45

St. Brigid’s Cathedral
Kildare, Ireland

Jason had swallowed his displeasure when the Grimalkin commanded him to hide the ball of yarn, but he could not contain himself when the Grimalkin ordered him not to retire Salem Wiley’s associate. It would have been so easy to stick with the plan, for the Grimalkin to shadow Salem and for Jason to terminate her colleague so Salem would no longer be distracted and could not escape. It’s what they’d agree on during the drive from the airport.

But the Grimalkin would not, could not, follow a plan straight.

The assassin had pulled Jason away from what he was doing, ordered him to pivot. “I’ve got an update,” the Grimalkin said. “A new plan.”

Jason scowled, waiting. He estimated over two thousand people crowding the streets of Kildare. The bustle disguised their argument, but it also irritated Jason.

“Do you want to know what it is?”

Jason still refused to answer. He would not be the Grimalkin’s toy, a distraction from the frustrating efficiency with which Salem was solving everything thrown her way. Jason had watched her inside the cathedral, nervous, limping even though she’d gone to great efforts to hide that weakness, deep bags under her eyes. She was stumbling around like a wounded bird yet was seemingly able to spot clues that the rest of the world was blind to. It must chafe the Grimalkin greatly to have someone so outwardly weak be so much better at codebreaking.

“Aw, come on now,” the Grimalkin said, wheedling. “Lean in and let me tell you the new plan, the one that involves me killing the colleague in the next five minutes and you getting the glory of shadowing Wiley when she breaks the uncrackable next level of the Stonehenge train like the idiot savant that she is.”

Despite himself, Jason bent toward the Grimalkin ever so slightly.

The Grimalkin had grinned. “There it is, such a good teammate you are.”

Jason saw it coming but could not move fast enough. The Grimalkin’s legendary speed was not a myth. Jason was outdrawn.

He saw only the blur of a hand, felt only a prick at his throat.

Even as he fell to the ground, he did not know whether the weapon had been a needle or a knife.