Chapter Thirty-Six Shan

Chapter Thirty-Six

Shan

S han found Samuel exactly where she had left him, with her stacks of notes, telling him to look at anything he wanted. There were official reports, autopsy reports, background information on the victims, detailed breakdowns of magical theory that no doubt went over his head.

It was both overwhelming and disturbing, the life and death of five people reduced to clinical, sterile information. And sitting next to it all was a hastily scribbled note with a simple name— Sarah Dean .

She had spent days going over it, determined to find the killer and keep her promises to Isaac, but she had found nothing to help. So, with a fear in her heart that she couldn't quite squash, she had done as Samuel had asked.

She let him in.

She asked for help.

Samuel pushed away from the desk, his handsome features twisted into something dark and grim. He clenched a note in his hand—one that Shan had hoped he wouldn't find. "Anton knew the second victim?"

"Yes," she said. "Jessica James. She imported books for him. Tagalan books."

Samuel dropped the note. "And I know that he knew Sarah Dean. That's at least two of the victims. Multiple ways for him to get into this."

"I know," Shan snapped.

Samuel shut his mouth, then softly ventured, "Shan—"

"No! He is my brother!" She pulled herself tall, as if she could deny the facts by sheer will alone. "My twin. I know him, he would never do this."

Because if he did, she'd lose him either way. Because if he did, she'd have no choice at all.

"All right," Samuel said, holding his hands up in surrender. "All right."

Shan dashed away her tears. "I'm being foolish. It's just… bad luck." Steeling herself, she lifted her chin up high. "And I will prove it tonight."

Samuel reached for her, stepping forward, but stopped himself—an aborted, harsh movement.

Shan pretended not to notice. "We'll prove it," she said.

"Ah, yes," Samuel said. "What exactly is the plan?"

"We're going to the Fox Den, and we'll find out what we can on Sarah. You go in the front, like any normal night—"

"Any normal night I wouldn't be gambling," Samuel interrupted, and Shan shot him an exasperated look.

" You ," she said, stressing the word, "will be acting like normal, gambling, having a good time. See if anything is off."

"Wait, I'm supposed to do this?"

Shan shrugged. "Well, ideally you'd have Anton's help, but…" She placed her hands on his shoulders, steadying him. If only there was another option. But Isaac was still a wreck, and Bart was too common for this role. "I believe in you, Samuel. You are sweet and charming, and you can handle this. Just act naturally and listen. That's the most important part."

He looked up at her, so trusting, and nodded. "And what will you be doing?"

"I'll be working it from the other side," she stepped back, pulling open her cloak to reveal the outfit underneath.

Samuel's eyes widened as he took it in—the tight corset, the short skirt. The lace and the faux diamonds, the scandalous amount of bare skin visible. His eyes snapped to her face, suddenly taking in the makeup, the curled hair.

She had dressed herself up as a tart in uniform of the ladies of the Fox Den, and Samuel looked as if he were about to faint.

"I— uh— wait—"

Some of the tension faded from her as she smiled fondly at him. "Don't worry, Samuel, I've done this many times before." She dropped the cloak, stepping back. "I know what I am doing."

"That wasn't the issue."

"Oh, I know." She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and enjoying the blush that painted his skin red, more effective than any rouge she had ever used. "But now is not the time for that."

Dazed, Samuel could do nothing but follow, her fingers entwined in his as she pulled him along.

When Shan walked into the Fox Den, there was an unusually solemn air amongst the workers. The matron looked at her sharply, sighing in relief, then pointed at a tray of goblets. Doing her best to look slightly confused, she stepped up to the tray.

One of the kitchen workers, a young boy, no more than eighteen or twenty, leaned forward. "Don't worry," he said. "She's been doing that all night, every time a familiar face walks in. Doesn't matter if they're a regular or a part-timer, like you, Sparrow."

Shan flashed him a small smile—Gerome, his name was. "Thanks. Has something happened?"

"One of the dealers never showed up," he said, casting his dark eyes low. "It could be anything, but…"

"With the murders," Shan finished for him. That was one thing the papers didn't leak, the name. The Unblooded were already twitchy enough; they didn't need to add more fuel to the fire.

"Yeah, exactly."

"Enough gossiping!" The matron snapped. "We're here to work, not gab."

Shan hoisted the tray of wine upon her shoulder, turning towards the floor. The matron grabbed her elbow, dropping low to whisper in her ear. "My office, end of the night. I'll tell you what you need, Sparrow."

"As you say, matron," she said, inclining her head. Information from the matron wasn't unprecedented, but it was rare. Normally the matron just let her work, allowing the Sparrow to flit in and out. But times were desperate.

Her elbow was released, and she swept out into the Fox Den.

Out there, the atmosphere was completely transformed. All the shades of worry and sorrow were gone as the workers pasted false smiles on the faces—the dealers running their games with confident hands, the servers carrying food and wine between tables. Shan moved through the crowd, taking in the clientele, and noticed something strange.

