The Past
The clinic bore no name on its sign, merely the sigil of the Goddess of Healing. It was new, though lovingly crafted. That one of Ioniri's Mystics was making a home in Cathena City was momentous enough, and likely they hadn't needed to advertise at all. People would come, the sick and the injured, seeking the Draegir's blessing through Her instrument. They had faith. Oren didn't. And yet he was here. The place was a cluster of pavilions separated by small formal gardens. He remembered this place from before his disgrace when he had been fit for more than the dregs of the city.
"Scared, Oren?" Ava laughed without pity. "You're so scared. You must not fear—"
He gave her a withering look. "Fear is the mind-killer. I remember the litany."
It was a pleasant afternoon and he stood with the woman who had borne him in a courtyard with white boulders, a stand of green bamboo, and black gravel raked into smooth waves. A gardener was tending the bamboo, most likely one of the Mystic's former patients. People often paid for such miracles with their labor to show the Draegir they were suitably grateful.
"It will work, Oren. You have no idea the sort of pull Galeas has. He's going to pay the Mystic with something that a Healer of Dalquor would hold dear. Can you imagine what that's worth?" She hooked her thumbs into the belt loops of her leather trousers and rocked backward on the lacquered heels of her boots. The narrow toes were sheathed in bright silver. Her gaze upon him was expectant, but calm as an insect.
"The fuck does he need me for, then?" he challenged. "Why spend that on me?" He could tell she wanted him to ask about the payment being made on his account, but he didn't rise to the bait. She would tell him what she would tell him. His erstwhile father would tell him what he would tell him. Oren wasn't on the top of his game anymore and even when he had been, the people who were his parents were mostly opaque to him. "How long have you been working for him again?"
"Couple of months." Her lack of real reaction didn't help. He wanted to know if he had drawn blood with his question. Ava might have protested that she worked with Galeas rather than for him, but — nothing.
"What about before that?"
"For somebody else. Working girl, you know?" He nodded at that and she continued. "Funny, Oren."
"What's funny?"
"I know you. He knows you. We know how you work. How you think. How you feel."
"You don't know me, Mum."
"You're all right, Oren. What's got you, it's just bad luck."
"How about him, Ava? Is he all right?"
"What I always think about first, Oren, is my own sweet ass."
Oren sat on one of the boulders, scuffing at the symmetry of the gravel waves with the toes of his boot while the gardener wasn't looking. He began to fish around in his pockets for something to smoke.
"In your tunic," she said. Of course, she would have looked him over to mark where he kept a weapon or anything of sufficient bulk. He fished little packet out of his tunic and drew out a cigarillo. Before he could look for something else, she made fire appear in her cupped hands with a struck lucifer and held it out for him.
"You want to answer my question?"
"Well," she began, entertaining his peevish interrogation, "I'll tell you the man's definitely on to something. He's got big money now, and he's never had nearly this much before, and he gets more all the time." There was a sort of tension around her mouth. "Or maybe, maybe something's on to him..." She shrugged, famous for her indifference.
"What's that mean?"
"I don't know exactly. I know I don't know who or what we're really working for."
"What?"
But staring into her eyes was like staring into a mirror. She gave away nothing. If she hadn't been such a skilled assassin, she would have made an amazing gambler. Yesterday morning, he had gone back to his rented room where she had found him and slept for ten straight hours. Then he had taken a long and pointless walk along the river, watching the gulls turn circles and then head south back to the sea. If she had followed him, she had done a good job of it. He had avoided his normal haunts, opting for that room he had never crashed in before, waiting until this afternoon when he had been told to show up at the clinic per Galeas' orders. Now this quiet courtyard, this afternoon, this woman with a gymnast's body and the hands of a conjurer. He had inherited some things from both of them, he knew. Neither of them thought much of him, though. And yet here he was, being dealt back into the game.
But he didn't know what this new game was. He didn't know the rules. He didn't know what they wanted or even what they would admit to wanting. He didn't trust either of them.
"If you will come in now, sir, the Mystic is waiting to meet you." The attendant bowed, turned, and reentered the pavilion without waiting to see if he would follow.
The Present
"Sslaverss," Elwes hissed when they had reconnoitered and repaired to her basement room back in the Low-City. Even she didn't want to live in the Middens. There wasn't much light coming from the high, small windows, but that was how she liked it. He let his Masquerade fall, but maintained his Semblance. It was easier to see in the gloom when he could see more than just what was visible to the naked eye.
"So it would seem," he agreed, his mind still racing.
"I hate sslaverss," she reminded him.
"I know. I do too." He could be as cold-blooded as she was, but slavers had attempted to fuck up her life and she held a grudge. Aurin had been to places where slavery was legal, but those places tended to have laws that limited the abuses people could heap upon them. When it happened in a place like Kalzasi, there were no rules or protections. Even a bad man like him couldn't stomach it.
He found she was staring at him, expectant.
"I know," he said. "I'm thinking. I have to figure out a way to bilk Celesa Kolkis out of her job without pissing off her patrons, and then figure out a way to get their claws out of me. I'm already paranoid. I don't want more good reason to always be looking over my shoulder."
"We could kill them."
"An organization like that is a hydra; cut off one head and two more appear."
"How doess one kill a hydra?"
"Don't breathe in the noxious breath," he began, trying to remember the lore on that. "Ah, cauterize each neck with fire so the heads can't grow back."
"We will do that, then." She sounded so certain, he could only stare at her and the cold sparks of fury in her aura. He hadn't seen her like this in a long while.
"Yes, well—I don't know if that was a metaphor or an actual way to kill a monster."
She began to pace, which was also strange for her. He watched her reptilian anger work back and forth in the dimly lit room.
"Look," he said, "it's a complication, but we can handle it. I just have to figure out how. I promise if people need to die, you'll get to do at least some of the killing."
"Find out if Sscelissa knows," she demanded. "If sshe doess, then I will kill her, you will take her placsse, and then you will figure out how to cut off their headss and burn them with fire."
He opened his mouth to say something, then just smiled one of his charming smiles. She was impervious to his charm, of course, but she hadn't killed him yet so he thought he was doing all right.
"Your wish is my command, Elwes. You, I think, need a snack and a nap. I'm going to sneak my way home and do some plotting. I'll come find you soon when I have a plan that probably won't fail utterly."
