Page 94 of Mistress of Lies

Chapter Thirty-One

Shan

Shan and her brother had avoided each other. It wasn’t the accidental passing of two ships in the night, busy people with busy schedules and no time to meet. It was the calculated, deliberate work of two people who knew each other—and their schedules—well enough to ensure there were no chance encounters. The only communication they had was the nightly arrival of his notes upon her desk, write-ups on all that he had seen and heard, delivered after she had gone to bed.

She was used to being ignored, to receiving the cold-shoulder. Blood and steel, in her debut year she had received the cut direct a few times. But she had never imagined that it would come from Anton. They had always relied on each other, two halves of a whole, the way twins were supposed to be.

When had that changed?

She stood at the door to her brother’s room, her fist raised to knock, but the resolve fading fast. Despite the fact that she had cleared her schedule, had rearranged things so that she could barge in on him while he was getting ready for another night out upon the town. It shouldn’t be so hard. They could still talk, mend whatever was going wrong between them, and return to the way things had been before. She just had to be open with him.

Shan dropped her fist and walked away.

It was a little early to begin her rounds, but she couldn’t spend another night cooped up in this damn house, surrounded by silence and judgement, her shoulders tense as she sorted through folders of information and ledgers of financial records, constantly switching back and forth between the spymaster and Lady LeClaire.

She could have gone to one of the many parties in Dameral, seeing the boost to her reputation over recent months. But that would just be another kind of stress—a world of lies and false masks and games.

Tonight she needed something simpler. She needed to be the Sparrow.

By the time her transformation was complete, night was starting to fall. She slipped out of the house through the servants’ door and crept through the alleys, leaving the fine district she had grown up in and trading it for something raw and real.

Pulling her hood up over her face, she moved through the streets and let everything fall away until she was simply a body in motion, heading by rote memory to the appointed place. At last she arrived in the dark alleyway and slipped into the shadows, preparing to wait. She grabbed a slim case from her pocket, and a moment later had a cigarette at her lips, the burnt match crushed under her heel.

It was a vice she didn’t normally indulge in, even with the Blood Healing she had access to. It was a vile habit, addictive and nasty and far too smelly, but she had picked it up from Isaac when they had spent late nights at the Academy, reading texts and preparing for exams. Then it was a source of camaraderie and comfort, and lately she needed that. To ground herself and calm the nerves she couldn’t quite shake.

Besides, it only added to her disguise. Here she was just another soul taking a smoke under the night stars.

She took a long, harsh drag on the cigarette, the pale stick of paper and tobacco turning to ash in her fingers. The only light in the alley was the burning tip, a spark of red between her lips.

Then a flash of shadows in the corner of her eye and Bart dropped down from the roof, landing beside her in a fluttering of cloaks. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight, Sparrow.”

She hid her smile behind a long drag on her cigarette. “I was feeling restless.”

He nodded, understanding, but there was humor in his voice as he said, “So you thought you could swipe my bird out from under me?”

“Hey,” she elbowed him lightly, “she likes me.”

As if to prove her point, the sound of light footsteps barreled towards them. Their informant ran right up to her, her eyes shining with an excitement that made Shan preen. It still shocked her that she earned such loyalty, that her birds seemed genuinely happy to see her. This bird was a small thing, no more than twelve, dark of skin and decidedly plain—which fortunately was helpful in her line of work. She slid right under most people’s attention.

“Sparrow! I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Turning towards the girl, Shan dropped the cigarette, leaving it to burn out on the cold cobblestones. “Hello, Naomi.”

“And Hawk?” the girl asked, breathless and eyes wide. She peered around Shan, as if Bart were just a figment of her imagination. “Both of you? Must be serious.”

Blood and steel, she was clever. Checking to ensure they were alone, Shan pulled the young girl closer to the wall and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m helping Hawk tonight,” she said by way of explanation, and to pull her attention back from him. Bart always charmed the young ones with sleight of hand, pulling coins from behind their ears. “So, do you have anything for us?”

Naomi then remembered her place, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin like she was giving a report to a queen. “I have news for you.”

“Please, continue,” Shan said, giving her the ceremony she wanted.

“It’s about the murders,” Naomi said, dropping her voice low. “I’ve been telling Hawk that people are growing more nervous—they’ve stopped going around after dark anymore, and if they have to, they go in groups.”

“What about you?” Shan interrupted. “Are you being safe?”

“My brother is working the corner,” she said. “He’s a pickpocket. I distract, he steals. We’ve not split up lately.”

Shan didn’t know if she should be worried or amused. Bart was fond of this girl—she was quick and clever, and she had a knack for hearing things she shouldn’t. But these were dangerous times. The killer had yet to take someone so young, but Shan didn’t want to be careless, and the blade tucked into Naomi’s belt was little more than a sharpened piece of scrap metal. Slipping one of the small daggers from a sheath up her sleeve, she pressed it into the girl’s hand, ignoring the gasp of surprise from Bart. “Keep this on you, just in case.”