Madame Emeline assures the city guards she won’t disclose where they were as long as they sound the alarm to her satisfaction, which they do, rousing the whole neighborhood despite the storm.
While one watchman runs to the Palace of Justice, the other is unable to keep the first gawkers out of the alley until more guards arrive. Those lucky few tell everyone what they saw, and the story grows more gruesome with each telling. Most people huddle under the meager shelter offered by awnings and doorways, but I slink around the edges of the crowd, listening for anyone who knows where Perrete went tonight. So far I’ve heard nothing. Madame Emeline stands just outside the alley, arms crossed, her bloodshot eyes simmering with rage. The provost should’ve been here by now.
I’m worried the magister will come searching for me, but I don’t dare leave yet. My toes are numb with cold, and liquid squelches from my boots as I shift my stance, sending faint tendrils of blood spiraling out into the puddle at my feet.
… help me…
My jaw clenches as the plea echoes through my mind. Perrete’s ghostly voice has been as constant as the rain dripping down my face. I brought attention to what happened to her. Isn’t that enough for her to leave me alone?
Within an hour the storm has passed, and the western half of the sky glows with the full moon behind thinning clouds. A number of people approach from up the street, and a tall, cloaked figure among them makes me freeze. Unlike the manI saw from the scaffolding at the Sanctum, however, this one’s cloak is a nondescript gray color, and the clothes beneath are a blue so dark as to be black. He glides between shadows like he’s one of them until he catches sight of me and stops midstep.
“There you are.”
He’s too far away for his gruff whisper to reach me, yet it does. I know the voice, too. I heard it earlier, standing next to Pierre. “Go home, little Cat.”
My stomach plummets as I recognize the silver-ringed irises gleaming against the thick outline of black kohl from deep within the hood. He’s Selenae.
I wouldn’t call it fear, but I’m as wary of them as anyone in Collis. Selenae are among our most skillful physicians, so much so that many consider them magicians. Only the richest citizens can afford their services, but it’s said they extract a price only worth paying if one is on the edge of death. And, if rumors are true, the People of the Night are also the source ofskonia, the drug many use in an effort to bear their terrible lives. The reclusive sect rises and sleeps as the moon does, rather than the Sun, and they govern their own members—not outside of Gallian law, but not precisely within it, either. Above all, they have two unbreakable rules: Keep strictly to the Quarter at night and shun all non-Selenae matters. Something has made this man disregard both.
From his actions, that something could only be me.
I’m still as a Sanctum statue as his gaze sweeps down and up. When his eyes refocus on mine, he nods ever so slightly. His broad shoulders relax, causing a silver chain to shift and glitter against his neck. Despite the darkness, I can see the face within the hood is marred by a number of scars, and his nose sits decidedly off-center. If Selenae weren’t such strict pacifists, Iwould presume him to be a former soldier, or at least a barroom brawler.
The Selenae man steps back, deeper into the shadows, never relinquishing my gaze. “Go home,” he whispers.
As before, it feels more like a warning than a threat, and I’m tempted to obey, until I see the Comte de Montcuir coming.
By his appearance, it seems the provost did make some effort to hurry—his clothes are wrinkled and his russet beard and mustache aren’t oiled into their usual shapely arrangement. Trailing behind him is a tall, unfamiliar young man in an even more disheveled state, though he’s dressed in fabrics as fine as the nobleman’s own, tailored to fit his lanky frame. He—like most people present—was obviously roused from bed. His dull, blond curls are flat on one side and flying wildly on the other, and his expression is trancelike.
The pair brush past the Selenae man like he’s invisible. Perhaps he is, because he vanishes as soon as they cross between us. When I find him again, he’s half a block away, leaving as silently as he came.
There’s no chance I’m going home now. I join the crowd swelling in response to the Comte de Montcuir’s arrival and the easing rain. Relief is plain on every face. The king’s appointed executor of justice is here. Order will be restored.
“What goes on here?” Montcuir booms, throwing the weight of his authority into his voice. He and his companion step into the circle of torchlight, the latter slowly blinking pale blue eyes against the relative brightness. There’s something odd about the left one, but I can’t see what from this angle.
A watchman steps forward. “The body of a woman was found, your Grace, about one hour ago.”
The provost grunts. “Any sign of the perpetrator?”
“No, your Grace.” The guard shakes his head. “He was gone long before the alarm was raised.”
Montcuir isn’t impressed by the watch’s failure. “Who was she?” he asks no one in particular. Then, spying Madame Emeline, the comte raises a rust-colored eyebrow. “One of your girls, madam?”
She bristles. “If you’re asking if we share the same profession, the answer is yes.” Her makeup runs in trails down her cheeks from standing in the rain and perhaps a few tears, but the madam’s voice is clear and unapologetic. “That doesn’t make her worth less than anyone else under law. And what was done to her will shock even you.”
The provost holds her accusing stare for several seconds but doesn’t address her subtle insolence. “Who discovered the body? You?”
Emeline’s eyes find me, questioning whether I want to admit my part or not. She will allow me to escape involvement, should I wish. I rub my palms against my breeches in indecision.
… help… me…
“I did,” I say, startling myself.
Montcuir and dozens of other faces swing around to stare at me, and I swallow to keep my voice steady.
“I heard her scream.”
The comte recognizes me, of course. Only this morning I was showing him and his sons around the Sanctum. He curls a meaty finger at me in a command to come forward. “Bring a light and follow me.”