was determined and clever enough.
I thought he was a few cans short of a six pack, as he trusted they would keep their word without knowing a damned thing about them beyond their willingness to fling money around and pay my medical bills. I appreciated their generosity, but I also understood why they did it.
My death lost them something, although I couldn’t quite figure out what.
One possibility haunted me: had they learned I’d mastered the quadrants and could fully transform into a fox? I’d been careful to hide both—or as careful as I could be under the circumstances. If they knew of my secrets, it justified my price tag. If Sandro hadn’t been part of a prominent family, he would be a target of an uncontested courtesan contract, too.
To give Anna the opening she needed to cart me off to the East, several things needed to happen. Sandro opted to go the misinformation route, misguiding the other bounty hunters, except for Anna, to look somewhere else. If all went to plan, Sandro would mention his estate in Asylum where only she might hear.
If she played her cards right and could sneak into the underground sanctuary, she’d walk away with a small fortune, enough for her to leave the Alley or buy her way into Asylum.
There were a lot of ifs involved, something I disliked.
As the painkillers did a good job of making me take unwanted naps, Sandro opted for the safest route for me. He coerced me into taking a dose before going out on an errand, which would give Anna the gap she needed. According to his plan, rather than go run the errand, he’d make use of some back passages he’d helped carve to circle around and observe his property. If anyone other than Anna came calling, he would deal with the problem.
When a mage capable of reciting poetry to create explosions and other forms of destruction said he would deal with the problem, I believed him. I hoped he would deal with the cleanup, too.
A strong poet could reduce a human body to a smear of greasy soot when motivated, and quadrant masters tended to be the best of the best.
I left the hard work to him, and I settled in to wait.
Friday, May 15, 2043.
The Transboundary Railway.
The East.
* * *
Everything must have gone to plan, because my drug-induced nap ended with the blare of the train horn warning of an approaching crossroads, which implied I’d completed the first leg of the trip from the Alley to the East without being aware of it—or if I’d been roused, it’d gotten lost in the medicated haze. I cracked open an eye, discovered I had a window seat in a cabin rather than having been stowed as cargo, and decided in my drug-impaired state, I had likely followed after Anna without protest or complaint.
We even had one of the more expensive booths, which were made for two and offered privacy, and Anna sat across from me sipping from a mug.
“You’re a mess,” she observed when she caught me staring at her.
“It wasn’t Sandro or Carlos,” I replied. “And unless you can hide your breasts a lot better than I think you can, it wasn’t you, either. Thanks for not shooting me. I don’t know if I actually miss having a spleen, but I’ve been told it’s not a big deal and it could be a lot worse.”
“I see your strange sense of humor survived.”
“When you’re not chasing after me like some crazy lunatic straight from hell, I like you.” I needed to watch my mouth more when under the influence, but I shrugged, which hurt. “Please tell me you had the sense of mind to bring the antibiotics and painkillers.”
“Considering they were left out with a helpful note on when you were due to have them along with a cheerful threat Mr. Moretti would be ripping my spleen out through my left ear if I even considered neglecting you while you are in my care, I’m going to say yes. When a poet threatens creative ways to murder someone, it’s wise to pay attention.”
That hadn’t been part of our plan, but his note amused me. “Don’t feel you need to give him any part of your cut. But since we’re talking about spleens, I’m grateful it was all I lost. The bullet going other places would have been worse.”
Anna smiled at that. “Yes, it would have been. Don’t worry about him. He’s already getting his share of the cut