Windwitch (The Witchlands #2)v(87)

They explored further, passing signs of life. Footprints through dusty webs or smears in the foxfire, as if people had dragged clumsy hands through. The houses were all the same, one after the other. Tenements built identically to the oldest structures aboveground. So much space—finally, finally.

Yet just as Vivia and Stix crept through an intersection, a clank! sounded through the city. Like iron on stone. Like an old blade fallen to a distant floor.

Vivia tensed. Stix froze. There they waited, breaths held, while green light and cobwebs whispered around them.

Then came a voice. Yelling and near—much too near. Vivia and Stix dove for the nearest house. Just in time, for the shouting speaker was soon dragged past.

Vivia peeked around the ancient doorway she and Stix hovered behind. A boy, short-haired and lanky, fought against the two people who hauled him down the road. He was bound at the wrists, yet he kicked. He pulled. He spat. And over and over he hollered, “It doesn’t have to be like this! It doesn’t have to be like this!”

Vivia met Stix’s eyes in the dark. “Is that the boy?” she mouthed.

Stix nodded.

One of the men, a bearded beast of a Nubrevnan, finally lost his patience with the boy. He gripped him by the collar and punched him hard across the nose.

The boy coughed—and coughed some more, but it quickly melted into a frenzied laugh. “You’ll … regret this,” he said between gasping chuckles.

“More like you’ll regret it,” the beast snarled. “Comin’ back here was the stupidest thing you could’ve done, Cam. He’ll make you pay, you know.”

“That’ll be fun to watch,” said a second voice. Female and gruff. “This time I doubt he’ll let you leave.”

“Who are you working for?” the boy demanded, all laughter gone. “Who hired you to kill the pr—”

Crack! The boy’s voice broke off. A thump sounded, as if his knees had given way.

“Be a good girl, Cam,” the enormous man said, “and shut your blighted mouth.”

No response, and when Vivia peered out once more, the huge man was hefting the limp girl onto his shoulder.

Vivia waited until they were out of sight before turning to Stix, who murmured, “Did you notice something about their hands?” At Vivia’s pinched brow, Stix wiggled her left hand. “No pinkies.”

Vivia’s forehead relaxed. “Just like the corpses the Fury killed. I guess the Nines are back.”

“Or,” Stix said pointedly, “they never left. They might’ve been hiding here all this time…” She trailed off, eyes widening. More voices approached. More light too, orange in the way that only lanterns’ fire could produce.

People. Lots of them. In Vivia’s city, and presumably working with the Fury.

So Vivia made a decision. She scooted close to Stix. Close enough that no one else could possibly hear as she said, “Go back to Pin’s Keep. We need soldiers.”

“What will you do?”

“Nothing foolish.”

Stix regarded Vivia, her face drawn. “I don’t believe you. You seem … different today.”

Vivia’s eyebrows bounced with surprise—then she realized what Stix meant. She was different today. She’d been so preoccupied, so focused, she hadn’t bothered to be a Nihar.

For some irrational reason, this made her smile. Made a strange exultation build behind her ribs. “Go on, Stix,” she nudged. “I’m just going to watch the Nines. See what I can learn.”

“All right,” Stix said, though she still made no move to leave. Her frown deepened, as if she were trapped in indecision …

She decided, leaning in until her lips brushed against Vivia’s cheek. The softest of kisses. “Be careful.”

Then Stix was gone.

For several erratic heartbeats, Vivia could not breathe. Stix had seen through her mask, yet she hadn’t run. She hadn’t judged. She hadn’t hated.

Hell-waters, what might have happened if she’d shown her true self years ago? Maybe she and Stix could have …

No. Vivia rubbed her eyes. No regrets. She could analyze and replay this later. For now, she had to keep moving.

After a moment to regain her bearings, Vivia scouted onward. Alone. The noises ahead grew louder—at least ten people—as did the glare of too many lamps in one space.

She reached the crowd gathered in a wide square. She cut into a house that faced it. Up she wound, floor after floor until she hit the top. Here, Vivia found the perfect view. Here, she could linger in a shadow and watch the Nines below.

For Stix was right. These were the Nines. She knew that man in the center—she’d hired that man in the center. Garren Leeri, from Judgment Square. He’d slacked so much on the job, though, that she’d traded him off as soon as she could.

He looked awful. Skin and bones now. Black scars everywhere.

“Back off,” he squawked. “Give my sister space!”

The people backed off, giving Vivia a clear view of the girl just awakening. “Garren,” she mumbled, a surprised sound.

Then suddenly, she was a cyclone. She wriggled, she pummeled, she spun. Trying to rise, trying to fight her ropes. Until Garren eased a cleaver from a sheath at his waist.

Cam stilled, but she did not stay quiet. “You used me.” Her words bounced off the limestone, loud enough for everyone in the square to hear. “I trusted you, and you used me.”