Bronze Gods (29 page)

“May I help you?”

Ritsuko felt ridiculous. Though she had no extra senses like Mikani, she felt keenly that her partner thought she was wasting time better spent elsewhere. She was aware that time was ticking away; by this point, it was late afternoon, and they had neither the means to catch the monster nor any method of defeating him should they happen to stumble on him.

Sadly, she didn’t even know what to
ask
, but that didn’t stop her from trying. “I . . .” she started. Then she tried again. “Do you have anything to help win a fight, when the odds are stacked against us?”

“That’s . . . a rather unusual request.” The arched brow told her the charm merchant suspected she was mentally unstable.

Lovely. Even in a place like this, the gentleman thinks that proper young ladies don’t engage in behavior such as I’m describing.

“We need something quiet and fast. Can’t spend five minutes focusing, and nothing flashy.” Mikani stepped up beside her; he still looked dubious, rubbing at his temple as he examined the displayed items. He held his open hand an inch above them, as if searching for one in particular.

The proprietor watched him with a furrowed brow. “I deal in subtlety. So if you’re looking for . . . stronger items, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Mikani scoffed. “Of course you would—” He paused, tilting his head. “This one, I think.”

“Ah.” The amulet vendor hesitated a second before picking up the charm. It looked like a misshapen man, cast in pewter and roughly finished. “You’re not fooling around, I see. This could be dangerous, if misused.” He wrapped the figurine in a small square of silk. “You realize I can’t be held responsible for any malfunctions or if harm befalls you—or anyone else—as a result of its purchase.”

Her partner looked over at her, brow arched as if to ask,
Are you sure?

Not even slightly.

But Ritsuko nodded. “That’s what we’re looking for. How does it work, exactly?”

The man waited until Mikani handed over a handful of coins. Then he smiled, handing her the wrapped charm. “Quite simple. First, you attune it to your target. An image, his name on a piece of paper. A strand of hair . . . blood, if you have it, or tears. Those would be best, dripped over the charm. And when you face your enemy, touch him with it. That triggers the hex.”

“What kind? Like a curse? What does it actually
do
? Or are we supposed to . . .” She trailed off, unable to ask the question in a way that didn’t sound ridiculous.

If I have to shape a spell with the power of my mind, then Mikani just wasted those coins, and
I
threw away our valuable time.

“I can’t answer that. Generally speaking, these are purchased by people who know precisely what to do with them. In the hands of an amateur, the results can be . . . unpredictable.” The salesman offered a cool smile. “Hence the warning.”

Nothing I can say to that, is there?

Ritsuko actually laughed as she shoved open the shop door. Outside, she said to Mikani, “I’m sorry about that. I thought . . .” She shrugged, feeling foolish. “That it might help. But it was probably pointless, and now we have . . . this thing. Which might blow up in our hands.”

Mikani offered a bemused look. “You thought of something. Now, I improvise. Told you that’s how it always works, partner . . . but we need to get back to the Reinert girl’s flat. Fast.”

It took her a moment, but she worked out the why of it, then threw him the keys. “What happens if the blood’s dry? Or mixed with other things, like dirt?” Then she added, “I bet Miss Braelan would know.”

“I’m sure she
would
know. She promised me something like this after I threatened
her
with that stay on the penal farms.” He smirked. “Let’s get to the apartment, then we’ll worry about the details, shall we?”

His relationships always sounded so colorful. Ritsuko had only ever been with Warren, who wasn’t dramatic about anything. It was probably best, however, that she remembered one thing about Mikani—his women always went away in the end. As his partner, she had the better end of the deal. So she couldn’t afford to mind if she turned up at his cottage and found a woman there unexpectedly. The absurd part was that she’d actually been surprised.

No more of that, please. You have work to do.
It was just the case, she told herself. The past few weeks had been intense, creating intimacy where none had existed before; and once they apprehended Nuall, life would return to normal. Gunwood had said they were both getting commendations, but she wasn’t sure if he still meant for that to happen since Toombs hadn’t been working alone.

She climbed into the cruiser after Mikani unlocked it. “I can’t help worrying. I suspect it might be part of my job.”

