Thief's Desire Page 7

  “Vic.”

  She stopped with her hand on the latch.

  “You didn’t see any sign of Tracker himself?”

  “Not a hint. Just Malkiney.”

  Deraun frowned and ran a hand over his black hair.

  Vic quietly left her boss deep in thought. She traveled dark, back streets on her way to the Winnow Tree Inn. The fear sparked by the sorcerer kept her muscles tensed, ready for action. In her short life, she’d experienced tension, anticipation, anxiety, even fear. But only one other time had she been this truly terrified. That had been on the day her father disappeared.

  Her every nerve was so alert that when a man stepped around a building to block her path, she felt him before she could see him.

  “Now where would you be off to so late, Vic Flash?”

  The man’s guttural voice was unfamiliar. “Who?” Vic said, bluffing for time. “I think you’ve got the wrong person, mister. My name’s Anne.” Her gaze darted around, looking for other threats.

  The stranger stepped forward, but light from the street lamp at his back kept his face shadowed. “Oh, I got the right person, Vic Flash. You think Big Charlie don’t know how the Hole’s keeping you hidden?”

  “Actually,” she said with a resigned sigh, “no, I didn’t think Charlie would figure it out.”

  “He said you was a smart one,” the man snarled. “But he’s got people you ain’t even imagined, thief. Hole might be the biggest, but it ain’t got all the best. Now, Big Charlie wants to see ya about some money you owes him.”

  “Mm-hum.” Vic had already let her wrist knife slide into her fingers and was judging what it would take to get around this threat.

  “Now, he warned me about that, too, thief. You can’t fool old Bagger with that knife trick. I know how they be used.”

  She caught the sudden flicker of light on metal in her assailant’s hand. A cold knot pitted in her stomach even as numb logic seized her mind, preparing her for the fight to come. In the dark and with the light in her face, she was at a disadvantage, but the fear in her blood had heightened her other senses. When the big man leapt, stabbing at her left arm, she was already moving away. She darted around, putting the street lamp at her back.

  And saw her assailant’s face for the first time. She had to swallow a shocked gasp. His features were monstrously deformed, a mask of twisted flesh from a nightmare. Then the flick of his blade near her ear forced out all other thoughts beyond the fight. With an off-balance swerve, she moved away from his knife only to get her legs tangled in the edge of her cape. She cursed under her breath. In one move, she regained her balance, dropped her cloak, and dove away from a new attack.

  On balance again, Vic switched tactics. Flipping her knife so the blade stretched along her forearm, she stalked her assailant. The man followed suit. The first thrusts were tentative, a clicking of metal to test the other’s reflexes. Then they were slashing and blocking, arms windmilling to find an opening in the other’s guard. Vic’s arms, moving with the speed of her nickname, slipped behind her assailant’s blade to rip a gash across his chest.

  He bellowed in rage and charged forward, forcing her to retreat. The man was a head taller than her and his strength far superior. She had to use her movements and his own momentum against him. A slip turn around his side, and she slashed another long wound in his waist.

  He turned and was on her again, faster than she would have guessed. The moment of overconfidence cost her a shallow slash along her unguarded left forearm. Biting off the pain and another curse, she pressed forward, the whirl of her blade arm so quick, he couldn’t keep up. She left several superficial slices across his arms and drove him back under the onslaught. In moments, however, she realized that he was falling back intentionally.

  Behind him, Vic saw faint movement in a dark warehouse doorway, a doorway to which her assailant was retreating. Ambush. Without slowing her forward momentum, she watched the space where the second attacker hid. Then suddenly, she dropped to one knee, and using her left hand, sent the dart knife at her waist flying. Before her blade cleared the darkened doorway, she was rolling past the ugly man’s legs. Coming up behind him, she slashed the back of his thigh.

  He screamed in pain and collapsed to the ground.

  She didn’t wait around to discover if any more attackers lurked. On her feet, she was moving before the monstrous man hit the cobbles. Grabbing her cloak on the run, she raced through the shadows toward the Winnow Tree.

