There’s a pounding of footsteps behind me. Straight ahead is a path leading to a church. I could hide behind one of the gravestones and hope not to be seen, but I’ll probably be found. Instead, I slip through an open gate into the rear of the café, hurry through the back entrance and out onto the street. There’s no sign of my pursuer. I run as quietly as I can along the sidewalk, and then turn down a side street. Using the cathedral spire in the center of town to navigate myself toward the library, I zigzag along this side street and the next.
The library is on the north side of the city, a huge domed building with a grand entrance, and I make it there without any men in long coats seeing me go in, as far as I can tell. It takes nearly an hour to register at the front desk, get my shiny new library card and put my things away in a locker.
Finally, I’m sitting at a cubicle with my laptop open, a notebook and a stack of history books to peruse.
A few minutes later, my phone rings. An unknown number, so it’s probably Jakob. “Hello, Sachelle speaking.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m sorry, who is this?” I twirl a pen in my fingers.
“Answer the question.”
“Your men aren’t very good at surveillance. Why are you having them follow me, anyway?”
He growls, “I’m protecting you.”
A librarian pushing a cart glares at me and points at a sign. No phones. Quiet please. “Jakob, I’m fine. I have to go. It’s the rules.”
“What rules?” he snaps.
I hang up. As I keep reading and making notes, there are flurries of raindrops across the window. It’s a dismal day to follow the eldest daughter of the Balzac family around, but within the hour, there’s a man standing in the courtyard in a hat and coat, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
I glance at my phone as I flick through the pages of a history book published before the Midsummer Riots. A moment later, I pick up my phone and text him, Aren’t you clever.
Finish your research and go home.
Or what?
I’ll make you sorry.
What’s the big, bad security man going to do? Spank me?
Maybe I will.
I get an image of Jakob’s large hand on my ass. Bare skin. His fury with me. I recross my legs beneath the table, reliving that thought. Feeling reckless, I type, I thought you wanted to make me sorry, not make me wet.
My phone stays silent so long that I wonder if he’s thinking about it too. That’s an interesting thought, imagining him sitting at his desk right now feeling flustered and horny.
This isn’t a game, and I’m not playing. Go home.
“I’ll go home when I’m ready,” I mutter, and put my phone away.
I leave the library just over an hour later. The man in the black coat follows me. I’m nearly back in my neighborhood when my phone rings. It’s an unknown number, and I answer it. “Changed your mind about spanking me?”
There’s a pause, and then an awkward laugh. “Ah, it’s not that I’m not interested, but we’ve only had one date.”
It’s an entirely different voice to Jakob’s deep growl. This voice is male, but it’s younger and lighter, and I recognize it immediately. Tieman. I stumble over something that’s not quite an apology and not quite an explanation until he cuts me off.
“You’ve got a snitch on your tail.”
I know better than to glance over my shoulder. “Yeah. The Head of Security is paranoid about my safety since you-know-what the other night.”
“Think you can lose him? I need to talk to you.”
My hand tightens on my phone. “Is it about…her?” Briar. Tieman doesn’t answer, and I suppose it’s too risky to talk it about right now. “I lost him once already today. I can lose him again.”
“Good.” Tieman tells me a location by one of the big train stations in the city. I think about the best way to get there without being followed.
“Give me forty minutes.”
“See you then, lady.”
I hang up, continue on my way home, and go inside. There’s no one around, and so I put on some runners, change my coat and pull the hood up over my head. Then head out the back and climb over the garden wall. Landing softly in the alley, I look around. There’s no one around. Perfect.
As I approach the train station thirty minutes later, I see a skinny man leaning against a brick wall by the train arches. A pink and acid green graffiti mural is at his back. He’s got his hood up, but I recognize that pointed chin and surly mouth.
Slowly, he raises his head and meets my eyes. Louis. His gaze narrows in dislike, but he gives a subtle nod to his right, indicating that I should follow, and starts walking.