Chapter 6

Sabina had rules if I was to use her contact to access the black market: take her carriage, don't bring anyone else, and—above all—don't get fucking caught.

I compromised, bringing Luther in case something should happen. The rest had been nonnegotiable.

Anghor was nestled in the curve of the river, just as it turned south to spill into the Narrow Sea. It was a three-hour journey from Lynchaven and, as expected, we weren't the only ones on the road. Every now and again, a speeding carriage would roll past, spraying the windows with muddy water as the wheels found every dip in the poorly maintained roads.

The ride was miserable, but Luther had learned long ago to sleep anywhere—in any condition. He sat on the bench in front of me with his arms crossed, head bowed as his nasal breathing joined the tick of his pocket watch propped in his hand.

I unfortunately had never learned the skill, and instead passed the time by staring out the muddy windows. The road dipped when we came near the river, edging the outside of Anghor. From here, the old crumbling remains of the mill came into view. What served as the foundation of the city's infrastructure had turned into its downfall, like a cornerstone made of clay.

"Can you imagine?" Luther roused from his nap as the carriage slowed. His eyes focused on the remains of the city in the distance. "Hundreds of people trapped in there, burned alive."

It used to be difficult to imagine, but now, with the scene in front of us, it was a grim reminder of the cost of negligence.

Thirty years ago, a mill collapsed on its workers. The place had been built too cheaply to hold the machinery the new industrial era had pushed onto the work floors. It was said that when the building collapsed, it killed half of them instantly. While hundreds were trapped in the ruins, the place caught on fire, burning the remaining workers alive.

Apparently, the screams of the dying had echoed through the streets that day. The mill owners were put on trial but had not been found guilty due to the labor laws being so vague at the time. Since the mill was the city's main job source, most moved to find work elsewhere, too haunted by the ghosts of their loved ones. The city was eventually abandoned as the rest of the businesses went bankrupt.

"My father used to say the Anghor Mill was the reason he wanted to go into the steel business. To provide better work environments. Not just for descendants, but for the entire working class. He knew what it was like to work under those machines, and he wanted to improve the conditions in the factories, so what happened here would never happen to his family or anyone else."

My remnant pulled my false hand into a fist. He hadn't achieved that goal, but I would finish what he started.

"You both share that in common," Luther said. "The desire to put an end to the cycle of injustice."

I shrugged, uncomfortable with the comparison. "All change starts with one person pissed off enough to get their hands dirty."

"Well, I'd say your hands are properly soiled, cousin."

By the time the carriage came to a stop, the sun had dipped behind the horizon, casting the remains of the city in a golden frame. We emerged in front of a brick building several stories tall—a hotel, by the shape and the number of windows. We were let out beneath an overhang leading to a pair of black doors with brass handles. No sooner had Luther shut the cabin door than the driver pulled away.

"Guess we see ourselves inside," he murmured and glanced back at the empty driveway. In his hand dangled a briefcase Sabina had given to us.

I adjusted my coat and tie, smoothing out my appearance, before pulling open one of the entry doors.

The foyer was grand and well-kept, completely opposing the exterior of the building. We entered beneath a twinkling crystal chandelier holding dozens of blazing candles; a plush, cream-colored rug softened my steps. The rest of the floor was covered in a glossy marble tile, reflecting the candlelight where the rug didn't reach.

The room opened to twin staircases looping upward to the floors above. Brass bannisters complimented the bone-white pillars posted from the floor to the vaulted ceiling, where the sloped edges were painted to resemble a cloudy, sun-filled sky.

Everything in this place shone—despite the windows boarded up behind the navy curtains. Everything—including the gunmetal aimed at our heads.

Six guards, three on each staircase, stood with their rifles raised behind the bannisters.

"I think we're in the right place," Luther whispered beside me.

"Don't move," I told him. Whoever these men were, the color of our coats had no influence on them. They didn't care who we were, and I assumed they were an "ask for forgiveness before permission" sort of group.

"You must be a guest of Sabina's." A man appeared between the staircases; his words were slightly garbled from the cigarillo between his lips.

"You must be Archie," I said.

He nodded, opening his arms in a small bow. A grey tweed suit dressed his stocky stature with a matching cap. Frayed white hair spilled beneath the hat. Archie was an older gentleman with a wince in his walk that made it look like each step was a painful experience. He came to stand a short distance in front of us.

