Excerpt

Lucinda Barkson slowed her windstone vehicle about three blocks away from the Office of the Constabulary. The fog was thinning, but the visibility was still low. There was a lot more traffic here than there had been on the other roads—large carriages, constabulary on horseback, some people walking.

They all seemed to be headed to or coming from the Office of the Constabulary. Barkson didn't want to attract attention here, so she negotiated the large vehicle through openings in the traffic as if the windstone could break.

It couldn't—not easily—but the vehicle did sit lower than the carriages, so was often hard to see in a crowded area like this.

Until now, Barkson had driven, in Gussie's words, "like a crazy woman." There had been a purpose behind that seeming craziness.

Barkson had to make sure they weren't being followed. A carriage couldn't have followed at the speed Barkson had gone, and a person on horseback would have stood out if they tried to keep up with the vehicle.

Barkson hadn't explained that to Gussie. Gussie, who had gripped the edge of the bench seat with a single gloved hand, and hadn't said much after asking if Barkson always drove like this.

Otherwise, Gussie—Augusta Kirilli, the oldest child of Augustus Kirilli—sat primly in the passenger seat of the vehicle. For the first time, maybe in her entire life, she was wearing pants and a loose blouse that she kept trying to adjust.

The clothes belonged to Barkson, along with the boots. Gussie's clothing was stained with blood. When she had peeled it off before washing down at Barkson's apartment, Barkson had quietly gathered the pieces and tossed them in a pile behind the building to be burned.

Barkson made herself pay attention to her driving. She needed to get Gussie to the Office of the Constabulary in one piece. It was probably the only place Gussie would be safe right now.

The neighborhood around the Office of the Constabulary had once been cheap rentals and tiny homes. Now, it consisted of offices and businesses related to the Constabulary.

There were several Offices of the Constabulary throughout the city of Trinovante, but this office serviced one of the richest areas in the entire city. Most of the Old Families lived nearby, in stately estates with massive amounts of land and servants.

Nothing much happened in this neighborhood except petty theft. Until the last few days.

Barkson had heard tell of massive destruction at some of the manor houses, and that was before Gussie had located her at Mallankam's Public House. Gussie had told her a horrific tale that seemed to get worse as more details emerged. Gussie had sought Barkson out because, as Gussie said, Barkson was the only person she knew who could help.

In the past day or so, Gussie's father had been attacked and murdered, the family estate ransacked, and all of the staff killed in hideous ways.

This morning, Gussie and her driver had found all of the bodies, and had had a strange encounter with her father that had more than a little tinge of magic to it. Gussie hadn't really allowed herself to believe in magic before, even though the Kirillis were steeped in it.

Now, she did, although reluctantly.

Or perhaps what Barkson took for reluctance was utter emotional exhaustion.

Gussie was currently holding herself together with sheer determination. She sat upright, not allowing her back to touch the seat. Even though her hand gripped the bottom of the seat, she wasn't holding herself up with it. She was staring out of the windscreen, as if the road and carriages before her were the most important things in the world.

Barkson admired that. She had never realized just how strong Gussie was. They had gone to school together and had become fast, if unlikely, friends. They were very different—Gussie, prim and proper and concerned with how things looked, and Barkson, breaking every rule as she tried to get through.

Gussie had brought Barkson home several times, mostly on school holidays, until Barkson stopped accepting the invitations because she was so uncomfortable. Still, she had gotten to meet everyone in Gussie's immediate family, including her father.

Barkson hadn't had much time to register his death and how she felt about it. She knew a lot more about Augustus Kirilli than his daughter did.

Now was not the time to tell Gussie any of those things.

Barkson pulled over across the street from the Office of the Constabulary. It was a huge ugly building, with several stories and too many doors. A wide covered walkway swarmed with people, some in uniform and many in everyday clothes. Large posts at the edge of the walkway made sure that no one drove onto it, either with a carriage or a windstone vehicle.

There was a carriage park to the side of the building, but no place for windstone vehicles. Barkson had noted that curiosity before, but she had never considered it a problem until now.

Gussie stared at the building, her lower lip trembling. She had had an impossible day, and yet she hadn't broken down, not yet anyway. Barkson had given her the opportunity at the apartment, and Gussie had not taken it.