  Chapter Six

  Outside the Winnow Tree, Vic watched the area for a quarter of an hour from the shelter of a nearby building. She’d replaced her black cloak and kept to the deepest shadows, the hood pulled low over her head. When she felt sure no one was watching, she silently passed into the Inn, holding her wounded arm tight against her stomach to staunch the flow of blood.

  At the bar, Bob smiled happily as she approached. Her gaze darted around the room as she spoke to the Winnow’s proprietor. “Is General Marin in his room?” she asked, her voice low and urgent.

  “No, miss. He’s not here now.”

  Her eyes flicked to the door, then back. “Would you tell him I’m in his room?” She didn’t bother to use her name. Bob knew who she was already. With a final glance around the room, she started for the stairs at the rear of the commons.

  “But miss,” Bob said hesitantly. “I’m not expecting him tonight.”

  “I’ll wait.” Vic trotted up the stairs before he could reply.

  Unless being used, Jacob’s room remained unlocked. No one entered the inn without Bob knowing, especially with a commons full of mercenaries. Once inside, Vic closed and locked the door behind her. She didn’t bother to light the lamp or start a fire, but went directly to the heavily curtained window to study the street below.

  Still nothing.

  Finally, she allowed herself the luxury of relaxing enough to look at her arm. In the dim streetlight coming in through the window, she peeled back the torn fragments of her shirtsleeve, gritting her teeth against a rush of nausea. The gash wasn’t serious, but blood caked her arm and dripped into her hand. The cool air stung sharply.

  With a hissing intake of breath, she pulled the remains of her sleeve up over her elbow. A look to the small wash table in one corner of the room confirmed that fresh water and towels hadn’t been placed out. She considered calling for water and bandages, but that would attract attention.

  Sitting on the squeaky double bed, she pulled the knife from the scabbard between her shoulder blades and cut a strip from the side of her cape. She wrapped her arm with a grimace. Pain shot through her arm every time she touched her damaged skin. The nausea in her stomach choked her throat and the pressure thickening in her head blocked sound for a minute.

  At last, when the wound was wrapped securely, if temporarily, to prevent further bleeding, Vic moved to one of the two wooden chairs in the room. Her hearing was back to normal, but the ache in her arm kept her still queasy stomach roiling. She felt weak and lightheaded now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Staring at the cold fireplace, she wrapped her cloak tight around her shoulders to stay warm.

  A flickering realization that she should start a fire moved through her tired mind, but she was too weary and dizzy to rise again. She also knew that she was probably in shock and had to stay awake.

  Time passed. She didn’t think. She didn’t move. She stared into the fire pit and waited.

  Suddenly, someone was shaking her shoulders and quietly calling her name. She blinked at the light from a crackling fire. And started to bolt out of her chair.

  Gentle hands forced her back down. She looked to her side and relief made her smile. “Hi, General. What are you doing here?”

  “Bob saw the blood on your hand.” Jacob knelt beside her chair. “He sent word to me. The healer will be here in a few minutes.”

  She grimaced. “Thanks. Guess I couldn’t fool him after all.”

  “I’m glad you couldn’t, given the circumstances. What ha
ppened?”

  “I was on my way here to give you news when this big ugly thing stopped me on one of the darker streets.” Jacob’s brow wrinkled, so Vic clarified. “One of Charlie’s leg breakers.”

  “Goddess! Victoria, you’re lucky you weren’t hurt more seriously.”

  She smiled crookedly at the concern in his voice. “You should see the others.”

  “Others?”

  “Well, I only know of two. The ugly guy and one hidden in a doorway. The ugly guy was good with a knife.” She raised her arm slightly, wincing. “I let him get under my guard. Shouldn’t have done that. But it motivated me to move faster.” She shrugged then frowned. “I think I might have killed the other one. I didn’t even see him. Just a glimpse. But the knife I tossed hit something solid. Lost a good knife, too.”

  “What about the ugly one?”

  “Cut his hamstring. Made running away easier.”

  Jacob breathed what was almost a chuckle and shook his head. “How did they find you? I thought Big Charlie didn’t know you were a woman.”

