I choke down a laugh. “You’ll have me play the role of a Pixie gallant, flitting about court, bedding ladies?” Mustang will think I’m doing it to spite her.

The Jackal’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Who said anything about ladies?”

“Oh,” I say, realizing what he means. “Oh, that’s … complicated. Tactus might be better for this.…”

The Jackal chuckles at my surprise. “Oh, you’ll do just fine. But all this is worry for another day. For now, relax. I’ll purchase your contract through a second party as soon as it goes up for auction.”

“The Bellona will try to buy it.”

“I have a backer. We’ll outspend them.”

“Victra?”

“No. She’s more of a broker in this. What you have to understand about Victra is she’s not … how do you say … partisan. She just loves stirring the pot. The backer you’ll meet soon enough.”

“That won’t work,” I say. “I want to meet him now. I’m not your puppet. I share everything I know, you share everything you know.”

“But I know so much more. Fine.” He leans forward. “You’ll meet him tonight. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just think it appropriate that he introduces himself.”

“Fine enough. I want to bring the Howlers back. And Sevro.”

“Done. You’ll also need to select a blademaster, someone to tutor you with the razor. We’ll need you to kill a few people publicly in the future.”

“I know how to use a razor,” I say.

“Not what I’ve heard. Come now, there’s no shame in it. I have a few names. It’s a pity Arcos isn’t tutoring. These days I might actually have the funds to afford Stoneside and his Willow Way.…”

His words trail off and his eyes drift from me, pulled to the slinking form of a woman who cuts through the smoke and drab of the tavern like an ember falling through fog. I can smell the almond on her skin, the citrus of her lips as she nears our table, graceful and stirring as the air of Venus’s Summer Coast. Bones fragile, avian. She wears a black shift that covers her skin except her bare shoulders.

Then I catch her eyes and I almost fall out of my chair. It’s a shot to the heart. My pulse patters. It’s her. The girl with wings who could never fly. But now … she’s fled from Mickey, it seems. Wings gone, ripened into womanhood. But why is Evey here? Did the Sons send her? I can barely keep my composure. She hasn’t recognized me.

“I didn’t know Roses to grow so deep among the weeds,” the Jackal says to her.

Her laughter drifts like the beating of a butterfly’s wings. She traces the bottom edge of the worn table and shrugs minutely.

“Common men can’t afford uncommon things. But my mistress heard uncommon men were in Lost City and sent me as an … ambassador.”

“Ah …” The Jackal leans back, appraising her. “You’re a syndicate girl. One of Vebonna’s?” Off her nod, the Jackal looks at me and mistakes my expression of surprise for one of desire. “Take her upstairs, Darrow. On me. A welcoming gift. Let me know if you want to buy her. We can discuss business tomorrow.”

At the word “Darrow,” Evey’s composure buckles for a blink. She steps back and I hear her breath pattern change. And when her eyes meet mine, I know she sees through the Obsidian disguise and glimpses the Red underneath all these lies. However, the surprise there means she’s not here for me. She’s here for the Jackal, but why? Is she with the Sons? Or did Mickey finally sell his prize to this Vebonna gangster?

“I don’t do slaves,” Evey says to the Jackal, pointing to my Obsidian sigils.

“You’ll find there’s more to this one than meets the eye.”

“Dominus, I—”

He grabs her hand, twisting her pinky horribly. “Shut up and do as you’re told, girl. Or we’ll take what you won’t give.” He flashes a great smile and releases her. She holds her hand, trembling. It doesn’t take much to wound a Pink.

I stand. “I believe I’ll take it from here, my friend.”

“I’m sure you will!”

I wave the bodyguards away who try to accompany me.

I follow Evey up the handrungs leading to the fourth floor, earning hoots from some of the patrons. My eyes catch one of the holoCans above the bar. Images of a bombing ripple in three dimensions. It looks to be at a café. A Gold café. My eyes widen as the extent of the devastation is shown. Was it the Sons?

Another bombing flashes across a different screen. And another. And another till dozens of bombings flood the screens throughout the tavern. All heads turn to watch, silence yawning through the vast tavern. Evey’s hand tightens around mine, and I know it was the Sons who committed the bombings. They sent her. But why Luna? Why the Jackal? Why haven’t they contacted me?

“Hurry,” she says as we reach the fifteenth floor, pulling me through the pink lights, past the dancers and hungry patrons to the last door at the end of a narrow corridor. I follow her inside the dark room and immediately smell the acrid tang of scorcher oil. Air shifts behind me as a man in a ghostCloak creeps forward. It takes considerable effort to resist the impulse to kill him.

“He’s one of ours,” Evey snaps. She turns on the light. Six Reds in heavy military tech decloak. They wear demonHelms with high-grade optics. “Call in the skimmer.”

“He’s not Adrius au Augustus,” one of them growls.

“He’s a bloody Obsidian.”

“Strange-looking one.” One of the Reds with the optics jumps back, scorcher priming. “Bone density is Gold!”

“Stop!” Evey shouts. “He’s a friend. Harmony has been looking for him.”

Not Ares or Dancer?

“You weren’t here for me,” I say, eyeing their weapons. “You were hunting.”

She turns to me. “I’ll explain later, but we have to go.”

“What did you do?” I ask as one of the Reds pulls out a plasma-Torch and cuts a hole in the wall, opening the room up to the stink of the city. Moist air rushes in and lights flood the room as a small dropship descends, opening its side hatches parallel to the improvised door.

“Darrow, there’s no time.”

I grab her. “Evey, why are you here?”

Her eyes flash with triumph. “Adrius au Augustus has murdered fifteen of our brothers and sisters. I was sent to capture or kill him. I chose the latter. In twenty seconds, he’ll be ash.”

I rip one of the Reds’ datapads off his arm and prime my concealed gravBoots. Evey shouts at me. The boots whine mournfully as they lift me into the air. I rip back the way we came, rupturing through the door instead of opening it, flying down the hallway like a bat out of hell. I smash past a dancer, careen over two Orange customers, and turn a razor-tight right angle down over the railing toward the Jackal’s table as he finishes his liquor. His Stained marks me, as do the Grays. Too slow.

On the screens, over the bombings, the static crackles and a blood-red helm burns.

“Reap what you sow,” Ares’s voice growls from a dozen speakers.

The table melts under the Jackal’s hand. Consumed by the bomb Evey planted. The Stained throws the Jackal away from the table like a doll and curls his titanic body around the mushrooming energy. His mouth moves in a death whisper, “Skirnir al fal njir.”

9

THE DARKNESS

The energy blossoms outward from the Stained liquid to the eye, evaporating his body and spreading over the floor like spilled mercury before darkening, slipping back to the origin, sucking men and chairs and bottles toward it like a black hole before detonating with a deep, nightmare roar. I snag the Jackal up by his jacket and fly through the wall, slamming shoulder first as, behind us, glass, wood, metal, eardrums, and men rupture.

My boots fail. We fly across the street and slam into the building opposite, cracking concrete and falling to the ground as the Lost Wee Den shrinks inward like a grape becoming a raisin becoming dust. She exhales a death rattle of fire and ash before sagging to ruin.