"Well, the Madame knows the rules. Did she bring what the dealer requested?"

Luther held out the case to the man, whose demeanor shifted once he felt the weight of the contents. His lips curled in a smile beneath a thick mustache. "Wonderful. Come with me."

We followed him past the posted guards and through the archway leading beneath the joined stairs. Gas lamps lined the walls, illuminating the thick darkness and dark blue wallpaper lined with golden foiled flowers. For a man with short legs and an unhealthy breathing pattern, he covered considerable ground, taking us down the main hall and through another pair of ornate black doors.

Velvet couches lined the walls, the fabric so dark it appeared black in the dim lighting. Two men and a woman sitting between them smoked something with purple smoke billowing from their lips. She giggled as one of them ran his hand up her thigh. The other sucked his cigarillo and blew the smoke into her ear, making her writhe between them.

"If I were you," Archie muttered behind his hand. "I'd hold my breath until we get to the ballroom."

Taking his council, I did just that.

The ballroom was similarly decorated to the rest of the hotel—chandeliers combined with gas lamps on the wainscoted walls to brighten the busy room. Platforms lined the floor, surrounded by crowds marveling at the displays. Some stages held objects. Enchanted statues that moved like the animals they were molded into. Another showed off a woman with a shaved head dancing while an inked creature resembling a fish swam across her bare skin. Familiars, like Camilla's, on sale for any one of the patrons here who had the coin for them.

"The main floor is where we keep the bigger displays," our guide explained. "There's a bar behind those curtains that sells potions and draughts of all sorts of compulsions. The rare stuff." He dropped his voice, forcing me to lean closer to catch his words. "The stuff you're looking for we keep in the back."

"How do you know what I want?" I asked.

His dark eyes shifted sideways at me. "You're here for business, not entertainment. Not like these folks. And Sabina never—never—sends anyone to us. Whatever you're here for, it must be important for the queen herself to send you."

Archie beckoned us onward. The crowded ballroom floor let us slip through, too enthralled with the displays to notice us. Some were hooded, others wore masks, and yet most preferred not to conceal their identities. A man in a starch white shirt approached, carrying a tray of flutes with the fang of a serpent sitting in the bottom. Luther reached for the glass he offered, but I slapped his hand away.

"Don't consume anything while we're here." I gave the server a look that told him to fuck off.

"Can't be worse than that homemade whiskey we made in Esme's garage when we were kids." He nudged my side. "It'll take more than a little poison to kill us now."

I scoffed at the memory. "Maybe. But it will only take a little vomit in Sabina's carriage for her to kill you herself."

His grin turned into a grimace. "Aye, true."

It took a moment to find Archie again, his stature disappearing in the crowd, before we continued to the back entrance of the ballroom. Four more guards stood at attention at the mouth of an archway. They barely glanced at our escort as he waved us through.

"Wait here," Archie barked, then took a hard right down a darkened hall. Curtained alcoves lined the inner wall opposite a row of windows boarded up behind thick curtains. Sounds of ecstasy, of skin slapping skin, slipped from the concealed spaces, and I gritted my teeth to ignore the warm sensation coiling down my spine. Milla was the last woman I had lost myself inside, and I wouldn't know pleasure until she could. Until she was back in my bed.

Luther cleared his throat to cover the high-pitched sighs, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Thankfully, Archie appeared a few minutes later, no longer carrying the briefcase.

"He'll see you now."

Two more guardsstood outside the door as we stood in the center of a dimly lit room. The lamps were left burning low, casting shadows across the carpeted floor from the various artifacts stored in their glass cages on display. The air was heavy in the room, like the pressure before a torrent of rainfall, and scented of sulfur and iron. The thickness of it filled with trapped magic and the power possessed inside various crystals and weapons.

"Shitting saints," Luther whispered. "Do you recognize what that is, cousin?"

He had wandered to the section of the wall that was completely bare. No wallpaper, no violent decorum, just bare obsidian. Smooth and polished to reflect my cousin's stunned expression as he reached out and skimmed his fingers across the plane of stone.

Of course, I knew what it was. I'd spent five years of my life surrounded by the same stuff, though none of it had ever been burnished like this one. My fingers curled into a fist, skimming the callouses across my hand where the stone had once bitten into my skin.

