Chapter 7

W alking into Sandy's felt like returning home. The yellow lights and cloying heaviness of cigarettes and alcohol welcomed her dragging body with invisible arms. She staggered past the bouncer and stood for a long minute in the foyer, wringing excess water from her dress and hair. She had been cold and wet all day. Already her lungs were heavy with a deep cough.

A cursory stare round the room showed a scattering of folk, typical for a Monday afternoon. Exchange workers, their business suits wrinkled from a long day of rune trading, chatted and drank along the packed bar and within the booths. Her heart sank to see Titus sitting with some other men in a corner. Unsurprisingly, they all looked big, mean, and stupid. Like him. She angled away from them, keeping her face down. She would stay out of sight and wait for Joe to show up.

She dragged herself onto an empty bar stool in the corner and pushed wet strands from her eyes. The braid had long since come undone and her bright hair hung limply, tangled and glittering from the rain.

"Whiskey, three shots." Her teeth rattled in a prolonged shiver.

In an hour, she would call Janie from the bar's phone. The pickup time was the same, although the location had changed. Either way, there would be a thorough scolding all the way home, not that she particularly minded. Through the windows, the sun hung low and swollen beyond Ovgarod, edging the storm clouds and skyscrapers with hints of scarlet.

The bartender poured red liquid into three spotty glasses.

She tossed a shot down her throat. She felt someone watching her and looked around. Everyone seemed to be minding their own business.

She scooped up the third shot. Her thoughts drifted back to the Masked Man. Today's events were bad news and she felt he had directly portended them. Janie and Corina were right. He was delusional…even dangerous.

The third shot scorched her insides.

You have a great puzzle to figure out, one that may end your life and destroy all you hold dear. She remembered his words and the Dynn world that rippled around his dark, hooded form. Perhaps he had simply lost interest in a mud slummer, despite his initial concern.

But someone used that word now, in the bar, and to her.

"Hey, mud slummer, where's your boyfriend?" Titus's heavy lips spat in her face.

She blinked and tried to recall the name of the angry, red-faced young man hovering in her vision. "Oh, I know you. You're Tits."

She laughed and hiccuped all at once. She had intended to avoid him, but, really, it was not her fault that he decided to visit the same bar at which she had worked with rune traders for the past two years. Sandy's was her spot and she deeply resented the idea of having to start all over again building a clientele all because a rich asshole had decided to pick a fight with her.

She plunked down the empty shot glass and glared at him.

"What did you just call me?" His voice hiked up a couple of levels.

She tipsily waved and marveled at how there appeared to be two right hands in front of her. "Look, I've had a really awful day. Is it too much to hope you can just go away?"

"I saw you talking to the courtiers at the stadium. What the Helel were you doing there?"

"Why? Are you jealous of my connections?" She smirked, looking him up and down.

He turned purple, shock splashing across his heavy features. "You told them about the equation, didn't you? You really think that someone like you can cause trouble for someone like me."

She grimaced. "Gods above, no. Despite what your remarkable ego thinks, not everything is about you."

He looked close to exploding. "You know I can kill you. Order your death with a snap of my fingers. What did you tell them?"

Tits was hopelessly ignorant…dangerously stupid. He blustered but the fear within him was palpable, even through her drunken haze. They should never have let him work at the Exchange.

She kept herself from giggling. "Told them what? Look, if I wanted to cause trouble for you, I could just tell Joe about how you stole a trade and didn't even bother to correct the signature. But I didn't, so count your blessings."

A flash of awareness ran through Titus's eyes. She could tell he was piecing things together, albeit slowly, her rune skills and Joe's need for them. "What signature?"

She sighed. "You know, traders have to include the signature of the rune trade within the equation. If you're trading your runes, then you have to use your personal signature…in other words, you include one of your own runes in the equation. If you're trading for someone else, they have to give their permission to use one of their runes in the trade signature. It makes the millions of trades easily verifiable around the world's exchanges because traders can figure out where all the trades come from. I added your colleague's personal rune to that equation you stole. Hence," She liked the addition of that word, hence . It sounded princely and snooty, like something the Thevian prince would say, "Your first trade with his rune equation was your undoing. The trade records will speak for themselves."

She turned to find the bartender. She needed more whiskey to drive away the stench of Titus's nasty breath.

The blow fell before she even saw it coming. A sudden burst of pain rang out in her skull then blackness swept her vision. She opened her eyes to find herself lying on the floor. Several curious faces leaned over her…and a furious bartender. Titus and his friends were nowhere to be seen. She must have been out for a solid minute, she reasoned.

"Good. You're not dead." The bartender wrenched her upwards. She gasped with pain as her head left the floor. "You're done here. I can't have a mud slummer causing trouble with the patrons."

She groaned and clasped a hand to her pounding temple. "But HE hit me?—"

"You need to leave." He shoved her towards the door.

Vala staggered to catch her balance. A sharp, ugly pain stabbed behind her ears, making it hard to stand.

