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The Link filled my office, breaking all laws of physics, its steam wafting through me. The hiss and mechanical chug of the stalled engine made me wonder how and why I didn’t hear it in the closet.
“I guess the office was private enough for you,” I deadpanned. “Give me a honk next time, why don’t you?”
She didn’t reply, but I thought I noticed her steam’s pitch drop, almost as if she was apologizing.
“It’s okay. I’m not mad,” I sighed, and the doors opened for me. I sat on the velvet cushion as the windows faded into blackness. “Let’s hope I’m not about to royally screw up.”
Thirteen minutes later, my feet hit the concrete of the Link station. It was just as crowded and hectic as it had been yesterday, which was not at all.
But the street, of course, was a different story. Darker than before, even though the sun and moon couldn’t penetrate the ocean above us, the fast-moving and colorful Underground was all the more imposing than it had been with Razai.
He’d made me feel safe. That was probably something to be annoyed about, but I didn’t have time to yell at myself over it. I pushed and swerved and avoided my way through the throngs of people, all while keeping my head down.
Just like usual. This is all normal for you, Gray. You got this.
After what felt like an eternity of walking, I spotted the decrepit mage and his little foldable table, wares on display. His beady eyes locked onto me as I approached, and a gapped, yellow grin came after. “I see you’ve come back, beautiful.”
Gross.
“Shut up, Stevens. She’s not here for you,” a gruff voice said behind me.
A woman stepped up, leveling a steely, bespectacled glare on the peddler.
He wilted and held a shaky hand up as if to ward her off. “Of course! Just improving my customer service, as always. You know how the trade is, Orizanda—”
She swept her long silver hair over her shoulder, effectively silencing him with that action alone. Her rich voice dismissed him thoroughly. “Don’t waste your breath. You want money to keep your high. That’s why you’re here.
“Now, come on.”
Only once she narrowed her eyes did I realize the last part was aimed at me.
Now, with her in front of me, how was I supposed to know if this was the woman I saw? I’d only seen her silhouette and the impression of a stare through the window. My intuition magic kept silent, neither warning me nor urging me forward.
The fine lines in her forehead deepened. She pursed her red-painted lips like a disapproving queen. “Slow one, aren’t you?”
“Sorry I’m not ready to jump when you clap, lady,” I scoffed. “But who the fuck are you, and why should I follow?”
Her high cheekbones tilted even higher as she lifted her chin. “It appears no one wants to be honest today. Fine. Follow if you want. I can’t force you to do anything.” Her wide-hipped figure swayed past Stevens’s flimsy booth and opened the dark glass door.
“Shit,” I muttered. “It’s definitely her.” I followed with all the confidence I could muster. This was the time to trust myself. Where would I be if I never took a risk?
Probably safe in the coffee shop with Azra, waiting on a client who’d never show up.
Darkness swallowed me, but the room was warm. For some reason, I’d expected it to be as cold as an empty warehouse. And it was the last thing from empty.
“You look like your mother.”
“Excuse me? What did you just say?” I snapped, whirling.
“Your mother, half-wit. It may have been a long time since I’ve seen you, but I remember that face. Nice to put some eyes to it, at least.” Dried herbs and flowers hung from twine above our heads. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather volumes that were clearly old as shit, but not a speck of dust could be found.
“We’ve never met,” I insisted. “I just saw you through the window last time and…” I trailed off, grimacing at a bowl of what looked like rodent skulls.
“And what?” she mocked, for no fucking reason other than being a complete dick. “Thought you’d stop by and ask for a recipe? Need some dried lavender?”
They were definitely rat skulls. Creepy. I straightened. “I can pick my own flowers, asshole. Now explain how you know me and my mom.”
The woman threw her head back and cackled. She bent and retrieved a mortar and pestle and then settled a clutch of herbs into the stone basin. “The spitting image, I tell you.” She ground the pestle into the stone, her arms surprisingly tight with toned muscle. “Alright, girl. Settle down somewhere or clean something. I don’t enjoy the standing idleness. It messes with my libido.”