"Why is that here?" Better question—how? The slab was taller than Luther, over six feet high and approximately the same size wide. It had been sunken into the wall, so I couldn't determine the thickness, but regardless, it was still strange to see something so obviously out of place—even in a room of oddities.

"The same reason I acquire anything," a voice spoke behind us.

Turning, I met a well-dressed man standing in a three-piece charcoal tweed suit. A gold chain connected his pocket to the seam of his vest. His dark skin was nearly ebony in the outer reaches of the lamps, though the light refracted strangely in one of his eyes. The orb flashed, catching the light before moving out of its focus, returning to a pale white eye with a green iris, matching his opposite.

A false eye, and I wondered if it too was enchanted like the other objects in this room.

"It sells?" I guessed. He wasn't alone. A pair of women lingered behind him, just far enough to remain outside the conversation.

Thin lips tipped into a pleasant smile. "It intrigues. I enjoy the macabre and the strange, as do my clients. That piece you're looking at was donated to me by a certain inspector a few years ago in exchange for enough reoles to buy a new reputation—if you catch my meaning." He gestured to a sitting area arranged in the corner. "Why don't you sit down, Mr. Attano, and tell me what intrigues you so much to travel this far from Lynchaven."

Luther moved toward the chairs, but I stopped him. "Who are you?"

"Desmond York—or if you prefer—the Demon Dealer, as I'm more affectionately called."

I'd heard that name before but had never been desperate enough to seek his services, or his wares, until now. I glanced towards the sitting area, deciding it best to remain standing. Closer to the door that way.

"I need shadows, Mr. York."

His face remained passive. "How many?"

"Enough to make a portal."

The two women behind him giggled at my request. Desmond's smile grew steadily. "I can give you all the shadows you'll need, Mr. Attano. But I'll need something in return."

I swallowed down an uneasy feeling rising in my chest. "Was Sabina's donation not payment enough?"

He shook his head and laughed. "Exotic furs and horns are hardly worth that many shadows. Sabina gave you enough to get through the front door and a ticket to meet with me. You'll need much more if you wish to make a deal."

"A deal?" A muscle twitched in my jaw. It would've been convenient if the bleeder warned me to bring something more valuable to the merchant. This man wasn't after money then. He wanted a favor. "I'm assuming you have something in mind?"

Desmond turned to one of the women and nodded. His wordless command made her leave his side to retrieve something from one row of shelves lining the furthest wall. He looked back at me as he spoke again. "I need something moved across the river for a client. It comes from the South, and I cannot meet their needs without some assistance. Let me use your train, ship the materials for me, and I will give you all the shadows in the void."

"You are aware the OIC has checkpoints as well for stock moved through the city, correct?"

"Then I suggest you hide my goods well, because if it was legal, I'd do it myself."

I sighed a breath of disapproval. "I don't move drugs."

He held a hand to the space above his heart in mock offense. "I'm not a drug dealer, Mr. Attano. I have a reputation around here to uphold."

We had very different definitions of the word if he thought the smoke around here was natural. "What would you have me transfer, then?"

Desmond shook his head. "Now that, I can't tell you. My client demands full discretion, and I will honor their demands to get my full check."

Shit. If Solomon could hear this conversation now, he'd be livid. Worse, he'd give me that look like I was in over my head.

Don't feed the beast, Nico, he'd always told me.

Saints, it was far too late for that. I had nurtured my demise so much these last few weeks, there wasn't much room left for other options. I had successfully wedged myself into a corner.

"If I agree, I'll need the shadows now, before the job is complete."

"Then I'll need something from you personally, as collateral." Desmond clicked his tongue. His glass eye looked me up and down, searching for something he appreciated. "I like that hand of yours."

"Pick something else," I told him. "My cousin would murder me if I gave this away."

"I'll give it back when the job's done," he offered. His shoulders fell an inch. "Fine. I'll take your shadow then."

"My what?" I retreated a step, unable to help myself.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, like it was the most casual thing in the realm, asking for a man's shadow. "You can live without it for a short while, as long as it remains in this realm. But if you fail, or if you go back on our deal, I'll—" His chin turned slightly toward the other woman standing to his right. "Well, Sinthia will give your shadow to the void."

