Spellhacke- M. K. England Page 0,20

turn and shoulder my way toward the door. Hopefully my friends will be feeling a bit more charitable toward me soon.

As we emerge onto the street outside the club, the music fades into a dampened thrum, the bass still beating in our chests long after the higher tones are gone. Ania instantly relaxes as the cool early evening air hits her skin. I didn’t realize how tense she’d been since we arrived. Not so much her scene, despite the fanciness and wealth, I guess. She enjoys dancing sometimes, even though she has no rhythm, but crowds get to her.

As we start our walk home, the noise of the club and the shopping district disappear altogether, the near silence of No-Man’s Land wrapping us in ghosts. The club and all the surrounding buildings were well reinforced, their structural spells solid with fresh maz and money. This old neighborhood, not so much. It was once populated by the sort of middle-class family that was typical of MMC employees. So many of them were killed off in the first wave of the plague that the neighborhood was decimated, with those few who were left eventually moving to other areas to escape the eerie silence. Lots of our neighbors at the Cliffs were once part of these families. The house numbers affixed near their front doors glint in the faint moonlight as we pass. I hate walking through here, but it’s the fastest route home.

Behind me, Remi and Jaesin keep up their cheerful babble, determined to drown out my mood with their own. Ania shares my quiet, though, waiting for the hammer I’m wielding to drop. No sense in making her wait any longer.

“We have another job,” I say, loud enough that Remi and Jaesin can hear behind me.

Silence. Then, louder silence.

After a long, uncomfortable moment, Jaesin clears his throat.

“I assume you’re waiting for us to comment on the fact that just a few hours ago we said we were absolutely, completely, one hundred percent done with siphoning jobs, yes?”

“Well, yeah,” I say, combative, then remember my whole tactful sucking-up strategy. Are we really going to play this fake-calm-questions game, though?

“And I also assume,” Jaesin continues, “that you’ve already committed us to this job without asking us, or else you wouldn’t be so weird and shifty right now.”

“Yep,” I say. Ania shoots me a look, one raised eyebrow with her are-you-truly-this-bad-at-life expression. Ugh. Remi, at least, seems neutral. Waiting for the details.

Jaesin rubs a hand down his face and kicks a rock in the middle of the road with more force than strictly necessary. “Diz, we’re leaving in a week.”

I’m plenty fucking aware, thanks, but please, repeat that as often as possible so I can’t forget for even five seconds. Jaesin pushes on.

“We have so much to do to get ready to move, Diz. We can’t afford to get arrested. I could lose my job offer in Jattapore. Remi could lose their place at the university. We’ve played our luck this far. The whole point was to quit while we were ahead.”

“Well, if we—” I start, then cut myself off.

If we get this payout, maybe you won’t have to leave.

I tip my head back to stare at the stars again, much more visible in this dark, broken neighborhood. The constellation of Ailia, the ancient dancing warrior of firaz, shines overhead, precariously balanced on one toe. I feel you, man. This is a tipping point for sure, but I know just how to give Jaesin a good shove over the edge.

“It’s sixteen thousand credits, and he’s already paid us half,” I say, completely casual. “Another two thousand if we can do it fast.”

Ania doesn’t even blink, but Jaesin stumbles over a chunk of broken concrete, and Remi gives a low whistle.

“We’d need a truck to hold sixteen thousand creds worth of maz,” they say. “Who’s the client and what’s their deal?”

“The client is Shane Drammond. We’ve done jobs for him before, but usually through dead drops and middle men, and he’s always paid us on time. The job, though . . .” I can’t help the grin that fights its way onto my face as I look over at Remi. “You’re gonna love this.”

They raise an eyebrow and meet my gaze head-on. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. The job is for eight vials of maz-15.”

Remi’s face goes blank with confusion. They look to Ania, then back to me. “Is that . . . code for something?”

I bark a laugh. “That’s exactly what I thought! But he’s serious. Before you