Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(8)

He stepped into the magic and let the current carry him away from his bedroom and his legacy.

When Alfie walked back into the world, he did so through a wall between two stately haciendas in the second ring of the city—the Bow. Here, the streets were of cobbled stone and the haciendas were grand, painted in rich, vibrant colors with stained glass windows. Alfie pulled the hood of his cloak over his masked face and walked down the road to Rayan’s hacienda. The dark wood door stood before him, tall and imposing. He hesitated. The mask suddenly felt uncomfortably tight as his parents’ disappointed faces appeared in his mind’s eye. What kind of king would he be if he spent his nights looking for things he shouldn’t?

He sat wedged between his parents’ worry and his hope for his brother’s return, the pressure on both sides great enough to transform a stone into a diamond. He didn’t know how much longer he could bear it.

This will be my last try, he thought to himself. If I don’t find what I need tonight, then I’ll give up this quest to return Dez and focus on becoming king. Once and for all.

He swallowed. The finality of the ultimatum gave him a sense of control, an end to the tug-of-war inside him. Yet the possibility of becoming king still stung. He pushed that thought away. He would not need to become king because he was going to win this game and get what he needed to find Dez. Alfie grabbed the knocker and rapped soundly against the door.

A burly servant opened it, his wide frame filling the doorway. “You’re late. Se?or Rayan does not appreciate tardiness,” he said before beginning to close the door.

Alfie jammed his foot between the door and its frame. His shadow darted about the door frantically until Alfie pressed his heels into the ground to make it fall still. The servant eased the door open again, shooting Alfie a look of annoyance.

“Wait, please.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a handful of gold pesos. “Se?or Rayan does not appreciate tardiness, but I’m more interested in what you appreciate, entiendes?”

A cordial smile unfurled on the man’s face. “Have you an invitation?”

Alfie handed him the pesos and spoke the words that granted him entry into one too many of these dangerous games. “A fox does not wait for an invitation, he waits for an opening.”

The man stepped aside, and Alfie stepped forward into yet another night of trouble.

The woman Finn was stalking through the Bow was clearly running late.

Late was good. Late meant she would be too busy rushing to look up and notice Finn jumping lithely from rooftop to rooftop to keep pace with her. The haciendas here were stately and grand with gently sloped roofs, perfect for hopping from one to the next. Though each estate was nearly six men high, years of filling in for acrobats in the circuses she’d worked in had stripped her of any fear of heights. If she’d ever had it to begin with.

The warm breeze whistling through her curly hair as she hopped from roof to roof, the patter of her footsteps, and the rustle of her bag against her side were the only sounds tonight. The cobbled streets were empty and the colorful haciendas were silent, their occupants asleep.

Even the name of this ring of the city made her roll her eyes. The Bow. Something gossamer and cute to fasten around the neck of a kitten. The name suited it, with its delicately built haciendas, manicured gardens, and burbling fountains. There was a quiet calm in the Bow that made Finn itch. A kind of calm afforded by those who were born rich and would die richer. Finn preferred the Pinch and the Bash. Sure, they were dirtier, cramped, and at any given moment you were seconds away from being pickpocketed, but they would still be bursting with life at this hour.

Right now there would be street performers strumming languid bachatas on their guitars and food vendors hawking bowls of pernil, beans and rice, and sweet plantains. Her stomach growled at the thought, but Finn forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She needed to take this woman’s place at the game, get the goods, and pawn them off. Then she’d have money for a full belly and a ticket onto the next ship out of here and onto her next adventure.

When Finn had first arrived a month ago, she’d set out to learn San Cristóbal’s secrets—the seedy underbelly that would lead her to thievery that’d fetch a fine price—and it was always the noblewomen who were keepers of such knowledge. After days of snooping in the Bow, Finn was hardly surprised to hear about a game where illegal goods were the prizes.

The woman Finn was following ducked into a thin pass between two haciendas—the perfect place for Finn to descend on her. Finn crouched at the edge of the roof, her shadow winding around her feet excitedly as she watched. A bar of moonlight illuminated what the woman pulled out of her bag—a red dragon mask, the required attire for the game. Finn grinned. That was what she was looking for.

Finn raised her hand and made a swift motion, as if she were pulling a knot tight. Coils of stone from the hacienda wall wrapped around the woman’s ankles and wrists, pinning her where she stood. The woman dropped her bag and mask. Before she could shout, Finn made another swiping motion, willing a coil of rock to wrap around her mouth, pulling her head back against the wall.

From above, Finn gave a low whistle. The woman looked up. Finn waved at her with one hand and picked at her teeth with the now-empty pork skewer she’d stolen with the other.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she said, her lips curled into a smirk. “I’ll be right down.”