"What happens then?" I asked, unsure if I wanted to know.

"You die," the woman spoke for her boss, soft voice null of concern.

"Cousin," Luther whispered. "I don't like this. Let them have mine."

"I don't want yours," Desmond said. "My deal is with Nicolai. His shadow stays with me until he completes the job. Only after may he return, and Sinthia will rejoin it to his person." The glass eye stared at me, like it could see through my flesh, straight into my mind. "I don't need money, Attano. I need reliability. It's a fair deal. One you'll have to take if you want your portal."

This bastard knew I was desperate. There was no use negotiating now, not when a good threat would do. "That's all fine. But if you don't return my shadow, my family will blow this entire hotel to the ground. My cousin here will kill you and take his time about it."

I took three steps toward him until he was only an arm's reach away. "Men like us, York, we go to the same hell. Double-cross me and I'll be waiting for you across the veil."

Desmond smiled. "Sinthia."

She stepped behind me, where my shadow had fallen across the carpet thanks to the angle of the gas lamps. I hardly felt it. A small tug in my chest was the only sensation as the darkthief returned to her master's side, holding a formless mass of darkness between the palms of her hands.

"Please put Mr. Attano's shadow somewhere safe, Sinthia. Wouldn't want to misplace something so valuable," Desmond murmured. He motioned for the other woman to hand us the box. Luther took it in his possession, and I was just as eager to the get the hells out of here now that business had been done.

"I'll send word concerning the transfer through Sabina. If you have any—"

A shudder rolled through the building, shaking the artifacts spread out on display. Glass cylinders buzzed, and the walls moaned as a tremble like a shockwave moved through the floor.

Desmond stilled, studying the sound and sensation. He barked a quiet order at his darkthief, and she disappeared through a pair of velvet curtains behind them.

"Mr. York—"

"Are you armed?" He grabbed a gun from the inside of his suit jacket.

Another quake shook the room, and I brushed aside the edge of my coat to grab the revolver sheathed at my hip.

Screams, gunfire, shattered glass, and splintered wood. Noise erupted outside the door, coming from the ballroom. The merchant cursed and snapped at the other woman, urging her to collect as many artifacts as she could carry and escape to the basement.

I pointed the barrel of my weapon toward the door. "What the hells is going on, York?"

"It sounds like we've been busted."

"The Society?" I asked, dreading his answer. Of course, the Watch would send the Society bastards to hit up the black market. The certain division of watchmen were specifically trained to deal with magic of all kinds, especially the monopolization of it. I doubted anything in this hotel was legitimate or regulated.

He nodded. "That stuff I need moved, men are looking for it," he shouted at us above the cacophony that grew louder the longer we stood there. He flipped a couch on its back, ducking behind the upholstery like it was a barrier. "There's a safe room beneath the hotel for situations like these, though we've never had to use it. Just follow the girls."

"Unfortunately, Mr. York, I need to make sure you stay alive." I didn't trust Sinthia with my shadow, and I wasn't confident in his ability to defend himself alone.

Wrapping the breeze, I lifted display cases with the force of my remnant and formed a thicker barrier around us. Fragile relics fell to the floor and shattered, rare metals and crystals littered the carpet as weapons fell from their racks.

Desmond groaned behind his velvet couch, but I figured he valued his life above his artifacts.

Just as the barrier settled, bullets ripped through the door. I ducked behind the short wall of display cases, the bullets tearing into the wallpaper behind us. The guarded door burst off its hinges, and I stayed low, watching through the cracks in the barricade to see six men fill the room. Each dressed similarly, golden pins flashing upon their lapels.

"Fucking eagles," York growled and shifted beside me to gain a glimpse of the visitors himself. "How the hells did they find me?"

They spread out across the room, unconcerned about coverage. The man in the center held a submachine gun, known on the streets as the Voidsender, a weapon that could shoot over a hundred bullets in a single minute. Only a handful were ever made before the OIC banned their production and sale, and the few that existed had become as valuable and sought after as any other treasure in this room.

"Desmond York," the gunner shouted. "Your deals are done. Surrender to the Society and we'll spare your life."

"Like you spared the others?" he spat. "Spare me your lies. You'll have to drag my cold, dead body out of this room if you want me."

"Happy to oblige."