“You’re probably right. I never read my job description. It just seemed like a good way to get paid for getting in trouble.” He kicked the boiler’s throttle into high heat, and the cruiser leapt forward, startling a vendor who had set up near the front wheels.

“Is that why you joined the CID?” Ritsuko couldn’t recall if she’d ever asked.

He was silent for a few seconds. “No. I joined to try to right some wrongs.”

“A knight fighting for justice?” She grinned and pressed a hand to her heart, wondering if he’d hear the sincerity beneath the teasing. “You’re my hero, Mikani.”

He’d be unbearable if he realized that it’s true.

“If that were so, you’d do all my paperwork so I could get on with the fighting.”

Ritsuko didn’t answer. She was too conscious of the weight in her palm, even through the layers of paper. The thing felt heavy and cold, and she fancied she could feel it burning clear through to her skin. Her momentary good humor fell away. This was a desperate gambit, provoked by an intimidating foe.

But if we don’t finish this, who will?

They got to the flat in time to use the still tacky blood, but there was only one way to find out if it would work—and perhaps neither she nor her partner would survive it.

CHAPTER 28

A
URELIA HAD BEEN COOPED UP WITH THESE INSPECTORS FOR
nearly twenty-four hours, and she already regretted reporting the intrusion at the club. They refused to let her leave, and the food they brought back when one of them ventured out was always fried. She was starting to feel nauseous, both from the stale air and the monotony of her diet. There was no space for her to dance; when she stretched, she received such
attentive
looks from both Shelton and Cutler that she felt as if she were offering a lascivious performance.

The flat was institutional, with plain gray plaster walls and a floor that wouldn’t look out of place in a hospital ward.
I do have the bedroom for privacy, at least.
But that left the two men camped out in the sitting room; she hoped the CID would send replacements soon, as they were growing testy. Yet perhaps their superior was concerned about multiple officers knowing her location. Her father would approve, as the fewer people who knew a secret, the fewer who could reveal it via incompetence or bribery.

Still, it didn’t ease the discomfort of being trapped. Her dislike of being forced into particular behavior was part of the reason she had fled the luxurious cage the Architect had designed for her.
But this is temporary, just until they catch him.
Unable to focus, Aurelia paged through the novel she was reading, impatient with the travails of a heroine who seemed altogether self-indulgent.

She went to the doorway. “Do you know how long we’ll be here?”

“As long as it takes,” Shelton told her with what was probably meant as a reassuring smile.

“Don’t you have wives or families to mind that you’re gone?” As she asked, Aurelia realized it was a mistake.

The two exchanged a look, apparently flattered by her personal interest. Then Cutler said, “We’re free as birds, miss. Care to play cards with us?”

“You’re not gaming, are you? What are the stakes?”

“It’s a friendly wager,” Shelton assured her. “Copper a point.”

Even on a careful budget, she could afford that.
It’s better than reading that book for the third time.
So she came into the room and joined them at the table, where the cards had already been dealt. Cutler cut her in, and she examined her hand, though she didn’t give anything away about it.
Good thing they don’t know about my truth-sense.
It was an unfair advantage in a game where bluffing played a role, as she always knew when someone was pretending to have a better hand.

Four games later, Shelton threw his cards in disgust. Hiding a smile, Aurelia raked the pile of coppers toward her side of the table. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re a bloody sharp,” Cutler accused.

“Then it’s a good thing the stakes were low, isn’t it?”

To her surprise, Shelton laughed. “Indeed, miss. I’m off to fetch some food. Do you want anything special?”

Aurelia decided her skill at cards had won her some respect from the thin one. So she asked, “Could you get something fresh? Fruit and vegetables perhaps?”

“Tired of fry-ups? I don’t blame you. I’ll see what I can do.”

The inspector made a point of checking the hall before he opened the door fully. Then he cautioned, “Secure it behind me and don’t open it until you’re certain it’s me.”

His partner revealed a trace of annoyance when he said, “I know what I’m doing, Shel. She’ll be safe as houses with me.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Cutler said when Shelton had gone. “He thinks he’s the clever one, and mostly, I let him. It’s easier than setting him straight.”