Gussie had been on the move all day. After discovering the destruction and the bodies of the murdered staff, Gussie had sent her driver—a man named Zeitsev—to this Office of the Constabulary to report the crimes. Then Gussie had gotten in her own windstone vehicle and driven somewhere—she wouldn't tell Barkson exactly where—to hide some satchels her father had given her, maybe before or (oddly) after his death.

Barkson didn't understand the part about the satchels, and she wasn't sure she was supposed to.

Gussie had told her almost everything, only holding back the location of the satchels because her father had sworn her to secrecy.

Barkson believed her for a variety of reasons. Gussie had been a physical mess when she found Barkson. Gussie's clothing was covered in blood. She had a bloody handprint on her back. The bottom of her skirts was brown with dried blood, and her hair was coming out of its usually neat bun. Gussie had looked like a woman about to collapse, but she hadn't.

Barkson had taken Gussie home, fed her, clothed her, and demanded that she sleep.

But Gussie couldn't.

I need to get in touch with my siblings, she had said more than once, and for that I need you.

That was why Barkson had fourteen letters in the hidden compartment of her windstone vehicle—two letters for each sibling—along with a map that showed her where each Kirilli sibling now lived. Barkson had also brought almost every weapon she owned, from her pistols to nearly a dozen daggers.

They too were in the hidden compartments in the back.

Gussie hadn't seen Barkson pack those. Gussie had been busy writing the letters, calmly penning the same first letter to each sibling, detailing their father's death. The second letter, Gussie had said, was the important one, and she made sure that Barkson understood that no one was to receive the second letter first, ever.

Barkson had had to swear to that more than once, because Gussie seemed able to do only one thing at a time.

That she was still standing after the day she had was a miracle; that she was thinking clearly enough to come up with a plan for her siblings was something that left Barkson in awe.

Gussie still stared out the windscreen, her back rigid. She hadn't moved at all. Barkson wasn't even certain Gussie knew that they were in front of the constabulary.

Barkson put a gentle hand on Gussie's shoulder, hoping she hadn't fallen asleep with her eyes open. Barkson had seen some of the strongest men she'd ever known do that accidentally in her work for the Shadow Company. Sometimes exhaustion won.

But Gussie wasn't asleep. She blinked, smiled ruefully, and sighed.

"I don't want to talk to them," she said about the constabulary. The rich never did.

Had this been a normal day, with normal events, Barkson would have pointed out that class disparity to Gussie. Barkson had liked jabbing at the class differences between them since they'd met at Bekyce School for Girls nearly twenty years before.

"I know you don't want to go in there," Barkson said, "but you need to inform them. They need—"

"I'm sure Zeitsev told them everything," Gussie said.

They'd had this discussion at the apartment, then again when they had gotten into the windstone vehicle, and apparently they were going to have it again. Barkson tried not to sigh.

She needed to get on the road. After hearing what Gussie had been through—what was going on—Barkson knew that time was of the essence.

She had to reach all of the Kirilli siblings as quickly as possible. The problem was that they were scattered across the Dorovich continent, in several different countries. Emberto, the youngest son, lived near Mount Vitaki, and that was at least a three-day drive from here, nonstop.

Barkson wouldn't be able to go nonstop. Even if she didn't have the other siblings to deal with, she would need some sleep. And those three days didn't count road conditions or other problems she might encounter along the way.

"They need to hear from you," Barkson said of the constabulary. "They need to hear everything from you."

She had never said that before.

"I can't tell them about my father. It might be magic," Gussie said, staring out the passenger-side windscreen.

Might be magic. It was magic. The man had showed up, injured, at the manor house and then had faded away after he had delivered the satchels to Gussie. No one faded away without some kind of magic.

"Then don't tell them that part," Barkson said. "Just tell them you saw him, and get them to that kitchen."

Where the bodies of the staff were. The constabulary would take it from there.

"You just want them to protect me," Gussie said. "But what if they're involved?"

"They're not," Barkson said.

"You can't know that!" Gussie's voice rose. Barkson braced herself. Was this the much-needed, much-anticipated breakdown?

Barkson had hoped Gussie wouldn't have that until Barkson had left on this long trip.