"What the fuck." She spat. "You're so busy defending that asshole, you don't even care I was attacked in your own establishment. I hope this place burns to the ground."

He beckoned to the bouncer. "You know what? You're banned for good. Get out."

People fell silent around her, people she knew and had helped many times now remained impassive upon seeing her in trouble. She gulped hard and her eyes burned with unshed tears. Two years of hard work designing trades for them, working late into the night, and now that she was in trouble, she was to be evicted onto the street like a dirty cur. Rage burned within her. She would never help anyone here. Ever again.

"Girl, go home," the bouncer opened the door. "Go rest. Sleep it off." He thrust a bill into her hand. "For the bus. I know you spent everything inside. Take care of yourself now."

She sniffed and grabbed the bill, too humiliated and enraged to speak.

He shrugged and closed the door on her.

Clasping her damp janitor's coat tighter, she struggled not to shiver. The evening was freezing and the bus stop, several streets away.

The glass windows and ornate lobbies of the business establishments along the avenue lay silent and dark. Lightning crackled amid the towering high-rises and thunder rumbled. Another storm blew across Ovgarod. Staggering along the pavement, she hunched her shoulders against the wind and shivered. Her head throbbed and she pawed the lump already forming. Titus had one fucking strong swing. Why had she stood up to him again? Of all people, he was not one to anger. She had lost all of her clientele. The Jar would sit half-empty for many more years, their beach house remaining unpurchased. She could never dream of her rune equations changing multiple futures, never hope for a life beyond drudgery and despair.

The bus stop loomed up, a beacon of electric light in the shadowed street. She slumped down and closed her eyes against the glare of the street lamp and the incoming wave of loathing and anxiety. Joe would arrive at Sandy's only to learn she had left, never to return. She had no reason to expect him to hunt down her address. He would simply get someone else to do his trades. She had failed him and failed herself. She was just a mud slummer. No one cared about her or ever would. Her future had been cursed, pruned into nothing, and would always be useless no matter what she did.

If only she had never opened the Dynn to show off her newly found skills to her parents. They would never have died and she would never have gone to prison. She imagined living in their small village on the banks of the Ringold, driving home to help her father weed the garden or bringing her mother some fresh produce from the local grocer. She would have gone to school, maybe even studied the Dynn in a way that prevented explosions. She could have traveled the world and found a great job, perhaps in one of the River Towers that monitored freight passage along the river. Maybe she may have met someone and gotten married. Maybe, she eventually moved to Ovgarod—not the Lower Levels—but somewhere in the Garden District where they lived for years in a beautiful condo with a balcony overlooking the harbor.

How different her life could have been if she had never opened the Dynn. She had never learnt her lesson. Titus had been antagonized and in the space of a moment, destroyed her dreams of rune work. She had to start all over, if it was even possible. And she was so, so tired of always starting afresh, clawing her way out of a desperate situation only to find her new footing was based upon shifting sand.

A strange, muffled cry rose in her throat and more tears spilled down her cheeks. Clutching her face, she sobbed hard.

The screech of car tires broke into her awareness and she looked up.

Down the street an expensive car roared. The body was of angular, shining, red metal and five large tires silkily thrummed upon the pavement. Sleek glass and metal blades arched above the roof, curving like wings over the exhaust pipes. Black windows concealed the occupants within. The vehicle screeched to a halt in front of her bench. The engine choked off and the doors flung upward, revealing four men inside.

Terror smote her then for Titus and his friends leapt from the car.

She staggered upright and prepared to run. Titus stepped before her, his face twisting in a smirk as she edged away from him only to find any escape blocked by the other men. She stumbled back as they caged her into the bus stop. They were all twice her size and their faces twisted with hatred and glee. She had undergone beatings in prison but guards always knew when to stop before causing permanent damage to prisoners. Looking up at these men, she knew they intended to kill her. She had been so stupid to not think Titus would seek further revenge. She needed to think fast but her head spun with whiskey and no coherent plan rose before her mind.

She leaned against the bus stop and tried to smirk, her tears still wet on her cheeks. Arrogance would make them uncertain.

"Right on schedule. I figured you had more questions about the rune signature." From the corner of her eye, she scanned the street. If she could somehow get around their huge bodies and run, she could lose them. She was small and fast and the night was dark.

"I'm finally going to rip that tongue out and stuff it down your throat." Titus smashed his fist into the metal frame of the bus stop, hovering over her with rage.

His friends laughed and stared at her with horrible leers. Great , she thought, they were going to play with her first, not that she was a stranger to pain. She angled closer to the metal pole.

She would try to reason with him and buy some time to slip under his arm and escape. "Look, if you're worried about the signature, I can help you. Someone like me can be a pest, I get it, but I can also be extremely useful. Many traders would agree if you ask them. Why don't we talk about this?—"

Titus shoved her and she tumbled backwards, hitting her head into the bench and falling to the ground. Pain wracked through her, spots exploding within her vision. Now she was injured and prone , she thought. Not good for survival .

