24: THE HAWK’S TALON

(Talon’s story)

As Kihrin ran into the courtyard of the Shattered Veil Club, Ola opened the door to her apartment. She carried a crossbow in her hands and a worried look on her face.

“Ola, where’s Morea?”

“Oh! You just about gave me a heart attack. I was gonna ask you that, sweet cheeks. I heard a scream, and not the right kind. Where’s your girl? And what are you doing up and about?” She glued a hand to her hip and looked at him indignantly.

“We don’t have time to talk about that. She wasn’t inside?”

“Not that I saw. Now what’s going on?”

“Give me your crossbow.” He looked up the stairs to his room and wondered with sick dread if Morea had even made it that far.

“You give me an explanation, Bright-Eyes.”

“Does the name Darzin D’Mon mean anything to you?”

Ola turned gray. She clutched the crossbow to her bosom as if it were a doll.

“Damn it, Ola. You should have told me.”

“It’s not what you think!”

“He’s killed Butterbelly,” Kihrin whispered. “He’s coming here. Do you understand? His people may already be here.”

“Oh goddess,” she cursed under her breath.

“Take Roarin and Lesver, then run. Don’t stop to take anything. Just leave. You know the safe house.”

“What are you going to do?”

Kihrin inhaled, steeling himself. “I’m going to grab your spare crossbow and make sure the others are okay.”

He ducked past her into her apartment before she could stop him.

The front parlor was just as he remembered, exotic and sparkling. The masks looked menacing in the dim light. The harp sat by the door, exactly where he’d left it, still covered by its cloth case. There was no sign of Morea.

He crossed over to a cabinet and pulled down the spare crossbow and a quiver of bolts.

He was good with a crossbow, a handy skill for a burglar. Crossbows were useful for grappling hooks and rappelling gear, and sometimes, for guard dogs. He’d never fired one at a person before, but he was pretty sure the technique was the same.

He cranked back the winch on the crossbow. As he loaded a bolt, he heard a noise. It wasn’t much. A scuff of leather against tile. Maybe it was Morea in the bedroom, still pretending to be asleep. Maybe.

But Kihrin didn’t think so.

He made his way over to the jade bead curtain, parted the strings, and slipped inside.

This room, too, looked normal. Tya’s Veil shone in through the windows, limning shafts of teal, pink, and lilac light over the bed linens. He frowned. There were two human-shaped lumps under the sheets.

His stomach twisted. Ola couldn’t have missed this. No way she wouldn’t have checked.

Kihrin’s throat felt thick and gummy as he inched his way to the bed and threw back the covers.

Morea and Surdyeh both lay there.

They had been meticulously posed, hands crossed over their hearts, eyes closed as if sleeping. It only made their slit throats more obvious: deep slashes on each neck, exactly like the wounds that had killed Butterbelly. Blood stained the bedding under their bodies black.

They were dead.

He stared. No. No, it can’t be. He couldn’t be seeing what he was seeing. She’d been alive. They’d both been alive. His father was alive. It had only been a trip to Butterbelly’s and back. They’d been alive!

Kihrin put his hand to his throat. The stone around his neck was ice.

Unlike Butterbelly, neither Surdyeh nor Morea had been tortured. There was no need. Their killers had only to wait to find their prey—and they were still waiting.

Kihrin didn’t have to see beyond the First Veil to reveal the men lurking in ambush; he could feel them.

A man stepped out of the shadows and swung forward with a thick mace. Kihrin ducked back and narrowly avoided the skull-crushing blow. He found himself strangely calm as he calculated his chances: four enemies. They wore armor, weapons at ready. One stepped behind him to close off his exit.

Kihrin aimed his crossbow at the thug by the beaded curtain. He had one shot.

The man by the curtain took the bolt in the chest, a lethal hit. That would have been enough if he’d been alone, but the assassin had brought three friends. Those friends didn’t look stupid enough to let Kihrin reload. The remaining killers moved in, confident in an inevitable result.

If Kihrin had been in a worse situation in his entire life . . . well, it had been just that afternoon, in the hands of the demon prince Xaltorath.

But no High General was coming to save him this time.

He flipped one of his daggers and threw it at the rope holding up the canopy of beaded fabric Ola hung over her bed. The dagger hit true, sheared rope and binding.

Several dozen yards of sateen came crashing down like a net.

The men were armed with maces and clubs. They held nothing they could use to slice themselves free. Maybe they had tucked daggers into their boots but were too startled to unsheathe them in time. The men yelled as they tried to extricate themselves.