Usually, the patrons of the Fox Den were Blood Workers—easily nine out of ten being someone she recognized from society—yet there was the occasional Unblooded among them. But tonight there were none. Every single person gambling there was a Blood Worker, and their friends and family who didn't have the gift? They just didn't show up. And worst of all, the Blood Workers didn't seem to miss them.

They continued their gambling and their revelries like nothing was wrong, like people were not being brutally murdered and violated simply for the blood in the veins. They didn't care that people they knew—and presumably cared about—were too afraid to leave their homes.

It sickened her.

She passed by Samuel, surrounded by a crowd of preening sycophants who were eager to latch onto him, now that he was out in public without a chaperone. There wasn't a LeClaire to ward them away, de la Cruz to charm them, the King to awe them. For the first time, he was truly out in Aeravinian society on his own, and Shan realized that he had done it for her, simply because she asked.

She did not deserve him.

Swooping by his table—roulette—to trade empty cups for full ones, she listened in as he spoke. He was calm and confident, despite the pale cast to his cheeks, and he held up well against the barbs the others threw at him, dancing lightly out of their stings and offering little in return. He was unfailingly polite, and it would only make him a further attraction.

What a novelty this young Aberforth was.

She slipped away, offering a passing smile of comfort, and slid back into her role, none of the other nobles any wiser. Samuel watched her for only a moment as she moved away, then turned back to his entourage.

She allowed herself a breath of relief. He would do well after all—she hadn't been the instrument of his destruction.

The night passed slowly, the work easy but the lies hard, as she waited for the information the matron promised. She smiled and batted her eyelashes at the nobles who didn't recognize her face, hating their casualness, their emptiness.

Eventually, she caught Samuel on the way to the washroom, signaling him to follow her into the storeroom. She tried to ignore the memories that popped into her head of a different man on a different night.

"What have you heard?" Shan said.

"Nothing much," Samuel replied, the easy affability he pretended at all night vanishing. He looked so drained. "As far as rumors, they haven't heard anything that wasn't in the papers. I don't think anyone's even noticed the new dealer. And otherwise—"

"Perfectly normal," Shan spat, and Samuel nodded. Useless, it was all useless. But there was still the matron. Still a bit of hope. She reached out, pressing her hand against his face, and he leaned into the touch. "Thank you for trying, Samuel."

"It's okay," he said. "I wanted to."

They both knew it was a lie, but Shan didn't press it. She just allowed herself to lean into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, soft and comforting. There was nothing forward about it, nothing demanding—just comfort, freely given.

Shan felt as if she was breaking apart.

She stepped back, though she wanted nothing more than for him to keep holding her. "You can go, but there are still some things I need to do."

"Okay," he said, rubbing at his eyes. "We'll talk soon?"

"I'll send you a note about what I find," she promised, and Samuel clenched her hands to his one last time.

"Be careful, Shan."

"You, too," she whispered, and let him slip out first. When she was alone, with only the beat of her heart to keep her company, she whispered, "I really have to stop doing this."

She exited the storeroom only to the find the matron standing there, arms crossed over her chest. "Playing both sides, Sparrow?"

Shan quickly rearranged her expression, hiding away the pain and indecision she felt and replacing it with confidence and a lazy kind of ego. "Both sides have good information."

The matron stared at her for a long moment, but her anger broke. "If it helps you find out who did this to our girl, then how can I judge you?" She turned, heading towards her office, and Shan hurried to follow her.

"You don't think she is alive then?" Shan asked, feigning ignorance though she knew the truth. These people saw her as a beacon of hope, and she needed them to keep seeing her that way. If she came to them with the truth, awful as it was, she didn't know what they would do.

And she couldn't risk that, not now.

The matron shook her head. "It's been five days, Sparrow. No one has seen Sarah. Her home is empty. Her family mystified. We can only assume the worst."

"Tell me everything," Shan said. "Her address, her friends. Who last saw her. Anything that could help."

The matron opened the door to her office. "I have a copy of her file prepared for you to take. It's everything I know. As for who last saw her?" She wrung her hands. "I believe that was me."

Shan leaned forward. "And? Anything unusual?"

"Just that she left after her shift with a dark-haired man." The matron held up a hand. "No, I did not see his face, nor do I know his name."

Shan's breath caught in her throat. "I see."

"That's all I know," she said, "that and what's in the file." The matron looked at her, her blue eyes sharp. "You've got ties to both sides, but I don't care about that. All I care about is keeping my people safe. Do you understand me?"

"I do," Shan said, forcing the words past dry lips.

"Then go out and find this bastard, Sparrow," the matron hissed. "And make him pay."

Shan took the file and held it to her chest. "Thank you for your assistance." She slipped away before the matron could say any more, before she broke down completely.

It was just a coincidence. It meant nothing. There were many dark-haired men in Aeravin. And she would find this bastard and destroy him.