Aurelia laughed. She’d noticed that Shelton did most of the talking even when that wasn’t the best idea. “So he thinks he’s in charge?”

“Indeed,” Cutler said wryly.

But there was a darkness in his gaze that made Aurelia uncomfortable. While he looked harmless, and his mouth said all the right things, there was an undercurrent to this inspector that made her feel it would be unwise to cross him. While his partner blustered, this man would quietly do terrible things. She didn’t think he was evil, but she suspected few things would stop him from attaining his goals, whatever they might be.

And it was not knowing that unsettled her.

She made polite conversation with Cutler until Shelton returned, knocking a complicated pattern on the door. His partner opened up to find the other man juggling multiple bags. Aurelia hurried over to take a few off his hands. Though Shelton was sallow-faced and rather unattractive, he was still capable of looking sheepish and eager to please. When she took the bags, he said, “I didn’t know what you wanted. I’m not much of a shopper, but I hope you can make a salad or . . . something.”

He’d gotten an incredibly random assortment of vegetables, not the sort that were suitable for eating raw. “I can do soup.”

Years past, she wouldn’t have been that self-sufficient, but since she’d taken up residence above the club, sometimes she didn’t feel like sending downstairs for a meal. So she’d learned to fend for herself—to boil water—and prepare simple meals, like soup and toast. Ignoring the two inspectors, she took the bags to the kitchen and got to work.

The cupboards revealed some seasonings, which made the task easier. And an hour later, she had a nice veggie soup simmering on the stove. Shelton and Cutler sat at the table behind her, looking rather awed. Given so many factors about them, she suspected neither had ever convinced a woman, apart from their mothers, to cook for them. At that point, she decided she felt sorry for the pair.

I should be nicer to them. It’s not their fault they didn’t take me seriously at first. I imagine most of the CID would’ve reacted the same way.

She dished up three bowls and offered them along with slices of toasted bread. When added to the cheese and butter Shelton had brought, it created quite a nice meal. Once she sat and took up her spoon, they dug in with flattering alacrity. Shelton’s eyes actually closed when he tasted the soup.

“This is amazing, miss. I thought you House ladies knew only how to order people about. I’ve never heard of any who could do for themselves.”

Aurelia remembered what it had been like in the Olrik compound; her days had been spent complying with her father’s agenda. There was no opportunity for real personal growth or achievement. She’d tolerated it for years, until she couldn’t anymore. Her throat tightened as she recalled the moment where she sat toying with a vial of poison, wondering if death would be preferable to such endless machinations.

Leo stopped me.

He’d said, “Auri, no. If you can’t bear it here, then come away with me. I’ll help you get started on your own.”

And he had. She wished he was here, but the CID had made it clear they couldn’t permit a civilian to remain with her.
We can’t assume responsibility for someone who isn’t in danger. It would complicate our protective regimen,
Cutler had said. At first she’d feared they had inappropriate intentions—and that was why they wanted her alone—but so far, they had been professional.

Belatedly, she realized they were still waiting for her reply. “I learned after I left the compound. So yes, that’s partly true.”

“How long have you been in exile?” Cutler asked.

“Forty years or so, I suppose.”

The two exchanged a look, a silent judgment on her Ferisher blood, she supposed. And their friendliness waned accordingly. After the meal, relations became silent and brisk. Aurelia retreated to the bedroom to hide. There was little to do, however, which made her pick up the only bit of entertainment she’d brought with her. The first line read,
You will never understand me, or what’s driven me to this end, but I pray as you read these lines, you may find some compassion in your heart.
That set the tone for the rest, as the heroine seemed convinced nobody had ever loved as fiercely or suffered so much anguish.

“Rubbish,” Aurelia muttered.

It was late now, and she tried to sleep. Though she’d lost track of time, it must be past midnight. Behind the closed door, she stretched a little, but there was no space to dance, which would’ve exhausted her enough to rest. Nerves frayed, she lay down to try again, and she must have dozed.

The sharp crack of repeated gunfire startled her from a fitful dream; Aurelia ran to the bedroom window, but it had bars across it to keep criminals out. It also effectively trapped her in the apartment. From the faint glimmer in the east, it must be right before dawn, what poets called the darkest hour.