  “He didn’t. He does now. I don’t know how he found out. I think he sent them mainly to scare me. Maybe to bring me in. That would explain the second man.” She frowned and bit her bottom lip. “I think maybe Big Charlie is gonna be even more mad at Vic Flash now.”

  Jacob rose to his feet. “Well, you’re safe for the time being.”

  “I just wish I knew how Charlie learned I’m a woman. That part’s been bothering me since the attack.”

  “We’ll worry about it in the morning.”

  A knock at the door stopped Vic’s question. We’ll worry?

  A large, older woman with straight black hair and wizened green eyes pushed purposefully past Jacob to Vic’s side. She set down her bag, frowned at Vic’s arm, removed the cloak strip, and frowned deeper. “Get her onto the bed,” she ordered.

  Without questioning, Jacob helped Vic to her feet and led her to the bed. The pain, no longer biting, had become a dull ache along the entirety of her left arm. She swallowed the bile in her throat and blinked back a wash of dizziness that blackened her vision, then sank to the edge of the bed.

  As the healer cleaned her wound, Vic ground her teeth together and clenched the bed quilt with her right hand.

  Jacob stood behind the healer until she started to apply a poultice, then he moved to Vic’s side and held her good hand.

  When the woman finished bandaging the cut, she stood back and smiled for the first time since entering the room. “That should hold you through tomorrow. I’ll leave some fresh bandages. Leave that on ‘til midday tomorrow, then wash and dress it again. Change the bandages every day until the wound has sealed itself, to prevent infection.” She set a small packet of herbs on the washstand. “Drink these in boiled water tonight for the pain.” To Jacob, she said, “Keep her warm and make sure she rests. She lost a bit of blood, but otherwise, she’ll be fine.” With a friendly nod, the healer left the room.

  Jacob looked down into Vic’s upturned face. “You heard the healer, little thief. Under the covers.”

  “Here?”

  “Where else? I can keep an eye on you here. And you’ll be out of Big Charlie’s way.” He flipped back the blue quilt.

  “I have news for you, though.”

  “It’ll wait until you’ve slept. I can’t have my best street spy getting sick from an infection, now can I? Into bed.” He returned to the fire and hung a kettle of water across the spit.

  She pulled off her boots, deftly removing and hiding her calf dagger, and climbed beneath the bedcovers. She didn’t bother to remove her two remaining knives. She was used to sleeping with them on.

  When Jacob pulled a chair closer to the fire and sat with his back to her, she asked, “You’re staying?”

  “Healer’s orders. I’m to make sure you rest and stay warm.”

  “Thanks, Jacob,” she whispered.

  He grinned and nodded. When the water boiled, he mixed it with the herbs in a large clay mug. He put the mug to her lips and held it while she drank.

  With her good hand, she pushed away the mug, almost choking on the last gulp of bitter liquid. “That stuff tastes awful.”

  “Most remedies taste bad. I think the healers do that on purpose so people have reason to stay healthy.”

  She smiled. His gentle brown eyes and caring smile started her heart dancing. The drink had an almost immediate effect, numbing the ache that had throbbed along her arm. Lack of pain left room for a warm anticipation.

  As Jacob set aside the mug, she said, “At least it works. My arm doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  “Good.” He sat on the bed beside her. “Now, sleep.”

  “First, while I’m feeling okay, I need to tell you what I found.” When he opened his mouth, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. His muscles bunched beneath her touch. “No. You should know this now. I found Tracker’s lair. It’s near Upper Market. I watched for two nights and nothing. Then tonight I saw Malkiney sneaking someone into the building.

  “He was a sorcerer, but not like any I’ve ever seen. He had the white hair and blue eyes like so many of them, but his face was colorless. And his eyes…Jacob, I was dressed like this…” She pointed at her black attire. “Lying on a building roof behind him, and he looked right at me. And he saw me, Jacob. He smiled.”

  She paused, taking a long, steadying breath. “My boss thinks maybe Tracker’s smuggled in a blood magician. We don’t know why… Hell, we don’t know if he is a blood magician…” She bit her bottom lip and let out a frustrated breath through her nose.

