Marjorie Liu - Within the Flames

The witch had never come so close to finding her. Not to her knowledge. Then again, she’d had no idea that two of her servants had been following her. For how long? Had they seen her with Jimmy?

“Fuck,” she muttered. “I’m an idiot.”

An idiot who had a choice to make. Except it wasn’t much of a choice.

I can’t run anymore.

It was time to fight and die. Or fight and kill.

And if she killed. . if she did exactly what needed doing. . what would she become then?

You’ll hate being a coward more than you’ll hate being dead, her mother had once said. Fight your battles. Dig in your heels. What’s a little pain?

Pain leads to death, her father would have replied. Don’t give your daughter ideas.

And yet, he had stayed and fought. He had dug in his heels. For his wife. For his daughter.

“Be tough,” she told herself, staring into her eyes. “Do the right thing.”

The problem was how? How, without losing everything?

One step at a time. One step.

Lyssa exhaled slowly and flexed her right hand. Her golden claws gleamed, each tip razor-sharp.

One step. One cut. And once she started. .

She dressed quickly. Everything fit and felt good on her skin. The scarf was dark green and made of thick cashmere. She wrapped it around her throat, fussing with each fold until she was satisfied that it would hide her scales. Or reveal only enough to make someone think she had an elaborate tattoo.

The matching glove slid easily over her right hand. Carefully, she took Eddie’s charred jacket off the hook and slung the backpack over her shoulder.

She opened the bathroom door, listening.

It was quiet in the hall. On light feet, she made her way to the front entrance. Holding her breath, waiting for someone to stop her.

No one did. Until she opened the front door and stepped outside.

Eddie sat on the stoop. The tips of his hair were wet, the rest of him scrubbed clean. He was just as good-looking as she remembered — darkly handsome, lean — all man. He wore a black sweater that hugged his body and dark jeans that did the same.

He smiled. “Hey.”

Lyssa blinked at him. “You’re not coming with me.”

“Of course not.” He stood, slow and easy, and slung a backpack over his shoulder. “I’m going for a long walk.”

“How pleasant for you.”

“Very.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe you could tell Lannes good-bye for me? Thank him?”

“I already did. He just left to go pick up his wife.”

Lyssa folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the rail. “Human, you said?”

“More or less.” Eddie glanced down, scuffing his boot against the stone step. “Where are you headed?”

“I need to find a phone.”

“You don’t want to use the one inside?”

“I think. . the least amount of attention I bring to you and your friends, the better. I don’t want my call traced back here. Same with your cell,” she said, as he began reaching into his pocket. “I’ll find something.”

Eddie nodded, looking away. “I’m sure you will.”

She studied him, wondering again how he had managed to stand up to the servants of the Cruor Venator. No one did that. No one had that much courage, or conviction.

You did. Your parents.

Her mouth softened. “If I ask you not to follow me. . will you listen?”

He gave her a gentle, sidelong, smile. “What do you think?”

I think you’re going to break my heart.

They walked. Eddie didn’t ask where they were going. Questions seemed to make her prickly. Just being with her now was a hard-won victory.

“You haven’t told me much about the people you work for,” she said, as they left Lannes’s block-long neighborhood and crossed over to Leroy Street. “They sound. . eclectic.”

“I suppose they’d have to be. Some of them aren’t human.”

She glanced at him. “How many?”

“When I was first discovered seven years ago, there were none. Since then, we’ve found quite a few. Or they’ve found us.”

“Found.”

“Dirk & Steele looks for people who need help. Regular people. And people like you and me. We investigate crimes no one else can solve.”

Lyssa frowned. “Dirk & Steele.”

“You’ve heard of us?”

She shook her head. “No. Probably not.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

Lyssa gave him a dirty look, but that only made him smile — and suddenly she was smiling, too, just a little. “I’m incredibly sure.”

Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned. “Okay, then.”

He took a risk as they crossed another intersection and bumped her gently with his elbow. She shot him a look, but he kept his gaze locked straight ahead. Pretending he didn’t notice. That it was an accident.

Not every touch is a threat, he wanted to tell her. Not every person is out to get you.

A moment later, she bumped him, very lightly.

Eddie’s gaze jerked sideways, but she was looking down at his jacket draped over her arm. With a surprising amount of reluctance, she held it out to him.

“Keep it,” he told her. “I don’t feel the cold.”

“Neither do I.”

They stared at each other a moment.

“When,” began Lyssa, and hesitated. “When did you know? About. . the fire?”

When I killed a man.

Eddie looked away. “There was an accident.”

It was an accident that I killed the wrong man.

Matthew Swint’s face swam into his memories, but he pushed it away as hard as he could.

“You?” he asked, inwardly wincing at how sharp his voice sounded.

“I was ten,” she said, with particular softness. Eddie finally met her gaze and found her looking at him with knowing, gentle, eyes. His breath hitched in his throat, caught behind a hard, aching knot.

“I got angry,” she continued. “I was a clumsy kid and tripped down a couple stairs. I set the whole thing on fire as payback.”

“Really.”

“I had a temper. My parents were not amused.”

He smiled to himself and looked down at his feet. “You could talk to them, though. They weren’t. .”

“No,” she finished for him. “They weren’t frightened. What about. .”

“My mother,” he said. “No, she doesn’t. . know. I don’t think she could handle it.”

“Is she your only family?”

“I have a grandmother. I had a sister. But she’s not. .” Eddie couldn’t say the words. He never spoke of Daphne.

“It’s okay,” said Lyssa.

He chanced another glance, but she was looking down at his jacket again. Her gaze lost, thoughtful.

“You could throw that out,” he said.

She smoothed her gloved hand down the charred leather. “No. That would be a waste. You really don’t want it?”

Eddie shook his head, and she gave him a shy, hesitant smile that made his heart stop.

And then he stopped breathing altogether when she slid his jacket on.

It should have meant nothing. She had worn his coat earlier. He’d had girlfriends who slipped on his shirts. Cute and fun.

But seeing Lyssa wear his clothing. . even just his coat. . now, out in broad daylight with the hint of a smile in her eyes. .

He couldn’t think of a word for it. “Sexy” wasn’t good enough. A parade of naked women could have been marching up the street, and it would have meant nothing compared to seeing this woman lost in his jacket. The sight hit him with breathtaking force — making him suffer some primal, guttural, ache that he hadn’t realized he was capable of feeling.

Not like this.

Her hair was still damp, tangled around those intelligent, golden eyes. Everything in her face was smart and alive — and tempered with the vulnerability that had haunted him from the first moment he had seen her in Columbus Circle.