Chapter 15

My entire existence was swaying, gently rocking back and forth like a baby in a cradle. A baby with a massive headache.

I let out a long groan as my eyes fluttered open. A cramped, dimly lit room with a low ceiling and wood-paneled walls came into focus, and it took me a moment to realize I was horizontal—sprawled out on a small bed tucked against one wall. And I wasn't imagining that everything was swaying.

Where the hell was I? Wincing, I gingerly touched the side of my head where I'd cracked my skull on something.

A woman's voice broke through the darkness. "Don't freak out, okay?"

The lightning-reflexed bounty hunter walked into the light, holding a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. I scrambled into a sitting position, and the pounding in my head immediately made me regret that decision.

"I told you not to freak out. You're kinda spazzy, aren't ya?" She tossed the bottle of pills at me. "Take a couple of those."

"What are they? Poison? Truth serum?"

"Advil, dummy. For your head."

I fished the bottle out of the blankets. Extra-strength Advil. "You could've tampered with them."

"I'm not an alchemist, dude." The leather-clad lady set the glass of water on a small table beside me, then sat on a folding chair. "Take them. Or don't. I honestly don't give a shit."

I opened the bottle and peeked inside. Looked like Advil, smelled like Advil. "Where are we?"

"On my boat."

That explained the swaying. "Why are we on your boat?"

"Because I didn't wanna be hanging out with your unconscious ass in the middle of nowhere when the MPD showed up."

Wait, what? Avoiding the MPD meant avoiding her paycheck for tagging me. Unless… "You aren't a bounty hunter?"

"Hell no. I'm not doing the MPD's dirty work for them. I'm a smuggler. Basically the opposite of a bounty hunter."

All that running and projecting and skull cracking for nothing. She hadn't shown up to capture me; she'd shown up to rescue me. "Did Jenkins send you?"

"Yeah. He knows I dock my boat close to Deep Cove, so he sent me after you when he got your message."

In light of this new information, Advil suddenly seemed like a fantastic idea. I popped a couple in my mouth and washed them down with the water she'd left me, praying the dose would kick in soon.

Closing my eyes against the outrageous throbbing in my head, I mumbled, "So… who are you?"

"Vera."

"I'm Kit."

"I know."

"Right." I pressed a hand to my bruised gut. "You've got a mean roundhouse, Vera."

"Yeah, sorry about that." She didn't sound sorry at all. "I kinda panicked when you tried to run again."

"And your first reaction was to kick my kidney through my spine?"

She gave a small laugh. "People say violence doesn't solve anything, but I find it solves a whole helluva lot." A pause. "So you assumed I was a bounty hunter working for the MPD?"

"Yeah."

"Hm. Cool monster truck, by the way."

I didn't need to open my eyes to pick up on her faint sarcasm. "Thanks."

"Did you make up the flames on the sides and everything?" Her joking condescension grew more palpable.

"No, I had a toy that looked like that."

"Cute. So, you're an illusionist?"

"It's more like a hallucination."

"Meaning I was the only one who saw your super-rad monster truck?" she asked, continuing her playful derision.

"Yeah."

She went silent, so I opened my eyes to find her zoned out. Her gaze was focused on something distant, which was odd because nothing in this tiny room could be considered distant. Was she having a seizure?

"Are you okay?"

She blinked a couple of times and her eyes refocused. "Sorry, what?"

"What were you doing?"

"Seeing."

"Seeing… what?"

"The future. I'm a seer."

Ohhh. That explained a lot. Seers, as Rigel had once longingly explained, could see several seconds to several minutes into the future. That might not sound like a lot, but a twenty-second heads-up could save your life in a whole lot of sticky situations.

It also explained how she'd known my monster truck wouldn't smoosh her, and where I would run. Split Kit wasn't so useful if she could foresee that my duplicate would disappear.

"What did you see?" I asked warily.

"Nothing interesting, which means we don't have to worry about unwanted guests. Not for the next five minutes, at least," she added. "I'm guessing you're not hoping for a reunion with the MPD anytime soon."

That was a safe assumption. I got more comfortable on the bed, my damp clothes squishing unpleasantly. "How do you know Jenkins?"

"We're in the same guild. He kicks the odd client over to me and I give him a cut if it turns into anything."

"You have clients?"

"What do you think you are?" She noticed my hesitation. "That's what you need, isn't it? Someone to help you get the hell out of here?"

"Uh, yeah." And I'd already pieced together how the next part of our conversation would go. If Jenkins was getting a cut, that meant Vera expected payment for helping me—which was a problem, because even if I'd had my wallet, the contents of my bank account now belonged to the MPD.

She sighed. "You don't have any money, do you?"

"I'm a fugitive on the run. What did you expect?"

"I don't do charity work."

"Not even for fellow MPD-hating mythics on the run and in dire need of assistance?"

She crossed her arms. Looked like a "no."

"Maybe we can work something out?" I was grasping at straws, but if Vera bailed on me, I was back at square zero without a dry pair of underwear to my name. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement. Quid pro quo. You know."

"Quid pro quo?"

"It means—"

"I know what it means. What can you offer me?"

"What do you need?" I asked, sounding exponentially more confident than I felt. "Maybe I can hook you up with a shiny new hallucination, and in return, you can ship me a long way away from here."

Her lips pursed thoughtfully, and I tried not to look too hopeful. I would give her an entire bucketful of projections, hallucinations, and whatever else I could conjure up if it got me out of this mess. It's not like it would cost me anything to dream up an imaginary dragon.

"All that dual shit you pulled when you were running was kinda impressive." She eyed me. "I bet you've got a lot of those tricks up your sleeve."