  He took her hand in his but his thoughtful frown belied the comforting gesture. “That’s worse than I thought,” he said.

  “I haven’t seen Tracker either. Just Malkiney.”

  “Tracker hasn’t shown?” Jacob shook his head then softened his grave expression. “Okay, enough business for tonight, Victoria. You need rest, and I’ll have to think on this before I decide what to do.”

  “As soon as my boss can buy something to hide me from a magician’s sight, I’ll be able to snoop some more. Until then, he’s ordered me away from the building.”

  “Good,” Jacob said seriously. “Now, little thief, it’s time for you to sleep.”

  He pushed her gently back onto the bed and pulled the quilt around her shoulders. For a long moment, he stared into her eyes. Almost unconsciously, his hand moved to caress her cheek.

  “I’m glad you weren’t hurt badly tonight. I want you to stay here for the next few days. Big Charlie won’t be able to find you. Bob will see to that.”

  “I have to get back to the Hole tomorrow,” she breathed, the feel of his hand on her cheek a delicate torment.

  “Victoria, what if someone in the Hole told Big Charlie you’re a woman? For a few days, stay here.”

  She looked at Jacob’s chin, unable to meet his intense gaze. She hadn’t considered a traitor in the Hole. “I’ve got to see Peggy at least. Word will be on the streets about the fight. She can get a message to my boss. And don’t look at me like that. The boss wouldn’t turn me over to Charlie. I trust him.”

  “All right, but don’t tell anyone where you’re hiding.”

  “No one would believe me anyway,” she grinned. “Who’d ever think a King’s Own would go to the trouble of helping a street con?”

  “You’re more than just a street con, Victoria. And I’m not just a King’s Own.” He leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips as the hand stroking her cheek moved into her hair.

  For the first time that night, Vic forgot about the sorcerer and Big Charlie and the gash in her arm. All she felt was the tender touch of Jacob’s lips. When he pulled back, the movement felt reluctant, a reluctance that echoed in her.

  “Sleep, little thief. You’ve had a long night.”

  As he stood, she caught his hand. “Jacob,” she whispered. “Thank you again. For everything.”

  He smiled crookedly and squeezed her hand before returning to his ch
air in front of the fire.

  She rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she wouldn’t sleep for some time.

  Within a few minutes, Jacob sat listening to the slow, steady breathing of the thief.

  When Vic awoke the next day, the room was empty. On a small table next to the bed, a tray of food and coffee waited. Stretching, she sat up in bed, setting her back against the brass headboard.

  To her surprise, spread across the foot of the bed was a new black shirt and cloak. She found herself grinning stupidly as she pulled the new shirt up to her chest. She stroked the smooth material, a heavy, sturdy flannel, perfect for the coming winter nights.

  This was too much. She pulled the heavy woolen cloak up for inspection. Jacob Marin was entirely too much. With remarkable speed, she was forgetting exactly why she should be cautious around him. Other women haven’t minded his reputation. Who am I to argue with the women of Karasnia?

  A quiet, cautious voice in the back of her mind warned her of the folly of emotional entanglements. But she’d never been good at avoiding risk. In fact, more often than was entirely healthy, she went out of her way to take risks. Jacob Marin, however, was a very different kind of risk.

  She crawled out of bed slowly. The ache in her arm had started again, but it was minimal compared to the sting of last night. A quick look out the window told her the morning was half gone. She removed her tattered shirt and inspected the poultice pack on her arm. The washbasin had been filled with fresh water and clean bandages lay beside it on the washstand. She washed and bandaged the wound then put on the new shirt.

  Picking up a piece of nut bread and pouring herself a cup of coffee, Vic moved to sit in one of the wooden chairs. The coffee was still warm, heating her stomach and cheeks as she gulped it down. A low fire still burned in the fireplace. I wonder when he left?

  After her quick breakfast, she threw her new cloak around her shoulders, ran her fingers through her hair, and left the Inn. Bob waved a friendly farewell as she passed through the commons. Did he ever sleep? she wondered as she stepped into the streets.