He reloaded, the faint click of the magazine sliding into the port was the only warning we got before he sprayed the barricade with bullets. The noise was deafening, shots tearing apart the room and filling the air with smoke and shards of debris. Remaining low against the carpet, I let him unload his ammo before retaliating, though our wall wore thin.

"Boss," Luther called, still holding the box in the cradle of his arm, his gun cocked and ready in his opposite hand. "I'll cover you."

When the gunfire ceased to allow the man to reload, I stood over the half-wall, shoving the remains of the barricade toward the gunmen with a burst of air. Once the wreckage was clear and the watchmen focused on the furniture flying towards them, I stopped the time. A shot aimed at each man, though the bullets were caught in the corruption, suspended in time as they reached the edge of the intangible boundary containing my free movements.

An ache returned in my bones, a reminder not to hold the time for long or else risk weakening my remnant too much. Especially when I might need it. A few minutes was usually all I was granted until it became too much.

I let go. The furniture fell from its float in the air and colliding with bodies and wallpaper. The bullets found home in the chest of my targets, and each of them let out mangled cries as they fell to the floor.

Blood streaked the creamy carpet red. I turned from the lot of them when their sounds of suffering fell quiet, and started back toward Desmond and Luther, who were getting to their feet.

Desmond dusted off his pants while Luther inspected the box, making sure it was still intact. When he raised his head to look at me, his eyes went wide.

He pointed to something behind me. "Nico!"

Through a piece of glass that had once belonged to a display case, I caught the reflection of three more watchmen who had come behind the last ones. One of them lifted the Voidwalker from the corpse of the other, finger settling on the trigger.

Before I could lift my power, the wall behind us exploded. Luther's vengeful cry was a sound I hadn't heard from my cousin in a very long time. Wrathful, raw, an agony that tore into the heart in my chest, feeling the shred of his own as he unleashed something that had been pent up for years.

The stone sunken into the wall—the kind composing Hightower prison, the stuff Gavriel claimed had been pulled from the void—hurled itself over our heads and collided with the men behind me.

A deafening blast shook the room, thrusting me forward from the force.

Debris from the crossfire littered the air with a dusty haze, and splintered bits of masonry and wood framing were thrown from the damage.

I turned to follow his gaze—a gaping hole where the door used to be and the men who ambushed us crushed beneath the stone hurled twenty feet away down the hall.

"Seven hells, Luther." My voice was breathy, too astounded to speak with substance. My gaze returned to him. "How did you do that?"

He stared down at his hands, a wrinkle in his brow, then at the pillar he'd just ripped from the foundation and threw across the room. He shook his head, just as surprised as I was at what he'd just accomplished. "I... I don't know. One moment, I saw the bastard pick up the gun, ready to kill you. I just..." He swallowed. "Just put my hand out to stop him, and the stone followed."

Desmond surveyed the room, taking care to pick up anything left unbroken—which wasn't much if his whimpering and moaning was any indication.

Luther filled his empty hands with the box of shadows. His fingers fidgeted around the corners, a usual sign of his distress.

"Do you think it has anything to do with the experiments? Did they do something to you that could have given you the same ability as the watchmen in Hightower?"

He shrugged. I hated asking him about his time there, knowing how much he despised talking about it—but this was urgent. This could change everything.

"During the last test, the one where I lost my remnant," he said after a moment, "they had a guard involved. I thought they tried to bind my power to him, but perhaps..."

"Perhaps they bound his ability to you." I licked my lips in thought. "If they replaced your remnant with a different one, if what the watchmen wield is like a remnant, then you can move the stone the same as them."

His blue eyes widened, finding mine. "I can move the stone."

The significance hit us both at once. He focused again on the pillar of obsidian crushing the men in the hall and tested the theory. Without even a flick of his finger, the stone lifted.

Luther grinned.

"I'd say that solves our last problem, right, boss?"

A layer of dust settled over the bodies of the men still bleeding into the carpet. The symbol of an eagle, the sigil of the OIC, pinned to the lapels of their suits. If these men wanted whatever Desmond needed moving, then I was more interested than ever to oblige this wager with the Demon Dealer.

Even if it cost me my shadow—my life—I'd get Milla out of Hightower and make this city safe again.

"Two birds, one massive fucking stone." I grinned. "Let's get these shadows home."