Page 21 of Thief of Night
“You want me to kill a Blight and find a guy named Rooster?” Charlie said, turning back to Mr. Punch’s puppet and trying to pick up the thread of the conversation. “Like cock-a-doodle-doo?”
Since the guy was probably dead, it seemed uncharitable for Charlie to give her opinion about his name. Ah, well. Too late.
“Yes.” Mr. Punch went on, “Eliminate everyone and everything responsible for those deaths. Hush things up. Find Rooster or whatever is left of him. Clear his name. The last thing the Cabals need is more bad press, more threats of government oversight. Make this go away, keep whatever you discover quiet, and I’ll convince the others to set you both free from the role ofHierophant. You must know they willneverrelease your shadow without my intercession.”
That was a much better reward than a bounty.
“And you think you can convince them?” Charlie liked his offer, especially since it meant there was something to hush up. Blackmail material to hold over a Cabal leader had to come in useful. Of course, if he had something big to hide, he might rather she took the knowledge to a freshly dug grave. Promises were just words. If he was planning on killing her, he was free to offer the moon and stars.
“I can orchestrate freedom for you both,” he said, speaking from a stolen mouth.
Charlie didn’t see how she could get out of this, so she’d better hope he was telling the truth. “Is there anything you can tell us about the massacre? Do you have a reason to think a Blight was involved?”
The words came from the woman on the stairs. “The bodies were exsanguinated.”
Well. That was a reason. An upsetting reason.
“No Blight needs that much blood.” Red frowned. “Want, maybe. But not need.”
The two goons shared an uncomfortable look.
“Should we be concerned about your loyalties, Vincent Carver?” Mr. Punch asked.
A long silence filled the room and Charlie thought again about the cup of coffee the redhead had brought out. How could they ever expect him to be loyal when they hadn’t even brought him a drink?
“No,” Red said finally.
“Bellamy would like to study you,” said Mr. Punch’s puppet. “He thinks he could learn a lot about Blights from doing a little poking and prodding. A few experiments.”
“He’s not a lab rat,” Charlie snapped.
“No. He’s a monster,” Mr. Punch said, although there was reverence in his voice. “Fail me and the shadow will go to the masks to be studied. And you, Charlie Hall, I will turn into a real puppet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charlie asked, half-regretting her question as soon as it was out of her mouth.
“I will make you turn on all the people you care about most. You will hurt them and you will remember it, but you won’t be able to stop yourself,” he said. “Do what I ask. I am new to power among the local Cabal leaders. I need allies. Be mine, or be my enemy.”
Big promise, bigger threat, and nothing to bind this guy to his end of the deal. Not only that, but he apparently equated “failing at a difficult task” with “being his enemy.” Not great. Charlie had barely managed to take down the last Blight she’d faced, and one that had killed so many people would be much worse.
Still, he had her. His threats were too scary and his offer too good.
“I’ll do your job,” Charlie said. “How do I contact you if I need to ask you more questions? Or to let you know what I discover.”
“I’ll find you,” said the woman on the stairs, speaking as though in a dream.
“I’ll find you,” said the man on the couch, in his robe and pajamas, feet bare on the carpet.
“I’ll find you,” said the goateed man. He wiped off his mouth with the back of his sleeve once he was done speaking, looking disgusted.
Charlie stood. “I better get to it then.” She set her mug down on the coffee table.
The man in the robe said nothing. His face had gone slack. He looked like someone you might pass in the supermarket, checking the eggs for cracks. Someone’s dad, bringing out the ladder with a groan to put up holiday lights in anticipation of the kids coming home for Christmas. Would he wake on the sofa with no memory of how he got there, and a dirty coffee cup in front of him? Would his wife find herself on the stairs in the morning and worry over dementia? Neither would know how Mr. Punch used them, and somehow that made it worse.
No one should cover for the puppeteer leader. No one should hush things up.
Which made Charlie no one, because even knowing that, she was going to do exactly what he wanted.
12Pretend
