Page 8 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
He releases a snarl of frustration and snatches Kit’s body up, throwing it across the floor so that it slides and limply hits the base of the altar. I force one of the clerics back with my blade, but aesteri magic hits my shoulders, building a pressure that forces me to the ground. I keep trying to fight, swinging my arm around wildly as the clerics advance on me, but I know it’s not a fight I can win. More are already pouring in through the doorway. I have no magic, and there’s just too many of them.
The blade glints in the light of the incendi lamps, and for one, brief moment, I consider burying it in my own neck. That way, Caledon couldn’t force me to betray any more of my friends. He couldn’t steal my power and use it to hurt more people before it ultimately faded from him.
And I’d be free.
The thought flashes through my mind, but just as quickly, a cleric is grabbing my arm and snapping it backward. I feel something break, ripping a scream from me as my fingers open and the scalpel clatters to the marble floor. It lands in the spreading pool of Kit’s blood.
Chapter 3
Corrin
“What do you have for me today, Mr. Melrose?”
I lean against the polished bar as I take a sip of my drink. It goes down smoothly, leaving a fiery warmth behind. Gregor knows his stuff—he has the best liquor this side of Hallowbane. His bar is tucked away on its own down a side street, away from prying eyes and nosy neighbors. Perfect for the kind of business I’m conducting today. But if those are good reasons to relocate for this meeting, the quality of the alcohol is a better one.
That, and it means my office doesn’t have to be cleaned if things get messy.
“Here you go, Mr. Wadestaff.” Mr. Melrose, a stocky man in his fifties, holds out a coin purse. His hand is steady, but I notice a slight twitch in his eye. Interesting. I’ve been dealing with him for years, long enough to see his one small haberdashery transform into three of the most popular tailor’s shops in the city. He comes to see me every month, but I’ve never seen this nervousness from him before.
“Warren, if you’d please.” I gesture to my assistant, who hovers behind Melrose’s chair in the empty bar. Gregor is happy to close the bar down for a few hours during my fortnightly visits—a favor in return for me making sure his liquor gets to Hallowbane without any inspections. Warren takes the bag from Melrose, opening it and swiftly calculating its contents.
He grunts and holds up five fingers. My brow furrows.
“It seems we have a problem, Mr. Melrose. You’re about fifty florins short. Did you count wrong?” I set my glass down, letting some shadows slide down the front of the bar toward Melrose’s feet. “Or did you think we wouldn’t notice?”
The haberdasher shakes his head, paling at the proximity of my shadows. They do that to some people, bringing not just darkness but a sharp edge of panic. “No, it’s not like that,” he says. “I was going to bring it up. You see, the ruined have been causing havoc these last few weeks. They’ve scared business away from the shops, and it’s affecting my profits. I figured it’s only fair my fee should be less this month, Mr. Wadestaff.” His eye doesn’t twitch this time, but his gaze does flick toward the door and then back to me. Oh yes, my shadows aren’t the only reason he’s nervous.
“Is that so?” I ask, drawing the shadows in a tighter circle around Melrose’s chair. He instinctively pulls his feet back from the edge of the darkness, a bead of sweat forming on his temple. “Funny, I haven’t heard any reports of ruined swarming in your district. Warren?”
My assistant shakes his head. “No, Mr. Wadestaff. We’ve been keeping tabs since that incident two months ago.”
I nod. “That’s what I thought.”
“But it’s true,” Melrose insists, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a ledger. “You can check my books.”
Warren snatches the ledger from his hand before I need to give the order, opening it up and scanning the pages. Warren might be physically intimidating, especially with his talent for fire, but the real reason I hired him was his passion for numbers. And right now, I see the cogs turning as he studies Melrose’s accounts.
The haberdasher watches him tensely.
“It does seem like his profit margins are down,” Warren says eventually, closing the ledger. Melrose relaxes. “But there’s something missing.”
The stocky man before me stiffens. “That’s not?—”
“Oh dear, Mr. Melrose,” I sigh. “I was hoping you’d prove to be more honest than this. You see, no matter what lies you’ve worked into yourbooks, I happen to know that not only are your profitsnotdown but for the last six months, you’ve owned the very profitable cobbler’s shop on Needle Street. Now where’s my share ofthat?”
Melrose’s face flushes, and he makes to stand up. Warren’s heavy hand clamps onto his shoulder, pressing him back down into his chair. My shadows begin to creep up the wooden legs.
“I gave you time to inform me of this good fortune, but alas, you didn’t. You tried to cheat me, Melrose, and the time has come to pay up.”
“Cheat?” Melrose blusters, trying to squirm away from the darkness encroaching on him. “You’re the cheat! Claiming the profits of a hardworking man.” He’s pretending to be outraged, as if I can’t see the sweat soaking through his collar, peeking out from the underarms of his shirt.
“Don’t play the self-righteous victim with me,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And don’t pretend you’ve forgotten how this works.” I stand, stalking toward him.
“Ibrought you out of that dirty alley and set you up in a real storefront,” I say. “And since you’ve opened your doors,Ihave been the one to provide the muscle that stops Chalke’s gangs from looting your merchandise and burning your business to the ground. Your shops wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for me. And how do you repay me?”
Before Melrose can answer, my shadows jump up, swallowing him like hungry wolves. He shrieks as his world goes dark and the panic consumes him. The shadows don’t have this effect on everyone, but it’s very useful when they do. I stop by his side, plunging a hand into the blackness to pull out theothercoin purse that’s been weighing down his pocket since he walked in here.
I pass it to Warren and return to the bar, my shadows retreating across the floor. I take another sip of my drink, then turn to face the wide-eyed man.
