“Necromancer?” An incredulous voice wafted over her. The stiffened guard, relaxing at last.
Lux sauntered up to him. “Yes.” With bold fingers zigzagging down the length of his coat, she watched the man’s eyes darken—and roll back in his head as the stolen vial of unstopped liquid passed his lips.
Like a marionette with severed strings, he crumpled at her feet.
“Saints above. You weren’t lying.”
Chapter eleven
The invitation was agarish thing. Lux held the sparkling, sweet-smelling parchment by the barest edge lest her fingers become permanently tarnished at the contact. She shifted in the hard-backed rocker with a scowl.
Her mind surrendered to the saddened wonder of just whose dirty bottom rested contentedly upon her favorite chair’s cushions, or worse—if it was moldering within the marshes. Jaw tightening, she studied the flowery script again:
Please join us in a
Masquerade Celebration
Of our most illustrious Mayor
On the Eve of his Birth:
The evening of the fifth Noxday
Of the month of Mortema
Two days’ time. Her eyes traveled over the bold illustrations:
Gifts, though not required, are greatly anticipated
She nearly choked on her biscuit. Greedy, odious man. He hadeverything.What did he expect? A slew of guests lined up with wrapped parcels of lifeblood, harvested just for him?
“Doubtless.” Lux’s imitation of the mayor left much to be desired.
The creaking of the front door caused her to sink further into the uncomfortable chair. As much as she appreciated having someone in this life to look out for her well-being, this home was much too small. Especially when expected to encompass one such as Riselda. She filled up the space, and Lux couldn’t help but feel eclipsed in the shadows.
“Lucena?”
She drew a long breath before conceding. “Here, Riselda.”
Her aunt floated down the stairs. “Oh, there you are.”
Lux battled to keep her expression neutral at Riselda’s appearance: clothing askew, tangles in her hair, a smudge of dirt along her jaw. Riselda pushed a few wayward strands from her eyes before washing at the basin resting on a corner pedestal.
Lux peered at her aunt from the edge of her teacup as Riselda gazed into the mirror, rubbing her chin clean.
When Riselda’s piercing stare met hers through the glass, Lux flinched. “Plucking about my old solarium. A mundane task.” Before Lux could question her, she added, “Not all of a healer’s necessities can be bought.” She laughed darkly, pulling a dried leaf from her hair. Twirling the dead thing between her fingers, she tossed it to the floor. “Or maybe they can…”
Lux’s brow furrowed, wondering at the meaning—until she remembered the mayor’s message. “The mayor requests your presence.” She waved the invitation in the air, and Riselda was there in a breath, snatching it from her outstretched fingers.
“Oh, my sweet Bartleby.” Spinning on her heel, a grin stretching her cheeks, she strode to the kitchen, plopping ontoa stool. It groaned beneath her. “Hush, or I’ll replace you too.” Frightened into silence, the rickety piece of furniture obeyed.
Riselda traced the elaborate sketches with curling strokes of her long finger, and Lux wondered aloud, “I can’t believe he still requests gifts. What could that man possibly need?”
Her aunt turned toward her, eyes softening. “Oh, it is never about needs with these men. Wants, my dear.” She turned back to the parchment. “What do you have…that he wants?”
Lux glanced around the small room, taking in the bright furnishings in too cramped a space, knick-knacks and a lone painting. “I don’t—”
Riselda tutted. “Not so hard. It’s quite a lot easier than you think.” She glanced at Lux’s shifting form. “Services. Promises. Secrets.” She laughed without humor. “Our mayor certainly knows how to enjoy his parties.”