"I can know it," Barkson said as calmly as she could. "You just mentioned magic, and you're right. The constabulary enforces rules against magic. They wouldn't sanction this kind of attack. They wouldn't attack an Old Family, and they wouldn't use magic against your father."

Gussie looked at her, eyes lined with tears.

Barkson squeezed Gussie's shoulder. It was so thin, and so much was riding on it now.

"I know this for a fact," Barkson said. "If I didn't, I wouldn't have brought you here."

That convinced Gussie. She took a deep breath, nodded, and then sighed.

"You have my key, right?" Barkson wanted to remind Gussie that she had a place to go.

"Yes," Gussie said. "And you don't have to give me the instructions again. I know them. I'm to get someone from here to drop me off a block or two away from your place. I should be able to make it from there to your apartment just fine. They can't know where I am."

She sagged a little, finally looking defeated.

"I won't be able to sleep," she said.

"But you'll be safe," Barkson said.

"I'll be safe," Gussie whispered, as if she didn't believe it.

Barkson wasn't sure she believed it either, but she did know one thing: she couldn't make this drive with Gussie in the passenger seat. Not that Gussie wanted to come. When she had been thinking just a bit more clearly, she had mentioned that she planned to go to the families of each staff member, tell them they had lost their loved one, and give them enough money to survive for a few months.

That by itself would take days and an emotional toll that Barkson didn't want to think about.

She had made Gussie promise she would not return to her father's property—indeed, to any Kirilli property—until this crisis had passed.

"I need to get on the road," Barkson said.

Being blunt seemed to be the only way to end this cycle of indecision. Obviously, Gussie was getting tired. All of the events of the day were hitting her now.

Barkson wasn't the kind of friend who could comfort a person in a time of need. Barkson was a woman who took action.

Gussie had been right to find Barkson, and to send her with the letters to the siblings. Gussie had no idea who Barkson really was or what she had been doing since they left their advanced studies at Serebro Academy, but Gussie did know that Barkson sometimes took on dangerous "odd jobs" that had once been—in Gussie's opinion—extremely unladylike.

Barkson was actually saddened that Gussie had need of her most unladylike friend. Gussie had long belonged to a part of the world that Barkson had thought untouchable by blood and violence.

Barkson had been so very wrong.

"Yes, yes," Gussie said. "You have to leave. Tell them…well, you know what to tell them."

She was referring to her siblings, none of whom lived in Trinovante. Some of them had children. Others…well, Barkson hoped she could find them quickly.

"I do," Barkson said. "I have all that I need. I'll send you letters as well, just to keep you informed, in case…"

She made herself stop. She had almost made a misstep. She had almost said, in case I don't make it back.

That had been a goodbye saying for members of Shadow Company. She hadn't expected it to become so rote that she almost said it to Gussie.

Gussie looked at her sharply. Gussie had probably heard the unstated words.

"In case?" she asked.

Barkson made herself smile reassuringly. "In case it takes me longer to return than you expect."

That was also true. Barkson had no idea what she was driving into, nor did she know how long it would take her.

Gussie grabbed her hand so tightly that Gussie's glove rubbed against Barkson's skin.

"You can't die on me too," Gussie said.

Barkson grinned in her most insouciant way.

"Gus," she said, "that's why you're sending me. I'm indestructible."

A tear ran down Gussie's face. "That's the thing, Lucinda," she said. "No one is. I thought my father was, and you saw—well, you didn't see. You know…"

"I know," Barkson said. She had to stop the emotional breakdown before it happened. "Your father did everything he could to make sure his legacy was protected. I'm going to do everything I can to make sure your family is safe. You have my word."

"I know." Gussie let go of her hand. "You're a true friend, Lucinda."

Barkson laughed, deliberately. "I'm not sure that's true, Gus. You're paying me."

"You didn't want me to," Gussie said.

Trapped by her own words from a few hours ago. Barkson had no response for that.

"Go," she said. "Before someone in the constabulary wonders why we're parked here and their curiosity delays my journey further."

"Right. Yes." Gussie opened the door. Finally. She slipped a booted foot out, then turned.

Barkson half-held her breath, hoping this wouldn't lead to more discussion.

"Be safe, Lucinda," Gussie said.

Since that command contradicted the very point of this journey, Barkson had no option other than a polite lie.

"I will, Gus," she said. "I promise. I will."