Kihrin jumped out of the way and reloaded. He shot two of the men while they were entangled. Then Kihrin pulled himself up on top of a rafter. He reloaded again. His heart was numb. There was no expression in the young man’s eyes as he looked the last assailant in the face, saw the now free man’s eyes widen in fear. The guard ran for the doorway. Kihrin fired a crossbow bolt through the assassin’s back.

Quiet settled over the room.

Kihrin sat there, perched up on the rafter with his back hunched over. It had been easy to kill those men, easier than he thought killing should be. That seemed wrong. A detached, emotionless part of his mind suggested he was too numb to feel anything. If his encounter with Xaltorath hadn’t been enough to freeze his soul, finding his father’s murdered corpse had finished the job.

Had it been so few hours since that meeting in the street? Years had gone by since then. He had aged decades.

Kihrin reloaded the crossbow. He looked at one of the men, at the weapons scattered on the floor, then looked over at the covered bed. The soldiers hadn’t carried edged weapons. They didn’t do this, he thought. He had to leave, fast. Ola—he didn’t want to think about the implications. He climbed down, pausing only to kick a still-struggling form and pick up a mace as he walked through the curtain to the front parlor.

And stopped cold.

All of Ola’s candles were lit.

A woman lay on top of Ola’s glass table, breasts and hips pressed against the glass. Her arms draped over the side in a way that reminded Kihrin of the brothel cat, Princess, just after she’d caught a mouse and was feeling smug about herself. The woman had pulled down Ola’s stuffed raven and was looking at it, nose to beak.

The woman’s skin was honey-gold and her brown hair was long and silky. Candlelight gleamed pink over her lithe body. Her clothing consisted of black leather belts, worn crisscrossed over her breasts, her stomach, her hips. The straps didn’t serve as either protection or modesty. She wore no weapons he could see, and he could see nearly all of her.

She might have been stunning if not for the madness in her dark eyes.

He almost told her this was the wrong brothel and she should go down the street to the Red Marks if she was looking for rough trade, but the sass died in his throat. She wasn’t there for sex.

She was there for him.

“How right you are, my pretty angel,” her sugar-sweet voice purred. “I’m here for you. You are my sweet little coconut, and I’m going to crack you open to get at the meat.”

She smiled as she leapt to her feet with such light grace she didn’t even tip the glass. Standing, the belts hid even less of her. She tossed the raven aside.

He swallowed hard. “Did I say that out loud?”

“No, Bright-Eyes.” She grinned. “You didn’t.”

“That’s what I thought.” His heart pounded fast inside him. Another demon. Oh Taja, not another demon.

“Oh, I’m not a demon, love. Demons don’t have real bodies. I do.”

“Stop reading my mind!”

She smiled at him fondly. “Now you’re being silly. Well done in there, by the way.” She nodded back to the jade curtain. “Most people lose it when they see their loved ones murdered. Freeze or run screaming, and either one would have had you clubbed like a veal calf. Of course, you should’ve finished your kills. One of those men is still alive.”

“How sloppy of me. I’ll just go back and fix that.”

“I don’t think so, ducky.” She licked her lips as she stared at Kihrin, still smiling, tapping the nails of one hand against her hip. Those nails were long and sharp, painted dark red or black. They looked wet.

Kihrin looked around. “More toughs on the way?”

“Just me,” she said.

“Just you. Who are you again?”

“So sweet of you to ask. I’m Talon. I’ll be your murderer tonight. You should feel honored, really. I’m only sent after the important ones.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” Kihrin raised his crossbow and fired, praying she wasn’t reading his mind enough to dodge.

She didn’t. The bolt hit her in the chest. She staggered.

There was no blood. She smiled at him like a lover as she pulled the bolt from her body. The wound closed at once, leaving no sign of any injury.

Kihrin stared at her in disbelief. “I just want you to know this has been a really bad day.” He tossed the crossbow aside as he readied the mace.

She nodded, still smiling. “Don’t fret too much, beautiful boy. It’ll all be over soon.” She tossed the bolt behind her and advanced on Kihrin. “That can’t be your real hair color, but you’re pretty. I wonder why you’re so important.”

“Promise not to kill me and I’ll explain it to you. Over dinner perhaps?”

She looked at him like an eagle examining a squirrel. “So sorry. I’m planning on having a blind musician and a dancing girl for dinner. Don’t worry, I’ve saved you for dessert. You look tasty.”

All the blood flowed out of his face. “You’re a mimic.”^*

She clapped her hands together, a happy child delighted at the compliment. “Someone’s been paying attention to his children’s stories.” Her body shifted then, flickered, and for one brief second, he saw her as a mirrored reflection of his own form before she was a beautiful woman again. “Of course, that was an improvisation. True mastery of your form will come after snack time.”

“Oh goddess.”

