Page 115 of Aftermarket Afterlife

“Think about the money,” he cajoled. “The lovely, lovely money. So much money. Don’t you want the money?”

“I do, but...”

“But nothing,” he said, more sharply. “You came here to sell information, and I’m offering to buy. You don’t want to back out on an agreement, do you?”

Dragons don’t share the bogeyman obsession with contracts. He was testing me. I looked him dead in the eye, sniffed, and asked, “What do you take me for, bogey trash? We don’t have a contract, but I want my cash.”

He smiled again, more naturally this time. “Ah, good. I was starting to worry that our location had leaked enough to attract grifters.”

Grifters, no. Enemies, yes. “Who do you have here?”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

He sighed. “It says its name is ‘Madison.’ We caught it in the park earlier today. But you know that, don’t you?”

“Heard Madi’d gone up for breakfast and not come back,” I said, rolling my shoulders in a shrug. “I knew where she was going, and I hoped she’d run into you. Just because it meant I was on the right track. I’ve been trying to find you all week.”

“Why?”

“Like I said. I have information, you have cash, it’s a match made in heaven.” I let myself look just a little nervous. “Where’s Madi, though? Is she selling you the same thing?”

“Madi doesn’t trust us. Doesn’t want us to meet the family.”

“That’s sad.” I paused, then perked up, like I’d just had an amazing idea. “I know! Why don’t I talk to her? I’m sure she’d understand once I explained things to her.”

He paused, then asked warily, “Things like what, exactly?”

“Like those nasty old control freaks down in the Nest don’t know what’s best for the rest of us. Like the world is changing, and we need to change with it. Like you have money.” I smiled a predatory smile, trusting him to misinterpret its edges. “Money fixes a lot of problems.”

He paused, looking around, and I could virtually see him do the math that got him what he wanted and kept his cash in his coffers. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “Follow me.”

He turned to lead me deeper into the cubicle maze, and I did, watching carefully as the people we passed got out of their seats and followed us. Counting him and the man from the park, there were six agents in the building. Normally, those would have been unsettling odds. With the element of surprise more on my side than theirs and the amount of anger I was currently carrying, that was fine.

He led me to a janitor’s closet with a closed door, the man from the park waiting just outside. I blinked guilelessly. “I thought you were going to the petty cash,” I said, trying to sound more surprised than suspicious.

“I have your money,” he said, and held up a bundle of hundreds. “I figured you’d wind up here, one way or the other, so this seemed expedient. I assume we’re taking it inside to join the other one?”

“Yes,” said the second man. He didn’t blink as I snatched the money from the first man, riffling through it before I shoved it into my pocket. He was probably assuming they could just take it off me once they killed me. American money launders well. The blood probably wouldn’t even stain.

“Excellent,” said the first man, and unlocked the closet door.

The light was on inside, fluorescent and unwavering, which made it all the easier to see the woman tied to the chair propped at the back of the closet. Her head was hanging, but I could see her black eyes and swollen lips, and the bloodied tips of her fingers. I didn’t have to feign revulsion as I looked at the men around me and asked, “What the hell isthis?”

“What you asked for,” said man one, and placed his hands on my shoulders, shoving me forward into the closet—or trying to, anyway. A shove only works if the person doing the shoving puts enough force into it, and he wasn’t expecting me to have my feet braced. I slammed my head backward, delighting in the crunch as the back of my skull met his nose. His nose lost that little encounter, giving way. He let go of me, staggering back with a wet cry of dismay. I was already turning, pulling the gun out of my waistband with my right hand and one of my throwing knives with my left. I’m not truly ambidextrous, but my teacher insisted that I be able to throw with both hands before he’d declare me competent to carry knives in the field. He said it would save my life one day.

By the time I finished my turn, one of the four agents who’d followed man two and me from the cubicle maze had her own gun out and raised, preparing to fire. I flung the knife without hesitation, turning it into part of my ongoing motion, and it caught her in the center of the throat, causing her to stagger back and drop the gun. That particular hit might not be fatal, but it would definitely keep her out my hair for a little while. I shifted my focus to the other five, the four uninjured and the one with the nose gushing blood down his face and front.

“You were trying to trick me,” I said, primly. “You were going to lock me in this closet, kill us both, and take back my money. That’s not nice.”

“You’re not a dragon at all,” said man two. “Are you?”

“I never actually said I was. Just that I had information on the location of the Nest. You know what else I have? A gun, and a damn good reason to be mad at you people. You know what I don’t have? A code against killing. So thanks for giving me something to do today.”

Man two tried to slam the closet door. I met it with a mule kick, slamming it back out and into the wall, then shot two more of the agents as they reached for their guns. The one with the knife in her throat was on the floor now, making an unpleasant gurgling sound. Huh. Guess that was a kill shot after all. That left three more, including man two, who was scowling at me.

“Price,” he accused.

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