Page 19 of The Duplicity of Thieves

“Now, Thad, I’m fucking tired. I came from a party, and I fucking hate parties, so my patience is wearing thin. If Staff says you were bragging about a dagger, then you were bragging about a dagger.”

The man’s shaft is hard under my thigh despite his compromising situation. It’s funny how they always seem to manage an erection, even when death is staring them in the face.

“I-I-I’ve seen a million daggers. What did this one look like?” Thad searches my face, trying to read my mind.

“Oh, it just has one of those cool, wavy blades and it’s made of Tartarian stone.” I caress his cheek. “There are rubies laid into a bone handle and markings on the blade.”

“Yeah,” he gulps. “Yeah, I seen it. A week ago. Was dealin’ with some guys out on the river Styx and they had it in their shipment.”

“Names?”

“They-they’re triplets,” he shivers.

“Helon, Auron, and Moron.” I consider what he says. “Weird. I killed them before the last moon.”

I take the knife and shove it up into his mouth from underneath his chin. The man’s eyes are wide with terror as his life slips away. I withdraw the knife, lick the blade clean, and toss it to the side.

I push the chair over, leaving the man’s limp body sprawled as much as it can be under the circumstances. “Really?” I storm up the stairs with Staff on my heels.

“I thought I had somethin’. We grabbed him for stealin’ shit. He wasn’t harmless.”

I stride into the office and wait. The darkness is quenched for now, but I’m still not any closer to figuring out what the fuck happened. This has only fed my irritation.

Staff sighs, disappearing into the vault and reappears with a stack of cash in his hands. “Here. I haven’t paid ya yet.” I take it and start to tuck it into my breasts. “Ya can’t carry a purse?”

“Sounds tedious. Someone can grab a purse. You can leave it on a table. If it’s on me, they can fight me to the death.” I shrug. “No bloody bills? I like those the best. They make a statement.”

“You are a psycho. Sometimes I worry about ya. Lettin’ ya do all the hard jobs.”

I tuck the last few bills into my underwear like a stripper. “Why?”

“I don’t think it’s what he’d have wanted for ya.”

“It’s too late to have reservations now,” I snort, dropping the skirt of my dress back over my legs.

“I thought they were too hard on ya, but now I wonder if I ruined ya.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Staff.” I think about that night briefly before smashing it back down. “I’ve always been crazy, but I hid it well. I would have ended up here one way or another.”

“You’re really easin’ my soul,” he deadpans.

“Killy would understand.” He wouldn’t. I place my hand on his shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. “Now walk me home so I don’t have to kill a weirdo in the street and make you bury the body.”

He grabs his coat, throwing it over his shoulders, and holds the door open for me. We squeeze our way back through the crowd and out of the pub, and head toward my decrepit building.

“Why don’t ya move out of this shit hole?” We lean on each other to make it up the steps.

“I like my shit hole,” I growl defensively.

It’s the same place we rented the day we made it here. It’s a two-bedroom apartment on the shitty side of Asphodel within the Remnant enclave. Even though we’re in the capital, far away from our roots, we’ve still managed to partition ourselves off, functioning in our own part of the city.

He shakes his head. “O’ course ya do.”

We crash onto the couch, ready for it to suck us in. Viv and I found it on the side of the road years ago.

“Sorry for the dead end,” he yawns.

For years Stafford has been trying to collect any information that could pertain to Killian and Kate’s untimely deaths. None of it ever pans out, but the effort is nice. I keep trying to move on, but my hunger for revenge is impossible to ignore.

---