Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(42)

“I came here for two reasons,” I said. “The first was to locate the Da Vias’ Family home, and a means to get inside. The second was to convince my uncle to help me kill them all.”

“I already told you, he won’t help.”

I held up my hand, forestalling him. “Maybe I don’t need him.”

Alessio blinked. “Well, what’s the alternative? Sit here until they find and kill you?”

“What you said earlier—”

“About me helping you?”

“I’m not a charity case. It would be an equal exchange. I could train you. . . .”

Alessio leaned forward. “If you train me, I will help you kill the Da Vias.”

I ignored my churning stomach, the part of me that said he wasn’t good enough, that it would take time to prepare him to fight so many Da Vias, time I didn’t have. That I would be training him to greet his death. He desperately wanted to be a clipper, he’d said so himself. And what was I, if not a bringer of death?

Most importantly, I needed him. I would make the Da Vias pay, no matter who fell along the way.

Time to reel him in. “Will my uncle let you just leave? And I still don’t know how to find the Da Vias. Maybe this is a bad idea.”

Alessio waved his hands. “Don’t worry about that. If you train me, I will get the information you need from him.”

“And you’ll need to teach me how to make those smoke bombs.”

“Absolutely.”

“But they need to be firebombs instead of smoke bombs.”

His smile faded as he scratched his jaw, thinking. “I don’t know . . .”

“I need them. It’s no deal without it.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that I’m unwilling, I’ve just never attempted it before. It’s going to take some trial and error on our part.”

“How long will it take?” I asked.

His eyes connected with mine, dark brown even in the morning light. “How long will it take you to train me?”

“A lifetime.”

Alessio paused, thinking this over. “You train me, and when the time comes, you take me with you to help kill the Da Vias. I get the information from my master somehow, and we work together on making those firebombs.”

“As soon as you can. The longer we stay here, the more likely we won’t ever leave.”

He nodded, lost in his own planning. I stood, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Clipper Girl . . .”

“I’ll see you on the rooftops near your home at sundown for training.”





eighteen


I SAT ON THE FLOOR OF MY HIDING PLACE, THE EVENING sun prodding its way past the boards in the windows. I’d slept through the afternoon, but I didn’t feel well rested. I never felt well rested anymore.

Three things I needed. Three things before I could return home: the location of the Da Vias from my uncle, at least one working firebomb from Alessio, and help from either. Or both. But preferably help from my uncle, who had at least been a real clipper in his youth.

Three things reminded me of the children’s stories my father used to tell me. It seemed those characters always needed three things too: three kisses, three magic cakes, three breaths from a corpse. But the heroes of those stories always succeeded, and I’d already failed my Family. And I didn’t think there’d be a happily ever after at the end of my tale.

When dusk arrived, I changed and climbed to my roof.

Alessio waited for me, dressed in his full leathers. I scowled behind my mask. “How did you know where to find me?”

He shrugged. “I followed you that first night to your . . . home. After you climbed out of the canal.”

“I watched my back. You couldn’t have followed me.”

“I can tell you’re not from around here,” he said. “You forgot to watch the canals.”

My eyes flicked to the canal behind me. Damn. He was right. I had ignored them.

“That one there”—he nodded—“actually leads to the one near my alley. It’s much quicker to travel by canal if you know your way around them. Safer too.”

“People could see you if you go out too early,” I said. “You should wait until the sun sets.”

He shook his head. “The only people left out at dusk are drunks and prostitutes. And they stay away from the canals. Now, what are we going to do tonight? Pull a job? Race across the roofs? Spar?” He rotated his shoulders, loosening his joints.

His excitement grated on me. “I want to see your weapons.”

“What? Let’s work one of my jobs or something!”

“You asked me to train you, so we’re doing it my way. Let me see your weapons.”

He sighed and took a seat on the roof, folding his long legs beneath him. I did the same, sitting across from him.

He emptied his pockets of small throwing knives and needles made for quick punctures. He pulled out wire for garroting and a stick used to assist in a fight. The last weapon was his huge knife, the one he’d brandished in the alley. It was close to eighteen inches long, and judging by how carefully he set it beside his other weapons, it was his favorite.

“Is that all?” I asked.

“Isn’t that enough?”