“I’ll get a new bottle,” Gorst shouts from the top of the cellar stairs. I know that voice too well. I used to clean his brothel. I mopped his floors and scrubbed his toilets until a month ago, when he tried to corner me into working for him in a very different capacity.
I’ve spent the last nine years living by two rules: I don’t steal from those who give me honest work, and I don’t work for those who steal from me. That night, I added a new rule to the list: I don’t work for those who try to blackmail me into prostitution.
Every scuff of his boots brings him closer, but I keep my movements smooth and steady.
I latch one lock. Snick.
Scuff, scuff.
The second lock. Snick.
Scuff, scuff.
The third—
“What the hell?”
Snick.
“These glowstones are worthless,” he grumbles from the foot of the stairs.
I keep my breathing shallow and press myself against the wall, where the darkness is deepest.
“You coming or not?” A female voice from the top of the stairs. She giggles. “We found the other bottle, Creighton. Come on!”
“I’m coming.”
I count his steps back up and inch closer to the stairs as he stumbles his way toward the top. He’s drunk. Perhaps luck is on my side tonight.
Listening carefully, I track their progress through the manor house until there’s no more noise in the servants’ quarters above me and the sounds all come from the front of the house. I can’t risk opening the vault again to remove the rest of my blood. Not tonight.
I pad silently up the stairs, retracing the steps that brought me here.
I don’t register the extent of the tension locking my muscles until I’m out of the house and it leaves me in a rush. Under the cool night sky, I’m hit by a wave of exhaustion. I won’t stop now, but I’ve pushed myself too hard this week and I can’t deny my body much longer.
I need sleep. Food. And in the morning, maybe even a few mindless minutes of watching Sebastian train in the courtyard behind Madame Vivias’s. That might be better than sleep or food.
The thought is like a shot of adrenaline to my system, pushing me to finish what I need to do. The shadows guide me out of the manor—a meandering path around trees and shrubs, dodging the moonlight as if this is a game.
The gates to the front are wide-open, and though my weary muscles beg me to take that easy exit, I can’t risk it. I pull the rope from my satchel and toss it over the perimeter wall of Gorst’s property. The fibers bite into my chapped hands, and my arms scream with each pull to the top.
I jump down on the other side, landing on soft knees. My sister says I’m like a cat because of the way I’ve always jumped from trees and roofs without getting hurt. I think of myself more like a shadow, unnoticed and more useful than people bother to notice.
I’m a ten-minute walk from home and am nearly limping under the weight of what I’ve stolen. It would be so easy to hand Madame Vivias what she’s due, climb into bed, and sleep for twelve hours.
But I can’t. Not after what I saw on that last stack of contracts.
I turn away from home and head down the alley past the dress shop where my sister Jas works. Around the corner from Gorst’s tavern and behind an overflowing bin of trash, I slip past the entrance to the city’s “family housing.” What a joke. The four-story building has twelve two-room units and one shared bath and kitchen on each floor. It’s shelter, and better than many have, but after seeing Gorst’s massive estate, the inequity disgusts me.
My friend Nik’s door is ajar, and there’s sobbing coming from inside. Through the crack, I can see her daughter, Fawn, curled up against the wall, rocking, her shoulders shaking. Fawn has the same dark skin and curls as her mom. Once, Nik told me that everything changed for her when her daughter was born—that from that moment on, all that mattered to her was being the best mother she could be, even if it meant crossing lines she’d never want her own daughter to cross.
I push inside, and Fawn startles. “Shh. It’s just me, baby,” I whisper, sinking to my haunches. “Where’s your mama?”
She lifts her head, and tears stream down her cheeks. Her sobs grow louder and harder, her whole body shaking and teetering as if she’s trying to hold still through the gusts of an invisible storm. “I’m out of time,” Fawn says.
I don’t ask what she means. I already know. I hear footsteps and turn to see Nik standing behind me, her arms crossed, horror on her face.
“She did it to save me,” Nik says, her voice raspy, as if she’s been crying but has dried her tears through sheer will. “She got money from Gorst to buy me medicine from the healer.”