There’s only one way out.

Terror clogged her throat as she dropped to her knees, crawling through the doorway into the sitting room. She expected to find Theron murdering her two guards, but in fact, she couldn’t focus on the intruder; glamour swirled around him so heavily that there was no way to glimpse his face. He was a swathe of pure night, staining the room. Shelton flew back in response to a blur of a blow, smashed into the wall. His gun was on the floor, the smell of cordite in the air like a pepper sauce overlaying the stink of blood. Shelton’s face was a map of agony: swollen mouth, smashed nose, cheeks spattered with blood. When he slid down, his arm hung at a ruined angle.

The table was smashed, shards of crockery all around. Amid the wreckage, Cutler staggered to his feet and grabbed a lamp. Aurelia had correctly reckoned him the clever, cautious one, so he wasn’t as badly injured. Yet. Cutler still didn’t rush; instead he hurled the lamp, and the maniac knocked it away in a casual gesture, so that it exploded into glass shards, sprinkling all over Aurelia. With more determination than sense, Shelton hauled to his feet despite his injured arm and dove for his gun. Cutler was a little smarter, keeping furniture between him and the intruder while he searched for a weapon strong enough to hurt the creature.
Man. Whatever it is.

“
Shoot
it!” she called.

“I’m out of ammunition,” Cutler replied. “Run, Miss Wright! I’ll hold it—” Before he completed the thought, the dark form flew at him, faster than her eyes could track.

If I’m fast, I can get away while they’re fighting.
Broken shards sliced her palms when she shoved to her feet and ran for the door. She fumbled with the locks, terror keeping time with her heartbeat, hammering in her ears. Incredibly violent sounds erupted behind her, but she didn’t look back, didn’t check to see if the inspectors were dying to buy her a few precious moments to flee. Aurelia couldn’t breathe until she flung the door open. She took two steps, then blackness dropped over her head; at first, she thought it was a charm, but then she felt the coarse fabric on her cheeks.

She lashed out with blind but ferocious swings. One of them connected, and she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Someone will come. Someone—

An arm went around her neck, and her air was choked off. Not enough to kill her—just to incapacitate her. Her panicked flailing weakened despite her best efforts. She kicked out, and was rewarded with a grunt, but it wasn’t enough. His strength washed over her, making her realize he could kill her with a casual touch. The only reason he hadn’t was because he needed her alive. For now. The man threw her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. Dizzily, she tried to kick, but a band went around her ankles, lashing them together. She felt like an animal bound for slaughter.
And to him, that’s precisely what you are,
an awful voice whispered.

She gouged her nails into his back, but if it hurt, he didn’t let on. Instead he yanked her wrists together and snapped restraints on them as well.
Surely someone will see him taking me away. They’ll try to stop him.
But if they did, given how the inspectors had fared, they’d probably die. Aurelia choked a terrified sob.

The bouncing movement told her they were running down stairs, and she tried to count, but she lost track when he slammed her head into a wall. It wasn’t intentional cruelty, she thought, more the way one handles luggage that couldn’t object to such treatment.
I’m a thing to him. I’ll be used and discarded.

“I’m sorry.” Those were the first words he spoke, and she should’ve been able to identify him then. But like his features, his voice was thick and distorted, as if it came through water or a layer of muffling earth.
Truth.
Whoever had taken her did regret the necessity. Yet he wouldn’t stop. This, too, she knew—and that was all, for afterward, a sharp pain blasted through her temple, dragging her down into silence.

When Aurelia roused, she had no way of knowing how much time had passed. She wasn’t being carried anymore. The ground beneath her felt hard and rocky, stones digging into her side. It smelled damp; and the air was cool against her ankles where her skirt had ridden up. Fighting nausea, she took stock of her physical condition. No soreness between the thighs.
Good. At least he didn’t rape me.
Her head ached, along with her limbs. They had been bound long enough for circulation to be impaired. If it continued, she risked losing use of her extremities, but she didn’t imagine that was a concern for the monster who had stolen her. The hood was still in place, bound firmly at her throat. Breathable fabric permitted air to reach her lungs.