have fought and defeated a mage. What few of them fail to remember is that duels have winners and losers. Losers tend to be dead. That memory lapse is the reason why there always seem to be rooms available for rent in the Sorcerers District.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let Alix know you can’t make it,” Tarsilia was saying. Her little face grew solemn. “If you promise me you’ll be careful.”

I gave her an impulsive hug. “I promise.” I draped a hooded cloak over my shoulders, followed by my pack. I didn’t raise the hood. I wanted to be seen leaving. Later I’d see what I could do about a little vanishing act. “And if careful doesn’t work, maybe I’ll just be lucky. Luck has to start speaking to me again sometime.”