D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“You’re working for the Bersons,” the girl said. “Is that right?”

Ethan scanned the street again, taking care to check the nearest windows. “Someone sent you, is that it?”

“Are you working for the Bersons?”

He stared at the girl briefly. Perhaps by answering her questions he might learn something of whoever had sent her. “Yes, the Bersons hired me.”

“You seek a piece of jewelry,” Anna said. “A brooch. Rubies and diamonds.”

“That’s right. You know a great deal about me.”

“I know enough,” she said calmly, looking up at him.

“And yet I know nothing about you except your name.” Ethan smiled. “That’s not fair, is it?”

“My name’s Anna. I live here. What more do you want to know?”

“Here?” Ethan repeated. “You mean in the South End?”

“Here, in the streets.”

That wiped the smile from his face. “You have no home?”

She gazed back at him, saying nothing.

“Who takes care of you?”

“I don’t need anyone taking care of me.”

“But where do you sleep? Where do you get your food?”

“I get what I need,” she said, still with that maddening air of calm. “I get along fine without anyone helping me.”

“But you must have some family.”

“I want to talk about the brooch,” she said.

Ethan shook his head. “No. What’s your last name?”

Anna started to walk away. “Fine,” she said, tossing the word over her shoulder. “Then you’ll never find it.”

She didn’t walk quickly, and in turning her back on him she showed no fear. But neither did she give any indication that she was doing this for effect. If he let her go, she would leave.

“Wait!” Ethan called in surrender, as she reached the next illuminated window. “Come back. Please.”

She had halted beneath the window at his first word. Now she started back toward him. There was something odd about her, though Ethan couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

“No more questions about my family,” she said, as she drew nigh again. “Or I’ll leave.”

“All right,” Ethan agreed reluctantly. “Can you at least tell me who sent you?” He glanced around again, his unease growing by the moment. He still sensed someone conjuring, closer now. But where?

She frowned, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Ethan took a step toward her, and then another. She didn’t flinch, but he didn’t want to risk scaring her off. He squatted down so that he was looking her in the eye. “Listen to me, Anna. Whoever sent you could be dangerous. That brooch-it was taken from a girl-”

“Jennifer Berson.”

“That’s right,” Ethan said. “She’s…” He hesitated. He didn’t want to frighten the girl, but she needed to understand her peril. “She’s dead now.”

“I know,” the girl said solemnly.

“Whoever sent you-whoever has that brooch-might well have been the person who killed her.”

“You’re a thieftaker,” she said. “Isn’t that right?”

He nodded, frowning. “Yes, but-”

“Then all that matters to you is the brooch. If you find that and give it back to her family, you’ll be paid.”

“How is it you know so much about thieftaking?”

“Am I right?” she asked.

Ethan stared at her. He wasn’t just talking to the girl, he knew. This was a negotiation with the person who had sent her, who might well be close enough to hear everything they said. In the end, he decided to treat it that way. “It’s not that easy,” he told her. “Jennifer Berson is dead, and her family is entitled to know why, and who’s responsible.”

The girl shook her head. “You’re a thieftaker. The brooch is all that matters. And I can get it for you. I know where it is.”

“Can you take me there now?” Ethan asked.

“I can get it for you.”

Ethan shook his head. “No. The person who has it now-”

“Is none of your concern,” the girl said sternly. “Meet me tomorrow at this time, right here. I’ll take you to it. You can give it to Berson and get your money.”

“There’s more to this than the brooch,” Ethan said. “Even if you don’t understand that, the person who sent you does.”

He was still squatting, and his knees were starting to ache. Ten years ago, he could have stayed thus for longer. But not anymore. He straightened his legs slowly, stiffly. His stomach and sides ached from the beating.

As he stood he realized two things simultaneously. First, the girl had said nothing about the bruises on his face. And second, standing in a dark portion of the street, Ethan could see his shadow cast on the cobblestone lane by the glow of the moon.

The girl cast no shadow. That was why she had looked so strange before, when she had walked away and then faced him again. She had cast no shadow then, either. Not from the moon; not from the window. And the light on her face hadn’t changed in the least.

“What are you?” Ethan asked, in a breathless voice.

A faint smile touched the girl’s lips. “Tomorrow night,” she said. “I’ll take you to the brooch. Or else you’re a dead man.”

With that, she vanished, like a candle flame extinguished in a sudden wind. Ethan spun around, searching for the conjurer who had created her, summoned her from the air, much as Ethan had summoned that white horse the night before. An elemental spell. An illusion. That was why he had felt a casting, but not a potent one. And yet this spell went so far beyond any he was capable of wielding, it struck him dumb.

The vision Ethan had conjured to scare Daniel the previous night had lasted mere moments, and Ethan hadn’t even managed to make the horse’s hooves click on the wharf fill. But this conjurer had sustained his illusion-or hers-for several minutes. The girl had spoken to him, asked him questions, responded to Ethan’s words. She had been… alive, or as close to alive as a creature of a conjurer’s art could be.

And she had warned him, too. Tomorrow night… Or else you’re a dead man. He knew better than to dismiss this as an idle threat. A conjurer who could summon an illusion like this one could probably overcome even Ethan’s most powerful wardings.

Ethan remained utterly still, listening for a footfall or the scrape of a boot sole on cobblestone. Anything that might reveal the whereabouts of the conjurer who had summoned that little girl out of the mist. A horse-drawn chaise rattled by in the distance, and a dog barked. Closer, a man sang “Rail No More, Ye Learned Asses,” loudly and off pitch, the familiar lyrics slurred together. But Ethan heard nothing of the conjurer.

“Damn,” he whispered. He realized that he was crouching again, and clutching his blade so tightly that his hand had begun to ache. Slowly, he straightened up. After another moment, he sheathed his knife.

He started walking again, watchful, still straining his ears. He halted every few steps, to make certain that the conjurer wasn’t using Ethan’s footsteps to mask his or her own. But he was sure that the other conjurer had already managed to steal away. As he came within sight of Henry’s shop, Pitch and Shelly came bounding out of the darkness to greet him. He knelt and allowed them to lick his ears and face.

“Where were you two when I was talking to the ghost girl?”

They wagged their tails, regarding him with curiosity. Then they began to lick him again.

“All right,” he said, standing. “You’ll get no food from me. Go find Henry.”

At the mention of Henry’s name, they wheeled and ran back to the shop. Ethan followed and walked around back to the stairway that led to his room.

Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, Ethan listened once more and scanned the stairway and the alleys on either side of the building for any sign that he had more visitors. The last thing he wanted was to end his day with another beating at the hands of Sephira’s men. Convinced that no one else was there, he started up toward his door, his legs heavy.