“Gods can’t save you, sweet.” She was calm as she walked toward him and he backed up. “Believe me, I know. I used to be quite devout in my day, and when I really needed my goddess, where was she? Nowhere in the City, let me assure you.”

“What have you done with Ola?”

“She’s up in one of the cribs banging some cute whore.” The mimic lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Doesn’t know this is happening.”

“But I saw Ola—” His eyes widened. “That was you? You let me walk in here, knowing what I’d find?”

“What can I say, darling? I like to play with my food. I wanted to see how you’d take the news. Rather deliciously, in fact. Now instead of three brains to eat, I have seven to add to my collection. It’s a good thing I can’t overeat.”

“I can pay you.”

“Oh, that’s sweet—but I don’t do this for money.” She grinned. “I can’t wait to see the look on Ola’s face when she walks in here and sees what I’ve done with you. It will be worth so many years of aggravation. I think I’m going to torture her to death. Slowly. Oh, truly, this will be an evening to savor through the centuries.”

Kihrin frowned. “You—wait—this is because of Ola? I thought—Darzin D’Mon—”

Talon paused. A petite frown crossed her features. “You did mention him earlier. What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t.”

“Kihrin?” She cocked her head.

“Stay out of my mind!” He backed up.

“Kihrin.” She said his name again, pronouncing it wrong.^* “Different color hair—” Her eyes widened. “She kept you? Ola kept you here?”

Her eyes wound their way up and down his body as if he were a rare work of art. “I can’t believe—why that crafty little cunt.” When her eyes reached his face, she gave him a warm smile. Her expression was joyful. “You have a necklace. The Stone of Shackles. Oh, never mind the name. You probably don’t have any clue what its real name is. To you, it’s just a blue stone wrapped in gold. It would have been with you when Ola found you in Arena Park.”^*

“Ola didn’t find me in Arena Park.”

She laughed. “Oh yes, she did. Oh yes. She did. I was there. I was there with my hands wrapped around that little bitch’s stinking throat—” She reached out to the air, as if she could still see the memories in front of her. Her whole body shifted again to the form of a man he didn’t recognize, before returning to the original form once more. She closed her eyes for a second and shuddered. “Sorry. Sometimes he slips out. Jerk thinks that just because he killed me that gives him special rights or something.”

He would never get past her. His fingers tightened their grip on the mace.

Talon lifted a hand toward him. “And I was about to kill you.” She started laughing hysterically. “Ohhh, well! That would have been—oh. That was close.” She grinned and fanned herself with a hand. “That was very close. To think I almost made the same mistake my murderer did. Trust me: never kill the person who is wearing the Stone of Shackles. Disaster, every time.” She made a swiping motion with both hands.

Kihrin paused. “Wait—are you saying you don’t want to kill me?”

“Kill you? Oh darling! That would be terrible. Trust me, that’s the last thing you want me to do.”

Kihrin looked nonplussed. “Uh . . . yeah, you’re right. My position on you killing me hasn’t changed in the last five minutes.” He shook his head. “Great. Not just a mimic. A crazy mimic. Isn’t that nice?”

“Oh, my darling, I have so much to tell you. I have found you at last.” She glanced past Kihrin then, and her face distorted into a screaming mask of hate. “NO. YOU FOOL!”

Kihrin glanced behind him in time to see one of the assassins standing in the jade-bead doorway. He was desperately injured, but making one last heroic attempt at completing his mission.

The man had a crossbow of his own aimed straight at Kihrin.

Kihrin jumped out of the way, diving to the floor. Initially, he thought he was successful, but that was shock. He felt a dull blow to his chest, like being hit with a reed pillow. Kihrin staggered back, and the world swung forward to greet him at a tilt. He couldn’t breathe. Gods, he couldn’t breathe. As he tried to draw in air, the pain hit. Kihrin realized he wasn’t nearly as lucky as he liked to pretend. The stone at his neck felt bitterly cold, so cold it felt burning hot.

As he fell, not understanding there was a crossbow bolt in the middle of his chest, Kihrin saw something strange. Even though Kihrin was the one who’d been shot, his attacker was the one screaming. The man screamed for good reason: a mass of tentacles, covered in sharp claws, was busy tearing the assassin in half. Bloody gore sprayed all over Ola’s fine tapestries.

As Kihrin saw this, he heard a commotion, a door banging open, more voices. But he wasn’t really interested anymore. Everything began to darken.

A face filled his vision—a familiar, unwelcome face. Pretty Boy—Darzin D’Mon—looked down at him with undisguised worry. “I arrived just in time.”

Talon said, “I had no idea—”

“It’s not your fault, Talon. I won’t blame you if he dies.”

“He won’t die,” Kihrin heard her answer before he passed out from the pain. “I’m not finished with him yet.”