Page 35 of The City Of Fractured Memory

“Is he drunk?” Stryx hisses, leaning into Xavier where he’s holding her arm.

“No,” he says with a frown. “He’s a Husk. This is what happens to mortals when they use so much magic it erases all of their memories and their emotions, leaving them an empty void of themselves.”

I do a double take, bending down so I can see the man’s face more clearly as he leans against the wall of the brothel. His eyes are wide and unseeing, his skin sallow, with a strange vacant expression on his face. As if that isn’t obvious enough to mark his condition, he also has a brand stamped into the side of his neck—a simple outline of an eye, with the pupil missing.

The man straightens and continues on his way, tripping over his feet as he disappears down the alley. We all watch him go in silence. When I turn back to Xavier, his mouth is set in a grim line, his eyes glinting with anger.

“It’s not fair,” he says with gritted teeth. “Why should we have to suffer, to sacrifice parts of ourselves to access magic, when the Echofae can use it so freely?”

Stryx looks down at her feet awkwardly, and I take her hand and give it a squeeze.

“Everyone is responsible for their own choices,” I remind him quietly.

His gaze softens as his eyes track the movement of my hand on Stryx’s. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” He huffs a sigh, running his hand down his face. “You know how much I wish you could use magic freely, and not just so you can help your pain. Think of all the amazing things you could do, Octavia, if we could use magic without consequence.”

I place my free hand on his shoulder. “And think of all the awful things someone could do if they had unlimited magic with ill intent.”

He looks a little chagrined at that. “I’m just sick of seeing you in pain all the time.”

“So am I,” Stryx adds earnestly, “But Octavia is unfortunately right. For every good person, there will always be someone willing to use their power for bad.”

“And if I have to continue suffering to stop that happening, then it’s an easy sacrifice to make,” I finish, and Xavier nods, though even I have to admit there’s a small, selfish part of me that agrees with him.

We return our attention to the brothel and an armed doorman in decadent silks bows us through the golden gates of the entryway. Inside, the air is thick with incense and heat, voices lilting in laughter and whispers. The walls are hung with velvet tapestries and gilded masks, and the floor is crowded with courtesans in every shade of silk and shadow. The sound of music swells around us, seductive and mournful all at once.

I feel the pull of it instantly, that strange Aethermere decadence, laced with an undertone of danger that always makes my chest tighten and my pulse race. The three of us stand still within the swirl of the silken walls, wondering if this place is more dangerous than it seems.

A woman in little more than scraps of lace and glittering chains notices us standing awkwardly on the threshold and she saunters over, her red-lipped smile hiding sharp, knowing eyes. She leans against my arm with deliberate languor, her perfume so thick it nearly makes me cough.

“Well, well,” the woman purrs. “A knight, a white-haired beauty, and…” her gaze lingers on Stryx, a flicker of curiosity breaking through the mask. “…a nervous little dove. Looking for a good time?”

I’m a little taken aback by her complimenting my hair instead of the aggressive questioning I usually receive about it, but I recover quickly, ignoring the brush of her fingers on my sleeve as I meet her gaze coolly. “Who’s in charge here?”

The woman arches an eyebrow, lips curving in sly amusement. “Straight to business, hmm? That’ll cost you more.”

My eyes narrow. “It’ll cost you more not to answer.”

For a heartbeat, the courtesan weighs me with a heated gaze, before letting out a soft, throaty laugh. “Fiery. I like you.”

“We are here on official business from the Division,” Xavier cuts in. “We are investigating a double murder.”

Her gaze travels over to him, the slight widening of her eyes the only sign of her surprise. Her attention lingers on his muscled arms before she gestures with a flick of her wrist, bangles jingling as she turns on her heel. “Follow me then, pretty things. Let’s see if the master is in the mood for guests.”

We trail after her through a labyrinth of corridors draped in velvet and hung with golden lanterns. The further we go, the more the laughter and music fades, replaced by muffled cries behind closed doors, whispers of deals struck in breathless gasps.

Stryx presses closer to me, her unease almost palpable. Xavier walks stiffly at our backs, hand hovering near his blade though his expression stays carefully neutral.

Finally, the courtesan stops before a heavy wooden door carved with swirling patterns that look suspiciously like more wards. She knocks twice, then swings it open without waiting for a reply.

The air inside is cooler, cleaner, though still tinged with incense. A large ruddy man sits behind a wide desk of red wood, his rings glinting as he taps his fingers lazily against the surface. His smile is one of amusement but, like his courtesan, his eyes are sharp, watching us with a predator’s patience.

“Visitors,” the courtesan announces sweetly. “They want the man in charge.”

The master leans back in his chair, studying us like a hunter considering whether to toy with his prey. “Well then,” he says at last, voice low as he raises his hands in greeting. “Here I am.”

I can tell immediately he’s going to be difficult, so I quickly formulate a plan, one that’s worked countless times on past perpetrators. I waste no time and march forward, sliding the folded parchment from my cloak and laying it on the desk between us. The candlelight catches my faint, inked sketch of the strange tattoo.

“Do you recognise it?” I ask bluntly.