I spoke to them it was obvious he was just the sweetest old fella.”
“Any idea where either of them would be?”
“Either of them? They’re not both missing?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Oh, that is strange! He was quite frail. But so smart!” Her face fell back to an exaggerated sadness. “Poor man. Poor, poor man. What a waste.”
I followed up with a few more questions but none of them sprouted any life. All she knew was that a talented young girl and a generous tutor had rehearsed occasionally and that they’d seemed very lovely. So, she knew about as much as I did and she wasn’t even trying.
I wasn’t any closer to finding Rye, but the girl had gone missing more recently, so maybe her trail was still warm. If you tried to list all the dangers in Sunder City, it would take you a year, and someone would likely stab you in the back and steal your pencil before you were done, but if January Gladesmith grew up here then she also knew how to keep herself safe. Maybe something caused her to slip up. If she was sneaking around at night to practice her singing in secret, it would explain why her mother didn’t know where she went.
“Is it common in your business?” I asked. “Meeting a Siren who wants to perform?”
“What does common even mean any more? There ain’t a single thing in this world that doesn’t feel strange these days. Before the Coda, there were some, but not many. I always thought their ultimate goal was to find a man, get married and live a life of comfort. Isn’t that what every girl wants? A little company on a cold night?”
Days later, I realized she might have been flirting with me. I’d been out of that game so long I had no hope of catching what she was throwing out.
“There was another Siren,” she continued, once she realized I wasn’t about to sweep her into my arms. “Gabrielle. She was singing and dancing in Sunder a few years back. I don’t think it went too well for her. I heard from one of the guys that she’s started spinning tricks down The Rose Quarter.”
Of course. Every case and every angel lands in The Rose eventually. I scraped her brain for a few more details and then shook her slender hand.
“Thanks for your help. I liked the show. What do I owe you?”
“On the house. You’re doing a hero’s work.”
I forced a laugh out of my throat.
“I’ve been a lot of things, lady, but never that. All the real heroes are lying on the heap. Good place for them, too. They don’t need to see what we did to this world.”
She just smiled.
“Why do you talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Trailing off at the end of every sentence. Like you give up before you’re finished.”
I shrugged. “It doesn’t take long for me to get sick of myself these days.”
She nodded. If she was thinking about flirting with me any further, I hadn’t inspired her to try.
I let her pack up her pieces while I wandered around the stage. It was beautifully crafted from marble, almost untouched by the corrosion that had painted the rest of the city.
When I stood in the center, the sound of my footsteps changed. I’d hit the sweet spot. When I hummed, the vibrations reflected back at me from the solid steps. It was a powerful effect. I could almost understand the desire some people had to go out singing for their supper, entertaining strangers every night. Almost.
I let a few minutes go by to make sure the actress was out of earshot. Then I screamed. The reverberations came back at me and I was enveloped in my own voice. The sound spewed out of me like an overflowing drain, something between a cry and a wail. It felt good to be loud. I spend most of my days talking down into my chest, collecting clichés on my collar.
It might have been the first time in my life that I’d screamed for a reason other than physical pain. It was out of tune and wouldn’t have held a flame to January Gladesmith but it was wild and it was raw and it certainly reached the back row.
When the echoes stopped bouncing, I tucked myself back into my skin. I had a lead. It was a weak one, no question about that, but it was something.
I didn’t know the time and it didn’t matter. The Rose Quarter was as