hung in a haze over the narrow streets, but there was no one to be seen. Every window was dark and empty, projecting gloom and decay until even the noon sunlight seemed dimmer. Miranda surveyed the empty streets, her face set in her best imitation of the Rector Spiritualis at a Council meeting, equal parts nonchalant superiority and honed indifference to the opinions of others. If growing up in the enormous city of Zarin had taught her anything, it was that empty streets hid the most ears of all.
“Gin,” she said loudly, “if anyone gives you trouble, don’t bother asking permission, just eat them.”
Gin responded by lazily stretching his forelegs out in front of him and yawning, revealing a mouth of yellow, glistening teeth as his ears swiveled for any hint of sound.
Satisfied that no one would bother them after that little display, Miranda marched up the rickety stairs of the Merrymont and pushed aside the muddy blanket that served as a door. The barroom was narrow, dark, and stank of the river. It was also just as empty as the street outside, though the mugs scattered on the warped tables told her it hadn’t been that way a few moments ago. Large, stained barrels took up most of the room, their taps dripping something that smelled faintly of rotting bread and vinegar. The only windows were papered over with advertisements and notices, including a large, peeling poster featuring a pair of girls wearing outfits that made Miranda blush. Looking away, she selected a cleanish table near the center of the room and sat down so that she was facing the main entrance. Marion, white as new cheese and twice as wobbly, took a seat beside her.
The librarian eyed the empty tables and the trash scattered across the warped floor boards. “I don’t think your expert is here,” she whispered.
“He will be,” Miranda said, setting her bag in the chair beside her. “The Spirit Court pays its informants very well, and bounty hunters thrive in trash heaps like this.”
“Such words of praise,” a deep voice purred behind them. “You’ll make me blush, little wizardess.”
Marion fell out of her chair with a series of squeaks, but Miranda stayed perfectly still.
“Well met, Mr. Coriano,” she said calmly. “You seem to be living up to your reputation.” Without turning, she motioned to the chair on the other side of the table. “Since you have time to sneak around and scare young women, surely you can spare a few moments.”
She felt more than heard him stalk around the table. As he came into her line of vision, Miranda did not waste her first look at the infamous Gerard Coriano. He was shorter than she’d expected, with black hair that he wore tied in a ponytail. His clothes were plain, brown cloth and leather, and his face had a sharp, hawkish handsomeness to it that was pleasant enough save for the long, thin scar running down the left side. It started at his temple, split his eyebrow, and ran down his cheek and over his lips, stopping just above his jaw. His left eye was discolored and murky where the scar crossed it, but it followed her movements just as well as his right, which was cold and flat gray-blue. He wore a sword low on his hip, but the guard and hilt were wrapped in thick felt that only hinted at their shape. Judging from the way he took his seat, however, Miranda harbored no illusions that the wrapping would slow his draw.
Coriano leaned on the table, gloved hands steepled in front of him and a small smile tugging at the edge of his thin mouth. “That was quite a display you put on outside. Normally, I prefer a note left at the bar, but I should know better by now than to expect subtlety from a Spiritualist.”
“I would have contacted you more discreetly if I had time to wait in seedy taverns,” Miranda said. “We Spiritualists lack the copious amounts of leisure time you bounty hunters seem to enjoy, Mr. Coriano.”
His smile broadened, and he leaned back in his chair. “How may I help you?”
“You’ve been tracking the wizard thief Eli Monpress for months.” Miranda leaned forward. “Both of our last tips came from you. I want to know how you do it.”
Coriano glanced pointedly down at her rings. “What, can’t root him out with your little menagerie? I thought that was one of the Spiritualist’s specialties.”