THIRTY-THREE #2
Aly gave a weak smile. “Possibly both.”
“How did that happen?” Yvaani shook her head in disbelief.
“Remember that copper who arrested me here? He offered me freedom in exchange for helping him find the murderer, and it went from there.”
Yvaani stared at her, her dark eyes inscrutable. “Do you trust this copper?”
“Surprisingly, yes.”
“And are you still in contact with him?”
“Grant still isn’t in prison, so yes,” Aly said.
The silence stretched between them, then Yvaani said, “Why are you here, then? Can’t he pay you?”
Aly grasped the folds of her skirt. “I’m not going from dependent on Grant to dependent on a copper.”
“Smart lass.” Yvaani pressed herself off the counter. “Now, about those caches.”
Aly eyed her warily. On balance she trusted Yvaani far more than she did Grant. She thrust her hands in her pockets and jerked her head towards the door. “It’s probably easier if I show you.”
The drizzle hit Aly with the force of a slap as they stepped out of the pawn shop, a thousand tiny needles of cold pricking at her skin.
Neither spoke as Aly led Yvaani along narrow, dark closes, the grey stone walls rising up on either side, so tall and crowded together they felt suffocating.
The city reeked of burnt juniper as people sained their houses with the smoke in anticipation of the new year.
Aly turned down a cramped street, trailing her fingers along the wall as she felt for the cache. They were easy to find if you knew what you were looking for—and nearly impossible to find if you didn’t. The wall was cold and damp beneath Aly’s fingers, making her shiver.
“What are you doing?” Yvaani asked, her tone clipped.
Aly’s fingertips tripped across the wall, the hum of magic growing louder. “Looking for the cache. There’s one around here somewhere.”
Yvaani cocked her head to one side.
Aly rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s not as though he puts up signs.
” She reached out and grabbed Yvaani’s hand, pressing the other woman’s palm against the wall.
Yvaani’s shoulders tensed as Aly reached for her, but she didn’t pull back or attack Aly.
Her hand was longer than Aly’s, her slender brown fingers traced with white scars that glimmered in the torchlight.
“Do you feel that?” Aly asked. “The magic running through it?”
Yvaani’s eyebrows drew together. “All I feel is cold, wet stone.” Her nostrils flared. “If this is some sort of trick . . .”
Aly’s shoulders tensed. Yvaani didn’t need to finish that sentence.
She ran her fingers over the wall. The pulsing web of power beneath her fingertips was as distinguishable to the touch as the grain of the stone or the damp of the drizzle.
It seemed impossible to her that Yvaani didn’t feel anything.
“It’s close to here,” she said, moving her hand to where the power congregated.
“You should be able to feel it. Maybe you just need to—” She slammed her jaw shut before she could finish that sentence.
“Need to what?” Yvaani snapped.
Aly shook her head. “Nothing.”
But Yvaani wouldn’t let it go. “Need to try harder? Is that what you were going to say?”
Aly pressed her lips together, as though she could bite back the words she’d already spoken.
Tension stretched taut between them, the silence punctuated only by the rain splashing on the cobblestones.
Yvaani’s face betrayed nothing as they stared at each other, her hazel eyes reflecting the torchlight.
“Never mind,” Aly muttered. She turned back to the wall, pressing her palms flat against the cold stone.
“The latch must be here somewhere.” The thrumming was more intense near her right hand, just past her pinkie, and she slid her hand up and out until she found it.
It vibrated with power, the tension in it ready to be released with a flick of will.
“Here.” She tapped her hand against the stone. “Try here.”
Yvaani pressed a hand to where Aly indicated, her face impassive. Aly swallowed. If Yvaani couldn’t feel it, would she rescind her offer of employment? Her shoulders trembled. Protection aside, she needed a job that would pay her, and soon. She barely had enough in her pocket to buy dinner.
“I don’t feel anything.” Yvaani’s eyes narrowed.
“Maybe you can only find it if it detects the right magical signature.” Even as she said it, she knew that couldn’t be true. All she felt for was the presence of magic. That couldn’t be hidden with the application of yet more magic.
Yvaani sighed. “There’s nothing here.” She turned on her heel. “The deal is off.”
Aly’s skin went cold. In a panic, she patted at the wall, feeling for the latch and flicking it as Yvaani’s boots sounded on the cobblestones.
The stones melted away to reveal a cupboard no deeper than the wall.
A harsh white glow emanated from it, courtesy of the magical lights embedded in the walls.
Yvaani’s footsteps stopped. She turned slowly, her mouth dropping open.
She took a step forwards, her fingertips stretched out to the cupboard.
Stacks of fabric sat on one shelf, dirks and shortswords on another.
Amber glass bottles lined a shallow cabinet at the back.
There was little in there Yvaani couldn’t get elsewhere, other than perhaps some of the rarer potions.
Aly watched the other woman, tracking where her gaze rested in the cupboard, wondering why she had wanted access to these caches.
“How many of these does he have?” Yvaani asked, lamplight glimmering on her cheeks.
Aly shrugged. “A dozen that I know. Likely more I don’t.”
Yvaani stepped back, her hand falling to her side. “You can close it now.”
Aly slid her fingertips over the latch and the stones shimmered into being. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Enough for now.” It was the best explanation Aly was going to get. “Give me your hand.”
Aly flexed her fingers at her sides, hesitating.
Yvaani gave an exasperated sigh, grabbing Aly’s left hand. Her fingers were warm against Aly’s wrist. “I’m not going to chop it off.” She pricked Aly’s forefinger with her sgian dubh, swiping the blood onto her own fingertips, then turned back to the wall. “Where did you say the latch was?”
Aly tapped the wall, feeling it thrum beneath her fingers. “Here.”
Yvaani pressed her bloody fingertip to where Aly indicated. Nothing happened.
Aly frowned. It should have worked. Magic was in the blood. It was why an open cut was needed for salching to work. Aly’s blood should have been indistinguishable to the spells on the cache from her own will.
Yvaani was staring at her, a shrewd expression on her face. “What’s so special about you?”
“I’m sorry?” Aly fought the urge to squirm under Yvaani’s appraising look.
Yvaani jerked her head at the wall. “Who else has access to these?”
“Only a few people. Those Grant trusts.” Aly wasn’t about to hand over their names.
“All salchs?”
“Aye, I think so.” Other than Grant, but he was demi-fae and the normal laws of human magic didn’t apply to him.
“Interesting.” Yvaani tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “Don’t you find it odd that someone as powerful as Grant only seems to promote salchs?”
Aly frowned. “What are you saying?” She had always assumed it was a way of exerting control. All his most trusted lieutenants knew he could take their magic if they insulted or disappointed him—a punishment that was painful and dangerous, but didn’t leave them unable to carry out their work.
Yvaani shrugged, wiping her finger on a handkerchief. “Well, it seems your magic alone isn’t enough to open the cache, which means that the information you’ve provided me is rather useless.”
Aly’s heart was in her throat. The deal couldn’t be off, not now that she’d shown the cache to Yvaani. “Well, then,” she said, forcing levity into her voice, “you’ll just have to keep me alive, won’t you?”
Yvaani stared at her for a long moment, that shrewd expression back on her face. “It would seem so.”