"Oh yeah, tons of them. Up my very wet sleeve. You saw the monster truck."

"A glorified Hot Wheels toy?" she scoffed. "You can do better than that."

Going after my pride, was she? A good tactic, but I didn't let her aggravate me. "I could put you in the middle of a monster truck jam right now, if that's what you're looking for. The whole deal. You know, the ‘Sunday, Sunday, Sunday, you pay for the whole seat, but you'll only need the edge' type thing."

Creating a full-fledged hallucination with no basis in reality, set in a dreamed-up location with moving pieces and sound, was a tall order. Too tall for me. But I wasn't going to tell her that.

"I might have something you can help me with," she mused, "if you're willing to do what I ask."

"And what is that?"

"You're gonna help me rob an artifact dealer."

I squinted, wondering if I'd misheard. She'd said the words as though they were no big deal. "Say what now?"

"He stole from me first," she proclaimed defensively. "He set me up with a client—some white-collar windbag who cheated his guild and needed to run. I wasn't super hyped about helping a jackass like that, but he was gonna pay real well. Everything went smoothly. I dropped him off and he waved goodbye and we both sailed off into the sunset. Then a couple hours later, I'm looking for an enchanted watch I got as payment from another client and it's gone—along with the rest of my stash. The bastard took it all."

"And you think this artifact dealer put him up to it?" I asked.

"I know it."

"How?"

"I'm in the smuggling business, Kit. Word gets around. He's about to run a nice little auction, and half the items on the menu are my artifacts."

"Are they valuable?"

"They're my life savings." She grimaced. "I need some air."

Abandoning her seat, she climbed the narrow half-ladder, half-staircase beside the kitchenette and ducked through a short door. The cool night breeze slipped inside, bringing with it the quiet lapping of waves, then the door clacked shut.

Maybe fresh air would be good for me too. I grabbed my shoes and followed her up onto the deck.

The clouds had cleared, revealing a masterpiece of twinkling stars. The dark water was calm, and the unexpected beauty of a quiet night was a welcome change from the life or death pace of the past few days.

Vera's boat was anchored to a short wooden dock in a small inlet around the curve of Deep Cove. The boat was, aside from a plentiful array of rust spots, mostly white and looked like it had seen a lot of time out on the open sea. Twenty feet long, it featured a covered platform that sat on top of the living quarters, which I assumed was where all the steering and captaining and serious boating took place.

A narrow set of stairs wound away from the dock, up the rocky cliff, and toward an excessively expensive home overlooking the water. I traced the pathway with my eyes, then glanced at Vera. "Is that your house too?"

"I just rent the dock from the homeowners. I think they own a bank or an investment firm or some shit like that."

I pushed my feet into my shoes, not bothering with the laces. Hopefully I wouldn't be running anytime soon. "How come you haven't gone to get your stuff back from this dealer yourself?"

"Are you kidding?" She gave me a disbelieving side-eye. "Ever heard of Faustus Trivium?"

Faustus Trivium? That was an amazing name I would have absolutely remembered if I'd ever heard it before. "Nope. Who is he?"

She sat on the edge of the boat, facing me. "He has a gang of shady mythics who hang around him, and he deals a lot of illegal artifacts to a lot of illegal people."

"And you want to send me in after him?"

"Oh, relax," she scoffed. "I'd go with you. And with that magic of yours, I'm sure we'd be just fine."

A sudden rock of the boat threw me off balance, and I damn near did the splits as my feet slid in opposite directions.

She snorted. "Watch your step, landlubber."

"It's slippery."

"This sale Faustus is putting on, hocking my shit." She tapped her fingers on her knee. "It's Thursday evening."

"What day is it today? Er, tonight?"

"Very early on Tuesday."

I gave her a hard look. "In other words, we have approximately no time to get your stuff back."

Shaking my head, I retreated below deck, my arms wrapped around my middle for warmth. I could hardly remember what dry clothes felt like.

She followed me inside. "There's a shower if you want to use it, but the hot water heater busted."

A hot shower would've been an absolute savior. I'd never hated anything as much as I hated that water heater right now.

While I debated the unpleasantness of icing my body in cold water all over again versus trying to sleep with that grimy saltwater feeling all over my skin, Vera opened a cupboard and dug around inside. She tossed me a towel, then threw an armful of clothing my way.

I frowned. There was an awful lot of pink in her selection of garments.

"Get clean," she told me. "And throw your wet clothes on the stairs. I'll hang them outside to dry. Shout if you need anything else."

"I haven't agreed to help steal your stuff," I pointed out.

She raised a single blond eyebrow. "But you will."

With that, she headed back to the deck, leaving me to face the tiny, icy shower alone. Not that I wanted company.

I got the shower going, washed off in record time, and exited in a state of violent shivers. Within five minutes, I was dry, dressed, and lounging on the small cot wedged between the sink and the stairs. My new outfit consisted of hot pink fuzzy socks, silky black pajama pants that fit too snugly in the vital areas, and a baggy rose sweatshirt emblazoned with a glittery skeleton giving the finger.

No way Vera didn't have more gender-neutral clothes, but whatever. I was too tired to care. Though, thinking about it, I wouldn't have cared even while wide awake.

I leaned back against the pillow and closed my eyes. The door rattled as Vera came in, and I cracked an eye open just long enough to watch her enter the bathroom. Water ran as she brushed her teeth or washed her face or whatever women did to get ready for bed.

The gentle rocking of the boat lured me toward sleep. It'd been a long, tiring, dramatic day—from meeting Maggie in the café, to the unexpected encounter with Quentin, to my exhausting, hypothermic escape, to winding up on a refurbished fishing boat with a mercurial smuggler.

And I could only guess what tomorrow would bring.