She winced, seeing Titus's boot raised. She curled up but it was too late as he kicked her, hard, the force smashing her against the bench leg. She wanted to cry out but her lungs were emptied of air and only a strange, mewling sound fell from her lips.

"I don't need your fucking help, bitch." His boot thudded into her belly again.

This time, she threw up, whiskey and the metallic taste of blood confirmed by the bright, red pool on the pavement. When the next kick landed, she had drawn enough air into her lungs to scream. Agony wrecked her insides, burning her up from the inside out. Sniggering and laughter sounded from the other men.

"What do you think? Have a bit of fun with her first?" Titus laughed as he stood, chest heaving, over her.

Another guy joined in. "Sure doesn't look bad for a mud slummer."

Titus slapped him on the back. "You first then. Need me to hold her down?"

The other laughed, a cruel sound turning the darkness evil. "Of course not. Look at her."

She groaned and tried to move but her body was a sluggish thing, torn by pain and dead to her will. This was it, then, where she died. She felt sorry that she was less displeased. Her pathetic life would thankfully close, she thought and she took a deep, shuddering breath. A part of her felt relieved that she didn't have to fight anymore. Soon, nothingness would embrace her and she would never have to feel anything again.

She blinked sluggishly and realized her body had lifted. One of the men dragged her away from the bench. He flung her down and fumbled at her clothes. She wanted to push his hands away but Titus had seized her wrists. Goosebumps erupted on her thighs as the cold smote her. Then rough hands were on her legs. She tried to kick at him but she was weak, her flails easily constrained by men far stronger than her whole body.

The man's grin was skeletal, skin pulled back and teeth shining in the dimness. Above him, lightning flared like a serpent lashing its tail in impotent rage at the world.

She wondered why his teeth had turned red…why a thin blade protruded from his mouth like some alien tongue. He made a funny, gurgling sound and toppled, crashing beside her. By the time his punctured skull smashed on the pavement, he was dead.

The other men yelled in drunken surprise.

Titus staggered backwards. "What the fuck?"

The street light burst in an explosion of electric sparks and glass shards, plunging the bus stop into darkness. She saw the dim shadow crouching on the car before anyone else did. Her surprised face made them turn but not quickly enough. The figure sprang forward, lithe as a panther, and two daggers flashed. One man grabbed his stomach, shocked at the blood and yellow guts spilling over his hands. Twin blades opened his throat, and he fell, a dead man.

She shut her eyes, nausea rising as blood from his severed arteries splattered her face. Bile rolled in her stomach and she again heaved, curling into a ball on the pavement. More blood spurted from her lips and her stomach burned like fire.

Titus and his friend huddled in fear, back-to-back, fists cocked to protect against the deadly shadow hunting them. The strange assassin who came to rest, standing between them and the car. Through puffy eyelids, she saw the covered face, the eyes glittering within the hood; recognized the wave of loneliness as it washed over her, from him . The Masked Man. The joy she felt was short-lived. Titus's kicks had broken something within her. She coughed up blood again, the action feeling like blades cutting her stomach.

"What do you want?" Titus yelled. "Money? I have plenty!"

The Masked Man took a step forward, his boots soundless upon the pavement. With a yell, the last friend broke into a run down the street, hoping to place more distance between him and this figure of death. So quickly that her eyes barely followed, the Masked Man flung a dagger—a flash of silver cutting the darkness—after the runner. The blade thudded in the man's head and he toppled in a heap.

Titus shrank backwards and pressed himself against the bus stop's metal siding, eyes glazed in fear. "You can't touch me. Don't you know who I am?"

The Masked Man turned from where he had watched the dagger fly. He drew up tall, the cloak whipping his powerful frame in the wind shooting down the mountainside.

Titus shrank away. "I have money. Lots of money! Just tell me what you want and it's yours."

"I want to kill you." He stepped closer.

"Why? Who sent you? Why are you doing this?"

She moved and then groaned as pain wracked every nerve in her body.

The Masked Man glanced at her and his jaw clenched. He turned to Titus, eyes sparking under his mask. "I'll make this clear, since your head is so thick. You die tonight for her ."

Titus shot a terrible, bleary gaze down at her. "You're killing me over that bitch?"

"Yes," replied the elegant, smooth voice she recalled from Sandy's hallway. "I made my instructions clear. Don't touch her. Don't even speak to her. Or you die."

"I'm sorry. I swear I didn't mean to?—"

"Beat, rape and murder her? You're a monster . Your word means nothing."

She fought to keep her eyes open as waves of black nausea roiled her vision and her body turned numb. Even Titus's gasp as the dagger plunged deep into his stomach barely registered through the roaring in her ears. The Masked Man twisted the dagger sideways, cutting through flesh, stomach, and intestine, ensuring that death came with a lot of pain. Titus slid into a hideous crouch, blood gushing from his mouth and pooling upon the pavement in a widening stain.

The Masked Man knelt beside her, his hands cradling her head, clasping her agonized body close to him in a tight embrace. She tried to raise a hand to his face, tried to open her bloody, swollen lips to say something. But darkness overwhelmed her.